Dexter needed no telling, and he tugged away at the oar as the boat glided a little more swiftly on.
“Ain’t leaving him behind, are we!” growled Bob, whose face now grew convulsed with horror. “No; I’m afraid he’s coming nearer.”
“Oh dear, oh dear!” groaned Bob. “He’ll half-kill me, and it’s all your fault. Let’s stop rowing and give him the boat.”
“That we won’t,” cried Dexter, setting his teeth. “I’ll row till I die first.”
“But it’ll only make him more savage,” growled Bob. “I wish I was safe at home.”
“You’re not half-pulling, Bob.”
“It’s of no use, matey. He’s sure to ketch us, and the furder we rows, the more wild he’ll be.”
“I don’t care,” cried Dexter; “he shan’t have it if I can help it. Row!”
In his most cowardly moments Bob was obedience itself, and breaking out into a low sobbing whimper, as if it were a song to encourage him in his task, he rowed on with all his might, while only too plainly it could be seen that the man was gaining steadily upon them in spite of the clumsiness of his boat; and consequently it was only a question of time before the boys were overtaken, for the muscles of the man were certain to endure longer than those of Dexter, untrained as they were to such work.
“He’s closer, ain’t he?” whined Bob.