There before them were Rifle and Tim, just in the act of taking off their last garments, and the former was first and about to take a run and a header off the bank into the deep waters below, when, quick as thought, the captain raised his gun, and without putting it to his shoulder, held it pistol way, and fired in the air.
“Now you can shoot!” cried the captain; and again, without stopping to ask questions, Uncle Jack obeyed, the two shots sounding almost deafening in the mist that hung over the ravine.
As the captain had anticipated, the sound of the shots stopped Rifle at the very edge of the river, and made him make for his clothes, and what was of even greater importance, as he reached the bank where the river curved round in quite a deep eddy beneath them, there was Norman twenty yards away swimming rapidly toward a shallow place where he could land.
Words would not have produced such an effect.
“Now,” said the captain, panting for breath from exertion and excitement, “watch the water. Keep your gun to your shoulder, and fire the moment there is even a ripple anywhere near the boy.”
Uncle Jack obeyed, while as Norman looked up, he saw himself apparently covered by the two guns, and at once dived like a dabchick.
“Madness! madness!” groaned the captain; “has he gone down to meet his fate. What are you loaded with?”
“Ball,” said Uncle Jack, laconically.
“Better lie down and rest your piece on the edge of the bank. You must not miss.”
As they both knelt and rested the guns, Norman’s head appeared.