Before he could finish he dimly made out that the big Malay had struggled clear and seemed to be much higher as he dragged at Peter, hoisted him right up, and jerked him behind; while at the same time the panting woman was holding out the pole she used, at which Archie grasped, just in time, as he felt the water was gradually bearing him away.
The next minute he was being dragged over the side of the sampan by the two Malays, and as they lowered him so that he lay upon his back, Peter’s head suddenly appeared between the two strangers, with the eager question:
“Have you stuck to your gun, sir?”
“Yes; all right, Pete. What a horrible accident! Where’s our boat?”
“Rotten old cocoa-nut shell,” cried Peter savagely. “There’s the last on her just going down;” and he pointed to a spot a few yards away, where, dividing the pendent branches of their shelter, was the attap roof of their sampan. “And do you know what that means, sir?”
“Utter wreck, Pete,” said Archie, breathing hard from excitement.
“Yes, sir; and my four boxes of cartridges with all them blue pills gone to the bottom to feed the crocs.”
“But what about the other boat?”
“Why, we are in it, sir. Can’t you see?” said Peter sourly.
“No, no—I mean the enemy’s.”