“Pull your best lads. Almost there,” cried Lieutenant Summers, who was in the bow. “Now. One more big pull and we’ll be up on the sand.”
There was a soft jar. The boat’s nose tilted upwards. Then, disregarding footgear, all leaped overside into the shallow water, and six pairs of hands ran the boat well up on the sand.
“This way,” cried Lieutenant Summers, dashing ahead.
The others followed on the run. No further shots had been fired. But the sounds of panting men engaged body to body in the brush came to them. 225 As he ran, Lieutenant Summers cast the rays of a powerful hand light ahead. Right at the edge of the trees the two parties were engaged. But the fugitives were outnumbered, five to three, and, as the reinforcements against them arrived, the struggle came abruptly to an end.
The first upon whom Lieutenant Summer’s light fell was Jack, astride a form. Then the light fell on the fallen man’s features and a cry broke from Bob’s lips.
“Why, it’s Mr. McKay.”