"Sh, Clumsy!" gasped Midkiff, in a panic. "Want to bring the whole gang down upon us?"
Rex was splashing the water in quick, but rhythmic time. One of the fellows on the bank above cried out:
"They've got a rowboat—they're getting away in it."
"Then it can't be that crew from the cat," retorted the languid voice of the one called Horrors. "There was no tender trailing her."
"Come on!" whispered Rex to his companion. "Let 'em stand there and argue about it."
The two friends went hurriedly on along the beach, taking care how they stepped. When they were far enough away so that the voices of the campers were merely murmurs in the fog and rain, the big fellow said admiringly:
"Cute trick, Rex. They still believe we are at sea."
"Whereas they are at sea," chuckled his friend.
"What are we going to do about them in the morning? Reckon they're a gang of toughs, eh?"
"Just about as tough as you and Red are," returned Rex. "They're only boys, same as ourselves."