The sound of the advancing tide steadily grew louder, and a breeze was getting up. As the three men came panting out of a belt of mist a streak of water glimmered among the sands, and beyond it a black hillside rose from the dusky beach. The fugitives were plainer now, and it looked as if they could not escape; but the men held on steadily, and Andrew wondered what depth there was in the gutter. Glancing to one side, he thought he saw something moving along the edge of the channel; but he could not be sure because there was mist about the spot, and he could not stop to get a better view, for he was determined to follow Williamson.
A few minutes later he saw the men in front stop at the edge of the water, and he wondered why they did so. The channel was rapidly widening and they must cross at once or surrender. Instead, they ran along the bank for some distance and stopped again; and Andrew now saw that a white boat was moving along the opposite side. Changing his course, he ran on, panting hard, and saw that the men in front were waiting. A moment later one plunged into the channel while his comrade stood still.
As Andrew got nearer, there were two or three quick, bright flashes, and he heard a bullet pass his head and saw the sand spurt up at Whitney's feet. The fellow meant to stop them while his partner got a start; or perhaps he imagined that the water was too deep to cross.
Whitney stopped. A puff of smoke blew about him and there was a heavy report. The man on the bank staggered, fired his pistol again, and splashed awkwardly into the water. A moment later Andrew plunged in. He was close to the fellow now, but he had dropped his gun, because he did not mean to shoot. The man turned and raised his pistol, but his arm fell back, and Andrew sprang upon him.
They went down, and the stream boiled about them, but Andrew held on, and a minute later Whitney was at his side. They dragged their prisoner out.
"My arm!" he said breathlessly. "There is also some shot in my leg."
"Where's your pistol?" Andrew asked.
"In the sea."
"Well," said Whitney as the fisherman joined them, "I wish I knew what we ought to do with him. We can't stay here."
This was obvious; for the tide was already flowing past their feet. As they stood a moment, puzzling, they heard a hail and saw the white boat pulling slowly toward them against the stream. She struck the sand and a man in uniform jumped out.