On the cliff above the falls stood the persons whose shouts had attracted Mark’s attention. There were half a dozen of them—boys about his own age—and they were the redoubtable Swamp Dragoons who have already been mentioned in this story, and who are destined from this time forth to play a prominent part in it.
One of them held a long rope in his hand, with which he had been trying to rescue the man in the tree. They were all in a high state of excitement and alarm, which seemed to be greatly increased by Mark’s sudden appearance among them.
As soon as he came in sight, one of the Dragoons, who, like a good many others in the settlement, had not yet learned to tell Mark and me apart, called out:
“Now, then, what do you want here, Joe Coleman? Jest turn right around and go back up the bayou. You’ve got no sort of business here.”
“Yes,” shouted the man in the tree, shaking his fist at Mark, “go back whar you come from. What are you spyin’ about here fur?”
At first Mark did not know what to make of this greeting. Why should the man in the tree accuse him of acting as a spy upon his movements, and what reason had the Dragoons for ordering him away when he had as much right there as they had? There could be but one answer to these questions, and that was that there was something in the vicinity which they did not want him to see.
“Do you hear what I say!” shouted the man in the tree. “Get away—go back whar you come from. We don’t want you about here.”
“Get away yourself,” replied Mark. “Haven’t you sense enough to know that I couldn’t go back if I wanted to? There isn’t a man living who can paddle a canoe against this current.”
These words had scarcely left Mark’s lips before he became aware that he had got himself into trouble. While his attention was drawn to the man in the tree, his canoe had escaped from his control, and was now shooting with the speed of an arrow toward the cavern. It was not more than twenty feet distant, and if he once entered it no power on earth could save him.
When he saw and fully realized his danger, his face grew deathly pale, and for an instant the light paddle in his hand felt as heavy as lead. But it was only for an instant. His power of action returned almost as quickly as it had deserted him, and, jumping to his feet, he fought hard for his life.