Suddenly over the water toward him came a figure. It was Jack. As he leaped three shots resounded behind him. Tom could feel the bullets whistle by. But they hardly arrived quicker than Jack.
It was well for him that Tom was there, for Jack’s jump was short. He fell, clutching at the wet rock. The water seized his legs and tried to whip him off in its mad current. But Tom’s strong hands had grasped his brother’s wrists before his hold gave way, and in less time than it takes to tell it Jack was beside him on the rock.
“Thank goodness, you’re safe,” breathed the elder lad, as Jack, panting, wet, and trembling from his exertion, stood beside him.
There was no time to exchange more words. As Tom spoke, several bullets came whizzing about them. Two or three hit the rock with a dull “pinging” sound.
Evidently their refuge had been spied from the shore and a better target than they presented it would be hard to imagine. So far the darkness had apparently intervened in their favor. Tom knew it would not protect them for long. Presently the men on shore would get the range.
He dragged Jack down till both lay flat on the rock, and together they slowly made their way across it.
Was there another such rock within jumping distance?
If there were not, the Bungalow Boys were in the most dangerous position they had ever occupied in their adventurous lives.
CHAPTER XI.
A LEAP FOR LIFE AND FREEDOM.
Proceeding thus, with their hearts almost literally in their mouths and with nerves that throbbed painfully, the boys finally reached the side of the rock removed from the shore. To Tom’s huge delight, they found here, lighted dimly by a reflection from the white foam, a little ledge. By standing on this crouching as low as possible they would be safe enough from the bullets—that is, except one or more of the outlaws leaped to the rock. But this was extremely doubtful.