Elias stopped and meditated. The shore of the lake was very far off, and they would soon be in the range of the rifles on the falúa. He thought of returning to the Pasig. His banca was swifter than the falúa. But fate was against him! Another boat was coming up the Pasig, and they could see the helmets and shining bayonets of the Civil Guards.
“We are caught!” he murmured, turning pale.
He looked at his robust arms and taking the only course which remained to him, he began to row with all his strength toward the Island of Talim. In the meantime, the sun had risen.
The banca glided along rapidly. Elias saw some men standing up on the falúa, making signals to him.
“Do you know how to manage a banca?” he asked Ibarra.
“Yes; why?”
“Because we are lost if I do not leap into the water and make them lose the trail. They will follow me. I swim and dive well.... I will take them away from you, and then you can save yourself.”
“No; you remain and we will sell our lives dearly.”
“Useless! We have no arms, and with those rifles they will kill us like birds.”
At that moment a chiss was heard in the water like the fall of a hot body, and was followed immediately by a report.