Buster found himself between the two horns of a dilemma; he wanted to get away from there, and at the same time hated to incur fresh perils. As generally happened with him, in the end he decided to put himself entirely in the hands of his three mates and let them settle the matter as they thought fit.
Which was possibly the best thing Buster could have done.
By the time another ten minutes had crept past Jack began to bestir himself.
“Is it time?” asked Buster dubiously.
“The firing seems to have stopped entirely,” he was told, “and if that’s the case, the sooner we’re out of here the better.”
Of course, there would be Serb sentries posted all along the river bank, unseen in the darkness, but ever vigilant to detect and report anything suspicious that might take place. On the other hand, some of the Austrians might have put out in boats stationed below on purpose, meaning to search for wounded men among the floating fragments of the pontoon bridge.
Once Jack put some of his strength into his work and they could feel the boat gliding away from the shoal water where they had been lying quietly for such a length of time.
Buster drew a long breath, and tried to pierce the gloom by which they were surrounded. If there was anything he hated it was that sense of impending evil, with not the slightest chance to ward it off. Still he got a grip on himself, and determined that if the others could stand it he must do the same.