“One is hiding in the tree below, waiting for you to come out. Very soon this one will be joined by the man who went to see my father. Three others have gone down to the coast to intercept you, should you escape.”
“Did I understand you to say that your home is not very far from here?”
“Yes, monsieur. Less than two miles.”
Two miles! Dick’s mouth set in a grim, hard line. All day long he had been scrambling, struggling, fighting his way through trees and underbrush, over tortuous rocks—and yet had proceeded no farther than that. The thought galled him, made him feel a little foolish.
The girl spoke again. In her excitement, she spoke so rapidly now that he found it almost impossible to understand her. However, there was one word she emphasized, frequently reiterated. The boat! She would lead him thither. Monsieur would row the boat. She knew exactly where to find it. His escape would be certain. They must hurry before the other outlaw came back.
“She intends to accompany me all the way to the coast,” thought Dick, a flush of embarrassment suffusing his cheeks.
He attempted to voice a protest, exhausting his complete stock of words in an endeavor to make her understand. But to no avail. She repeated the word, pointing away to the south.
“The boat is three miles from here. I will take you there,” she explained to him.
The fugitive scratched his head in perplexity. What did she mean? A boat three miles away. Why, there wasn’t even water over there. The ocean lay to the west—ten or twelve miles distant. The thing was absurd, preposterous!
Then, suddenly, there came to him a glimmering of the truth. He thought he knew now. She referred, no doubt, to some sort of navigable stream, along the shore of which was moored a boat, belonging to her father.