The memory of Nan’s upstretched arm and fierce blow came clearly to Hal, and he opened his mouth to speak, but thought better of it, and they trudged on in silence.
The mud looked very black, cold, and sinister when they at last reached the shore; the tide was well out, and the sea seemed a full mile the other side of the soft greenish belt.
Joe dropped the Spaniard’s feet and stood staring in front of him for a moment; then he stooped down and lifted them again.
“It’s a bit farther up,” he said shortly, and they went on.
Presently he stopped again.
“Here we are,” he remarked, as he sat down on the shingle, and, taking off his back a pair of boards specially cut for the purpose, he proceeded to tie them on to his feet.
Hal did the like, and the two set out over the black, evil-smelling ooze.
The boards prevented them from sinking more than a few inches at each step, but it was not easy going, for the limp body of the Spaniard, although not heavy, was yet not light.
The two slipped often, sometimes almost falling.
After some fifteen minutes of this Joe paused.