“Don’t I know it?” was Patsy’s quick rejoinder. “I’m only afraid my bullet may bounce off his face and fly into bits all over this part of the meadows.”
Nothing more was said now. Larry Dugan had been piling up sacks of loot in the boat, and Nick Carter doubted not that his pockets were full of jewelry and small articles of value generally.
In the doorway stood Solado and Miguel, and Nick noticed that a small boat, of the same general type as his own and the gangster’s, was moored at the other side of the door.
“That boat wasn’t there before,” observed Patsy, in a whisper.
“They had it inside,” returned Nick. “Didn’t want to call attention to their presence.”
“They’re a smooth bunch! Shall we make the rush now?”
“Yes. Be sure to cover your man. That will be Foxey. I’ll get Dugan.”
“Pet Carlin is the most dangerous!” Patsy reminded him.
“I depend on Marcos getting him,” was all Nick said to this.
Like a flash, they shot their boat suddenly out of the tangle of reeds, and so skillfully did Nick Carter guide the craft, that it ran alongside the other as evenly as if there had been the utmost deliberation.