The thump of hoofs on the boards, and the snorting of the horses, drowned the footfalls of Bascomb and Bernritter, but the scout could see their legs plainly under the horses’ bodies.
“Stop, Giles!” shouted the scout.
“Kain’t stop!” answered Giles, in a flutter. “If we stand still the boards’ll sink under us. We got ter keep movin’. The hosses weighs more’n what a man does.”
“I don’t like to see Bascomb and Bernritter coming across with you,” shouted the scout. “Stand still, for I’m going to shoot.”
Giles gave vent to a terrified yell, but he halted. The scout fired, and his bullet, passing under the body of one of the horses, seared Bascomb’s leg.
Bascomb yelled and leaped back toward the shore of the island. Bernritter followed him.
“Come on, Giles!” ordered the scout, “and come quick. Bascomb,” he added, addressing the black shore of the island, “if you or Bernritter do any more shooting, or make any more trouble, it will go all the harder with you. You’re as good as captured, and you ought to know it.”
A defiant shout was returned from the island; but neither Bascomb nor Bernritter indulged in any more shooting.
“Leave the horses at the edge of the quicksands, Giles,” commanded the scout, “and then go back to the island.”