“I saw you start,” said the girl casually. “Come on—let's get away.”
Connor stared at her; then turned back to his work. The boat struck the water and drifted rapidly away down-stream. Connor, roaring angrily at the Kid, got out an oar.
“What are you doing?” asked Miss Carmichael very quietly.
“Going ashore?” said Connor.
“Oh, come, Tex!” said she. “Use your head.”
He looked sharply, inquiringly, doubtingly at her.
“You two better row straight down-stream as hard as you can,” she added. “You can bet Tom Sung and that gang aren't going to show themselves at Kiu Kiang. They've stopped somewhere below here.”
The Kid, who was nursing his hand, looked up; wrinkled his low forehead that was hatless, and then softly whistled. Connor made no remark, but continued studying the girl with his one eye. Finally, with an effort at reasserting his authority, he growled:
“Take an oar, Jim!”
“But my hands! My God, that rope took all the—”