“Lay down in the water,” Harry ordered.
Sully stared at him through the round glass eyes.
“Lay down!” He thumped the man's back and Sully fell on his stomach in the water, the muddy surface almost covering him. Harry planted a heavy foot in the middle of his back and pushed him under, holding him there for long minutes.
Gary waited impatiently to one side, alternately watching the man struggling in the water and the riverbank behind them. They were in an exposed and precarious position, easy prey to anyone who might sneak up on them, and the leader lacked the wits to post a guard. The third and remaining member of the gang stood uselessly a few yards away, watching Sully flailing his arms and legs in the stream.
Harry reached down and took hold of one of Sully's arms, yanking him up. Quickly he pulled the mask aside and examined the interior, as well as the man's red face.
“Are you all right?” he inquired of Sully.
Sully cringed, thoroughly wet and thoroughly miserable. “I can't swim, I tell you, I can't swim. You was trying to drown me!”
Harry balled a fist on his face. “Shut your damned mouth! I wasn't trying to drown you, you dumbbell — you didn't get your face wet, did you?”
Sully put dripping hands to his face in surprise. “I… no.”
“All right. And you was breathing all the time, wasn't you?”