The launch, in its position facing the left bank of the weed and grass-choked channel, made a difficulty of the forward swing, going too close to the grass. Its propeller caught in the grass or mud.
Instantly Don cut the ignition to avoid losing his propeller.
Garry fled to the stern, bent far, reached down, began disentangling the snagged part.
“Get him!” screeched Garry, to Chick as the light showed him on the bank of a portion of the more solid swamp land at the edge of which the channel ended, far across the sheet of clear water.
From the helicopter there seemed to come a surprised cry, and the sounds of an altercation. There was a splash—but the helicopter went upward!
Don, as the propeller was cleared and Garry shouted that news, did not try to pick up forward speed again. Instead he gave the motor its current with gears in reverse, and backed down toward his own Dart.
“What are you doing that for?”
“Going to the Dart.”
“But the engine is dead.”
“It’s still warm,” Don retorted. “I’m going to bring down that Demon.”