“I’ll save you, if I can,” he said, “and I shall expect you to keep your promises.”
“I will, lad,” declared Bogle. “I swear it. Quick, or you will be too late. I’m sinking deeper all the time.”
Brick took hold of the log, and rolled it slowly across the quagmire. Several times he sank to the knees. Finally he twisted the log around so that the farther end came in reach of Bogle’s hands.
The man grasped the log with a glad cry. He pulled and tugged for nearly five minutes, and gradually worked his body loose.
“Give me a lift, youngster,” he said, “and I will be all right.”
Brick walked half-way across the log, and extended the rifle.
Bogle grasped the weapon by the barrel. He came slowly up until his knees rested on the log. He was covered with filthy black mud from head to foot. With an effort he rose to his feet.
A strange gleam of triumph flashed across his crafty face. With one hand he snatched the rifle from Brick, and with the other he seized the lad by the collar.
“I’ve got you again,” he exclaimed. “That was cleverly done.”
Brick was at first too dazed by this unexpected treachery to offer any resistance. He permitted his captor to lead him across the log to firm ground.