Part 71 (1/2)
He was a big black-whiskered man in a velveteen jacket, evidently a gamekeeper, and he spoke to his companion as if he were a dog.
This man hesitated for a moment or two.
”Go on! Fetch 'em back,” cried the keeper.
”But it's so wet.”
”Wet? Well, do you want me to go? In with you.”
The underkeeper jumped off the bank at once into the water, which was about up to his knees; but by this time Bob was working the boat along more quickly, and before the underkeeper had waded out many yards Bob had seated himself, put out the second scull, and, helped by the stream, was able to laugh defiance at his would-be captors.
”Here, I ain't going any further,” grumbled the underkeeper. ”It will be deep water directly,” and he stopped with the current rippling just about his thigh.
”Are you coming back!” cried the keeper, looking round about him and pretending to pick up a big stone.
”No! Come arter us if you want us,” cried Bob, while Dexter crouched down watching the man's hand, ready to dodge the missile he expected to see launched at them.
”If you don't come back I'll--”
The man did not finish his speech, but threw himself back as if about to hurl the stone.
”Yah!” cried Bob. ”Y'ain't got no stone.”
”No, but I've got a boat up yonder.”
”Go and fetch it, then,” cried Bob derisively.
”You young scoundrels! Landing here and destroying our plantations.
I'll send the police after you, and have you before the magistrates, you poaching young vagabonds!”
”So are you!” cried Bob.
”Hush, don't!” whispered Dexter.
”Who cares for them?” cried Bob. ”We weren't doing no harm.”
”Here, come out, Digges, and you run across and send the men with a boat that way. I'll go and get ours. We'll soon have 'em!”
The man slowly waded out while the keeper trampled on the fire, stamping all over it, to extinguish the last spark, so that it should not spread, and then they separated, going in different directions.
”Row, Bob; row hard,” cried Dexter, who was in agony.
”Well, I am a-rowing, ain't I? We warn't doing no harm.”
”Let me have an oar.”
”Ketch hold, then,” cried Bob; and as soon as Dexter was seated they began to row as if for their lives, watching in turn the side of the river and the reach they were leaving behind in expectation of seeing the pursuers and the party who were to cut them off.
Dexter's horror increased. He pictured himself seized and taken before a magistrate, charged with damaging, burning, and trespa.s.sing. The perspiration began to stand out in beads upon each side of his nose, his hair grew wet, and his cap stuck to his forehead as he toiled away at his oar, trying hard to obey the injunctions of his companion to pull steady--to keep time--not to dip his scull so deep, and the like.