Part 57 (2/2)
”Who's chopping logic now?”
”Oh, anybody. Steady, Grip, slow march.”
”Does he pull so hard?”
”Horribly; but I don't mind--it shows he knows his way.”
Grip barked and dragged at the improvised leash as if determined to hasten their pace.
”It's just like the greyhounds do over the coursing. But pull away, old chap! I say, though, isn't it hot now?”
”Yes, I'm bathed in perspiration. We must be very deep down.”
”Oh, no, it's just about on a level; sometimes we go down, and sometimes up.”
_Splash, splash, splash_, and then the dog's progress seemed to be checked, as the boys followed into a pool of water which filled all the tunnel to the sides.
”Stop!” cried Joe, as he waded to his knees.
”Why? What for?”
”Because we're going wrong.”
”So I thought; but Grip ought to know.”
”He can't, because we never came along here.”
”No; but that proves he's right, for we never came along here, and we always lost ourselves.”
”But it's getting deeper, and there's no knowing how deep it will be.”
”Never mind; we must wade.”
Joe went on, and the water was soon up to their waists, while the dog swam on.
”I'm sure Grip's going wrong,” said Joe, excitedly, as the light of the lanthorn gleamed from the surface of what was now a narrow ca.n.a.l.
”Get on. Grip knows.”
”He can't. It's impossible that he could have scented us over water.”
”Yes, so it is,” said Gwyn, anxiously; and he stopped, naturally checking the dog, who began to splash and to howl and bark angrily.
”Well, we must go on now. Perhaps it's the way he came.”
”Couldn't be, because he was not wet.”
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