The well-filled game-bags lay
between his feet.
The _balsa_ moved slowly towards the opposite shore and swiftly
down-stream, the stalwart Irish soldier's feet settling into the
loosely bound stems as he poled. Becoming alarmed when he found the
water standing above his ankles, he called, in a subdued undertone:
"Sargint Frank, I belave I shall go through the bottom of this l'aky
craft before we git across."
"Take Henry's paddle, Tom; it lies on the right side of the box. Lay
it across the reeds and stand on it."
"Ah, sure and that's betther. Kape yer ind a little more up-strame,
sargint. We'll steer by the avening star."
In a few minutes the _balsa_ lodged against the shore in the still
water of a little cove. The boys and soldier were aware that they were
landing some miles below their starting-point, for the current was
strong and swift, while the horse-thieves had forded the river almost
in a direct line. They climbed the bank, and ordering Vic to keep
close by them, began to move as fast as possible up the shore.
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