Out from the deeper shadow of the rock they drifted into the wider
stream below, Brennan gently controlling the unwieldy affair, and
keeping it as nearly as possible to the centre, by the noiseless
movement of a hand under water. The men scarcely ventured to breathe
and it seemed as though they were ages slowly sidling along, barely
able to perceive that they really moved. They must have gone a hundred
yards or more before there was any alarm. Then a voice spoke from the
bank to the right, followed almost instantly by the flash of a gun and
a sharp report. The flare lit up the stream, and the bullet thudded
into the log, without damage.
"What was it, Jack?" the voice unmistakably Lacy's. "Did you see
something?"
"Nothin' but a floatin' log," was the disgusted reply, "but I made a
bull's-eye."
"That's better than you did any time before to-day. Where is it? Oh,
yes, I see the blame thing now. You don't need ter be any quail-hunter
ter hit that. It's goin' 'bout a mile an hour. However, there is no
harm done; the shot will show those fellows that we are awake out here.
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