Excerpt: ...sodden; he could not row; and the pursuers were coming up hand over hand. Yet his eyes danced, as he gasped, "This is life." The boy was looking behind him. He could not see the pursuing boat, but he could hear the sizzle of foam under her keel as she slipped through the water, and the rhythmical sweep of oars. There was a terrible beauty about it-this swooping of Death on them out of the fog. He could hear the wings he could not see. She was close now, the Angel of the Swarthy Pinions. On the thwart lay a ...
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Excerpt: ...sodden; he could not row; and the pursuers were coming up hand over hand. Yet his eyes danced, as he gasped, "This is life." The boy was looking behind him. He could not see the pursuing boat, but he could hear the sizzle of foam under her keel as she slipped through the water, and the rhythmical sweep of oars. There was a terrible beauty about it-this swooping of Death on them out of the fog. He could hear the wings he could not see. She was close now, the Angel of the Swarthy Pinions. On the thwart lay a pistol. He snatched it. "Good boy!" panted the Gentleman. Kit glanced forward. He could see the loom of the land. "There's the shore, sir!" he cried. "And here are they!" gasped the other. "Pretty thing, by Jove!" A boat's bows shot up behind them. A figure was standing in the stern. "Les voila!" screamed a voice. The Gentleman threw up his oars. "French!" Kit clapped the pistol to his head. "Row!" he screamed. "Row!" The other tumbled back into his oars. Up sprang his foot. The pistol was kicked out of the boy's hand, and the Gentleman was on him. "O, you are a villain, Little Chap!" chuckled a voice in the lad's ear. For a moment they hugged, the boat rocking beneath them. "Can you swim?" came the voice at his ear. "Yes," gurgled the lad, and as he felt the boat going sucked in a breath. "Then shift for yourself. I can't." As the waters closed about them the arms of the Gentleman loosed their hold. CHAPTER XLIII A BLACK BORDERER TO THE RESCUE I A boy was wading shoreward dizzily. As he surged through the water, his body made long rippling waves. He watched them with dull fascination, pointing. Then he began to whimper peevishly. He was tired, he was cold. The shore waved up and down before his eyes. He knew he couldn't do it. From behind him a yell penetrated his dying mind. It stopped him dead. He was a little child, nightmare-bound. Waving to and fro, the water to his knees, he stretched both arms shoreward. "Mother!" he wailed. A shout...
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