The cry, sharp with forlorn hope, rang like an appeal.
"Why--look," stammered Heywood.

"He sees us--heading here.

Look, it's--Quick! let me out!" Just as he turned to elbow through his companions, and just as the cry sounded again, the matchlock blazed from the bow.

No bullet skipped.

The swimmer, who had reached the shallows, suddenly rose with an incredible heave, like a leaping salmon, flung one bent arm up and back in the gesture of the Laocooen, and pitched forward with a turbid splash.