King was anxious to avoid the hullaballoo that shooting was sure to create on shore. Action had been forced upon him rather precipitously, but he was ready. Leaning forward, he had the two amazed oarsmen covered with the weapon.
"Hands up! Quick!" he cried. Two pairs of hands went up, together with strange oaths. Truxton's eyes had grown used to the darkness; he could see the men quite plainly. "What are you doing?" he demanded of Loraine, who, behind him, was fumbling in the garments of the unconscious Brutus.
"Getting his revolver," she replied, with a quaver in her voice.
"Good!" he said exultantly. "Let's think a minute," he went on. "We don't dare turn these fellows loose, even if we disarm them. They'll have a crowd after us in two minutes." Still, keeping the men covered, he cudgelled his brain for the means of disposing of them. "I have it. We must disarm them, tie them up and set 'em adrift. Do you mind getting out into the water? It's ankle deep, that's all. I'll keep them covered while you take their guns."
"Nice way to treat a friend," growled one of the men.
"A friend? By George, it's my Newport acquaintance. Well, this is a pleasure! I suppose you know that I'll shoot if you resist. Better take it quietly."
"Oh, you'll shoot, all right," said the other. "I told them damn fools that a Yankee'd get the better of 'em, even if they ran a steam roller over him two or three times. Say, you're a pippin! I'd like to take off my hat to you."
"Don't bother. I acknowledge the tribute."
Loraine Tullis was in the water by this time. With nervous haste she obeyed King's instructions; the big revolvers were passed back to him.
"I've changed my mind," said Truxton' suddenly. "We'll keep the boat. Get in, Miss Tullis. There! Now, push off, Newport."
"What the devil--" began Newport, but King silenced him. The boat slowly drifted out into the current.
"Now, row!" he commanded. With his free hand he reached back and dragged the limp Brutus into the boat. "'Gad, I believe he's dead," he muttered.
For five minutes the surly oarsmen pulled away, headed in the direction from which they came.
"Can you swim?" demanded King.
"Not a stroke," gasped Newport. "Good Lord, pal, you're not going to dump us overboard. It's ten feet deep along here."
"Pull on your left, hard. That's right. I'm going to land you on the opposite shore-and then bid you a cheerful good-night."
Two minutes later they ran up under the western bank of the stream, which at this point was fully three hundred yards wide. The nearest bridge was a mile and a half away and habitations were scarce, as he well knew. Under cover of the deadly revolver, the two men dropped into the water, which was above their waists; the limp form of Peter Brutus was pulled out and transferred to the shoulders of his companions.