"They'll never get him," returned the other solemnly.

"An' why do you think that, man? Sure, an' they're searchin' the shore
both ways, an' Carter has got his fellers ridin' the outposts. To my mind
he hasn't the chance of a rat in a trap, the poor devil."

Bill blew a cloud of smoke into the air, which a puff of wind swept down
into my face.

"Because it's my notion he swum for it. I was closest down the bank, an'
somethin' hit the water. I'm dead sure o' that, though I didn't see the
first thing. It's my guess the lad dived, an' never come up agin 'till he
was out there in them shadows."

"But them's the Jerseys over yonder; if he was a spy he'd be headin' the
other way."

"It's little he'd think of the way with the gang of us yelpin' at his
heels. Besides, there's plenty of his kind over in those Jerseys who'd
take good care of the likes of him. Was ye ever foragin' over there,
lad?"

The other grunted, and the speaker went on steadily.

"They take pot shots at ye from every bit o' woods, or stone wall. They're
sure devils for that kind o' skirmishin' work. God pity the men ordered
out into them parts."

"But there's a guard, stationed across yonder."