y with you that's not fit for
wounds or warfare, I did risk my two poor ears to have you over whole.
Content you; I can no more, on my salvation!"

Hugh was still speaking, lying on his oars, when there came a great shout
from among the willows on the island, and sounds followed as of a strong
man breasting roughly through the wood.

"A murrain!" cried Hugh. "He was on the upper island all the while!" He
pulled straight for shore. "Threat me with your bow, good Dick; threat
me with it plain," he added. "I have tried to save your skins, save you
mine!"

The boat ran into a tough thicket of willows with a crash. Matcham,
pale, but steady and alert, at a sign from Dick, ran along the thwarts
and leaped ashore; Dick, taking the horse by the bridle, sought to
follow, but what with the animal's bulk, and what with the closeness of
the thicket, both stuck fast. The horse neighed and trampled; and the
boat, which was swinging in an eddy, came on and off and pitched with
violence.

"It may not be, Hugh; here is no landing," cried Dick; but he still
struggled valiantly with the obstinate thicket and the startled animal.

A tall man appeared upon the shore of the island, a long-bow in his hand.
Dick saw him for an instant, with the corner of his eye, bending the bow
with a great effort, his face crimson with hurry.

"Who goes?" he shouted. "Hugh, who goes?"

"'Tis Master Shelton, John," replied the ferryman.

"Stand, Dick Shelton!" bawled the man upon the island. "Ye shall have no
hurt, upon the rood! Stand! Back out, Hugh Ferryman."

Dick cried a taunting answer.

"Nay, then, ye shall go afoot," returned the man; and he let drive an
arrow.

The horse, struck by the shaft, lashed out in agony and terror; the boat
capsized, and the next moment all were struggling in the eddies of the
river.

When Dick came up, he was within a yard of the bank; and before his eyes
were clear, his hand had closed on something firm and strong that
instantly began to drag him forward. It was the riding-rod, that
Matcham, crawling forth upon an overhanging willow, had opportunely
thrust into his grasp.

"By the mass!" cried Dick, as he was helped ashore, "that makes a life I
owe you. I swim like a cannon-ball." And he turned instantly towards
the island.

Midway over, Hugh Ferryman was swimming with his upturned boat, while
John-a-Fenne, furious at the ill-fortune of his shot, bawled to him to
hurry.

"Come, Jack," said