But at Combwich were no lights at all, and that was well.
Presently we reached a winding stretch of deep water, and though it was
far different when I saw it last, I knew it was the creek in which our
boats lay, and up which Dudda and I had fled, full now with the rising
tide.
We held on down its course until Dudda told me in a low voice that we
were but a bowshot from the boats, and that now it were well for the men
to lie down that they might be less easily noticed.
So the word was passed in a whisper down the line, and immediately it
seemed as if the force had vanished, as the white mist crept over where
they had stood.
Now Dudda and I went down to the boats and there found, not the two we
had left only, but a third and larger one beside them. And at first this
frightened us, and we stood looking at them, almost expecting armed men
to rise from the dark hollows of the boats and fall on us.
Then I would see if such were there, and stepped softly into the
nearest. It was empty, and so was the next, and these were our two.
Dudda came after me, and he hissed to me under his breath. The oars had
been muffled with sacking.
Now none but a friend would have done this, unless it was a most crafty
trap to take us withal; and yet to leave the boats as they were had been
surer than to meddle with them, if such was meant.
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