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What would Father think if he knew that they had taken money for rowing a person ashore? Oh, dear! That had been wrong then. Johnny Blossom sat doubled together, scowling fiercely, as was his habit when he was worried about anything. That miserable five cents—why had they taken it? “You bet it was! Both right and plucky. I’m proud of you—” Even the minister had stopped him and questioned and quizzed like the rest; and when he had finished, he hit Johnny Blossom on the back with his cane (not hard, you know) and said: “You surely are a little rascal, Johnny Blossom!”.

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Johnny Blossom sat as still as a stone for about two minutes; but then they drove past a great linden tree and he absolutely had to stand up to see how near the top of the tree he could reach with his fishpole. There was very little more chance for conversation, as they were rapidly approaching a low, adobe house surrounded by outbuildings which were evidently stables and laborers’ houses. When they galloped in they were hailed by a bunch of cowboys who were perched on the corral fence. Jerry answered them with a shout and waved his hand but continued to lead the way to the main building. On the porch two men were sitting in chairs tilted up against the wall. Jerry introduced Bob to them. In this situation he remained for a considerable time, ruminating on the means of escape, yet scarcely believing escape was possible. If he continued in the vault, he might continue there only to be butchered; but by attempting to rescue himself from the place he was now in, he must rush into the hands of the banditti. Judging it, therefore, the safer way of the two to remain where he was, he endeavoured to await his fate with fortitude, when suddenly the loud voices of the murderers burst upon his ear, and he heard steps advancing quickly towards the spot where he lay. Zing! A sharp report and a whistle through the air by his ear told him that Miguel had caught sight of him and hoped to stop him by means of a bullet. But Bob had to go on. Again came a shot, but this time farther from him. “Rotten shooting!” panted Bob for the wind to hear. Now he was almost at his goal. He saw that there was still a length of fuse to be burned before it got to the explosive but the smoke was moving rapidly towards him. Another bullet came. He would not have time to get to the end of the fuse before it exploded. Despairing, he was almost ready to give up..