Allan sprang back to the oar and called to McConnell to make the lines fast and get at the other oar. The man had climbed into the skiff and Allan saw him crouching in the bow paddling furiously with his hands—a means of propulsion which evidently he had practised in effecting his escape. His face now wore a frightful expression.
The sight of the fury in the man’s eyes gave energy to the paddle stroke which Allan applied to his oar. They drew away three yards, four yards, five yards, from the skiff. McConnell’s oar now joined on the port side of the Arabella; but the man paddled with a dreadful steadiness, fixing his upturned eyes upon them and cursing in his husky voice.
Then McConnell’s foot slipped, he stumbled in the boat, and his oar went overboard. Allan made a quick reach with his own oar but could not catch the drifting blade, without turning the boat. In a few moments the convict would have the lost oar.
Again Allan sprang to the sail. “All the way up, McConnell!” he cried, and they tugged at the lines, the blood in their faces. Twice the throat of the gaff hitched; but at last the sail rose full and free, and flapped in the faint wind.
“Hold her this way!” exclaimed Allan to McConnell, and loosened the sheet.
The man had the oar. They would have known this without looking, for they could hear frantic splashing in the water. Allan added desperate strokes of his own oar to the pull of the sail. If the wind died, they were lost. The man in the skiff would have an immense advantage the moment the sail ceased to draw. Allan fancied that the convict was calculating on this chance.
Partly because of the oar, and partly because the fog left them no guide as to direction, the Arabella crossed the wind and the boom swung to the other side, tangling the sheet in the tiller and throwing Allan across McConnell’s knees. While they struggled with the lines they lost much of their headway, and they could hear a husky yell from the man as he gained upon them. But the accident told good news. It told of a puff of wind, and when the sail had filled on the other side with the wind astern, the Arabella very soon led very rapidly in the race.
“We are getting away!” cried McConnell. They were the first words he had said.
The skiff and the convict grew dim in the fog.
“We have beat him!” ejaculated Allan. “He’s welcome to the oar; I don’t want to see him caught. But I didn’t want him to take the Arabella—and everything.”