“Wonder what they’re trying to celebrate?” growled Buckhart. “Can’t they see us?”
“Starboard, pull—pull hard!” cried Dick.
But Brad misunderstood and pulled hard with his port oar, which offset the efforts of Merriwell.
With a rushing swish, the tiny steam launch puffed down upon them.
“Look out!” roared the Texan. “Keep off! You’ll run us down!”
Apparently the pilot of the launch did not hear this cry, for an instant later, with a cutting crash, the sharp prow of the craft struck the rowboat.
The Texan had dropped his oars and risen to his feet. With an electrified spring, he seized the gunwale of the launch and held fast as the rowboat melted beneath his feet.
Twice the Texan shouted for help. His feet and ankles were caught by a rushing current of water and this brought a strain upon his hands which threatened to break his grip.
It seemed that at last his cries were heard, for some one looked over the gunwale and discovered him clinging there. Looking upward, the Texan found himself gazing straight into the evil, malicious eyes of Mike Lynch.