“Quick, men, into the boat,” panted Jack, as they came together. “We are pursued. We must get out of range quickly.”
The men needed no further word. All ran for the boat at top speed, waded out into the water, and climbed aboard. Jack, shoving Hardy ahead of him, was the last over the side.
Quickly he stepped to the steering wheel, and a moment later there was a muffled chug-chug, and the little craft began to slip through the water.
There was a cry of “Halt!” from the shore; but this went unheeded.
Came a volley of rifle shots.
“Duck, men,” cried Jack, suiting the action to the word.
One man was a trifle too late, and his arm fell useless by his side.
“Hurt much?” queried Jack anxiously.
“Not much, sir,” came the reply; “arm’s broken, I guess. That’s all, sir.”
Another volley came from the shore, but by this time the little craft had put such distance between itself and the shore that accurate shooting was impossible.