The four young hunters were used to rowing together, so they made rapid progress when once they had caught the stroke. Simon Lundy sat in the stern of the craft, gazing anxiously ahead.
"The wuss o' it is he's got sech a tarnal good start of us," remarked the farmer. "He must be a mile away by this time."
"Never mind, we'll catch him before long, if he sticks to the river," said Snap, confidently.
"Wisht I had brung a gun along."
"Yes, that would have been a good thing," was Shep's comment. "And that reminds me," he added to his chums, "all of our weapons were left in the rowboat."
"Yes; and the nigger is well supplied with guns and pistols," came from Whopper. "Maybe he will try to shoot us full of a million holes when he spots us."
"Oh, deary me! Don't say thet!" groaned Simon Lundy. "I—-I don't want to be shot at, not me!"
"He won't dare to shoot!" said Giant. "We can pretend that we are all armed, you know."
On and on sped the rowboat, making excellent progress on the smooth-flowing river. About a mile was covered, and they swept around first one bend and then another.
"I see a boat ahead!" roared the farmer. "She's gone now," he added, as the craft shot behind some bushes, at a point along the river.