“Yah! you couldn’t pull both,” cried Bob. “There, I’m going to try a hundred more strokes, and then I shall swim ashore. I ain’t going to let him catch me.”
“Pull, then, a hundred more,” cried Dexter excitedly. “Oh, do make it two, Bob! He’ll be tired out by then.”
“I’m a-going to pull a hundred,” grumbled Bob, “and then give it up. Now then!”
The sculls splashed the water almost together, and for a few strokes the boys pulled vigorously and well; but it was like the last bright flashes of an expiring candle, and long before the half-hundred was reached the dippings of the blades grew slower and slower. Then they became irregular, while, to add to the horror of the position, the man in pursuit seemed to have been keeping a reserve of strength ready for such an emergency, and he now came on rapidly.
Bob would have proposed putting ashore once more, but, in avoiding the various crafts, they had now contrived to be about midstream, and in his horror and dread of the coming enemy all thought of scheming seemed to have been driven out of his head.
He uttered a despairing yell, and began to tug at his oar once more; Dexter followed his example, and the distance again increased.
But only for a few minutes, then they seemed to be growing weaker, their arms became like lead; their eyes grew dim, and the end was very near.
“Ah, I’ve got yer at last, have I?” shouted the man, who was not forty yards away now.
“Not yet,” muttered Dexter. “Pull, Bob, pull!”
Bob responded by going through the motion of rowing, but his scull did not dip into the water, and, meeting with no resistance, he went backwards off the seat, with his heels in the air.