“So that there’s your game, is it?” yelled the squatter. “Wal, it suits us, I reckon. Never mind the boat, Jakey. She’s fast anchored, and will stay there till we want her. Take after the ’ristocrat whose dad won’t let honest folks live onto his land less’n they’ve got a pocketful of money to pay him fur it. Jest let me get a good whack at him with my paddle an’ he’ll stop, I bet you. Hold on, there, ’cause it’ll be wuss fur you if you don’t.”
In obedience to Matt’s instructions the scow was turned toward the swimmer; but although Jake and Sam exerted themselves to the utmost, they could not cut him off from the shore. Joe made astonishing headway. There were but few boys, or men either, in Mount Airy who could swim as fast as he could, and he afterward said that he never made better time than he did when he was trying to get away from Matt and his boys. He was afraid of the lily-pads which lined the banks of the creek on both sides, so he swam down the stream until he was clear of them before he attempted to make a landing; but Matt, believing that he could do better on shore, dropped his own paddle into the water, turned into the lilies and tried to force the scow through them. That was a lucky thing for Joe Wayring. The strong stems of the lilies were entwined about one another in all sorts of ways, and the squatter stuck fast in them before he had made half a dozen strokes.
“Back out! Back out!” shouted Matt, who was quickly made aware that he had committed a blunder. “Be in a hurry, or he’ll get sich a start on us that we can’t never ketch him. Hold up, there!” he went on, jumping to his feet and swinging his paddle around his head as if he were on the point of launching it at the object of his wrath. “Come back, or it’ll be wuss fur you. You hear me, I reckon.”
In the meantime Joe made good his landing, and looked over his shoulder to see the heavy paddle coming toward him, end over end. It struck the ground near him, and was immediately sent back where it came from with all the force that the boy’s sinewy arm could give it. Flying wide of the mark for which it was intended, the broad blade hit Jake fairly in the face, giving him such a splitting headache that he could not take part in the pursuit that followed. This was another lucky thing for Joe. Jake was the best runner in the squatter’s family, and although there is not the slightest doubt that he would have been soundly thrashed if he had succeeded in overtaking Joe, he might have been able to detain him until his father and brother could come to his assistance, and then Joe would have had more on his hands than he could attend to.
Joe in an awkward fix.
“That’s another thing we’ve got to pay you fur when we get our hands on you,” yelled Matt, who was almost beside himself. “Work lively in backin’ out, or he’ll have a mile the start of us before we tech the shore.”
Jake, who had dropped his paddle and sat holding his chin in his hands, paid no attention to the order; but Matt and Sam worked to such good purpose that they finally succeeded in backing the scow out of the lilies into clear water. When they reached the bank, Joe Wayring was out of sight; but they knew which way he had gone, and at once set out in pursuit; while Jake stayed in the scow and howled dismally.
Joe ran like a deer, and made surprising progress in spite of the logs and bushes that obstructed his way. He was very quiet in his movements, but Matt and his boy made so much noise that it was an easy matter to keep track of them and tell just how far they were behind. At last the squatter, seeing that he was not going to capture my master by following him on foot, thought it best to change his tactics.
“Sam,” he shouted, in stentorian tones, “go back to the creek, and you an’ Jakey take the canoe an’ paddle down the pond so’s to cut him off when he tries to swim off to the skiff. You understand what I say to you, I reckon.”