“I can hear them,” continued Wilson, rising to his feet; “and they’re in trouble too. They’re running and shouting. There! did you hear that gun?”
Pierre listened again, and then walked a few steps up the beach to get a little farther away from the surf. A moment later he heard the sound of rapid footfalls, and turned quickly to see Wilson flying along the jetty toward the boat.
The Race for the Yacht.
“Stop!” he roared, springing forward in pursuit the instant he divined the boy’s intention. “You are not going aboard that yacht.”
“That depends upon whether I do or not,” shouted Wilson, in reply.
The race that followed was short but highly exciting. Wilson sped along as swiftly as a bird on the wing, scarcely seeming to touch the ground; while the clumsy Pierre puffed and blowed like a high pressure steamboat; and finding that he was encumbered by his heavy cloak, threw it aside, and even discarded his hat; but all to no purpose. Wilson made such good use of his time that he succeeded in reaching the boat and jumping into it, before his pursuer came up; but there his good fortune seemed to end. He could not cast off the painter. One end of it was passed around one of the thwarts, and the other made fast to a ring in the jetty, and both knots were jammed so that he could not undo them. He pulled, and tugged, and panted in vain. He felt for his knife to cut the rope, but could not find it. As a last resort he seized the thwart with both hands, and exerting all his strength, wrenched it loose from its fastenings, and threw it overboard, at the same time placing his shoulder against the jetty, and with a strong push, sending the boat from the shore. With a cry of triumph he seized the sheet which was flapping in the wind, passed it around a cleat with one hand and seized the tiller with the other. The boat began to gather headway, but just a moment too late. Pierre, all out of breath, and full of rage, now came up, and seeing that the boy was about to escape him, threw himself, without an instant’s hesitation, headlong into the water. He fell just astern of the boat, and although Wilson hauled hard on the sheet, and crowded her until she stood almost on her side, he could not make her go fast enough to get out of the man’s reach. He made a blind clutch as he arose to the surface, and fastened with a firm grip upon the rudder.
“Now, then!” exclaimed Pierre, fiercely, “I reckon you’ll stop, won’t you?”
Wilson was frightened, but he did not lose his presence of mind. Had he spent even a second in considering what ought to be done, his capture would have been certain, for the smuggler clung to the rudder with one hand, and stretched out the other to seize the stern of the boat.
“Pierre,” said the boy, “if you want that piece of wood, you may have it. I can get along without it.” And with a quick movement he unshipped the rudder, and the boat flew on, leaving it in the man’s grasp.