A great wave of indignation swept over Steve Rush. He was so angry that, for the moment, he nearly forgot his prudence. His first inclination was to shout at the man over there sawing away so industriously. But the boy quickly realized the foolishness of doing any such thing. His purpose was to capture the man. There would be time enough to cry out after he had done that.
"Who could do such a thing?" Steve muttered, beginning to rise a little higher in the water as he took wide strokes, driving himself along at as great a speed as was possible.
Steve permitted himself to drift around the side of the abutment, so that he might climb up to it as far away from the man as possible. Otherwise the scoundrel might get the advantage of him. Steve's cunning was worthy of an Indian.
At last the boy's fingers grasped the edge of the abutment. He pulled himself up slowly, allowing the water to drip from him little by little as he rose from the river. Right beside him was a flat-bottomed punt moored to an iron pillar. It was in this that the man had gotten out.
Steve rose and listened; then, hearing no sound, he made his way over the cement and pieces of piping that littered the surface of the abutment.
He was bothered by hearing no sound. He wondered if the man had discovered his presence.
"I must be cautious," thought the boy. "I shall get myself into a fix, and perhaps have the whole structure down on me if I don't look sharp."
A sound to the right of him caused Steve to straighten up suddenly. He saw the figure of a man approaching him.
"Stand still. I've got you!" cried the boy.