"Stop, or I'll shoot!" cried the leader of the authorities.
Tom heard the shout, and, not having spared time to look behind him, attributed the cry, naturally enough, to Walstein or Dampier. Naturally, also, it caused him to dash on faster than ever.
Bang!
The noise of a shot came behind him. The policeman's bullet grazed Dampier's ear, but it didn't stop him.
Right ahead was a lumber yard. Big stacks of timber were piled all about. Tom felt that if he could once gain it, he could find comparative safety from pursuit among its intricacies.
Dampier and Walstein, behind him, had the same feeling. Moreover, they knew the water front of Rockport well, and realized that it was a step from the lumber yard to where their swift tug lay, freshly coaled, and, if their orders had been followed, with steam up.
Tom gained the lumber yard, and darted like an arrow in among the piles of resinous smelling timber. In and out, he dodged, while the cries behind him grew fainter.
"Thank goodness, I seem to have them thrown off my track," he exclaimed, as he stopped to breathe.
After he had recovered a bit, he began to walk forward through the lumber yard. A few turns brought him to a wharf. As he saw the craft that lay moored there, Tom gave a gasp of astonishment, and then a cry of joy.
It was the dear old Sea Ranger!