Zip! A bullet whistled between them and spat viciously into the water. Crack! A puff of smoke from shore, and Dick’s paddle leaped out of his hands, punctured by a speeding pellet of destruction.
With a quick, convulsive movement of his arm, Dick retrieved his paddle and as he did so he caught a glimpse of three figures running along the shore.
“Make for the opposite side!” he screeched to Sandy. “We must get out of rifle range.”
“But Toma—” faltered Sandy.
“He’ll look after himself. Quick, Sandy!” His own paddle clove the water again just as a third bullet whistled above their heads.
In a few minutes more their danger perceptibly decreased. The fire from the two on shore was now going more wide of its mark. Soon it ceased altogether. They were close to the opposite shore now, still paddling desperately.
“Dick, I can’t stand this pace much longer,” Sandy gasped
“All right, ease up. We’ll run ashore for a minute or two.”
When Sandy had grunted his approval, Dick turned the bow of the canoe sharply and the light, graceful craft grated upon the white sand and came to a full stop.
“Good gracious, Dick,” Sandy gurgled, springing out, “that was a close call. I’m afraid they’re going to capture Toma.”