“Pull, Patsy! Pull for your life!” shouted Nick, as Patsy got the pair of oars well in hand.
“Sure I’ll pull!” was the hearty response. “I can tumble without a house falling on me!”
Nick Carter could not aid his willing assistant at that instant. There was only one pair of oars in the skiff, and Patsy had them.
“Hello! Those walls are going to fall out!”
Instinctively, Nick tried to shield Chick, lying in the bottom of the boat, by bending over him, as part of the blazing ruins broke down again.
A flying board, all blue flames and scattering sparks, came charging full tilt at the boat.
It struck Nick Carter’s arm, and fell, seething, into the water. If it had come straight in its original course, it must have plunged into the unprotected, upturned face of Chick.
“That was a close call,” observed Patsy, as he ran the skiff up against the other one, where Marcos was keeping close watch on the prisoners. “What shall I do now?”
“Get in and row the gang to shore. I’ll take Chick in this skiff. He is beginning to come around,” returned Nick.
“Sure!” almost screamed Patsy, in an excess of delight.