"All right; and it belongs to me just now."
"Do you mean to rob me of my money?" demanded the vanquished chief, who did not seem to be capable yet of realizing his situation.
"Not exactly; but if you insist upon using that ugly word, I am only going to rob you of what you stole from my uncle," replied Dory, as he put the pocket-book into the inside of his vest.
Without another word, the desperate chief rushed upon Dory, and made an effort to upset him by lying down upon him, and kicking his shins. Of course he could not accomplish any thing, though he made his captor dance a jig in his attempts to escape the savage kicks of his prisoner. But he was soon tired of this fruitless labor, and he stood still again. It looked as though he had just begun to understand that Dory was in earnest, and that he had lost the battle. Both of them looked at each other, and then out upon the lake, which could be seen across the neck of land.
The La Motte had got up her anchor, and under a reefed foresail was standing towards the shore. When Angy saw her, he gave a yell that could be heard half a mile. His companions heard him, and immediately headed the schooner in the direction from which the cry had come. One of those on board gave an answering yell.
"It is useless to wait for her," said Dory, who would not have denied that he felt some anxiety.
"I think I shall wait for her," replied Angy.
"You will have to wait till the end of the year, then; for that schooner will be aground in less than five minutes if she keeps on that course."
One of the burglars was at the bow, sounding. The vessel was within the eighth of a mile of the shore. Suddenly she came about, and the anchor was let go. They had found they could come no nearer to the shore. Then they began to shout the name of Angy.
"I think we won't wait here any longer," said Dory, placing his hand on the collar of his prisoner.