“No, I’m all right,” was the reply. “Did they hear?”
“Yes, they’re coming!” And Nelson slipped into the water, followed by Tom, and struck out vigorously.
“Swim like the dickens!” counseled Dan. “Make for the shore!”
Back of them a lantern was swaying down the path and a voice cried:
“Who’s that? What’s the matter?”
But the boys offered no explanations. They were very busy at that moment. There was no thought now of quietness; their one endeavor was to get to shore as soon as possible. Once Nelson turned to look. The light of the lantern showed two or possibly three forms on the pier, and from the way the lantern was lowered and carried back and forth he knew that they had seen the wet footprints and, perhaps, had discovered the loss of the pole.
“Some of your boys on a lark, I fancy,” said a voice. “I’m certain I heard them swimming away as I came down. No, I won’t go along, thanks.”
When Nelson glanced back again the lantern was moving about the float. After that he attended strictly to business. Tom and Dan were well in the lead and he swam his hardest to overtake them. Hand over hand he went, splash, splash, his eyes full of water, and his breath coming harder and harder. Then a new sound came to him, the steady churn of the Chicora’s propeller. Desperation lent new strength and in a dozen strokes he was even with Dan; Tom still led by a couple of lengths.
“They’re after us in the launch,” gasped Dan. “When we get—near shore—spread out—and take—to the woods. They won’t see—the canoe.”
“All right,” answered Nelson.