"Stop that!" called Matt sternly, pointing the aëroplane higher and turning again when over the eastern bank.
Whatever he did, he realized that he must not expose the motor and propeller to a stray bullet.
But no more shots were fired.
Matt wondered at this until he had faced the machine about and was able to observe what was going on below.
The man in the skiff had lost an oar. In releasing his hand to use the revolver, the oar had slipped from the rowlock into the water.
A frantic effort was being made by the man to recover the oar; and so wild and inconsidered was the attempt that the skiff went over, throwing its occupant into the river.
"Help!" came the cry, as the man, thrashing and floundering, bobbed to the surface of the river between the overturned boat and the oar.
It was evident, at a glance, that he could not swim, or that he could swim so little the mere weight of his clothes was enough to drag him under.
"Keep your nerve!" cried Matt encouragingly. "I'll help you in a minute."
The Comet was well to the westward of the man. Matt turned her sharply, at the same time bringing her as close to the water as he dared. Then, with one hand on the lever controlling the wing tips, with the other he reached for the rope on the seat beside him.