I thought I was plugged, sure."

There were now not more than fifteen yards between the boys and their
pursuers. Turning about, Leander saw Hildey raise his pistol and take
careful aim at him. Quick as thought, the boy fired first, and Hildey
uttered a sharp cry of pain, as his right arm fell helpless, and his
pistol dropped into the water.

"Curse the luck!" muttered Foley. "Don't give up, pard; we'll ketch
'em afore they git much further."

Though Hildey's right arm was useless, he plied the paddle with his
left, and the men continued to gain. As the boys passed through under
the bridge, Leander's boat was abreast of Sandy, who whispered:

"I'll take the swash on the right that goes through the big marsh and
comes out at the Devil's Elbow. You hug the channel bank, an' mebbe
we'll fool 'em."

Sandy knew that, after the river left the bridge, it went almost
southerly for half a mile, then made an abrupt turn at right angles,
pursued its way westward for another quarter of a mile, and then met
the swash channel, which cut diagonally through the big marsh. At this
junction of the two streams a whirlpool called the Devil's Elbow had
been formed, a treacherous spot for small craft, and requiring rare
skill to pass in safety.

When Sandy told Leander to take the main channel, it was with a
desperate hope that Foley and Hildey would be in doubt, for the moment,
which skiff to follow as they came out under the bridge. Within
himself, he reasoned that this hesitation, on their part, would consume
sufficient time to permit the boys to gain a lead and reach in safety
the landing, two miles below.

"The chances are jest even-Stephen," he said to Gilbert, "though it
separates us from Leander, till we reach the Devil's Elbow."

But alas! Sandy's reasoning failed him for once this time.

As Foley and Hildey came through under the bridge, the former cried:

"Steer to the right channel an' foller that boat; that's the one the
kid's in."

"They're after us, darn 'em," said Sandy, "but we're gittin' ahead
bully. Keep it up, Gil, an' we'll come out all right, see if we don't."

Dripping with perspiration, and with hands burned and blistered, Sandy
and Gilbert were forging ahead and gaining on their pursuers, straining
every nerve to increase their lead. As they rounded a bend in the
channel, Hildey shouted:

"There's yer chance to plug 'em, pard. Shoot!"

Foley obeyed, and the boys' skiff, which was a metallic one, w