orgot all his
sufferings and dread now that he was safely beyond their enemy's reach.
Laying the blades of the sculls flat, as the boat drifted swiftly on
with the tide, he kept on splashing the water, and shouting derisively--

"Yah! yah! Who cares for you? Yah! Go home and hang yourself up to
dry! Yah! Who stole the boat!"

Bob's derision seemed to be like oil poured upon a fire. The man grew
half-wild with rage. He yelled, spat at them, shook his fists, and
danced about in his impotent fury; and the more he raged, the more
delighted Bob seemed to be.

"Yah! Who stole the boat!" he kept on crying; and then added mocking
taunts. "Here! hi!" he shouted, his voice travelling easily over the
water, so that the man heard each word. "Here! hi! Have her now?
Fifteen shillings. Come on. Yah!"

"Quick, Bob, row!" cried Dexter, after several vain efforts to stop his
companion's derisive cries.

"Eh?" said Bob, suddenly stopping short.

"Row, I tell you! Don't you see what he's going to do!"

The man had suddenly turned and disappeared.

"No," said Bob. "I've scared him away."

"You haven't," said Dexter, with his feeling of dread coming back.
"He's running across to the other creek to get the boat."

Bob bent to his oars directly, and sent the gig rapidly along, and more
and more into the swift current. He rowed so as to incline toward the
further shore, and soon after they passed the mouth of the other creek.

"Get out with yer," said Bob. "He ain't coming. And just you look
here, young un; you hit me offull on the head with that there boat-hook,
and as soon as ever I gits you ashore I'll make you go down on your
knees and cry _chi_--_ike_; you see if I don't, and--"

"There he is, Bob," said Dexter excitedly; and looking toward the other
creek, there, sure enough, was the man in his wretched little tub of a
boat, which he was forcing rapidly through the water, and looking over
his shoulder from time to time at the objects of his pursuit.

Bob pulled with all his might, growing pallid and muddy of complexion as
the gig glided on. Matters had been bad enough before. Now the map
would be ten times worse, while, to make things as bad as they could be,
it soon became evident that the tide was on the turn, and that, unless
they could stem it in the unequal battle of strength, they would be
either swept back into their enemy's arms or else right up the river in
a different direction to that which t