lake. It was the scow, Richards' scow, and Harry was indignant.
There were five men in it, and they were talking in a low tone.

"Quite sure them blarsted Squire folks has all gone home, Pete?"

"Sartin, I seen 'em, the hull gang's scattered and skee-daddled, parsons
an' all."

"Where's the blarsted light, then?"

"Seems to me I kin see long, thin streaks. O Lawr, boys, Rodden must ha'
been hard put, when he drapped the block into the hole. It's shet up
tight. Hev ye got the chisel and mallet?"

"They're all right."

"Then less git ashore and drap the block out, though it's an orful pity
to lose it in the drink."

"Carn't we git the blarsted thing back to its place agin?"

"Onpossible; wild horses couldn't do it."

Harry whispered to Bigglethorpe: "What'll we do?" and the fisherman
answered: "Our duty is to fire, but we weren't told to kill anybody.
Don't you fire till I reload."

Then Bigglethorpe called out: "Surrender in the Queen's name," and fired
above the scow. Two or three pistol shots rattled over the sentries'
heads, and flattened themselves on the rock behind. "All ready!" said
the storekeeper, and Harry let fly his duck shot into the middle of the
crowd, who paddled vigorously from the shore. Bill Richards, having
alarmed the upper sentries by the discharge of his gun, came running
down, with the Pilgrims and Rufus, led by the detective, not far behind
him. "Shove out the skiff," called Bigglethorpe. The Richards shoved it
off, and Bill rowed, when the two sentries got on board. "Go it, Bill,
after the old tub," cried Harry; "we'll soon catch up." The Rawdon gang
worked hard to get to the narrows, but found it hopeless. "Give it to
them," shouted Bangs from the shore; and in response, the guns rang out
again, while Bill strained every muscle to the utmost. The punt
grounded on the shore above the narrows, and four of the men jumped out
into the water and fled up the bank, firing their pistols as they
retired. The punt was captured, and brought back to the guarded beach,
with a wounded man and some tools in the bottom. Only by swimming, or by
a long detour of very many miles, could the four fugitives find their
way back to the shore they had sought in vain.

The wounded man was taken out of the punt and laid on the beach. "Is he
dead?" asked Bigglethorpe. "No," answered the detective, feeling the
head of the victim, and inspecting him by the aid of matches struck by
the smoker Sylvanus; "it's a