sound that awakened the echoes. Again came the sharp report of a pistol, and
Dink dodged, as if by instinct. He
wheeled in his seat and shot point-blank at Foley, but the ball imbedded itself
in the side of the skiff behind and did no further damage.
“That’s tit for tat,” said Dink, “but it wuz a mighty close call fer me. When
the bullet whizzed past my ear 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, was bored through by the pistol ball. The water poured through
the hole, and Sandy shouted to Gilbert:
“Drop yer paddle; take yer hat an’
put it over the leak, tight as yer kin; bale with the other hand, or we’ll sink
in a minit. Lily, sit up, so yer won’t get wet; but don’t show yer head,”
and with a courage born of despair, Sandy renewed his efforts.
Foley was gaining rapidly, and it
seemed that only a miracle could prevent the boy’s capture before they reached the Devil’s Elbow.
Three minutes passed with only the
sound of the lightning-like dip of the paddles. Another short bend in the channel, and a hundred yards ahead was the
confluence of the two currents, which were ever at war.
“Keep on bailing, Gil,” cried Sandy, “an’ when we git past the Elbow, if
they’re too close to us, I’m goin’ to use my pistol on ’em, but I don’t want ter
shoot till I can make the shot tell fer all it’s worth. Steady, Lily; hold tight,
Gil; don’t move, I’ll git yer through without swampin’, ’cause I knows every
current in the Elbow.”
Through the mad swirl of waters the
boy held his boat, and steered her into the quiet tide beyond.
Leander and Dink were just turning
the bend of the main channel an eighth of a mile away, and the skiff containing Foley and Hildey had reached the outer
current of the eddy.
“Now you’ve got ’em,” yelled Hildey, as Sandy’s skiff veered to the left, not twenty yards from the other.
“Not if I knows it,” cried Sandy as he shot square at Foley, the ball going
through the sleeve of his coat, but leaving him unharmed.
“Curse yer fer a fool!” came from
Foley, dropping his paddle and standing up in the skiff, which now had nothing
to guide it but Hildey’s exhausted arm. The skiff was rocking violently. Foley
attempted to balance himself as he raised his pistol to shoot. In a flash the frail craft was caught in the conflicting currents, it careened and capsized, and the two men
were battling for life in the whirlpool.
Sandy was so intent on escape that
he had gone some distance down stream before realizing he was no longer
pursued. Suddenly an agonizing cry was borne on the midnight air:
“Help! Help! I’m drownin’!”
The boy rested on his paddle, and
scanned the river in the direction of the voice.
“Don’t let’s let ’em drown like rats in a hole,” said Sandy, and he started his boat back toward the bend.
“Gil, gimme yer pistol. They may be
tryin’ to play some trick on us, an’ if they are, we’ll be ready for ’em.”
The precaution was unnecessary, for
when they came near, they saw the
upturned skiff circling around in the eddy, its paddles bobbing with the waves, and
the hats of Foley and Hildey slowly drifting toward the bank.
Leander and Dink, meanwhile, had
come up, and with the other two boys remained for fully half an hour waiting
for some sign of the two robbers, but in vain; for far beneath the surface of
the water in the maddening current, the ill-spent lives of Foley and Hildey were ended. They were dead in the cruel
embrace of the Devil’s Elbow.