“Some of your boys on a lark, I fancy,” said a voice. “I’m certain I heard them swimming away as I came down. No, I won’t go along, thanks.” When Nelson glanced back again the lantern was moving about the float. After that he attended strictly to business. Tom and Dan were well in the lead and he swam his hardest to overtake them. Hand over hand he went, _splash_, _splash_, his eyes full of water, and his breath coming harder and harder. Then a new sound came to him, the steady churn of the Chicora’s propeller. Desperation lent new strength and in a dozen strokes he was even with Dan; Tom still led by a couple of lengths. “They’re after us in the launch,” gasped Dan. “When we get--near shore--spread out--and take--to the woods. They won’t see--the canoe.” “All right,” answered Nelson. The camp record for the quarter mile was something a little under nine minutes, but there is no doubt but that that record was smashed to fragments that night, at least by Tom. Yet in spite of their best endeavors the launch gained on them from the start. Had they had much farther to go they would have been caught beyond a doubt. As it was they were in the darkness under the trees before the Chicora could reach them. The launch could not come nearer than twenty yards from shore because of her draft, and that fact saved them. As they floundered, up to their waists, over the submerged branches and rocks toward land they heard a hail from the boat: “Stop where you are or I’ll fire at you!” “Down!” whispered Dan. Nelson heard, but Tom, who was well ahead, splashed on, sounding in the stillness like an elephant at his bath. The Chicora had stopped her screw, and those on board were listening intently. Dan and Nelson, flat on their stomachs in two feet of water, made no sound and waited nervously for the report of Mr. Clinton’s revolver. They were certain that he couldn’t see them and certain that he wouldn’t shoot them if he did; but he might discharge his revolver to scare them, and there was just an unpleasant possibility that one or other of them might be hit by mistake. Tom had subsided on the ground at the edge of the woods, and they could hear him panting heavily where he lay. Then: “I heard only one,” said Mr. Clinton, his words coming clear and distinct across the water. “Surely one of our boys wouldn’t do such a trick alone.” “There may be more around, though,” said Thorpe. “I doubt it. More likely it was some one looking for a chance to steal. Although why he wanted a flagpole is beyond me. Anyhow, we can’t get any nearer. We’ll go on to camp, I guess.” Then, to the boys’ relief, the screw started again and the light that marked the position of the launch moved away up the lake. “Quick!” whispered Dan. “We must make a run for it. If we can get into our bunks before he gets there we’ll be all right.”