Two more shots came whistling across the boat. “We’ve got to get out of here!” stated Brad desperately. Even if they had two oars to use Kitty knew it would be suicide to sit up to row. “I’ll start the motor,” she said. On her stomach she wiggled toward the motor. At such a disadvantage she wondered if she could get the engine going. But she must! There was no other way for them to get away from that shower of lead. “But you can’t see to steer,” said Brad. “We’ll go headlong into the marsh.” “We’ve got to take a chance. I have a general idea of the channel beyond here—passed this way the other day when Billy and I came here.” To Kitty’s infinite relief the starter responded to her touch. The sound of that motor was only an invitation to more shots. This time they were aimed low, evidently with the hope of puncturing the boat’s side and hitting them as they crouched below the gunwale. But the lead spattered harmlessly into the water. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Illustration: _“Brad, Are You Hurt?” Kitty Wailed_] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ By holding the lower curve of the wheel, and watching the tree-lined shore, Kitty could steer, and give the motor as much speed as she dared. When they had gone several yards, and just after a fresh spatter of lead struck their stern, she took a chance on lifting her eyes high enough for a look ahead. Three more shots trailed them, but fell short of the mark, and a few minutes later they felt that they must be out of range. By the smudge of smoke at their right Kitty knew they were now passing the dump pile, with open, safer water ahead. Not until then did she dare give the boat any real speed. She glanced down and saw Brad’s face drawn and white at her feet. Blood had run from his coat to the bottom of the boat. Kitty rose from her crouching position and saw a sheltering arm of marshland ahead. When she rounded this so the boat was hidden from Mangrove Island she cut off her motor and bent over Brad. When she unbuttoned his coat she found his shirt saturated with blood. “A little lower and it would have gone through your heart,” she said anxiously. “Wait, I’ll try to stop that blood.” She was thankful her father always kept the launch prepared for emergencies. They never went out without field glasses, flashlights, a lantern, a jug of water, tins of food and a first-aid kit. Her deft fingers cut away the bloody clothes. She cleaned the wound as best she could, then bound it tightly to check the blood. “You seem to know how to do it,” he said gratefully. “I took two first-aid courses at school, but haven’t had much chance to practice.” “Hope you don’t have another chance like this any time soon,” he said ruefully. With the blood checked Brad struggled to a sitting position, his left arm lying limp in his lap.