Pud searched hurriedly, frantically in the gloom for the handle that fitted into the fly-wheel while the sounds of pursuit grew louder and nearer. He found it at last, slipped it in place, and heaved mightily. There was no response from the engine. Then he remembered that he had not switched the spark on. The omission remedied, he turned the wheel again, and this time the response was instantaneous. The engine raced loudly. He peered forward, saw that the launch’s head still pointed into the stream and pulled the clutch lever back. Then he hurried again to the bow and seized the wheel. Now he dared an anxious look to the rear. Lights moved along the bank and there was a confusion of hails and shouts, but for the moment he was not threatened with capture. With the throttle wide open and the current aiding, the launch slipped down the winding stream at a good five miles an hour. Pud believed that there were motor-boats of a sort back there, but he doubted that any of them could show much speed. Besides, it would take minutes to get one started, and already he had a fair lead. Cabins still showed their lights along the way, but they stood farther apart now. A smaller stream led off to the left, but Pud paid it no heed. Then came a longish turn in the creek, and presently, looking back, but one solitary light met his view. Perhaps the sounds of pursuit still kept up, but the engine was chugging loudly and he could no longer hear them. He heaved a deep sigh and sank onto the seat beside the wheel. It was not difficult to follow the creek, for, once away from the lights of Swamp Hole, it lay before him quite plainly in the starlight, a broadening path bordered by the black gloom of its banks. The stars were reflected brightly in its still depths as it led him on and away from the Hole. As the minutes passed and no sign of pursuit showed, his courage grew. Sitting there in the bow he began to talk to himself aloud. ‘I told them they couldn’t get away with it,’ he muttered. ‘I guess they know it now! No one can steal my good old boat, I guess; not to keep it! No, sir, not for very long they can’t! I guess Lank’s pretty mad about now. I guess he’s wondering what happened.’ Pud chuckled. ‘I’d just like to know what he _does_ think! Bet you he never will suspect I did it!’ He sort of wished he might somehow have revealed himself to Lank before he got free. It would have been decidedly satisfying to have called back a defiance. Pud pictured himself standing in the stern, shaking his fist at the amazed Lank and shouting, ‘Ha, villain, what think you now? Pud Pringle has come into his own once more!’ Well, anyway, something like that.