Harry had not the least idea of stopping for
anybody. He bent to his oars and rowed swiftly on. Again came that
shout to halt, and it seemed more insolent to him than before. He put a
few more ounces of strength into his arms and shoulders and increased his
speed.
The pursuer, suddenly drawing in his oars, raised a rifle from the bottom
of his boat, and fired point blank at the fugitive. The bullet whistled
so near Harry that he felt his ear burn, and at first thought he was hit.
He would have been glad to fire back, but his pistols could not carry
like his enemy's rifle, and there was nothing to do but flee. Once again
he sought to draw a few more ounces of energy from his body. But the
man behind him was a much greater oarsman than he and gained rapidly.
The stranger, shouting another command to halt, to which no attention
was paid, fired a second time, and the bullet went through the side of
Harry's boat, barely scraping his knee as it passed.
His rage became intense. He had been shot at many times in battle,
and many times he had fired his pistols into the opposing masses, but
here upon this river a man sought his life, as the savages of old sought
the hunter. Another glance showed him that pursuer had closed up half
the distance between them, and, snatching one of the pistols from his
belt, he fired.
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