Harry, from his position on the pilot house,
gesticulated and pointed inland in a frenzy.
CHAPTER VIII
JACK STRICKEN BY A BULLET
"What's up now?" cried Jack from the rowboat.
"That villain has shot Tom and is running away across the island!" cried
Arnold from his position. "Tom's lying on the sand!"
"Great Double-Barreled Wiggle-Headed Pollywogs!" ejaculated Harry.
"Excuse my French, but this is too much. If he's killed Tom, I'll resign
from the Boy Scouts for a few minutes. I will so!"
"Pull for the shore, boys!" urged Jack. "Get into your clothes, Frank!"
And then, before either of his orders could be obeyed, he seized the
oars and pulled the boat with lusty strokes toward the beach, intent on
capturing the outlaw if possible. Great sobs escaped him as he worked
manfully at the oars.
Each boy at that moment was mentally blaming himself for the tragedy he
was sure would await their arrival at the scene of the campfire. Each
one felt that he should have remained to guard the captive outlaw who
was so evidently desperate because of his situation.
But Jack's exertions were unnecessary. Before the rowboat reached the
sand, a flash of white had appeared over the bows of the Fortuna, a
great splash of water gave evidence of a heavy body launched from the
deck, and a commotion betokened a swimmer in action.
"Good old boy!" cried Frank with a sob in his throat.
"That never was Arnold!" cried Harry aghast at the thought of his chum
venturing into the water alone on such a quest.
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