“My, but that was a close shave!” muttered Tom, as he gazed at the hole through the seat.  “A little closer and I would have got it in the stomach.”

A yell now came from Sam, and a shriek from the girls, all of whom had heard the pistol shots.  They were too far away to see the result of the shooting and feared both Tom and Dick had been killed or wounded.

As quickly as he could recover from the blow of the oar, Dan Baxter picked up his own blades, and without paying attention to the blood which was flowing from his nose, began once again to pull for the shore.

“Come on, his pistol is gone!” shouted Dick, and then his face fell.  “Confound it, I’ve thrown away my oar!  There it goes!” And he pointed some distance to their left.

“That isn’t the worst of it!” groaned Tom.  “Look at that hole in the bottom, made by that pistol shot.  The water is coming in just as fast as it can.”

There was small need to call attention to it, for the water in the bottom of the boat was already an inch deep.  Dick started in perplexity, then, struck by a sudden idea, drew a lead pencil from his pocket and rammed it into the opening.  It fitted very well, and the water ceased, to come in.

“Now we’ll have to bail out and pick up that other oar,” said Tom.  “It was foolish to throw it away, Dick.”

“I don’t know about that.  It deprived Baxter of his pistol.  Paddle over, and I’ll pick it up.”  Tom did so, and the blade was speedily recovered.

But Dan Baxter had made good use of the precious moments lost by the Rover boys, and hardly were the latter into shape for rowing once more than they saw the bully beach his craft and leap out on the shore.  “Good-by to you!” he cried mockingly.  “I told you that you couldn’t catch me.  The next time we meet I’ll make you sorry that you ever followed me,” and he started to run off with all possible speed.

Tom and Dick were too chagrined to answer him, and pulled forward to the shore in silence.  They ran the craft into some bushes and tied up, and then started after Baxter, who was now making for the woods south of the village of Nelson.

When the highway skirting this portion of Cayuga Lake was gained Dan Baxter was a good five hundred feet ahead of them.  A turn in the road soon hid him from view.  Gaining the bend they discovered that he had disappeared from view altogether.

“He has taken to the woods,” sighed Dick.

“If that is so we may as well give the hunt up,” answered his brother.  “It would be worse than looking for a pin in a haystack, for we wouldn’t know what direction he had taken.”

“I wish I had a bloodhound with which to trail him.  He ought to be run down, Tom.”

“Well, let us notify some of the people living near and see what can be done.”

They ran on to the spot where they supposed Baxter had left the highway.  On both sides were dense thickets of cedars with heavy underbrush.  All in all, the locality formed an ideal hiding place.