"Hit him with the oar, Norman," called the boy in the stern. "Knock him
out of the boat."

The other boy made no answer, but with a quick turn of his wrist twisted
his boat out of its direct course and sent it skimming off to one side.
Then dropping one oar, he caught up the other with both hands, and with
a rapid, dexterous swing swept a cataract of water in Gordon's face,
drenching him, blinding him, and filling his eyes, mouth, and ears with
the unexpected deluge. Gordon gasped and sputtered, and before he could
recover from this unlooked-for flank movement, another turn of the wrist
brought the attacking boat sharp across his bow, and, with a shout of
triumph, Norman wrenched the defiant flag out of its socket.

Gordon had no time for thought. He had time only to act. With a cry,
half of rage, half of defiance, he sprang up on the point of the bow of
his boat, and with outstretched arms launched himself at the bow of the
other, where the captor had flung the flag, to use both oars. His boat
slipped from under his feet, and he fell short, but caught the gunwale
of the other, and dragged himself up to it. He held just long enough to
clutch both flags, and the next second, with a faint cheer, he rolled
off and sank with a splash in the water.

Norman Wentworth had risen, and with blazing eyes, his oar uplifted, was
scrambling toward the bow to repel the boarder, when the latter
disappeared. Norman gazed at the spot with staring eyes. The next second
he took in what was happening, and, with an exclamation of horror, he
suddenly dived overboard. When he came to the top, he was pulling the
other boy up with him.