the stranger angry, to spoil his aim.

Crack! The bullet sped by, fanning the fugitive's face. The close
aim, however, had the reverse of the effect expected by the marksman.
It roused all the submarine boy's anger. He might be hit, but he
would stop, now, only if a bullet laid him low.

Two more shots sped after the fugitive. Their aim was too close for
comfort, though not true enough to score a hit. Each of the shots
sounded a bit further back, too.

"He's getting winded," gritted the running submarine boy. "With his long
legs that chap ought to get over ground faster than I. The difference
is that that fellow is out of condition, and my hard work keeps me
about up to the mark of condition all the time. He--"

Crack! Jack happened to turn, just as the fellow fired, and the boy was
able to see that the bullet struck the ground behind him.

"Out of range!" clicked Benson. "What's the good of carrying a pocket
revolver for service work? Now, if he had a dozen shots more left he
would be wasting his cartridges to fire at me."

In fact, it was plain enough that the pursuer had given up the chase for
the time being. Not only was he out of range of his quarry, but the
long-legged one lacked the wind to keep on on foot.

"Say, what a fool I'd have been, to give up this plunder!" cried Jack,
mockingly. "That chap couldn't catch me; he couldn't hit me. So I've
gotten away with the stuff he was so anxious to have--and which the