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