was actually being headed for Kingswood that the astonished boys decided to remedy the matter in a summary fashion. Sam Randall pulled out his jack-knife and proceeded to sever the rope.

"We've had enough of this," he shouted, as his eyes flashed with indignation. "Why can't they let us alone?"

"Patience ceases to be a virtue," drawled Dave Brandon. "What a pity we haven't the faster boat."

Bob Somers kept perfectly cool, but he began to feel that his good nature was being taken for weakness, and that unless some decisive action was taken in the beginning, the Nimrods would give them no peace.

"You'll be walking the plank next!" cried Wingate, in a terrible voice, through his megaphone. "We're the Pirates of the Bounding Deep."

"Of the bounding, bounding deep!" echoed Hackett, hilariously.

"How long do you suppose this interesting crowd is going to follow us?" asked Tom Clifton, in disgust.

"Dear only knows," returned Sam; "I guess Nat Wingate's threats had more truth in them than we suspected."

Both boats were again on their course, with the "Nimrod" leading.

"Little boys, I say, little boys!" cried the irrepressible leader of the Nimrods; "we're going down the river a bit, and will come back to see you later."

"Don't hurry; we can wait," called out Dick Travers.

"The question of the length of time, my young friend, will be determined by the Pirates of the Bounding Deep."

Nat waved his hand and smiled.

"Thank goodness, they are off," cried Sam, with a sigh of relief, as the "Nimrod" began slowly drawing away.

Now, for the first time, the boys were able to enjoy the scenery, and talk about their plans for the day. Already, the fresh air had given them a decided appetite, and Tom Clifton agreed that at the proper time he would officiate at the oil-stove.

This decision had hardly been reached, and they were engaged in preparing a menu, when Bob, who was at the wheel, called out: "They are coming back, fellows."

This was quite true. The "Nimrod" was 

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