In which Clarence engages in a swimming race, and to the consternation of Dora, disappears in the waters of the Mississippi.

On the following day, the camp did not break up at the usual early hour. Pete remained in his tent nursing his injuries. The gypsies were kept mindful of his presence, now by an occasional bellow from the leader, now by a roaring burst of profanity. Ben had disappeared early in the morning; and it was for him they were waiting before they proceeded further.

It was nearly noon-time when he returned. After an interview with Pete, he called Clarence aside.

“Do you know where I have been, my boy?”

“No; where?”

“To McGregor.”

“You have! Is it far from here?”

“It’s ten miles down the river.”

“And what about my parents?”

“They stayed over at McGregor till yesterday afternoon, hoping to recover your body.”

“My body?”

“Yes. They are sure you were drowned. They have been dragging the river for you ever since you disappeared. Yesterday, your father had to leave. There’s a reward of one thousand dollars for your body.”

“Gee! I didn’t know I was worth that much.”

“Clarence,” continued Ben, “I’m sorry we’ve kept you. It isn’t all my fault. And I’m sorry about Dora. Pete is a born kidnapper; and he has more power than me. Anyhow, no matter what happens, so long as I’m alive I’ll see that no harm comes to that dear little girl.”

“Ben, you are a good fellow.” And Clarence shook Ben’s hand with vigor.

Within fifteen minutes the gypsies were on the road. They made only five or six miles that day, and about two hours before sunset pitched their tents in a clearing at the river side about fifteen miles north of Prairie du Chien.

Clarence, at the first opportunity, went to the river and looked about for a good place to swim. There was no need for a search. The suitable place was awaiting him. He had hardly got into his bathing suit when Ezra appeared and, saying little, followed him into the water.

Ezra was a good swimmer. He used a powerful overhand stroke.

“Say, Ezra, why do you always swim overhand?”

“It’s the best and swiftest,” answered the gypsy boy.

“It may be the swiftest,” returned Clarence; “but it’s no good for a long swim. I prefer going sailor fashion.”

“It’s the best for a long swim, if you’ve got the strength to keep it up,” retorted Ezra.

“All the same,” said Clarence, “I’ve got to see the boy who can beat me out in a long distance swim, if he sticks to the overhand.”

“You mean to say you can beat me?” said Ezra.

“Of course, I can,” returned Clarence superbly. “I can beat you or any of your family.”

“You see that island in the middle of the river?” asked Ezra, pointing as he spoke to a long, low island nearly a mile in length. Clarence looked at it intently. It was thickly wooded and ended to the south in a clump of willows deeply submerged in the water. The two boys were bathing in a spot facing almost directly the middle of the long island.

“It seems to me I do,” answered Clarence; “and it must be at least half a mile from us.”

“I’ll race you to the island,” said Ezra.

“You’ll lose,” returned Clarence.

“Hey!” cried Ezra, “hey, Ben! this kid says he can beat me to that island. May I race him?”

“Come here, you two,” said Ben, approaching them. As Pete was still nursing an inflamed neck, face, and temper, Ben was now in command of the camp. “Here’s a good place for diving off,” he continued, pointing to a spot where the bank rose three feet or more above the water’s edge. “Stand back, both of you, on a line with me, and when I say ‘go’ start out with a good dive.”

The two lads ranged themselves beside Ben. Clarence appeared to be unusually serious. One would think, looking upon him just then, that the winning of this race was to him a matter of life and death. The color had almost entirely left his cheeks, his mouth was closed tight, his chin thrown out, and his whole poise indicated supreme earnestness.

“Are you both............