After Jack’s departure the group which he left at the tunnel exit worked busily making what preparations were possible to receive their pursuers. Big Bob, who had jumped down into the opening, kept tossing out bricks at a furious rate, and Frank joined him and did likewise. Meanwhile, by the light of his matches, aided by the moonlight, which here in the woods, however, was not direct enough to be of any great help, Tom Barnum investigated the ground about the hole.

“As soon as the boys get out o’ there,” he reported to Captain Folsom, “we can all four of us kick down enough dirt to block up the tunnel pretty well. The earth is loose around here. That must’a been a recent cave-in. By yanking up some o’ these bushes I already loosened the soil some more.”

“Very good,” said Captain Folsom, who had been listening closely to the sounds coming through the tunnel. “They’re getting too close for comfort. I 145 agree with you in believing this must have been a recent cave-in. I believe it is unsuspected by the enemy. They are coming along through that tunnel and making plenty of noise, as if they expected to have a considerable distance to go and fancied us pretty far ahead.”

“We’ll give ’em a surprise,” said Tom, grinning. The watchman-mechanic of the Hampton radio plant was still a young man. He had served in France. And he was enjoying the situation.

“Come out now, Temple. And you, Merrick,” said Captain Folsom, in a whisper. “To stay any longer would be only to expose yourselves needlessly. You have thrown out a lot of ammunition, as it is. Besides,” he added, as he and Tom helped the others climb to the surface, “we want to kick down this dirt to block the tunnel.”

The others followed Tom to the lip of the cave-in, overhanging the tunnel, and, exercising care to avoid tumbling in, succeeded in kicking down sufficient earth to more than half fill the opening. Little more than a foot of open space remained, after uprooted bushes had been thrown down on top of the earth.

Working feverishly and in a silence broken only by the dull sounds of the falling dirt, they had completed their task when the nearer approach of voices and of stumbling footfalls within the tunnel warned 146 them to desist. Bob and Frank on one side of the slight opening, Captain Folsom and Tom Barnum on the other, they threw themselves prone on the ground. The bricks had been divided into two piles, one by the side of each pair.

They were none too soon. Barely had they taken their positions when the first man of the pursuers, proceeding without a light, stumbled against the dirt they had kicked down, and fell forward into the tangle of uprooted bushes. He let out a wild yell:

“Murder. Save me.”

Bob raised himself on one hand, craned forward, took good aim at the hole, and let drive with a chunk of broken brick. There was a crack, a howl of anguish, succeeded by an outbreak of curses, as, following Bob’s example, his companions also poured in a fire of brickbats from each side.

Several scattered revolver shots rang out, but, as all again had thrown themselves prone on the ground, the bullets sped harmlessly overhead. After waiting a moment, Bob again let drive with a piece of brick. That his aim was good was attested by a howl of anguish, succeeded this time not by more shots but by a scurrying sound of retreat. Evidently, the one or two men in the forefront had had enough, and had withdrawn into the tunnel.

By holding their breath and listening intently, they 147 could, in fact, hear sounds of scuffling that indicated a considerable number of men were within the tunnel and were moving backward on each other to get away from the danger zone.

Suddenly to Bob’s ears came the sound of a faint groan, not a foot from his head, it seemed to him, as he lay on the very edge of the hole, straining to listen. It startled him, but at once he realized whence it came. One of the pursuers, perhaps the man who had stumbled first into their barricade, must have been knocked out by a missile, and was coming to. Then Bob had a wild idea.

Rising to his knees, he peered down into the hole, descried a dark, round object just below him which he took to be the head of a man, and bracing himself with one arm, plunged the other into the hole.

Then, while Frank gasped and Tom Barnum swore softly, from the opposite side, in wondering admiration, the big fellow rose to his feet and with a mighty tug pulled an inert body clear through the hole. One look at the face was sufficient for identification despite the blood streaming from an ugly gash over the right temple. It was the man called Mike. His eyelids were fluttering. He was recovering consciousness.

“Quick, some of you,” gasped Bob, retaining his hold of the body, and holding the fellow up as a 148 fisherman lifts up his catch to admire it; “search him. Get his revolver.”

Frank sprang to obey, being the nearest. Running his hands up and down the man’s body, he was met only with disappointment. But then he felt something bulky at the belt. It was a revolver in a holster. Stripping off the weapon, he once more ran his hands over the fellow’s body and, in a trousers’ pocket, found a handful of bullets, which he abstracted.

Mike now began to squirm, and lash out with his heels.

“Got them?” gasped Bob.

“Yes,” said Frank. “Searched him twice.”

“Then back with you, Mister Mike,” said Bob, dropping the other back into the hole. “We want no prisoners on our hands. And, listen,” he added, “we’ve got your revolver. Just tell that to your friends if they get inquisitive and want to follow us.”

A curse was his answer. Then they could hear Mike start to scramble back through the tunnel, and to call to his mates.

“My boy,” said Captain Folsom, “I want to tell you that was one of the quickest bits of work I’ve ever seen. You certainly have put a different complexion on matters.” 149

“Oh, that was just a bit of luck,” said Bob. “When I heard him groan, it came to me all in a flash what to do.”

“Look here,” interrupted Frank, “thanks to Bob, we have stalled off pursuit. Besides, we have a revolver now. I don’t feel like running off and leaving Jack. The way things have turned out, we can get away without being discovered, anyhow, so we wouldn’t be drawing anybody away from Jack’s trail if we did go in the opposite direction. Let’s run for it before they get a chance to circle back through the tunnel and house, but head for the radio station instead of home. What say?”

“Right,” said Captain Folsom. “You chaps certainly know how to use your heads. Come on.”

And swinging about, he started running through the trees in the direction taken by Jack a few short minutes before.

They had not gone far, however, before another volley of revolver shots broke out behind them.

“That’s at the tunnel again,” said Captain Folsom, pausing to listen. “They must realize that we wouldn’t stay there, so, although they will be cautious, it won’t be long before they come out of the tunnel.”

“Yes,” said Frank, “and some of them have gotten 150 out already, and are coming down from the house.”

For, as he spoke, from farther back in the woods bullets began to fly. The party from the house was shooting as they came.

“I don’t think they’ve seen us yet,” said Bob. “The moon is pretty low down and these trees are thick. Anyhow, they wouldn’t expect us to take this course, as it is away from our home. Come on.”

The shrubbery was less dense now, thinning out, as they neared the clearing in which the radio station was located. Dashing ahead, they cleared the last of the trees and started across the clearing. As they drew nearer the station, heading for the doorway, where the outward-swinging door stood open, Jack saw the four figures in the moonlight and, believing them foes, sprang up from the seat by the instrument table, and dashed out to try to escape.

Running at top speed as he hit the sand, he started in the opposite direction. Bob, however, had an advantage Jack did not possess. He was looking for Jack at the station, and was quick to recognize the familiar figure. Jack, not expecting his friends here, naturally considered the approaching figures those of some of the smugglers.

“Hey, Jack, it’s us,” Bob called.

Jack knew that voice. There was no mistake. 151 He paused, dumbfounded, and spun about. Then he started to retrace his steps. The others, pretty well blown, slowed down their pace. As they approached, Jack called:

“I wasn’t looking for you, and thought you some of the other fellows. How did you happen to change your plans and come here?”

Frank started to explain.

But this was not time for explanations. Paddy Ryan, heading a dozen of his men, had seen the four fleeing through the woods and followed. At this moment the pursuers reached the edge of the clearing. The first intimation which any of the five, engrossed in their meeting, had of the near approach of the enemy, was an outburst of bullets, some of which sang unpleasantly close while others kicked up the sand around them. None, however, took effect.

Where the others had come up with Jack was near a corner of the radio plant. All leaped for cover behind it. With a yell of triumph, Paddy Ryan jumped out into the clearing, his men at his heels.

Frank, who carried the captured revolver and spare ammunition taken from the man called Mike, realized it was distinctly up to him to halt the enemy, if possible. He did not want to shoot to kill, 152 although he knew that the others had no such compunctions, especially since Higginbotham must be aware that if they escaped he would be a ruined man, as they would be able to identify him. Nevertheless, the emergency demanded action.

All this passed through his mind in a twinkling. Then he peered out from behind the shelter of the radio station, took deliberate aim, and fired. The leading figure, that of Paddy Ryan, stumbled, lurched forward and fell. Some of the others in the pursuing party paused, others came on. Once more Frank fired. A second man, the foremost, fell. It was sufficient to deter the others. While some ran back helter-skelter for the shelter of the woods, others threw themselves prone in the sand, and began to shoot from that position.

“I shot them in the legs,” said Frank.

His voice trembled. His legs felt weak, his hands numb. It was with an effort he refrained from dropping the revolver. Like his chums, Frank was a crack shot, for Mr. Temple early had accustomed them to the use of rifle and shotgun, and the previous summer in New Mexico Tom Bodine, their cowboy friend, had given all three valuable instructions in revolver shooting. Nevertheless, to take deliberate aim at a human being was unnerving. It was only the realization that the safety of his comrades hung 153 on his aim that had nerved him to the task and steeled his arm.

“Steady, old thing,” said Bob, patting him on the shoulder. Then, turning to Captain Folsom, he added: “Well, captain, where do we go from here? We’ve got all Long Island ahead of us. I expect we had better start traveling.”

“Not at all, Bob,” said Jack, unexpectedly. “If we can only hold these fellows off a few minutes more, they’ll get the surprise of their lives. I raised Lieutenant Summers by radio. He was close offshore by the greatest of good luck. He’s sending a landing party in boats, and I was to meet them at the beach and act as guide.”