“We haven’t anything to shoot with,” called Ballard. “And what do you mean by saying we’re prisoners?”
“You know well enough.”
Two of the men with lanterns jumped up on either side of the boys, and each had his arm gripped by a muscular hand.
“Here’s the bag of loot, Sim!” exulted one of the men.
The man called Sim appeared to be the leader. He was a bushy-bearded fellow in greasy overclothes, and he held up his lantern to get a good look at the faces of the boys.
“What!” he roared. “Say, ain’t I seen you kids some’r’s before?”
“I guess you have, if you work at the Ophir Mine,” replied Clancy. “We’re chums of Frank Merriwell’s.”
“Well, sufferin’ Ike!” gasped Sim. “It can’t be that you’ve been robbin’ the safe in the labr’tory.”
“You think we’re the thieves that ran away with this bullion?” gulped Ballard, horrified.
“We was out lookin’ for the thieves,” apologized Sim, “an’ we hopped onto you two with the bullion. What was we to think?”