The boat’s crew had made a landing, and now they came toward the spot on a run. Handsome, manly young chaps, from sixteen to nineteen, they were.
“Genuine Virginians, they are!” muttered Jack, admiringly. “They don’t grow anything better anywhere!”
Harlow seemed cowed by what had taken place.
Since being disarmed without a struggle, all the spirit seemed to have left him. He stood still, looking sullen and uncertain, as if not quite sure what to do.
Up came the oarsmen, a solid-looking, brown-eyed lad in the lead.
“What’s all this about, anyway?” he sharply asked, addressing Rolf. “Who are these chaps, and what are they doing?”
An idea came to Harlow; he grasped at it.
“They are spies—enemies!” he quickly declared. “They were watching here in the bushes. They must be connected with the Alexandria fellows.”
Then the rowers, sunburned and brawny appearing, gathered about Frank and Jack, regarding them with anything but pleasant looks.
“Give it to ’em!” shouted Harlow, hoping to set the boys on Frank and Jack before any explanation could be made. “See here—don’t you see one of them threatening me with a revolver? They are desperadoes!”