They turned, to find back of them a little short man in a blue uniform of a sailor, who had crept up on them quietly from the rear. He held a rifle in his hand and turned it unwaveringly toward the members of the watching group.
“What is the meaning of this?” demanded the professor, after a second of silence.
“No meaning at all,” chuckled the man, whose uniform proclaimed him a mate on a sailing ship. “You fellows march down the hill until my captain looks you over.”
“Who are you to tell us to march down the hill?” snapped Ned. “This is a free country, in case you don’t know it.”
“I know it,” chuckled the mate. “But this here gun of mine don’t know nothing about it! I’ve tried my best to teach the blooming thing, but it’s just naturally ignorant!”
“Who are you?” Don asked.
“Go on down the hill!” commanded the mate, suddenly changing his tone. “The captain will answer all questions.”
There was nothing to do but to obey, so, in silence the boys and the older man walked down the hill, leading their mounts. The crowd below saw them coming and looked on with marked interest. The captain of the attackers strode to the front. He was a tall old man with a white beard and snow white hair, and at sight of him Don caught his breath.
“What have you here, Harvey?” the captain asked.
“This bunch was lying on their tummies and looking over the hill at you,” answered the mate, a twinkle in his eyes.