“We’ve got to find out what it is, anyhow,” declared Jerry. “It seems to be over this way—that noise of groaning.”
He darted off toward the spring, followed by his companions. As they crashed their way through the underbrush the sounds became plainer.
“Is anybody coming? Can’t some one help me?” were the low-murmured questions that came to the ears of the rescuers, interspersed with groans of pain.
“Yes! Yes! Some one is coming to help you!” cried Ned. “Who are you, anyhow?”
Before he could receive an answer, even had the groaning one been able to answer, Jerry had burst his way through the last fringe of bushes, and, with a cry of surprise mingled with one of rage, he beheld, bound to a tree and partly gagged, the helpless form of Professor Snodgrass.
“I’ve found him! I’ve found him!” shouted Jerry.
“Who—Bill?” demanded Tinny Mallison.
“No, the professor,” answered the tall lad. “The Nixon crowd must have tried to kidnap him, too! It’s all right, Professor. Don’t struggle! We’ll soon release you,” promised Jerry.
The others came up the wooded and brush-covered hillside on the run, and in a few seconds the professor’s bonds had been cut, the gag—a piece of wood bound in his open mouth by cords which passed around behind his head—had been taken out, and the mistreated little scientist was given a drink of water, of which he stood in great need.
“Ah!” he murmured, as he drained the cup a second time, “that’s good. But let me see if they’re there! Look, will you please, and tell me! Are they there?”