Garry had remembered the puzzling sentence that was broken off when the radio failed to work. What was it his chum had said? Yes, something about Simmons being arrested. Evidently the boys had detected the fraud—for fraud the man posing as Simmons must have been—and had him seized before he could do any more damage.
“Guess we’ll find the impostor safe in jail when we get back to Hobart,” he told the real Simmons. Then he related all that he knew of the supposed inspector, and concluded by giving him a description of the man.
“Why, I think I know who that is,” said Simmons excitedly. “That description fits perfectly a man named Sullivan, who was discharged from the service about a year ago. There was never anything proven on him, but circumstances surrounding certain actions of his were suspicious, and he was let go for the good of the service. In the post-office department, a man must be above even the breath of suspicion.”
“Well, we can’t tell what the outcome has been until we get back to Hobart,” said Garry. “Which reminds me, when are we going to start? I am afraid that we will have to stay here until morning. It would be a treacheorus job finding our way back through the woods, and besides I need some rest, and it is likely that you people do. You must be all cramped up from being tied the way you were. Now I suggest this: I have a blanket with me, and Ruth can have that and sleep in the cabin. And you can use our coats and sleep out here on some boughs that I will cut. If you go to sleep now, I will keep watch at the mouth of the ravine till about one o’clock. Then I will wake you and you do sentry till morning. When dawn comes, we will hike back to the river and get across. There we’ll telephone to Ruth’s grandfather and then get an auto to take us around the out of the way road that takes us to Hobart.”
This was accordingly agreed on, and soon Garry was alone with his thoughts. The minutes dragged into hours, and each snapping of the twigs or the fall of an occasional dry branch quickened Garry to the alert and prevented him from nodding, as he was fairly tired after his hike to the cabin in the ravine. It was about midnight, he thought, when he heard a crashing through the undergrowth, and he jumped to his feet. There was silence for a moment and then more noise.
Garry wondered whether it was one of the Indians or Le Blanc that was coming, and he gripped his rifle tensely, awaiting the approach of the intruder. For a time all was still, and he decided that it was some woods animal.
Some instinct must have warned him to look up to the edge of the ravine, and he saw a pair of eyes gleaming in the darkness. Just then a form launched itself from the overhanging rocks, straight toward him!
CHAPTER XII
NATE WEBSTER CALLS ON THE BOYS
Garry waited not to discover what the flying shape might be. Raising his rifle to his shoulder he fired straight at the black mass, pumping the shots from his magazine as fast as he could work the mechanism.
He retreated hastily as he fired, and at the second shot heard a scream of pain, then there was a thud as some body struck the ground and writhed and clawed.