The boys’ hearts sank. They no longer had any doubts of the evil intentions of the men who held them virtually prisoners. They had fallen into a den of thieves.
“We’re going now,” declared Bobby, in a last desperate attempt to bluff the matter through, “and if you try to stop us it will be the worse for you.”
The men laughed uproariously.
“A fine young turkey cock he is!” croaked one of them. “We’ll have to cut his comb for him.”
“You’ll get your own cut first,” shouted Fred, who was blazing with anger. “Don’t forget that there are policemen and jails for just such fellows as you are.”
“Shut up, Redhead,” commanded the scar-faced man, adding insult to injury.
Then his jocular manner passed and was replaced by a wicked snarl.
“Hand over what money you’ve got in your pockets,” he commanded, “and turn your pockets inside out. Do it quick too, or we’ll skin you alive.”
There was no mistaking the menace in his tone. He was in deadly earnest and his eyes shone like those of a beast of prey.
There was nothing to do but to obey. His victims were trapped and helpless. They were only eleven year old boys, and were no match physically even for one such burly ruffian. Against three, resistance would have been ridiculous.