Another shot followed the first instantly, and the torch dropped from the uplifted hand of the evil-faced man who was carrying it in the lead. An intense, uncanny darkness followed the extinction of the torch, and the two boys took advantage of it to edge around the face of the rock which had blocked their progress. Without the help of the dog, and without the torch, the pursuers could do little, and stood on equal terms with the pursued.
It was impossible, of course, for the boys to make their way through the jungle without making any noise, and in a moment the pursuing party showed its temper by firing revengeful shots at the spots from which the sounds of their progress proceeded. After half a dozen bullets had clipped the bushes about the heads of the lads two shots came from in front, the lead whizzing over their heads. A sharp cry of distress was heard in the rear at the second shot, and then all was still.
The boys crouched in the open space between the "legs" of a balete tree and waited for some possible explanation of the strange thing that had taken place. Who had killed the hound, and who was it that was shooting at the enemy over their heads? These questions were hard to answer.
"It is one of the boys from the Manhattan," Jimmie concluded, at last.
"Then why don't he show up?" demanded Pat. "Who is in the Manhattan?"
"Ned Nestor and two members of the Black Bear Patrol," was the reply. "We came over here to sleuth."
"To what?"
"To sleuth. To do the Sherlock Holmes stunt. To put down an insurrection in the Philippines!"
"You seem to be putting it down," Pat said, in a sarcastic tone.
"We've got it by the neck!" insisted Jimmie.