Presently they came to a shelf of rock which overlooked the valley of the rivulet. They paused for a moment to listen for the sounds of those in advance when a strong electric searchlight was thrown on their faces and they saw the grim, round barrel of an automatic pointing at their breasts.
"You may as well hand over your automatics, boys!" Cameron said.
"And be quick about it, too."
This last sentence came from a thin, cadaverous looking fellow whose face was only half revealed through the meshes of the head net.
There was nothing for the boys to do but to pass over their revolvers. Their searchlights were also taken from them, and then their hands were tied tightly behind their backs.
"Did you have a pleasant tramp through the woods?" asked Cameron.
"Say," growled Sandy, "if you'll just turn my hands loose, I'll give you a poke in the jaw!"
"That wouldn't be polite!" sneered Cameron.
"Don't take any lip from the young imps," snarled the other. "They've given us enough trouble already!"
"You're a foxy old gink!" exclaimed Sandy. "I wish I had you on South Clark street, Chicago, for a few minutes!"