"Not so fast!" said Porky in his deepest tones. He fiddled with the button on his flashlight. The light wavered. Porky kept his face to the men and called back over his shoulder:
"Sergeant, something's wrong with my flash. Send up another!"
"Yes, sir!" answered Beany as gruffly as possible from below. He waited a moment, then scrambling up passed his flash to his brother. Porky put his in his pocket, and bent the light on the men below. An ax stood in one corner with a coil of rope. In another corner was a rough table loaded with strange instruments that Porky did not understand.
"Turn out your pockets!" he commanded, and three revolvers were tossed up, one after the other.
"See that rope?" demanded Porky, pointing his flash directly at the man who had spoken English. "You tell those other fellows to tie you up quick, and tell them to make a good job of it!"
"I surrender," said the man Fritz. "Please don't tie me up, sir!"
"You hear!" said Porky grimly. He called back over his shoulder. "Forward ten paces, Sergeant!"
"Yes, sir," said Beany, and Porky almost giggled as he heard his brother scuffling violently around trying to sound like a squad. But he dared not look away from the men below, who were hastily tying up the man called Fritz. They did a good job, eager to make good with the unseen and most unexpected captors. If the officer above with the boyish voice wanted Fritz tied up, tied up he would be so he could not move. When they finished, the bulky form looked like a mummy.
"Is that a door in the side?" Porky demanded of Fritz.
"Yes, sir," said Fritz.