It was too much for Matt Murphy and the half-dozen Chinese left in his charge. Their only thought one of escape, they bolted for the trail down the canyon. A surprised grunt from Bob indicated that one of the fleeing Chinese had blundered into him. Bob landed a blow on the side of the fellow’s head that was sufficient. It bowled the man over, and Bob leaped forward and sat on him.
Frank saw a dark form scuttle along near him and, unwilling to fire, picked up a stone half as big as his fist and let fly with it. The missile caught the fugitive behind the ear and he, too, went down. Frank ran forward and bent over the still form. By the bandaged arm, he could tell it was Murphy.
Alarmed, he bent closer. But Murphy was breathing heavily. He had merely been knocked out. Frank stood over him undecided what to do. A voice hailed from the darkness:
“Where are you, Frank?”
Frank called, and Jack came up.
“Hello, you’ve got a prisoner, too. Why, it’s
Murphy. Bob also captured a man, a Chinese. Four or five others ran by me and hit the trail.”
A hail from the darkness ahead in Ensign Warwick’s voice came to their ears:
“Where are you, Robbins?”
“It’s not Robbins, sir,” answered Jack. “But Jack Hampton. My chums are with me.”