“Girls, you run on home and get help. Frank and I will stay with Bob.”
“I’m not hurt much,” Bob declared. “Just put my leg out.”
He struggled to regain his feet.
Several more shots whistled unpleasantly close. Their assailants were approaching, shooting as they came.
“Run, girls,” cried Jack.
They darted away.
Suddenly Tom Barnum came crashing through the woods, service revolver gripped in his hand. He had been aroused, as he slept nearby at the Hampton radio plant, by the cries of the girls on first being attacked. In the moonlight, it was not difficult to 188 see at which party to fire, and Tom did not hesitate. He sent a half dozen bullets whistling about the attacking party in quick succession. The arrival of reinforcements completed the discomfiture of the latter. They fled back towards the beach.
Tom was all for pursuing them, but Jack called to him.
“Here, Tom, let ’em go. Bob’s hurt. Help us get him to the house.”