Again the revolver spoke, a yell followed, and then came a rain of bullets.
“Here they come,” cried Tom, and in quick succession he pumped out four more shots.
Howls and shrieks of anguish rose. Tom was shooting with deadly intent. The attempted rush was halted, broken. The desperadoes composing the attacking force could not stand before that deadly aim. They broke and ran back toward the trees, leaving three figures groveling in the sand.
“One for Mister Frank, and three for me, them two and one back behind,” said Tom Barnum grimly, to Bob and Jack, who were peering over his shoulder. “That ain’t so bad.” 156
A cry from Captain Folsom, followed by Frank’s voice calling urgently, caused the three to spin around. They were just in time to see one man go down under a terrific blow from the doughty, one-armed officer, while Frank leaped in under the arm of a second desperado, upraised to fire, and brought him crashing down with a flying tackle.
“As pretty as I ever saw,” muttered Bob. “Old Frank ought to make the All-American team for that.”
Quick as thought, having felled his man, Captain Folsom stooped down and wrenched a revolver from his grasp, then spun about on his knee and fired just as a third rounded the corner. The man toppled forward. By this time Bob and Jack had reached the scene. But the attack from the rear had spent its force. The three most daring evidently had taken the lead. And the way they had been disposed of deterred the others. A half dozen in number, they hung uncertainly in a group along the wall of the radio station.
Captain Folsom helped them make up their minds as to which direction to take by sending several shots over their heads. Without even waiting to reply, they ran for cover toward the trees and bushes at the edge of the clearing.
The man whom Frank had tackled capitulated 157 without a struggle, seeing the fight had gone against him. Frank took his revolver. From the fellow whom Captain Folsom had shot, and who proved to be wounded only in the thigh, Bob obtained a revolver. All except Jack were now armed, and he had the butcher knife which Frank had carried away from the Brownell house, although he laughed as he flourished it.
“The way you fellows treat our friends,” he said, “I expect none of them will come close enough to give me a chance to use this.”