"Up and at them, fellows!" came a roar. "They're part of the gang!"
CHAPTER VII
THE FLYING EAGLE SCOUTS
For a minute or two it was hard for the three boys to understand just what had happened. They were pounced upon and hurled roughly to the ground, in spite of their violent struggles, and there they were pommeled unmercifully. They fought back, but they were hopelessly outnumbered. It was no adventure-story fight where the lone hero engages a dozen husky brutes and by superior science and strength lays his assailants out one by one.
Too bewildered to be really angry, the three found themselves pinned to the ground. Then they were able to take stock of their attackers. Six boys they were, of about the same size and age as Dave, Jerry and Frank, They were dressed in some odd sort of uniform, like brownish canvas. Just now their faces wore triumphant grins.
"Here comes Phil," remarked one of the three who were standing, coming over to sit on Jerry's legs, Jerry having seized a favorable opportunity to attempt escape.
"What's the idea?" inquired the newcomer, a tall but well-knit chap with a broad, sunburned face and a mop of black hair showing under the forward brim of his wide hat.
"We caught them trying to sneak up on us, so we fooled them and jumped on them instead. It's part of that Lost Island gang," volunteered Dave's captor.
"We're not either," exploded Dave.
"Shut up!" exclaimed the one astride his stomach. "Didn't we see you slinking along through the bushes?"