The two boys realized suddenly that the attention of the two had been focused in their direction, and Jerry jumped back behind the shelter of the door-edge just in time to escape the blinding rays of the flashlights. Phil evidently realized that their time of grace was over and there was nothing to be gained in further delay.
With raised pistol he stepped out into the light.
"Hands up!" he ordered gruffly. "Your little game is ended for to-night."
But he had miscalculated somewhat. With startling suddenness darkness closed in about them, there was a quick rush across the littered floor, a thud as a heavy body dashed against the shed wall and crashed through the inch boards. Phil's gun roared out twice. As the two boys hastened to the gap in the wall they could hear the crash of the pair as they tore madly through the brush. Then all was still again.
But not for long. Panting from the run, Mr. Fulton and three of the
Scouts came chasing like mad through the darkness.
"What's happened?" he cried when he saw it was Jerry and Phil. He listened as patiently as possible to their disconnected story, laughing grimly at the end. "Well, they'll swim it to shore, because we found their boat, and we sunk it under about a ton of stones."
"Yes, but——" began Jerry, a premonition of further disaster in his mind and on the tip of his tongue, when from the east shore of Lost Island came wild cries of rage and chagrin. "Just what I thought!" exclaimed Jerry, by way of finishing out his sentence.
"What's that?" demanded Mr. Fulton and Phil in a breath.
But Jerry did not answer. There was no need. Down the path came an excited group, shouting:
"Somebody's made off with the Big Four!"