“Killed?” he repeated. “Well, if we’re not, we’ll fix the aerials. We can’t allow strangers to put us out of business!”
Joe found his place to go to work. Tom halted, with his head on a level with his chum’s knees. From the shore there came another burst of rifle-fire, and the air about them was sternly melodious with the pest-laden hum of bullets. Two of the missiles glancingly struck wires just above Dawson’s head.
In the lull that followed Joe’s voice was heard:
“Hold the wire, Tom. Pass me the pliers.”
CHAPTER XV
PLAYING SALT WATER BLIND MAN’S BUFF
“I’ve got to do something!” growled Hepton, his teeth tightly shut.
Raising his rifle to his shoulder, making his guess by sound, the man let two shots drive at the shore, not far back from the beach’s edge. Then, after a pause and a long look, he let three more shots drive, slightly changing his sighting each time.