There being nothing he could do, Dawson threw himself to the ground, out of harm’s way. Tom, crouching low, darted across the road after his hat. But Jennison leaped forward, weapon in hand, letting three shots fly back to answer the defiance from under the trees.
“Come on! We’ll close in on ’em and mow ’em down if they don’t surrender!” shouted the officer.
His call to the boys was intended for the hearing of those above. He had no notion that the boys, unarmed, would accompany him. Yet, as Jennison bounded over the wall, the two young motor boat boys were behind him on either side.
“Now, then, you fellows up there, throw down your shooting irons and prepare to give yourselves up,” called the doughty constable. “If you don’t——”
Four shots answered this demand, the bullets clipping off leaves so close to the trio that the boys crouched lower almost instinctively.
“All right, then, I’m coming up to get you!” shouted the constable running forward, weapon in hand. But he halted at length, well away from the road, uncertain which way to turn.
“What are you boys doing here, unarmed?” he whispered, facing them in surprise.
“We’re as safe here as we’d be anywhere else hereabouts,” Tom whispered back.
“Yes, I don’t know but that’s so. But where can the scoundrels be? Do you know anything about the lay of the land here?”
“I think we can find the ravine where they took us,” suggested Joe.