“There’s the answer!” gleefully uttered Hazelton, who had just handed the glass back to his chum.
The “answer” was a fluttering bit of white cloth tied to a rifle and hoisted over the bushes at the right of the bald knob.
“Who do you suppose is holding the white cloth?” chuckled Tom.
“I can’t guess,” Harry confessed.
“Our old and dangerous friend Peter,” Tom laughed.
“Bad Pete!”
“No; Scared Pete.”
There was a sudden twinkle in Hazelton’s eyes as he espied Dave Fulsbee’s rifle lying on the ground beside the machine gun.
In another instant Harry had that rifle and was back at Tom’s side.
Harry threw open the magazine, making sure that there were cartridges in the weapon. Then he dropped to one knee, taking careful sight in the direction of the white flag.