“Gabriel’s Ho’hn! Dat’s one of dem Boy Scrouts!” he exclaimed, “an’ mah gracious, ah wondah who dat fierce lookin’ man am whose paddlin’ dis yar boat. Reckon ah’d better lay quiet. He looks pretty frambunctious.”
In the meantime, the aroused inmates of the camp had rushed to the shore. They reached it just in time to see their entire flotilla of canoes being paddled swiftly off across the smooth, moonlit waters. Tubby and Hiram raised their rifles when a hoarse laugh of defiance greeted the major’s command to the marauders to halt. But in a flash the officer saw what they were about to do.
“None of that, boys,” he ordered sharply, “put down those rifles.”
“No use for them now,” grumbled Tubby, “see, they’ve disappeared round that point.”
“Let’s get after them,” suggested Hiram.
The major shook his head.
“Over this rough ground they could easily outdistance us,” he said, “is anyone missing?”
It took but a few minutes to ascertain that both Rob and Jumbo were not among them.
“This is even more serious than the theft of the canoes,” exclaimed the professor, “do you suppose that it was Hunt’s gang that took them?”
“I don’t doubt it,” said the major, “who else would be interested in annoying us? But let’s hear Merritt’s story. What did you hear, my boy?”