“Why, we’ve met them in water games at Patchogue,” exclaimed Rob, “my name is Rob Blake.”
“And mine’s Sam Taylor,” said the man, advancing, “glad to meet you, Rob Blake, I’ve heard of you. This lad is all right,” he said, turning to the leader. “I’ll vouch for him.”
“All right,” rejoined the gray-moustached revenue officer, “but we can’t be too careful. Well, Rob Blake, what’s your story? Go ahead.”
“As I said, we lost our way,” went on Rob. “We stumbled on that hut. We were tired and faint, and for pay this man, on whom Jumbo is sitting, took us in. I awoke in time to overhear a plot to rob us. We escaped and while hiding in the brush—not just knowing who you were, friend or foe, we saw that trap-door open and nailed that man—Black Bart. At least Jumbo did.”
“Then it looks as if Jumbo gets five hundred dollars reward for the capture of Black Bart, and more may be in store. You say that the rest are in that passage?”
“Yes.”
“Some of you fellows tie Black Bart,” ordered the leader.
When this was done, the sullen prisoner not uttering a word, the order to open the trap-door was issued.
“No monkey tricks, you fellows,” warned the revenue officer, as it swung back, “we’ll take stern measures with you.”
One by one the occupants of the hut crawled out and were promptly made prisoners. They were almost exhausted, and could not have put up a fight had they been so inclined.