Suddenly a louder shout than the frenzied whoops and yells with which the mutineers had been making the night hideous, rent the air. It came from the neighborhood of the flames which were now dying down. Evidently something was taking place out of the ordinary.
“They’re coming this way!” shouted the professor presently; “what can have happened now!”
Nearer and nearer grew the babel of shouts. All at once, from around the corner of one of the huts appeared the figure of a man. He was running. Even at the distance at which they stood they could catch his sharp, quick breaths. Whoever the runner was he was almost spent. He carried some object in his arms, too. It looked like a sack of some sort.
Hardly had the figure appeared before around the corner in close pursuit of the runner there flashed a dozen or more forms. They were shouting wildly, and as they caught sight of their quarry they set up a yell.
“After him, boys!” came a shout from one of them.
“Kill the dirty dog!” came another yell.
“Yes, he is the cause of all our troubles, the beast!” screamed another voice.
“Good heavens, it’s Hunt!” cried Tom suddenly.
“And he has my boy in his arms!” shouted the professor the next instant. Casting all prudence aside, he dashed out of his hiding place toward the almost spent runner. Hunt ran staggeringly, reeling from side to side. He seemed to be wounded.
“It’s all up now,” groaned Tom, as he saw the lanky form of the scientist spring out.