"Over there!" cried Roger, pointing to it to direct Jimmy's attention. "We'll flop down there and——"
Roger's words ended in a mumble. Jimmy, thinking his companion had been shot, turned quickly in time to see a man standing behind Roger with an upraised club. He had struck Roger on the head, knocking him down.
Jimmy opened his mouth to utter a yell, though why he could hardly have told, and he was about to bring his rifle to bear on the assailant of his chum when Jimmy himself felt a stunning blow on his head just beneath his steel helmet. He went down limply, his eyes seeing nothing but blackness.
And as the two lads were struck down, their two assailants, who had leaped from behind concealing trees to take advantage of the panting, exhausted Khaki Boys, looked at one another with satisfaction.
"Now we've got 'em!" cried one.
"I should say so!" declared the other. "This'll end their tricks! Now, what'll we do with 'em?"
"Haul 'em up to the top of the hill and dump 'em over the cliff into the river. That'll get 'em out of the way and it won't be awkward for us. Come on, you drag one and I'll tackle the other!"
And suiting their action to these words, the two assailants hauled Roger and Jimmy to the edge of a cliff not far from where the two chums had been struck down. A moment later two limp bodies were pushed over the edge and there were two splashes in the foaming river that was studded by cruel rocks.