The first task of Joe and Jim was to gather up the weapons of the assailants. The three still lay dazed or unconscious. Under other circumstances, the boys would have waited until the trio had regained their senses. But their first duty now was to the girls, who were half hysterical with fright. Joe took Mabel in his arms, after assuring her again and again in answer to her frantic questions that he was unhurt, and Jim comforted Clara until she had recovered her composure.
They laid the bandits at the side of the road, so that they could not be run over, and then Joe took the wheel and drove on. To the first policeman they saw, Joe reported that he had seen some men who seemed to be hurt, alongside the road, and suggested that they be looked after. But he said nothing about the attempted holdup. Then he sped on, and soon they were in the precincts of the city.
The girls in their alarm had failed to gather the true significance of the affair. To them it was like a confused dream. Their general impression was that a holdup had been attempted for the purposes of robbery. Still Mabel did remember that they had asked specifically for Matson.
“Why was it that they asked for you especially, Joe?” she asked, snuggling closely to the arm that had so stoutly done its work that night. “Why was it?”
“How do I know, honey?” answered Joe. “Perhaps,” he said jokingly, “they had heard of my increase in salary and thought I was rolling in money. Sometimes you know they kidnap a man, make him sign a check and then hold him prisoner until they cash it. No knowing what such rascals may do.”
“Whatever it was, they’ve lost all interest in the matter now,” said Jim, with a laugh, as he thought of the discomfited bandits by the roadside and the fleeing leader in the automobile.
Both Joe and Jim made light of it to the girls and laughed away their fears until they had seen them safely to their hotel. But later on two very sober and wrathful young men sat in their own room discussing the holdup.
Joe had told Jim what the bandit leader had said about putting his pitching arm out of business, and his friend was white with anger.
“The scoundrels!” he ejaculated. “That meant that they would have twisted your arm until they had snapped the tendons or pulled it from its socket and crippled you for life. If I’d known that when I had my hands on that rascal’s throat, I’d have choked the life out of him.”
“You did enough,” returned Joe. “As it is they got a pretty good dose. I know I cracked the leader’s wrist, and I heard a bone snap when you smashed that other fellow. Gee, Jim, you hit like a pile driver.”