“Yes, sir.”
“Then I don’t see much use of Uncle Sam keeping his officers in the St. Lawrence. You have done your country a noble service, boys, and one which will not be forgotten.”
“We have simply tried to do our duty as citizens,” returned Chot, earnestly.
“And you have more than succeeded. Now, let me see the captives.”
The boys led the way to the lodge, Lieutenant Winters following with two of his men.
Down into the basement they went where Bert sat with a revolver, guarding the prisoners.
“H’m! A bunch of beauties,” was Lieutenant Winter’s comment. “There is ‘Dandy Dick’ Short, whom we have been wanting for some time, who was formerly a notorious smuggler on the gulf coast; and Larry Nexton, and Bill Gerry, and Flitty Gray, and, who’s this—oh, yes, and Joe Silverton. Why, these are all old friends, boys—and old hands at the smuggling business. They have been trying to elude our clutches for a long time.”
“And it looks like we succeeded pretty well,” said Dandy Dick Short, the leader of the band. A sneer curled his lip. “It was left to a bunch of kids to catch us when we were not looking.”
“Then all credit to the ‘kids,’ as you call them,” said Lieutenant Winters, warmly. “The result has been accomplished, and I think I am safe in saying that you won’t do any more smuggling for some years to come. How long have you been working for Lawrence?”
The men looked at each other, but said nothing.