“Aw! clear out with you!” snarled one of the men. He was shorter than his companion, and had a gorilla-like face that just then looked to Arthur as though he could gnaw a file, it was so lined with a scowl.
“Yes, clear the track, kids, if you don’t want to get hurted bad!” added the other, who was not so hard looking a specimen.
Perhaps they expected that this would be enough. If so they were doomed to disappointment, because not a boy moved from his tracks. The men hardly knew which way to turn, for whether they faced west, east, north or south there was a whizzing stick cutting all sorts of wonderful figures in the air, and seeming to promise pretty tough treatment, should they try to rush the possessor.
Hugh was wise enough to realize that, given a little time, the two desperate men would manage to outwit himself and comrades. They might have to take a few savage blows, but then no doubt they were quite used to such trifling methods of punishment, after having been in the penitentiary for some time. A furious rush would carry the boys off their feet, and before they could be stopped, doubtless the convicts would be stretching their legs at a tremendous pace, making their escape.
Hugh had a sudden inspiration. He fancied that if there was one thing these bad men had reason to be afraid of it was recapture; because, should that happen, they must expect severe punishment at the hands of the wardens, to whom they had given so much trouble. Why not make out that they, the scouts, were in league with those same officials in blue, whose brass buttons would set the hearts of their former charges in a flutter of fear? He decided it was an idea worth trying.
“Hold them where they are, boys, till the wardens can get here!” the patrol leader called out just as loud as he could; and then, to the astonishment of his comrades, Hugh began to make violent gestures in a certain direction that might mean only one thing, and this, that some persons unseen were being urged to hurry.
That gave the men the first scare they had felt. Up to then, they had considered that they only had to deal with a pack of school-boys, dressed in khaki and campaign hats and leggings, to imitate the National Guard. Now it really began to look as though these Boy Scouts might have come up to this part of the country to help the wardens find the missing convicts; because in these latter days patrols are being found useful in many fields of endeavor.
All the same, they did hate to drop any of that plunder, which might mean so much to them later on if they found a chance to dispose of it. Hugh’s clever stratagem had certainly given them a fright; but it might have failed of its purpose, for the men who wore the striped suits were preparing to hurl themselves against the surrounding line, had not a new actor appeared on the scene.
This was the wounded aeronaut. Weak as he appeared to be, he looked very determined just at that moment. No doubt he did not much fancy seeing a pair of jailbirds run off with all his aerial possessions.
But what astonished Hugh most of all was the fact that the professor, as they had somehow come to call the man who had fallen from aloft, held something in his uninjured right hand which he must have extracted from an inner pocket. It did not make much of a showing, but the sun glinted from the blued steel of a short barrel that could only belong to an automatic, quick-firing weapon.