The victors were left with Bat and the Captain. The latter stood sulkily waiting. Bat was sitting on the grass, with Poodle tying up the injured shoulder with a strip of his own shirt sleeve. Up to him came Hike, exclaiming, “Bat, old man, I’d like to shake hands with you.”
“All right, kid,” said Bat, cheerfully, “I’d jus’ soon—but take my left wing. T’other just got on the bum. I was picking a bullet out of the air—like baseball.”
“Bat,” said the General, “I’d like to have you make—what do you call it? Oh—I’d like to have you ‘make a getaway.’ Have you any money?”
“About ten dollars.”
“Well, here’s forty. That will help some. Now promise me you’ll get away as quickly as you can. I’ll see that the detectives don’t search for you as hard as they do for the others, but your connection with the gang will get you into trouble unless you get good and far away from here.”
“I’ll do it, sir,” declared Bat. “Thanks for the forty. I’ll beat it.”
He rose, rather dizzily, shook hands with Hike silently, and headed for the gate. Then the captors turned to their prisoner, Captain Welch.
He faced them, grimly. He had not given up the game yet.
CHAPTER XVI
THE CAPTAIN’S TRICK
There were three very quiet persons as the victors hastened back to Washington in the Hustle, driven by Lieutenant Adeler. The General was nursing his twisted ankle; Hike was lying still, with Poodle occasionally patting him on the shoulder. And Captain Welch, between the two soldiers, sat with his head on his knees. There were no handcuffs on him, but his revolver had been taken away.