From the actions of the two men, it was plain that they were as much surprised as was Motor Matt.
The cause of this unexpected meeting flashed through Matt's brain like lightning.
The rifle shot had been heard, and these two Japs had been told to cross the ridge and investigate. Matt had gained the shore before the Japs had cleared the bushes and were able to see him. As they descended the slope, he was going up, and fortune had decreed that they give each other a wide berth. But fortune had taken another tack, for she was now bringing Matt and the Japs altogether too close to each other for comfort.
These Japs, like the two at work on the torpedo, were stripped of all unnecessary clothing; and, fortunately for the young motorist, they carried no weapons.
For an instant Matt and the two yellow men stared at each other; then the Japs gave vent to a yell, and prepared to keep Matt from continuing on down the hill.
Matt, remembering the two rifles he had seen on the beach, had no intention of waiting for the other two Japs to reach the scene. He saw the men before him preparing to lay him by the heels in the most approved ju-jutsu style, but that did not keep him back.
He leaped forward, apparently aiming to pass directly between the two men. They jumped to get in his way, whereupon he dodged to the right.
But, if he was quick, so were the Japs. No sooner had he changed his course than they also had faced the new direction.
As Matt went flying down the hill, one of them made a dive for him. The king of the motor boys struck out with his right fist—and he had a "right" about which Carl Pretzel was wont to sing praises.
The fist accomplished its work, so far as that one Jap was concerned. A sharp breath was jolted from the yellow man and the hands he had put out dropped limply, the while his whole body slumped backward.