Carl and Ferral realized the necessity of quick action. Grabbing up Brady by the feet and shoulders, they hustled him toward the Hawk. When they dumped him into the car, Matt had already cast off one rope and was working frantically with the other.
"Here's the Hawk, by thunder!" bellowed an exulting voice from the gloom. "What do you think of this for luck? We got ter capture the air ship, Pete! It won't do to let such a chance get away from us."
The hoarse voice came closer and closer, and Matt heard a scramble of running feet.
"Dere dey are!" cried Carl. "It vas Pete und Vipple! Vat a luck, und—"
There came the impact of a blow. Among the shadows under the trees Matt saw Carl, who had been standing by the rail of the car, suddenly hurled backward. He had been struck down by one of the two scoundrels—Pete or Whipple—it was impossible to tell which.
"Pipe to quarters!" came the voice of Ferral as he leaped to Carl's assistance. "All hands repel boarders! Look out for yourself, Matt!"
Just then Matt had his own hands full and could not pay any more attention to what was going on by the car.
One of the two ruffians, seeing him in the gloom, leaped in his direction. There was a bluish flash, followed by a sudden report. Matt dropped backward.
"I've got King, Pete!" jubilated the voice of Whipple. "We'll have everythin' our own way, now! Don't let them others git the best o' ye afore I git there."
Whipple, however, was mistaken. He had not "got" Matt. His bullet had sped wide, and Matt had merely tumbled backward to pick up the club which he had dropped while working at the rope.