"Then it's a guess, and only a guess," pursued Dashington, "that both Whistler and Bangs will rush into the timber to give Jurgens a helping hand. Suppose only one of them goes? You'll be in a fine row of stumps trying to steal the machine with a man looking at you over the sights of a rifle!"
"That's the chance I take," said Matt coolly. "We're all taking chances, for that matter, and you're taking as many as any one else, Dash."
"Well," returned Dashington, "I'm satisfied if the rest of you are. Ring the gong, Motor Matt, and we'll take our corners."
"You and Carl had better move, Dick," said Matt, nodding toward Jurgens and the pole. "Pick up your man and start. Do you feel equal to it?" he added, turning an anxious look on the sailor.
"Equal to anything, mate," answered Dick, "now that we've got the diamonds. Only don't lose the stones, that's all. Grab your end of the pole, Carl," he added.
Carl was as happy a Dutchman as one could have found in seven states. He was morbidly fond of excitement, and he liked always to be "in the midst of alarms"—providing there was nothing supernatural about the alarms. His face fairly shone as he picked up his end of the pole and staggered away with it.
It was only a moment before Carl, Dick and their swinging burden was out of sight; and less than a minute more until a wild, hair-raising yell for help came from the direction taken by the two boys.
Matt and Dashington gave a jump of consternation. They realized at once what must have happened. Undoubtedly Jurgens had got rid of his gag, unknown to Dick or Carl, and had given vent to the yell.
Answering cries came almost instantly from the direction of the automobile.
There was not much time for Matt and Dashington to think what should be done, but their wits were keen and they thought along the same line.