Some distance away the young man saw a body of American aviators. They were shoveling saltpeter into an enormous vat, and were being herded around by heavily armed guards. Frequently a heavy whip was used on the back of a prisoner to expedite his movements.
When Epworth saw this he realized that it would not be long before the Greyhound would be dismantled. The pirates did not intend to give the prisoners a chance to escape.
Again he gave the Greyhound a careful study. It was guarded by four men who were seated on a boulder on the side of the mountain opposite from his possible approach. He and Joan would have to get to the Greyhound, get in it, rev up, and get away with a swiftness that was almost an impossibility.
Still it was their only chance. He would make a stagger at gaining his liberty. If they remained in this crater it would be only a matter of a short time before they would be discovered.
To make the break Joan must go also, and it would be hard to slip into the plane without one of them being seen.
“Concealment is useless,” he asserted. “We must run for it. When you get there jump in, and if we are attacked I will try to hold them off while you start the engine.”
Fleet as swallows the two darted forward. Epworth, an all-round athlete, timed his speed to keep even with the girl. They got to the door, Joan’s hand was on it, when the four guards ran around the plane, gave a shout and closed in on them.
“Jump in!” Epworth urged. “Snap at it. I will hold them.”
He whirled like a lion, dodged, and caught the leading guard a heavy blow in the stomach. The man doubled up with a grunt, and Epworth, foot-working swiftly and dodging with the expertness of a prize fighter, evaded a rush by two men, and caught the fourth a right hand body blow on the run. His victim toppled over sideways.
Not for a second did he pause. He was fighting for life. These men were unscrupulous robbers. He knew this by the way in which they destroyed airplanes. They would not hesitate to slug him, and make Joan’s future life miserable.