His arms encircled the lad’s legs in a perfect tackle and Biff went down with a crash. Joe wheeled about and plunged upon them, striking out desperately to fight off Biff’s attacker. They struggled fiercely in the darkness. Joe felt his fist crash into the man’s face and he heard a grunt of pain. Biff was wriggling out of his assailant’s grasp, and the boys might indeed have made their escape had it not been that the other men came running up out of the shadows.
With a roar of fury, two of them plunged at the boys and hauled them away from their comrade.
“After the other two!” shouted a voice, which they recognized as that of Red. “They’re heading for the bushes!”
Joe and Biff found themselves roughly hauled to their feet, their arms held tightly behind them. They heard the clatter of footsteps as two of the other men ran after Frank and Chet.
“Back to the cave with ’em,” growled Red. “Looks like we’ve got one of the guys that helped ’em get away. I’ve been thinkin’ all day that there was someone hangin’ around here that we didn’t know about.”
The lads were shoved and pushed ahead of their captors, dragged and bundled across the rocks until they reached the cave. Then they were roughly shoved through the entrance into the light of the fire.
“Ah! I thought so!” declared Red. “One of the guys that tried to help them get away.” He peered closer at Joe. “Blessed if it ain’t one of those two boys that was in the boat with the Hardys that day.”
One of the other men ordered the boys to sit down, and they crouched beside the stirred-up fire, sick at heart, wondering how it fared with Frank and Chet.
When Joe and Biff were captured it was Chet’s first impulse to turn and go back, but a warning shout from Frank restrained him.
“Keep running!” he called. “If they’re caught we’ll have a chance to get help.”
The wisdom of this course flashed through Chet’s mind at once. If they went to the aid of their comrades they would probably all be captured and in a worse position than before. But if two, or even one, managed to escape, it would be possible to bring help to the island and effect the release of the others.
Chet heard Frank crash into the undergrowth. It was pitch dark, and although he tried to follow he knew he had left the trail. He did not call out because he was afraid of revealing his whereabouts to the men behind, but he blundered on, hoping to catch up with Frank. As for the latter, he was quite unaware of Chet’s predicament.
Chet crashed into the bushes. Branches whipped his face. Roots gripped his feet. He struggled on through the dense growth, blindly, in the darkness. Far ahead of him he could hear Frank making his way through the underbrush, but when he tried to go toward the sound he found that his sense of direction was confused.
He struggled on for some time. Suddenly he saw a patch of gray light ahead. It was the open sky and he soon plunged out of the undergrowth into a rocky clearing. He breathed a sigh of relief.
But the relief was short-lived.
A dark figure loomed up before him. He dodged swiftly to one side, but a huge hand caught at his clothing. He was spun violently around and then he was caught by the collar, despite his struggles.
“Got you!” grunted the dark figure, with satisfaction. “Now if we can only get the other—”
He said no more, but shoved Chet before him across the rocks. Then it was that Chet found that, instead of fleeing farther away from the cave he had really made a circle in the wood and had emerged directly into the clearing again. He was sick with disappointment. He wriggled and twisted in the grasp of his captor, but the man was too strong for him and he shook Chet vigorously, tripping his feet from under him.
“None of that! You come along with me!” he rasped.
And in a few minutes Chet was shoved back into the cave, where he found Biff Hooper and Joe Hardy crouched silently beside the fire, with downcast faces.
Frank alone had escaped.
Frank knew that Chet had got lost but he did not dare call out, for he could also hear the running tramp of feet that told him their pursuers had not yet given up the chase. If he could only reach the cove and get the motorboat started he would be able to go over to the mainland for help. If only one escaped, it would be sufficient to save the others. He could not afford to risk his own capture in seeking Chet.
He crashed on through the bushes, trying to make as little noise as possible. But he was off the trail, and the tangled undergrowth was growing denser with every forward step he took.
He still clutched the flashlight that had been the cause of their undoing. He was glad he had found it, because in the pitch blackness he was unable to find his way. He could hear the roar of the waves, but they appeared to come from all sides and he was unable to judge accurately the route to the shore.
Frank decided that he would not make use of the flashlight until it was absolutely necessary. There was too much danger that its gleam might be seen by one of the searchers. And he knew that the gang would not give up the chase as long as they knew he was on the island.
“Perhaps they don’t know there are two of us,” he thought. “If Joe can convince them that he rescued Chet and Biff single-handed they won’t know about me and they won’t keep on searching.”
In this lay his only hope—in this and in the chance that he would be able to reach the motorboat and make his escape
