“Yes, that’s right. It isn’t as bad as it might be.”
“I only hope the gang don’t capture them before they make the boat safely. Listen!”
They stopped in their tracks and listened as the night wind bore to their ears the sound of gunfire from the beach. It was far over to one side of them. They could hear distant shouts, then the spasmodic firing of revolvers followed again.
“They must be having a sweet time. I guess the gang are trying to keep them from getting the boat,” said Chet.
Then they heard the muffled roar of the motorboat in the cove.
“They’re getting away!” declared Biff, in excitement. “You can hear the boat backing out.”
More revolver shots—more shouts—the roar of the Sleuth’s engine continued.
“As long as they get away safely I’m not worrying much,” Chet said. “Just the same, I’d rather be with them. But they’ll bring back help.”
“In the meantime, the best thing we can do is to hide.”
“The gang will be scouring the island for us now that they know we didn’t get away with the others. And they won’t be any too gentle with us either, if they get us.”
Chet and Biff decided that it would be best to get as near the shore as possible before concealing themselves, so as to be ready for a rush to safety should the Hardy boys return with the promised assistance. By the sound of the motorboat and the shooting, they judged that the narrow trail led toward the shore, so they followed it as well as they could in the darkness. The wet branches slashed their faces and they stumbled over roots and slipped in the wet, deep grass, but gradually the sound of the breaking surf drew closer and they knew they were coming nearer to the beach.
The path suddenly dipped and they descended a slope, finally emerging from the trees to find themselves on a rocky hillside overlooking the gray shore. They could see the white foam of the breaking rollers, and the gray rocks below but there was no sign of motorboat or of any human being.
“We may as well stay right on this hillside, behind the rocks,” Chet suggested. “If we go roaming about the shore we’re likely to run into Red and his gang.”
“Perhaps they’ve taken their own boats and gone after the Hardy boys.”
“They may have. But we can’t take a chance on it. If any of them are prowling around it would be just our luck to meet them.”
The chums made themselves as comfortable as possible in the shelter of a huge rock, from which they had a good view of the shore and the sea beyond. It was still dark and they had little hope of rescue before morning.
“It’ll take them quite a while to get to the mainland and rouse anyone to come out here to help us,” remarked Chet. “The big thing is for us to keep hidden until daylight and then lay low until we see a chance of rescue.”
“You can trust me to lay low. I’ve no hankering to be dragged back to that cave again.”
“Me neither.”
The boys lapsed into silence. They realized that conversation was dangerous. At any moment some member of the gang might be venturing near and might hear their voices.
From a distant side of the island they suddenly heard more shots. They broke out in a perfect fusillade of gunfire, and the rocks flung back the echoes, mingled with yells of rage. At the same time, they again heard the sound of the Sleuth’s engine, slower this time, as though the craft were but crawling along.
“I can’t understand this,” said Chet. “We heard them leave the cove a little while ago. Now they’re away down the shore and going slow.”
“Perhaps they’re having engine trouble,” said Biff mournfully.
“I can’t figure it out at all. It’s tough to be sitting here in the dark, not knowing whether they’ve got away or not.”
“I don’t dare let myself think they haven’t got away,” declared Biff, with determination.
An hour passed. The sounds of the motorboat had long since died away. Once in a while the chums heard voices back in the grove and they knew that at least some of the gangsters had been left on the island. Whether the others had left in pursuit of the Hardy boys, they could not tell. Had they known of the Hardys’ coup in taking the gangsters’ two boats they would have felt more relieved in mind. The chill of approaching morning had settled over the island, and they huddled together in the shelter of the rock, seeking warmth.
Suddenly, from the sea, they heard the steady chug-chug of a motorboat that seemed to be progressing slowly along in close proximity to the shore. They looked out and they could see a headlight slowly moving through the darkness.
“It’s a motorboat, but it’s traveling very slowly,” said Chet.
“Let’s take a chance and hail them.”
“It might be some of the gang.”
“That’s right. But we can go down closer to the shore and see. It may be Frank and Joe looking for us.”
The two lads left the shelter of the rocks and began moving cautiously toward the beach. They realized that there was every chance that the mysterious craft might be one of the gangsters’ boats and that they would be risking recapture by making their presence known. But, on the other hand, it might be the Hardy boys returning in an effort to pick them up.
They had gone no more than a few yards when a loud voice only a short distance away made them jump with surprise:
“Is that one of our boats, Pete?”
“No. I don’t know it at all. There’s something funny about this.”
A rock clattered down the slope. Chet looked back. Two dark figures appeared in sight at the top of the declivity.
The two parties saw one another at the same time.
“Here they are!” roared one of the men, and he plunged down the slope straight
