A DREADNOUGHT BOY AT BAY.
The Dreadnought Boy's challenge was still vibrating when, from every
side, dark figures seemed to spring. They rushed at him like so many
tigers. Ned struck out blindly.
It was hard to distinguish anything in the darkness, but twice in the
first few seconds of his desperate battle against odds, he felt his
fists encounter some one's features. The feeling gave him a sense of
distinct satisfaction.
"One! Two!" counted the young man-o'-war's-man grimly, as his fists
shot out right and left like sledge-hammers.
But Ned knew, as well as his opponents, that four to one are almost
insurmountable odds. Already he had knocked two of his foes sprawling,
when he was struck a blow from behind that staggered him. But it was
only for an instant. The next moment he had turned and seized by the
throat the man who had aimed the blow. He shook him as a terrier shakes
a rat. He could hear the fellow's teeth chatter, but it was too dark to
distinguish features.
In the meantime, his fallen opponents had picked themselves up. So
far the fight had progressed in ominous silence, save for the deep
breaths and stamping feet of those engaged in it. But now, fury at this
unexpectedly stubborn resistance brought words to the lips of his foes.
They were not nice words, and Ned thrilled with a desire to silence
their utterers, for he was a clean-spoken boy, who hated profanity in
any form.
Suddenly, as if by concerted consent, his foes ceased their separate
attacks, and massed like a wolf pack preparing to finish its prey.
Ned had hardly sensed the new situation and braced himself to meet it
before they were upon him.
Thud! thud!
The lad's fists met their mark fairly, and once more two of his
opponents reeled back. But this time they did not fall. Instead, they
rallied to the attack.
As if they had been one, all four of his assailants hurled themselves
on the Dreadnought Boy. Strive as he would, Ned felt his arms pinioned
to his sides, and he was borne down by sheer weight of numbers. He
struggled with every steel-like muscle in his powerful young body.
With teeth set and eyes that flamed, he fought with every fraction
of an ounce of strength he possessed. But, with two men hanging like
bulldogs to his neck from behind, and two more clinging to his arms
and battering him in front, the lad could do nothing. With a sickening
sense of helplessness, he felt a leg slide under his, and tottered
backward.
With his four foes still clinging like leeches to him, Ned felt himself
borne to earth, and then, despite his frantic struggles, a hand was
thrust rapidly into each of his pockets. A cry escaped him for the
first time--a cry of rage.
The rascals were rifling him of the plans of the pontoon-equipped
aeroplane!
All at once a voice struck into the scene. Some one was coming down the
road. At the top of a pair of lusty lungs the approaching individual
was singing:
"A sailor's wife, a sail-or's star should be!
Star-r-r-r-r-r should be!
Star-r-r-r-r-r should be!"
"Herc!" shouted Ned.
"Ahoy, there!" came the hearty response, as Herc, who had been
sauntering along the road, on his way to meet Ned, broke into a run.
Something in the accent of Ned's cry had warned him that his comrade's
need for help was urgent.
"Scatter!" came a sharp voice from one of the hitherto silent waylayers
of the Dreadnought Boy.
Like so many leaves before a sharp puff of autumn wind, they instantly
dissolved into the night. Ned, dusty, battered and furious, picked
himself up. As he did so Herc plunged into the dark patch in which the
desperate fight had taken place. He hailed Ned and received an instant
response.
"What on earth has happened?" he exclaimed.
Ned soon told his story. His voice throbbed with anger as he talked.
Ned was slow to wrath, but once aroused he was whole-souled in his
anger, and surely he had justification for his rage.
"The scoundrels!" burst out Herc, "couldn't you recognize any of them?"
"No. They chose the place well. I could hardly tell you if it wasn't
for your voice."
"I'll bet the hole out of a doughnut that Merritt and Chance had
something to do with this."
"I don't know. I hardly know anything I'm so mad. At any rate I must
have marked one or two of them. My knuckles are skinned where I hit
them."
"Let's hope that Merritt and Chance were the two you walloped. If so,
we shan't have much difficulty in identifying two of your assailants."
"You talk as if you were certain they had something to do with it."
"I am," responded Herc briefly.
"Tell you what we'll do," said Ned, suddenly, "let's light a match and
look the ground over. Maybe we can find some trace of the fellows'
identity. There's one thing sure, they were not common robbers."
"That's evident enough. It was the plans they were after. But who that
knows about them could use them to advantage?"
"That remains to be seen. In the meantime, on second thoughts, I can do
better than matches. I've got that small electric torch I use about the
aeroplane."
"Good. Switch it on and we'll see what we can see."
Ned drew out a small object from his pocket. There was a sharp click
and a bright ray of light shot out. Here and there about the ground
the Dreadnought Boy flashed the tiny searchlight.
"Look here!" cried Herc suddenly.
In triumph he held up a tangled looking object.
"What is it?" asked Ned in a puzzled tone.
"That's easy. It's false hair like the kind we used on the _Manhattan_
when we gave that show. The chaps that attacked you were disguised and
this was a part of their makeup."
"I think so, too. But--shades of immortal Farragut!--look here, Herc!"
Ned, as he spoke, pounced on a roll of papers lying in the dust at one
side of the road, right under a clump of alder bushes.
"It's the plans!" gasped Herc.
"That's right," rejoined Ned, opening the roll and glancing at its
contents, "they're all intact, too. One of the rascals that took them
must have placed them in his pocket. Then, in pushing into this brush
to escape, they were caught and thrown out."
"I guess that's it, and a good thing for us, too. But--gee whiz!"
Without another word Herc plunged into the brush. He fought his way
through it furiously. Happening to look up while they had been talking
he had caught the glint of a pair of eyes as the light from Ned's torch
reflected in them. One of the men had noted the loss of the plans and
had returned for them. That much was evident. At any rate, Herc, as
usual, acted before he thought, and in two bounds was swallowed in the
brush.
Ned, not realizing in the least what had happened, and half inclined to
think that Herc had gone suddenly crazy, followed instantly. Presently
he found himself at Herc's side. The freckle-faced lad gasped out a few
disconnected sentences. Broken as they were, they apprised Ned of what
had happened.
"The rascal must have come back to get the plans," he concluded; "I
suppose he was watching us and waiting his chance to emerge into the
road when the light glinted on his eyeballs."
"Oh, if we could only have captured him!"
"More especially," put in Herc dryly, "as I recognized the man as
Chance."
"What! You did!"
"Sure. I could swear to it. This is the time they've overreached
themselves. They tried to steal the plans for some reason best known to
themselves, and failed. They tried to disguise their part in the job
and failed. I guess their career in the navy has ended for good and all
now. In the morning we----"
A pair of arms were thrown round Herc's neck from behind. Caught all
unprepared, he was carried off his feet in a flash and in a second
a stout cord had been whipped about his wrists confining his hands
helplessly behind his back. While this had been going on Ned was served
the same trick.
In a trice the two Dreadnought Boys were rendered helpless, where an
instant before Herc had been crowing over their triumph.
Somebody aimed a vicious kick at Ned's face which he dodged by rolling
over on his side. At the same time a spiteful voice snarled:
"Our career has ended, eh? Well, it looks to me more as if you were
rapidly approaching your own finish."
The voice was that of Chance, and his chuckle of triumph was echoed by
his three companions who stood about the recumbent boys, rejoicing in
the bit of strategy which had wrought their undoing.