r the bay. At his right hand lay drawing-board, the book and the
field-glasses.

"I'll give him a little excitement!" grimaced Jack Benson, stealing
softly forward.

Suddenly the boy swooped down upon drawing board, book and glasses,
then, with a panting whoop, wheeled and started off on a dead run.

"Here you--stop!" yelled the slim one, hoarse with sudden anger.

Like a flash the stranger was up and in pursuit. As he quickened in
the chase this stranger drew a revolver that glinted in the sun.

CHAPTER IV

JACK'S QUEER LOT OF LOOT

"Stop, thief!"

Jack Benson only sped onward the faster.

"Halt, you young rascal!" roared the long-legged one, in pursuit.

"The fellow who can call names like that, under the circumstances, has
no sense of humor!" chuckled the submarine boy, inwardly.

"Drop that chart and book!" panted the one in chase. "You're stealing
government property!"

"Yes, but which government?" Jack shot back at his pursuer.

"Are you going to stop?"

Jack's answer was to increase his burst of speed slightly.

"Then I'm going to fire!" came the warning. Glancing over his shoulder
the submarine boy saw the long-legged one still running after him. At
the same time the pursuer was raising his revolver, sighting.

Jack felt a little shiver. He had never been suspected of being a
coward, yet he was willing to admit that he didn't want to feel a
chunk of lead plowing its way through him.

"Last word to halt!" yelled the pursuer, in an ugly tone.

"Fire, then!" dared Jack Benson.

Crack! Whizz-zz! Chug! The weapon was discharged promptly. Jack,
still in flight, heard the bullet whistle by him. Then it struck the
sand, fifty feet ahead, throwing up a spurt of the fine particles.

"That was for a caution. The next shot will be to hit!" panted the
pursuer.

"I wonder if you can do it?" Jack taunted backward over his shoulder.

There was method in the submarine boy's tactics. He hoped, by making
the stranger angry, to spoil his aim.

Crack! The bullet sped by, fanning the fugitive's face. The close
aim, however, had the reverse of the effect expected by the marksman.
It roused all the submarine boy's anger. He might be hit, but he
would stop, now, only if a bullet laid him low.

Two more shots sped after the fugitive. Their aim was too close for
comfort, though not true enough to score a hit. Each of the shots
sounded a bit further back, too.

"He's getting winded,