" gritted the running submarine boy. "With his long
legs that chap ought to get over ground faster than I. The difference
is that that fellow is out of condition, and my hard work keeps me
about up to the mark of condition all the time. He--"

Crack! Jack happened to turn, just as the fellow fired, and the boy was
able to see that the bullet struck the ground behind him.

"Out of range!" clicked Benson. "What's the good of carrying a pocket
revolver for service work? Now, if he had a dozen shots more left he
would be wasting his cartridges to fire at me."

In fact, it was plain enough that the pursuer had given up the chase for
the time being. Not only was he out of range of his quarry, but the
long-legged one lacked the wind to keep on on foot.

"Say, what a fool I'd have been, to give up this plunder!" cried Jack,
mockingly. "That chap couldn't catch me; he couldn't hit me. So I've
gotten away with the stuff he was so anxious to have--and which the
Army, I'll bet, would a thousand times rather he didn't have!"

"Now, how am I going to get back to the Army people?" wondered young
Benson, slowing down to a walk, though keeping a vigilant lookout to
the rear. "I don't want to walk something like a million miles to find
a place from which I can get across the bay."

It was desolate country, over here. Jack and the long-legged one, well
to his rear, now, might be the only human beings within some miles. The
outlook was not an encouraging one.

"Say! Wow! Whoop! Blazes!" uttered Captain Jack, suddenly. "Now, I
remember Long-legs! Millard was the name he gave when he came to us, at
Dunhaven, last Fall. He was the chap who wanted to work on the submarine
construction. Said he'd do any kind of work, but Grant Andrews put him
in a separate shed, sorting and counting steel rivets, and never let him
get near a submarine boat. That's the same fellow--Millard. Or, at
least, that was the name he gave them. But, when Millard found he wasn't
going to do anything but take care of rivets, he threw up the job four
days after. He had pretended to be mighty hard up, too, and wanted work
at any sort of wages."

Jack's face began to glow as he remembered more and more of the brief
career of Millard at Dunhaven.

"And Dave Pollard, when he was over in Washington later, said he ran
across Millard living at the swell Arlington Hotel! Millard had a
different name in Washington, and refused to recognize Mr. Pollar