ed to explain.

But this was not time for explanations. Paddy Ryan, heading a dozen of
his men, had seen the four fleeing through the woods and followed. At
this moment the pursuers reached the edge of the clearing. The first
intimation which any of the five, engrossed in their meeting, had of
the near approach of the enemy, was an outburst of bullets, some of
which sang unpleasantly close while others kicked up the sand around
them. None, however, took effect.

Where the others had come up with Jack was near a corner of the radio
plant. All leaped for cover behind it. With a yell of triumph, Paddy
Ryan jumped out into the clearing, his men at his heels.

Frank, who carried the captured revolver and spare ammunition taken
from the man called Mike, realized it was distinctly up to him to halt
the enemy, if possible. He did not want to shoot to kill, although he
knew that the others had no such compunctions, especially since
Higginbotham must be aware that if they escaped he would be a ruined
man, as they would be able to identify him. Nevertheless, the
emergency demanded action.

All this passed through his mind in a twinkling. Then he peered out
from behind the shelter of the radio station, took deliberate aim, and
fired. The leading figure, that of Paddy Ryan, stumbled, lurched
forward and fell. Some of the others in the pursuing party paused,
others came on. Once more Frank fired. A second man, the foremost,
fell. It was sufficient to deter the others. While some ran back
helter-skelter for the shelter of the woods, others threw themselves
prone in the sand, and began to shoot from that position.

"I shot them in the legs," said Frank.

His voice trembled. His legs felt weak, his hands numb. It was with an
effort he refrained from dropping the revolver. Like his chums, Frank
was a crack shot, for Mr. Temple early had accustomed them to the use
of rifle and shotgun, and the previous summer in New Mexico Tom
Bodine, their cowboy friend, had given all three valuable instructions
in revolver shooting. Nevertheless, to take deliberate aim at a human
being was unnerving. It was only the realization that the safety of
his comrades hung on his aim that had nerved him to the task and
steeled his arm.

"Steady, old thing," said Bob, patting him on the shoulder. Then,
turning to Captain Folsom, he added: "Well, captain, where do we go
from here? We've got all Long Island ahead of us. I expect we had
better start traveli