uced and an application
administered by Mr. Perry. This seemed to ease the prisoner-patient
somewhat, although he made no effort to stand up, or even to sit up.

"He may have a bone fracture," Mr. Perry remarked, after he had finished
his first-aid ministration, "It's a pretty bad wound, after all. We'll
have to take him to the nearest physician in the morning if he doesn't
show decided improvement by that time. I didn't dare rub the liniment in
because the slightest touch was so painful."

"The skin isn't broken," Bud observed, with a tone of real concern, for,
in spite of the fact that the fellow was there on no friendly mission,
the catapult "dead shot" now felt no exultation over his deed.

"No, or I could not have used the liniment," Mr. Perry replied. "His
clothing protected him against a broken wound. By the way," he continued,
turning to the victim, who lay on one of the camp cots that formed a part
of the regular equipment of the Catwhisker; "who are you and what were
you doing here?"

"Never you mind who I am or what I was doing here," snapped the youth,
who appeared to be a few years older than the boy Catwhiskerites and
their Canadian friend, Max. "You wait till my father gets after you.
He'll clean you all up."

"And who may your father be?" inquired Mr. Perry with provoking calmness.

"You'll find out who my father is, just you wait. You haven't any right
here. These islands belong to my father and--"

"Oh--ho!" interrupted Mr. Perry in tone of sudden discovery. "So that's
the way the wind blows, is it? I get you now. You're the son of one of
those kidnappers."

The boy's face twitched, possibly with pain, more likely with alarm at
his having betrayed his identity so foolishly.

"We'll get down to the bottom of this mystery yet," Cub declared
confidently.

"Yes, all we need is a little mathematics, Mr. Perry, and we'll soon
solve the problem."

"We've had some mathematics already," Mr. Perry smiled.

"I didn't see it," returned Cub. "Maybe I'm slow."

"No, you haven't got farther than your One's in the addition table. You
can add 1 to any other number, but you can't tell how much 2 plus 2 are."

"All right, I'm foolish," admitted Cub. "Spring your joke."

"This is a rather serious situation in which to spring a joke,"
reminded the "foolish boy's" father. "But didn't you hear me put two
and two together when this fellow declared that this island belonged to
his father?"

Laughter greeted