The High School Boys' Fishing Trip Part 35

"Let's hustle now with the rest," urged Bayliss.

"Right you are," agreed Bert.

They hurried along, going a bit nearer to the camp, until Dodge pointed to a tangle of bushes.

"That'll be a good place to hide with the siren. You get in there with it, but don't start it until about sixty seconds after you hear the big noise. Then I'll hustle right back here to you."

"Don't let any of d.i.c.k Prescott's friends catch you," urged Bayliss, who would have gasped had he known that at that moment two of them crouched close enough to hear every word.

Now Bert hastened down the slope, carrying a fireworks' bomb very much like those that he and Bayliss had set off on the opposite side of the lake on another evening long to be remembered.

Treading cautiously, Bert reached a point not far distant from the doorway of the camp tent. Here, crouching in the screening bushes, Bert placed the bomb in position. It was only a fireworks'

bomb of the kind used on Fourth of July nights. It was harmless enough to one who stood more than thirty feet from it.

"The fuse will burn a minute before it goes off," murmured Bert to himself. "That will give me almost time to reach Bayliss before the big noise comes. The noise will bring them all out of the tent. Then the remainder of our programme will do the rest."

But, even as Bert reached for the match with which to touch off the fuse he heard Dalzell call in a voice audible at the distance:

"Look at those things up in the air, Tom!"

"He has sighted our 'ghosts,'" laughed Bert to himself.

"They must be some sort of signal kites, flown by the moonshiners,"

answered Reade in an interested tone.

"Kites! Is that what he takes our ghosts for?" wondered Bert Dodge in deep disgust.

But the mention of the word "moonshiners" gave the listener a start. In a general way he knew that "moonshiner" is the term applied to men who try to cheat the United States Revenue Service by distilling liquors on which they pay no tax. Bert had heard that moonshiners are deadly men, indeed, and that they make little of shooting down the government officers who are sent to ferret out their hiding places and arrest them.

"I wish we hadn't run into those moonshiners," said Danny, rather dolefully. "And I wish d.i.c.k hadn't thought it necessary to go and send word to the United States authorities. I'm afraid there's going to be an awful row here to-night."

"What's that?" wondered Bert, p.r.i.c.king up his ears.

"I rather wish d.i.c.k hadn't been in such an awful rush," Tom admitted slowly. "Anyway, we fellows should have gotten out of here and left it to the marshals to have it all their own way. I'm afraid there is going to be a big fight to-night, and these old woods may be full of humming bullets. And I'm worried about d.i.c.k, too, going off as guide to the marshals. There were only eight of the marshals, and, even with four of our fellows, they still have to face nearly twenty of the moonshiners---and I'll wager that the moonshiners are all desperate fighters."

"Oh, dear!" wailed Danny Grin.

Bert Dodge's face was a study. With the prospect of a running fight between United States' marshals and desperate moonshiners about to take place, these woods seemed likely to be anything but a safe place.

"At least, the marshals did a decent thing in leaving us rifles here to protect ourselves with," Dan Dalzell continued.

Raising his head, Bert took a long look at the camp. Not far away stood Tom Reade, the outlines of a rifle in his grasp showing very distinctly. Dalzell was over nearer the shadow of the tent, yet Bert made sure that Dalzell had a rifle also.

"Gracious! There is likely to be real enough trouble in the woods to-night!" muttered Bert. "Those boys didn't have guns when they left Gridley. The authorities have probably furnished them."

Just then a popping fire rang out further up the lake slope.

"There it goes!" almost yelled Danny Grin. "The marshals have run into the moonshiners. The fight is on. Oh, I hope none of our fellows are being hit!"

Certainly the firing continued briskly. Dodge forgot all about lighting the fuse of the fireworks' bomb.

Instead, he crouched low, then darted from the bushes, running as fast as he could to the point where he had left his companion.

"In here!" chuckled Bayliss gleefully. "I didn't know you had anything with you but the bomb, Bert."

"That's all I did have," whispered Dodge, white-faced. "Hustle out of here, Bayliss!"

"What's the matter?"

"Hear that firing?"

"I thought you had been setting off fire crackers, Bert."

"Fire crackers nothing!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Bert, his face ghastly. "Man alive, that's a fight going on up the slope between United States officers and a lot of desperate moonshiners! There goes the firing again."

Bayliss heard it; he couldn't help that.

Then still nearer rang out the firing.

"We've got to get out of here as fast as our legs will take us,"

Bert insisted. "Hustle before the bullets reach us."

At that moment Dave Darrin broke from cover, running as fast as his legs could carry him. As he raced toward camp Darrin called:

"Reade! Danny! This is Darrin. Get ready to run or fight.

It's a fearful affair. Four of the marshals were down when I left, and d.i.c.k Prescott is done for, too! Oh, it's fearful!

There won't be any of the government party left!"

Apparent terror rang in Darrin's voice as he ran forward flourishing his "Quaker" rifle.

"Great Scott!" groaned Bayliss, trying to rise and run, though his legs shook under him.

"Buck up! Don't be a coward!" hissed Dodge, seizing his companion by the arm. "Come on! Run for it---before we're hit."

Thus the two made their escape, running, stumbling through the woods, heading blindly for the spot where they had left their car.

Back of them fresh sounds of firing rang out. How could the frightened, dazed fugitives know that it was d.i.c.k Prescott, pursuing, and dropping lighted strings of fire crackers as he ran?

"It's a running fight, and coming right our way!" gasped Bert.

"Let's drop down and crawl to safety!" almost screamed Bayliss.

"No, you don't!" retorted Dodge angrily. "Our only safety lies in getting into that car and throwing the engine wide open. I don't care if we wreck the car if only we can cover a couple of miles of ground first. Run! Hustle!"

Had he suffered from a little keener fear, Bayliss would have collapsed utterly. As it was, fear lent him extra speed. He fairly tore over the ground, darting through bushes, plunging on in headlong haste. Bert kept with him.

"We'll soon be all right," cried Dodge encouragingly. "Now, jump right across the road. Our car is in there, and headed the right way."

Just as they reached the car and Bert's pale face showed right in front of the headlights a third figure dashed up.