Boy Scouts of the Air on Lost Island Part 8

"You will yowl like a lot of bob-tailed tomcats, will yuh!" yelled Dave, dancing up and down on one foot--he had stubbed his toe against one of his shoes in his charge across the room.

"You will snore away like six buzz-saws on circus day, huh?" snorted Frank, neatly catching Dave in the pit of the stomach with a pillow caught up from the floor.

For a second it looked like a free-for-all, but Jerry had no time to waste.

"Get your clothes on--hustle. We're going back to Lost Island."

"Suppose my mother won't let me?"

"Suppose you tell her we've got to go and get our boat? She'll let you go all right. You just want to get back to bed, that's all that's worrying you. Hustle, Dave. We can't lose a minute."

"But didn't you tell Tod's dad about what we--found out?" Dave hesitated over the last. It was plain to be seen that he was none too sure in his own mind of the importance of their discovery.

"I did, and he--well, he acted so queer about it that I don't know what to think. I wouldn't be a bit surprised if they--he and Mr. Aikens, you know--never went near Lost Island. They think we're just kids."

"But we don't really _know_ anything, Jerry; we're only just guessing."

"Guessing, huh? Well, I'm only just guessing that you're wasting a lot of time about getting your clothes on, but in about half a minute I'm going to climb all over you."

At that Dave bristled up a bit, but his fingers became spryer with b.u.t.tons and hooks and very shortly he stood fully dressed and ready to go downstairs. Jerry had already made peace with Mrs. Thomas, so little time was lost in waiting for Dave to s.n.a.t.c.h a bite to eat and be on his way.

"I've got four bits loose in my pocket," announced Jerry, once they were out on the street. "If we don't let any gra.s.s grow on the side streets while we're moving we can make the two-five express on the Dellwood Interurban. We can drop off when they slow down at Downers Crossing; that must be almost opposite Lost Island. It's hard going through the swamps to get to Plum Run, but I guess we're good for it."

They made the two-five--with about three seconds to spare. Their car was empty, so each dropped into a seat and sprawled out comfortably.

Jerry smiled grimly to himself as he looked back perhaps five minutes later and saw how the two had slumped down in their seats. It did not need a throaty gurgle from Dave to convince him that the pair were sound asleep. "A fine pair of adventurers," he muttered to himself, not entirely without some feeling of resentment. It was well enough to be the leader, but--well, he wouldn't have minded a little snooze himself.

He did not feel quite so critical, however, when, perhaps a half hour later, at a terrific jolt of the train, he was roused from the doze into which he too had fallen. A hasty glance out the window told him that they were at Downers Crossing. With a yell that would have done credit to a whole war-party of Comanches, he pounced upon the two sleepers and dragged and pushed and pommeled them out onto the platform of the car. The train was beginning to move, so their descent was none too dignified.

"Why in thunder didn't you wake us in time so I could have got a drink?" complained Frank.

Jerry said nothing; he felt too guilty to risk any answer. After they had cut across to the wagon road that led in the general direction of the river, he consoled his chum with: "Downer's farm is only about half a mile in, and we can get all the b.u.t.termilk we want there----" adding mischievously: "----on Wednesdays, when they churn."

Both Dave and Frank promised instant murder for that, so he had to admit that they would reach the best spring in Winthrop County within three minutes.

"Saved your hide by just twenty-nine seconds," declared Dave as he plunged his face into the bubbling surface of the clearest, coldest kind of a hillside spring.

Their gait was much livelier after that, and in less than ten minutes Plum Run was sighted, But they did not come out as close to Lost Island as Jerry had predicted. In fact, they were not certain in which direction it lay, for to the north lay a cl.u.s.ter of trees apparently surrounded by water, and which might well be the place they sought. To the south lay another green spot away from sh.o.r.e.

"It's north of here," declared both Dave and Frank, but Jerry exclaimed triumphantly, after the first tangle of argument:

"It must be south. If Lost Island was north the wagon bridge'd be between us and it."

So south they went; and as they drew nearer they saw that the patch of green was indeed Lost Island. Once they were within close sight of it, they went forward with all caution. The last hundred yards or so they made on hands and knees, finding cover in every clump of bushes or willows on the way.

But finally they were ready to break through the last fringe of willow and spy out the prospect. Jerry, who was ahead, waited for his two companions to catch up with him.

"Not a sound, now," he cautioned as they crouched beside him.

Stealthily they pushed aside the leaves that obscured their view.

Suddenly, from behind them a yell, blood-curdling, absolutely hair-raising, rang out through the stillness. The three turned.

But it was too late. Breaking cover at the same instant, a half-dozen husky young chaps charged on the surprised trio.

"Up and at them, fellows!" came a roar. "They're part of the gang!"

CHAPTER VII

THE FLYING EAGLE SCOUTS

For a minute or two it was hard for the three boys to understand just what had happened. They were pounced upon and hurled roughly to the ground, in spite of their violent struggles, and there they were pommeled unmercifully. They fought back, but they were hopelessly outnumbered. It was no adventure-story fight where the lone hero engages a dozen husky brutes and by superior science and strength lays his a.s.sailants out one by one.

Too bewildered to be really angry, the three found themselves pinned to the ground. Then they were able to take stock of their attackers. Six boys they were, of about the same size and age as Dave, Jerry and Frank, They were dressed in some odd sort of uniform, like brownish canvas. Just now their faces wore triumphant grins.

"Here comes Phil," remarked one of the three who were standing, coming over to sit on Jerry's legs, Jerry having seized a favorable opportunity to attempt escape.

"What's the idea?" inquired the newcomer, a tall but well-knit chap with a broad, sunburned face and a mop of black hair showing under the forward brim of his wide hat.

"We caught them trying to sneak up on us, so we fooled them and jumped on them instead. It's part of that Lost Island gang," volunteered Dave's captor.

"We're not either," exploded Dave.

"Shut up!" exclaimed the one astride his stomach. "Didn't we see you slinking along through the bushes?"

"Well, so were you. But we didn't try any wild Indian game on you just on that account."

"Good reason why. You didn't see us," crowed the one on top, giving Dave a vigorous poke in the ribs to emphasize the point.

That was too much for Dave. His usual good nature had been oozing out with every pa.s.sing second. Now he gave a sudden twist, heaved, turned, heaved again, and in less time than it was told, was on his feet and presenting a pair of promising looking fists to the two others who had quickly come to their comrade's a.s.sistance.

"Hold on a minute," suggested the one they had called Phil. "Let's get the straight of this thing first and fight afterwards. You say you don't belong on the island?" he asked, turning to Dave.

"We certainly don't. We were trying to get onto it without being seen.

That's why we were skulking along that way."

"Trying to get onto it? You haven't any boat."

"We could swim, couldn't we?"

"But what do you want to get onto the island for? Where are you from, anyhow?"

"None of your particular business," snapped Dave, but Jerry answered as well as he could with his shortness of breath--he too was "stomached"

by a stout boy of his own size:

"Watertown."