With a spring which almost keeled the boy over the figure sprang up, ducked under the dripping canvas, and crouched in the thicket from which Jimmie had observed the tent. Jimmie's first thought was to follow, then he thought of the remaining prisoners and turned to cut their bonds.

But he was too late. As he turned three men came to the front of the shelter and bent low for the purpose of entering. To have hesitated longer would have been to invite capture, and so, with a sigh of regret, the boy shot under the canvas and joined the other in the thicket.

"It's leg bail for it!" came the familiar voice of Pat Mack, and the boys poked their faces into the thicket and kept going, regardless of the thorns and creepers which tore at their garments and tripped their feet. It was so dark now that they could not see a hand held two inches from their eyes, but they kept on, making as little noise as possible.

CHAPTER VII.

A MISSING MOTOR BOAT.

"You rapscallion," Pat Mack whispered, as the two came together in the embrace of a particularly tough creeper, "how did you ever get here? I saw you last on the good old Bowery!"

"I didn't fly over," replied Jimmie. "Here," he added, "take this bolo an' cut that rope! What did you mean by chokin' me when I cut you loose?"

"A hug of affection!" retorted the other. "You looked like an angel to me! Did you flutter down from the sky in the rain?"

"I ought to give you a good punch for it!" Jimmie replied. "You near took the hide off me beautiful nose! Have you got that bloomin' steel cable cut? Seems to me they are comin' after us!"

The boys stood perfectly still and listened. Above the patter of the rain, above the murmur of the trees, above the chattering of the aroused monkeys, came the crash of heavy bodies through the bushes, the sound of human voices.

"Sure they are!" whispered Pat, and they set off again.

Working their way painfully through the jungle, falling now and then over long vines, coming into contact with great trees and swinging parasites which brushed against their faces like snakes, the boys pressed on as rapidly as possible, but ever the sounds of pursuit came closer! The pursuers were more familiar with jungle methods than they, and no pretense of secrecy was made.

"Have you got a gun?" whispered Jimmie.

"I haven't even got a toothpick," was the reply.

"We'll have to fight before long," Jimmie said, panting with the exertion of the unfamiliar struggle with the jungle.

"There's plenty of hollow trees about," suggested Pat. "Why not hide in one of them until they pa.s.s?"

The suggestion seemed a good one, for a moment. Then the uselessness of such an effort at concealment became apparent. With sinking hearts the boys heard the low whine of a hound!

"I wonder how they managed to track us so easily," Jimmie said.

"Give me the bolo," Pat said. "I'll split the dog's head open if he comes near us. Use your gun on the men."

The boys did not give up hope of final escape, but pressed on for a time. However, the acclivity they were ascending grew steeper as they advanced, and they were obliged to stop now and then to rest. On one of these occasions they heard a commotion in the jungle just ahead of them.

This was disheartening!

"They've flanked us!" whispered Pat.

The pursuers were carrying a torch which, in the rain, gave a dim light, but still served to direct their steps, and the glow of the flame now reached to the very spot where the lads stood. The bushes behind them parted and the glowing eyes of the hound looked up in their faces. Then the call of the beast told the men following that he had at last sighted his prey.

The boys turned to flee again, but came up against an almost perpendicular wall of rock. The pursuers saw them now and came on with cries of victory.

"Guess they've got us!" Pat said.

"Not yet!" Jimmie answered.

But, however courageous the lads might have proved themselves to be, they would have been taken in a moment had they not received unexpected a.s.sistance. The hound was almost at their feet when a shot was heard and the great beast fell to the ground, struggled for an instant, and lay still.

Another shot followed the first instantly, and the torch dropped from the uplifted hand of the evil-faced man who was carrying it in the lead.

An intense, uncanny darkness followed the extinction of the torch, and the two boys took advantage of it to edge around the face of the rock which had blocked their progress. Without the help of the dog, and without the torch, the pursuers could do little, and stood on equal terms with the pursued.

It was impossible, of course, for the boys to make their way through the jungle without making any noise, and in a moment the pursuing party showed its temper by firing revengeful shots at the spots from which the sounds of their progress proceeded. After half a dozen bullets had clipped the bushes about the heads of the lads two shots came from in front, the lead whizzing over their heads. A sharp cry of distress was heard in the rear at the second shot, and then all was still.

The boys crouched in the open s.p.a.ce between the "legs" of a balete tree and waited for some possible explanation of the strange thing that had taken place. Who had killed the hound, and who was it that was shooting at the enemy over their heads? These questions were hard to answer.

"It is one of the boys from the _Manhattan_," Jimmie concluded, at last.

"Then why don't he show up?" demanded Pat. "Who is in the _Manhattan_?"

"Ned Nestor and two members of the Black Bear Patrol," was the reply.

"We came over here to sleuth."

"To what?"

"To sleuth. To do the Sherlock Holmes stunt. To put down an insurrection in the Philippines!"

"You seem to be putting it down," Pat said, in a sarcastic tone.

"We've got it by the neck!" insisted Jimmie.

"Ned's being along will help some," said Pat. "He's the boy to get to the bottom of a tough case. If he's on this side of the world, that's him in the shrubbery just ahead. Did you hear the signals a short time ago?"

"Of course."

"Well, that's the bunch coming."

"What bunch?" demanded Jimmie.

"Why, the c.h.i.n.ks, of course."

"What they coming here for?"

"I guess they expect to take the Philippines home with 'em," was the reply. "Anyway, they're plotting to take Uncle Sam down and search him for them."

"Did you hear much of their talk?" asked Jimmie.

"Quite a little, but Lieutenant Rowe made so much noise I couldn't hear all that was said when they were near me. He's badly wounded."

"I'd like to know just what took place at the hut Captain G.o.dwin put you fellows in night before last," Jimmie said.