The Boy Scouts on Picket Duty | Page 9

rascals. He was surprised to find that he had gone so far in his wanderings, that the smugglers' island was so much larger than it had seemed. For a moment he felt a vague fear that he had lost his bearings and was running in the wrong direction.
To ascertain how near his pursuers were, he threw a glance over his shoulder. This proved fatal to his hopes, for his foot caught in a tangle of crab-grass and down he came headlong. Over and over he rolled; and then for some seconds he lay still, a little dazed by his fall, unable to move. The next minute he found himself in the grasp of two men.
"Hullo, youngster! What made you try to git away from us?" asked one of them in an angry tone. He was a short, thick-set, burly man, with black eyes that seemed to glitter like a serpent's. His huge hands fastened upon Hugh's arm in a grip of steel.
Hugh replied truthfully but not very wisely: "I'm on my way to camp, and I want to get there as soon as possible."
"Camp, eh? Who are you?"
"I don't see what that has to do with my being in a hurry to get there."
"Maybe not, but we want to know where you was hidin' before you hit the trail," said the other man, a dark-visaged fellow with a sinister cast in one eye. "Come on now! Spit it out!"
"I was just exploring this island for fun," replied Hugh. "I was hunting for---"
"You were hiding!" vehemently declared the black-eyed man. "Whereabouts?"
"On the ground, of course; there are no trees to climb around here."
"None o' yer guff!" The swarthy captor dealt Hugh a hard thwack on the side of his head. "What's yer business here, anyhow? Where's yer camp?"
No answer.
"By gad, I'll make ye open up!" cried the cross-eyed knave, losing his temper. He was about to strike Hugh again, when the other man, still holding the lad in a steel-trap grip, pushed him aside with one foot.
"Hold off, Harry," he commanded gruffly. "I know where his camp is. He's one of Lem Vinton's crew. That's the Arrow over yonder, but he ain't going back to it yet awhile."
"Let me go!" shouted Hugh, struggling to free himself from the grasp of those sinewy hands. "Let me go, I say! What---what do you want with me? I tell you---help! Hel-----"
The frantic shout was checked by another blow from the angry ruffian's fist, and Hugh measured his length upon the sand.
"Shut up, will ye?" snarled the man, thrusting a bunch of sharp-edged grass into Hugh's mouth. "Look here, Branks," he added, "we can't let this kid blow the gaff on us to Lem Vinton. Why, the cap'n wouldn't wait ten minutes before he'd sail out to find that blamed cutter ag'in; and then we'd have him and the Petrel on our trail."
"Harry, you're right---dead right. The boy has got to come with us, until-----"
"Sure! Here, lend a hand. Tie his arms."
With their leather belts they bound the lad's hands securely, despite his struggles. Once, by a manful effort, he managed to break away and run forward a few yards. But they were after him instantly, before he could get the gag out of his mouth. In the tussle that followed, he kicked and writhed so vigorously that the cross-eyed captor howled with pain. Then, beside himself with rage, he felled Hugh by a blow on the head.
Myriads of stars reeled in the sunlight before Hugh's eyes, then the light of day changed to pitch darkness, and Hugh sank down on the sand---a limp heap, unconscious.

CHAPTER V
KIDNAPPED BY SMUGGLERS
When Hugh regained his senses, about half an hour later, he found himself lying on the bottom of a canoe, bound and gagged, staring up at the sky. The sun beat down upon him, full in his face, causing him to close his eyes until he could just see through the lashes,---a trick he had learned in many games played in the woodlands. In the present instance it served him well, for the three men who were paddling the canoe swiftly toward the mainland believed that he had not yet recovered fully from the punishing they had given him; so, after their first glance, they paid little attention to the captive.
Though the threatened storm which Captain Vinton and Dave had looked for on the previous evening had given way to a mild and sunny day, the breeze was still brisk and the sea was choppy. The canoe bobbed up and down on the short waves, and Hugh was rolled from one side to the other or bounced roughly with every motion of the light craft. He felt sick and sore, his head ached miserably, and though he had had no breakfast, the very thought of food was