In the midst of it, answering cheers came back from the stockade and then over the palings leaped Ensign Warwick and Inspector Burton with their men. The boys could not see, but they could hear. Shots and cheers rang out, and the boys not to be outdone redoubled their former efforts, at the same time keeping up a brisk revolver fire at the sky.
It was too much for Matt Murphy and the half-dozen Chinese left in his charge. Their only thought one of escape, they bolted for the trail down the canyon. A surprised grunt from Bob indicated that one of the fleeing Chinese had blundered into him. Bob landed a blow on the side of the fellow’s head that was sufficient. It bowled the man over, and Bob leaped forward and sat on him.
Frank saw a dark form scuttle along near him and, unwilling to fire, picked up a stone half as big as his fist and let fly with it. The missile caught the fugitive behind the ear and he, too, went down. Frank ran forward and bent over the still form. By the bandaged arm, he could tell it was Murphy.
Alarmed, he bent closer. But Murphy was breathing heavily. He had merely been knocked out. Frank stood over him undecided what to do. A voice hailed from the darkness:
“Hello, you’ve got a prisoner, too. Why, it’s Murphy. Bob also captured a man, a Chinese. Four or five others ran by me and hit the trail.”
A hail from the darkness ahead in Ensign Warwick’s voice came to their ears:
“It’s not Robbins, sir,” answered Jack. “But Jack Hampton. My chums are with me.”
“Thank God,” cried the young naval officer, running forward, and while still some paces away. “So you three fellows are safe? I didn’t miss you until we arrived here, and then things happened so rapidly I couldn’t go back to look for you. What happened? But, wait, here’s Inspector Burton.”
The Secret Service man approached, throwing the glare of his flashlight over the boys. A number of the sailors closed around them. Others who had followed the fugitives a short distance along the trail but had turned back, according to orders to stick together, could be seen approaching. A number of flashlights lighted up the scene.
“Why, you’re wounded,” said Jack, glancing at a blood-stained handkerchief bound about the Secret Service man’s forehead.