CHAPTER XIX
PRISONERS
"They're firing at us!" cried Ned Newton.
"Guess there isn't much doubt of that!" was Tom Swift's grim rejoinder. "Are you hit?"
"No. Are you?"
"Not yet, but we both may be if this thing keeps up."
That the bombardment was going to keep up was evident a moment later when above the noise of the storm there were other shots and a second window was shattered.
"Come on!" cried Tom, and with a quick motion he shut off all lights on the House on Wheels, leaving it in gloom.
"What are you going to do?" asked Ned.
"Get off this seat. We're in too exposed a position here. They're trying to pick us off!"
"It sure seems so!" agreed Ned.
"Follow me before the next lightning flash, or they'll see us," called Tom into Ned's ear.
The motor was shut off and the auto stopped. The two slid down off the driver's seat and plunged into the thick, rain-drenched bushes on the right of the road.
"Got your automatic?" panted Tom, as he lunged forward.
"Sure!"
"Have it ready."
"What's the game?"
"We'll try to spot those fellows who were taking pot shots at us. Maybe we can do a little potting on our own account."
"That would suit me," growled Ned.
Their position was most uncomfortable. Neither had on any protection from the rain now, for they had taken off their rubber boots and coats on getting back into the House on Wheels. They had even dived off the seat without their caps. It was like emerging from the protection of a comfortable room into the rain-swept open.
"Good thing we ate when we did, or we'd never have gotten anything," remarked Tom, as he tramped along beside his chum.
"That's right. But where are we, anyhow?"
There was no means of knowing. They were somewhere on the slope of Dismal Mountain, out in the storm and darkness, seeking unknown enemies and being sought by them.
For a little while after leaping from the car the two young men remained in the vicinity of it. They could see its bulk looming over the tops of the bushes by the glare of lightning flashes. Taking advantage of this intermittent light, they now began to circle about, trying to locate the man or men who had fired at them.
But the ambuscaders were playing safe, and did not show themselves. Tom and Ned skirted around, soon becoming soaked to the skin.
Finally Tom, who was in the lead, saw by one long, bright flash a sort of shelter where a group of big oaks grew amid some rocks.
"Let's put in over there," he proposed to Ned. "We'll be a little drier than out here."
"Dry!" chuckled Ned good-naturedly. "I'll be wet for a week after this soaking."
It was somewhat better in the shelter, and the two adventurers stood there a few minutes, listening to the storm. Their situation was anything but safe or comfortable. For it could not be said what moment they might be seen by their enemies and fired on again.
Presently, above the racket of the storm, they heard voices in conversation. Then, during a lull in the outburst of the elements, several persons could be heard tramping through the underbrush and approaching the rocks.
"They're coming!" whispered Ned, grasping his automatic.
"I think they haven't seen us," murmured Tom. "Keep still. Stoop down and maybe we can hear what they are saying."
The men—there appeared to be at least three—approached the outer circle of rocks in the center of which the two young men were hidden. Then, as the lull of the storm continued, Tom and Ned, to their surprise, heard the name Cunningham mentioned.
"Did you get that?" whispered Ned.
"Yes," Tom cautiously replied.
"Wonder if it's the same bird who wanted you to work for him."
"Might be. Keep quiet and listen."
What connection Cunningham's name had with the present activities was not made clear, nor was it spoken again. But one of the men, evidently more cautious than his companion, said:
"Don't be so free with names."
"Why not?" came the question.
"You never know who may be listening. Those fellows are somewhere in these woods."
"Yes, and they'll be here for some time if they depend on that shebang of theirs to take 'em out," went on another voice.
Tom and Ned stiffened on hearing this. It seemed to portend something desperate.
"Why, did Jerkin drive the car away?" one of the party wanted to know.
"That's what he did. Those fellows shut off the engine and put out the lights before they dived off that seat. But they didn't put the machinery out of business and Jerkin soon had it going again."
"I'll say they dived off!" chuckled a voice. "I guess we would 'a' done the same with bullets singing around our ears."
"Jerkin oughtn't to be so free with his gun," growled a voice that had not hitherto spoken. "He might have bumped one of them off, and there wasn't any need of that."
"The boss said to get that machine by hook or by crook," commented another. "And I suppose that's what Jerkin was thinking of. But Cun——"
"Go easy on names!" snarled some one. "I told you before!"
"It was going to be Cunningham," whispered Ned.
"Yes," agreed the young inventor. "But what would that Englishman be doing with this bunch of criminals?"
"There's no telling. We're getting an earful of more than rain, all right."
"Well, there's no use hunting around for those fellows any longer," said some one. "What with this storm and the dark, we'll never find 'em. I want to get under shelter and have something to eat. It smells as though they had cooked something in that queer auto of theirs."
"They did."
"Well, then I'm going to head for that and get some for myself. Where is Jerkin going to park it?"
"At the castle."
The mention of this name caused Tom to nudge his chum. It was the second time this place had been spoken of. Evidently it was a rendezvous for the gang.
"Well, then it's me for the castle," went on the hungry bandit. "Do you think Barton will be there?"
"Who, Floyd? Why he——"
"Say, will you fellows quit naming names?" snarled out the man who was, evidently, the most cautious of the party.
"Oh, there's nobody around to hear," said one of the two who had spoken the name of the young Chesterport man. "Come on, boys, let's go."
In the darkness, Tom and Ned sought to look one into the face of the other. What did this mean—this mentioning not only of the name of Cunningham but that of Floyd Barton, the rich youth who was so attentive to Mary Nestor? Surely this mystery was deepening!
"Worse and more of it!" murmured Ned in Tom's ear, as they heard the unseen talkers preparing to move away.
"That's right," agreed the young inventor.
They waited a little while, the sound of the retreating footsteps growing fainter, and then, as the lull in the storm still held, Tom and Ned started out of their hiding place.
"We've got to head for the castle and get back our machine," stated Tom.
"Surest thing you know!" agreed Ned.
They were out from under the clump of trees and in the open when a brilliant flash of light came. In the glare, the two young men stood revealed as plain as by day. The lightning glare likewise showed to Tom and Ned three men not far away.
"There they are!" one of the trio yelled, pointing to the two.
"Get 'em!" shouted another.
"Come on!" cried Tom, and he leaped away, followed by his chum.
But they were in unknown territory and, blinded by the flash, could not see where they were going. They reached the edge of a little gully and, before they could recover their balance, they went plunging down it, falling and rolling over and over.
"Come on! Come on!" yelled one of the three men, closely following the fugitives. "We've got 'em!"
A moment later they did have them. Taken at a disadvantage, pounced upon as they rolled, stunned, to the bottom of the gully, unable to use their weapons, Tom Swift and Ned Newton were quickly made prisoners by their enemies.