Jimmie had his automatic out in a
moment, but by that time Bradley was concealed by one of the boulders
which lay on the declivity.
It was useless to try to recapture the fellow, for the men coming up
the slope had seen something of what had taken place, and were now on
the run wherever the nature of the ground permitted. Besides, they
were already within shooting distance, and the boys would be directly
under fire if they sought to bring Bradley back.
"It is a hopeless case!" Frank cried. "We can't get him!"
"The best thing we can do, then, is to get to the camp," Jimmie
observed.
"Then duck low and cut away to the north!" Frank cried. "Perhaps we
can make most of the distance under cover. Say," he added, as they
moved along, northward on the slope toward the east, "did you ever
see anything like that? That Bradley is some wise guy when it comes
to a pinch!"
"He's daring!" Frank commented. "He will make us trouble yet!"
"I believe," Jimmie went on, "that he's the fellow that got into the
attic over the clubroom of the Black Bear Patrol. When he was down on
the ground, sitting looking over the country, I saw a scar on his
head, a sharp cicatrice, three-cornered. You know how he got that?"
"The maid threw a large pair of shears at some one that night," Frank
said.
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