BERT DODGE HEARS FRIGHTFUL NEWS

Half an hour passed.  At last there came the long-drawn, doleful
note of the screech owl.

It was but an amateurish imitation; an Indian would have treated
it with contempt, but it was well enough done to deceive untrained
ears.

Tom glanced at Danny Grin, smiling quietly.  The imitation note
of the screech owl was a signal from Dick that Dodge and Bayliss
had arrived, and were starting their nonsense.

Still Tom did not speak of this to Dan.  There could be no telling
whether Dodge or Bayliss might be within hearing already.  So
Tom and Dan, gripping their quite harmless weapons, became more
alert in appearance.

It was true enough that Dodge and Bayliss were now on the scene.
They had hidden their car off at the side of the road, a mile
or more below, and had crept forward with their outfit for the
night's big scare.

Dodge carried half a dozen large hot-air balloons, which he had
made for the purpose.  Under the other arm be carried a package
that looked as though it had come from a department store.

Bayliss, a broad grin on his face, carried the working parts of
a new style siren whistle, intended for automobiles, but a machinist
had succeeded in flutting some new notes and effects into the
screech of this ear-splitter.

"I hope they won't take the noise of this siren for the cry of
a screech owl," whispered Bayliss, as the pair stole stealthily
along.

"If they do, they'll soon get over that idea, and find their real
fright up in the air," Bert Dodge whispered in response.

"I wonder how much further on their camp is, or whether we're
anywhere near it?" Bayliss asked.

"We'll soon know how close we are, for the lake can't be much
further on.  I just caught sight of the water in the starlight,"
Bert answered.

How astounded both mischief makers would have been had they known
that certain members of Dick & Co. were even now trailing them.

"There's the tent!" whispered Dodge suddenly, checking his Companion,
as they came to a spot on the slope where they could see the white
of the canvas faintly displayed by the glow from a dying campfire.

"Two of them are about, too!" muttered Bayliss disgustedly.

"Then they're all the more certain to see what they're going to
see soon," chuckled his companion.  "Only we must work quickly."

Bayliss separated one of the balloons from the string held by
Bert.  The package was opened and from it Bayliss took and fitted
over the balloon enough filmy gauze to cover it to a length of
six or seven feet.  Tying a longer string to the balloon, Bayliss
allowed the white, filmy mass to soar upward.  When the balloon
had reached a height of twenty feet above the near-by tree tops,
Bayliss made it fast to a tree trunk.  Then he and Dodge skipped
hastily to a point some eighty yards away, where they speedily
sent up another.  In a very short time all six balloons were flying
on the night air, each with its trail of white fleecy stuff hanging
therefrom.

"They do look like ghosts flying in the air, don't they?" demanded
Bayliss exultantly.

"Not to me," muttered Bert.  "But that's because I know what they're
made of."

"Let's hustle now with the rest," urged Bayliss.

"Right you are," agreed Bert.

They hurried along, going a bit nearer to the camp, until Dodge
pointed to a tangle of bushes.

"That'll be a good place to hide with the siren.  You get in there
with it, but don't start it until about sixty seconds after you
hear the big noise.  Then I'll hustle right back here to you."

"Don't let any of Dick Prescott's friends catch you," urged Bayliss,
who would have gasped had he known that at that moment two of
them crouched close enough to hear every word.

Now Bert hastened down the slope, carrying a fireworks' bomb very
much like those that he and Bayliss had set off on the opposite
side of the lake on another evening long to be remembered.

Treading cautiously, Bert reached a point not far distant from
the doorway of the camp tent.  Here, crouching in the screening
bushes, Bert placed the bomb in position.  It was only a fireworks'
bomb of the kind used on Fourth of July nights.  It was harmless
enough to one who stood more than thirty feet from it.

"The fuse will burn a minute before it goes off," murmured Bert
to himself.  "That will give me almost time to reach Bayliss before
the big noise comes.  The noise will bring them all out of the
tent.  Then the remainder of our programme will do the rest."

But, even as Bert reached for the match with which to touch off
the fuse he heard Dalzell call in a voice audible at the distance:

"Look at those things up in the air, Tom!"

"He has sighted our 'ghosts,'" laughed Bert to himself.

"They must be some sort of signal kites, flown by the moonshiners,"
answered Reade in an interested tone.

"Kites!  Is that what he takes our ghosts for?" wondered Bert
Dodge in deep disgust.

But the mention of the word "moonshiners" gave the listener a
start.  In a general way he knew that "moonshiner" is the term
applied to men who try to cheat the United States Revenue Service
by distilling liquors on which they pay no tax.  Bert had heard
that moonshiners are deadly men, indeed, and that they make little
of shooting down the government officers who are sent to ferret
out their hiding places and arrest them.

"I wish we hadn't run into those moonshiners," said Danny, rather
dolefully.  "And I wish Dick hadn't thought it necessary to go
and send word to the United States authorities.  I'm afraid there's
going to be an awful row here to-night."

"What's that?" wondered Bert, pricking up his ears.

"I rather wish Dick hadn't been in such an awful rush," Tom admitted
slowly.  "Anyway, we fellows should have gotten out of here and
left it to the marshals to have it all their own way.  I'm afraid
there is going to be a big fight to-night, and these old woods
may be full of humming bullets.  And I'm worried about Dick, too,
going off as guide to the marshals.  There were only eight of
the marshals, and, even with four of our fellows, they still have
to face nearly twenty of the moonshiners---and I'll wager that
the moonshiners are all desperate fighters."

"Oh, dear!" wailed Danny Grin.

Bert Dodge's face was a study.  With the prospect of a running
fight between United States' marshals and desperate moonshiners
about to take place, these woods seemed likely to be anything
but a safe place.

"At least, the marshals did a decent thing in leaving us rifles
here to protect ourselves with," Dan Dalzell continued.

Raising his head, Bert took a long look at the camp.  Not far
away stood Tom Reade, the  outlines of a rifle in his grasp showing
very distinctly.  Dalzell was over nearer the shadow of the tent,
yet Bert made sure that Dalzell had a rifle also.

"Gracious!  There is likely to be real enough trouble in the woods
to-night!" muttered Bert.  "Those boys didn't have guns when they
left Gridley.  The authorities have probably furnished them."

Just then a popping fire rang out further up the lake slope.

"There it goes!" almost yelled Danny Grin.  "The marshals have
run into the moonshiners.  The fight is on.  Oh, I hope none of
our fellows are being hit!"

Certainly the firing continued briskly.  Dodge forgot all about
lighting the fuse of the fireworks' bomb.

Instead, he crouched low, then darted from the bushes, running
as fast as he could to the point where he had left his companion.

"In here!" chuckled Bayliss gleefully.  "I didn't know you had
anything with you but the bomb, Bert."

"That's all I did have," whispered Dodge, white-faced.  "Hustle
out of here, Bayliss!"

"What's the matter?"

"Hear that firing?"

"I thought you had been setting off fire crackers, Bert."

"Fire crackers nothing!" ejaculated Bert, his face ghastly.  "Man
alive, that's a fight going on up the slope between United States
officers and a lot of desperate moonshiners!  There goes the firing
again."

Bayliss heard it; he couldn't help that.

Then still nearer rang out the firing.

"We've got to get out of here as fast as our legs will take us,"
Bert insisted.  "Hustle before the bullets reach us."

At that moment Dave Darrin broke from cover, running as fast as
his legs could carry him.  As he raced toward camp Darrin called:

"Reade!  Danny!  This is Darrin.  Get ready to run or fight.
It's a fearful affair.  Four of the marshals were down when I
left, and Dick Prescott is done for, too!  Oh, it's fearful!
There won't be any of the government party left!"

Apparent terror rang in Darrin's voice as he ran forward flourishing
his "Quaker" rifle.

"Great Scott!" groaned Bayliss, trying to rise and run, though
his legs shook under him.

"Buck up!  Don't be a coward!" hissed Dodge, seizing his companion
by the arm.  "Come on!  Run for it---before we're hit."

Thus the two made their escape, running, stumbling through the
woods, heading blindly for the spot where they had left their
car.

Back of them fresh sounds of firing rang out.  How could the frightened,
dazed fugitives know that it was Dick Prescott, pursuing, and
dropping lighted strings of fire crackers as he ran?

"It's a running fight, and coming right our way!" gasped Bert.

"Let's drop down and crawl to safety!" almost screamed Bayliss.

"No, you don't!" retorted Dodge angrily.  "Our only safety lies
in getting into that car and throwing the engine wide open.  I
don't care if we wreck the car if only we can cover a couple of
miles of ground first.  Run!  Hustle!"

Had he suffered from a little keener fear, Bayliss would have
collapsed utterly.  As it was, fear lent him extra speed.  He
fairly tore over the ground, darting through bushes, plunging
on in headlong haste.  Bert kept with him.

"We'll soon be all right," cried Dodge encouragingly.  "Now,
jump right across the road.  Our car is in there, and headed the
right way."

Just as they reached the car and Bert's pale face showed right
in front of the headlights a third figure dashed up.

Harry Hazelton, his head swathed in a red-stained bandage, and
what appeared to be blood dripping from his left arm, sprang at
them, the butt of his rifle showing, but its barrel wrapped in
his jacket.