Lost in the Wilds of Brazil. Foster James H.

he growled in surprise. “You, little more than a kid, would dare to fight Tim Donnahan? Why, I’ll – ”

      The sentence remained unfinished, for at that moment Bob’s fist shot out with lightning rapidity and caught the man squarely between the eyes. Without an outcry he went sprawling to the ground and rolled over.

      For a second he remained dazed. Then he recovered himself and regained his feet.

      Summoning all his power he lunged forward, mouth foaming and eyes glaring with rage.

      It was easy to see that Bob was dealing with no weakling. His heaving chest was in itself a symbol of strength, as were also the powerful arms and heavy body. But then neither was Bob a weakling, as he had displayed so many times before. True he did not delight in fighting, but when called upon he was able to give a good account of himself. If the truth be known, he had not only won cups and letters in high school football and basketball, but in boxing as well. Joe was lighter and less robust, although by no means easy to knock out.

      Now, as the young men faced this crook, there was a strong desire to win in their minds. Here was a chance – perhaps the only one they would have – to bring these men to justice for their cruel, underhanded way of getting even with Mr. Lewis for a trivial matter.

      They possessed two fears. What if this fellow had a gun with him and thought nothing of using it? And what if the arch-crook would emerge from the house?

      “If he only stays away,” thought Bob, as he cleverly ducked the large fist that came with all force.

      For nearly five minutes the fight kept up, neither of the participants gaining anything.

      Then suddenly the man swung around in an unguarded moment and sent his fist crashing into Bob’s jaw. Taken unawares, the youth went to the ground, almost unconscious.

      Grinning in triumph, the crook was reaching for a revolver when Joe leaped forward and threw him on his side. The impact hurled the gun several feet away, and both made for it.

      But Bob was there first! He had struggled to his senses while Joe did his part to prevent calamity.

      “Get back!” Bob commanded, flashing the automatic in the man’s face. “It’s all over now!”

      For a moment the fellow could not believe that the tide had turned. He stared first at Bob and then at Joe, muttering to himself. Once he started forward, but, as the gun was pressed in his face, he shrank back, apparently giving himself over to any fate.

      “Get goin’,” Joe commanded, advancing a step or two.

      The order was obeyed, and they marched out to the alley, where Mr. Holton’s car remained, unmolested.

      “Now,” said Bob, handing the key to Joe, “I’ll get in the back seat and guard this man, and you get in front and drive us to the police station.”

      No conversation was carried on during the trip, for the boys resolved to take no chances.

      “At any minute he might attempt a get-away,” thought Joe, as he increased the speed as much as was consistent with safety.

      Through streets and side streets they went, until at last they found themselves near the city’s business district. It was thought best not to travel on the busy thoroughfares for fear of attracting attention.

      After rounding a sharp corner, Joe found it necessary to stop quickly at a traffic signal.

      Directly to the right was a horde of people, gathered to witness a ceremony of the Salvation Army. There were fully thirty in the crowd, and shrill notes of a trumpet attracted more spectators constantly.

      Suddenly Bob and Joe were taken in total surprise. Their captive leaned out of the car window and, hailing the crowd of people, cried, “Help! A hold-up! Help!”

      Immediately the people’s attention was attracted, and with wonder and curiosity they rushed toward the screaming man.

      The two youths, because of the suddenness of the unexpected happening, could not immediately master the situation.

      The crowd enfolded the car and rushed toward Bob and Joe, against whom the criminal had directed them.

      “Well, of all the rotten experiences!” muttered Bob Holton, as a tall man grasped him by the arm none too gently. And upon glancing behind he saw that Joe, too, had been taken a mistaken prisoner.

      So their captive had won out after all! Thus it seemed to the boys, but they clinched their fists, and Bob especially was determined not to be beaten so easily.

      True they might wait and explain matters to the police, and if they did not believe, perhaps the judge would. But there was too much chance of losing, even though there was a possibility of winning.

      The next instant they saw that it would be impossible to settle later, for the crook, deciding it best to take advantage of the situation, opened the door of the car, and with the words, “Arrest these fellows,” he ran down the street, leaving the crowd to stare in surprise and wonder.

      Thinking it useless to explain to the people in time to recapture the man, Bob suddenly sent his fist crashing into the man who still had hold of his arm with such force that he went down in a dazed condition.

      For a second the youth was free and, gathering courage, he broke through the mass of people and dashed down the street in pursuit of the escaped criminal, who could be seen some two blocks ahead.

      “I ought to catch him after awhile,” the youth thought, as he noted that the man was rapidly losing ground.

      Several more minutes brought pursuer and pursued to the Potomac River, and Bob feared that the man might attempt to swim across but was mistaken.

      The youth was now close upon him, and when they came to a small clump of shrubbery, Bob resolved to end the chase.

      “Here goes,” he thought, and, exerting himself to the utmost, he caught up and aimed his foot in the man’s path.

      With an exclamation of rage the fellow went down head first in a clump of bushes.

      Immediately he was up, and with a hoarse bellow he aimed a blow at his young enemy’s chin. But Bob dodged and with expert quickness sent his fist smashing into the man’s nose.

      Stunned, dazed, bewildered at this youth’s daring, he again took flight, Bob at his heels.

      Had the revolver not been taken from him by the crowd of people, Bob would have been tempted to open fire.

      Suddenly a man appeared not far away, and Bob called to him for assistance. The stranger finally grasped the meaning, and not questioning the cause of the chase, started after the criminal from another direction.

      “We’ve got him,” panted Bob, as he came within an arm’s reach. “It’s all over now.”

      And so it was. With a terrific crack to the chin the youth sent his enemy to the ground unconscious.

      “But what does this all mean?” demanded the stranger who had helped in the capture.

      “He’s a criminal,” Bob answered. “Set a garage on fire. Tell you later if you’ll give me your name and address. Mine’s Bob Holton. I live at – Wait, here’s one of Dad’s cards.”

      The stranger accepted the card and in turn gave his name and address, but it was evident that he was very much puzzled about the whole affair.

      The criminal’s eyes were opening, and he squirmed about uneasily. At last he seemed fully revived and sat up.

      “Where’s an officer?” Bob asked, looking about.

      “Here,” came a shout, and the next moment a policeman stepped up, looked at the downed captive and then at Bob.

      “Take this man to the police station,” the youth directed.

      “You’re certain you’ve got the goods on him?”

      “Yes. I’ll come along with you.”

      Tim Donnahan slowly responded to the officer’s command to “rise an’ get goin’,”