“What d’you know about that?” marveled Frenchy. “Never had that happen to you, did you?” asked George Belding. “It’s the funniest feeling--believe me! The muzzle of the pistol was under my nose, but I felt it right at the pit of my stomach! I couldn’t do a thing, of course. You see fellows disarm an antagonist in moving pictures without getting hurt, but I wasn’t going to take a chance. I know he would have blown my head off.” “What did he do to you then?” asked Ikey Rosenmeyer, his eyes big with interest. “He drove me before him down into this hollow. He had got rid of his bundle somewhere. I didn’t see him drop it. His uniform, you know, Morgan.” “I see.” “And down here he made me strip off my clothes--even my shoes. I tell you, I just _hate_ that Heinie.” “That’s wot yuh wants to do,” growled Willum Johnson. “’Ate the ’Un or yuh can’t lick ’im proper.” “No fear,” said Belding, nodding. “I have stored up a proper hate for them now. This fellow is the meanest of the bunch. He got out of the duds I am wearing as slick as you please--keeping me under the muzzle of his gun all the time.” “Sounds just like a wild west movie, doesn’t it?” suggested Ikey. “Nothing so good--don’t think it,” growled George Belding. “Anyhow, he got these things off and made me get into them. He put on my uniform meanwhile--quick as a cat he is. You got a good look at him, didn’t you, Morgan?” “I’d know him again,” declared Whistler grimly. “So would I,” said Belding, shaking his head threateningly. “But what good is that? I bet we never set eyes on the scamp again.” “My heye!” exclaimed the big British seaman, “let’s ’unt ’im down.” “He’s had half an hour’s start,” said Belding, hopelessly. “And he was going some when he started--believe me! We’d never catch him.” “’Ow do you know?” returned Willum Johnson. “Let’s send these little nippers,” indicating Frenchy and Ikey, “back to the bloomin’ port for ’elp, hand then scour the ’ole bloomin’ country.” “We’d better all go back and report,” Whistler Morgan said seriously. “We fellows can’t be much longer ashore, Mr. Johnson. We’re due at the dock pretty soon.” “Bli’me!” exclaimed the man. “Hi’ve overstayed my leave already. Hin for a penny, hin for a pun, say Hi!” But Whistler argued with him, and he became more reasonable. Now that the fumes of alcohol were out of his head he was rather a tractable fellow. “There is going to be trouble over this,” Al Torrance prophesied. “We’d better give the alarm in a hurry. That Hun must be captured before he does some damage.” “He can go almost anywhere in a Yankee uniform--if he speaks English,” said Whistler. “Oh, he speaks it all right,” said Belding. “Hif Hi could honly ’ave got me ’ands hon ’im!” groaned Willum Johnson, shaking his shaggy head sorrowfully. But Belding had something very serious to say to Whistler Morgan as the party started to climb out of the wood to the top of the hill overlooking the port and harbor.