Bluff was the quick-witted one on this occasion. He had his stick
upraised at the time, ready to strike. Instead, he sent it from him
suddenly with all his power, and as the cudgel was no light one, when it
struck the extended arm of the kneeling thief the shock was so great
that the shining object he had been gripping was hurled about five feet
away.

Jerry instantly took occasion to possess himself of the same. The man
was nursing his wounded arm and muttering to himself, his face screwed
up with pain.

"Talk to me about your quick work! What could beat that, fellows?" cried
Jerry as he stood over the grunting and disgusted rascal who had
attempted to hold them off.

"What had we better do with 'em?" asked Bluff, frowning at the several
scratches upon his machine caused by the accident.

"Any damage done?" asked Frank.

"Well, this man here has a sore arm, I guess; and the one you're sitting
on looks as if his face might be a map, from the scratches," replied
Jerry.

"Oh! I mean the machines," laughed Frank.

"Nothing serious here. How about yours, Will?" answered Bluff.

"Mine seems to be all right. They weren't going fast enough to cause a
real wreck. A little paint will fix it up," was the answer Will made.