Six boys they were, of about the same size and age as Dave, Jerry
and Frank, They were dressed in some odd sort of uniform, like
brownish canvas. Just now their faces wore triumphant grins.

"Here comes Phil," remarked one of the three who were standing,
coming over to sit on Jerry's legs, Jerry having seized a favorable
opportunity to attempt escape.

"What's the idea?" inquired the newcomer, a tall but well-knit chap
with a broad, sunburned face and a mop of black hair showing under
the forward brim of his wide hat.

"We caught them trying to sneak up on us, so we fooled them and
jumped on them instead. It's part of that Lost Island gang,"
volunteered Dave's captor.

"We're not either," exploded Dave.

"Shut up!" exclaimed the one astride his stomach. "Didn't we see you
slinking along through the bushes?"

"Well, so were you. But we didn't try any wild Indian game on you
just on that account."

"Good reason why. You didn't see us," crowed the one on top, giving
Dave a vigorous poke in the ribs to emphasize the point.

That was too much for Dave. His usual good nature had been oozing
out with every passing second. Now he gave a sudden twist, heaved,
turned, heaved again, and in less time than it was told, was on his