een killed.

As it was, the fearful force of concussion sent him sprawling headlong
on the ground.

A shower of small fragments of rock and of loose dirt fell about him.

Yet Jack was up again, like a flash, never stopping to inquire whether
he had been hurt.

"O-oh!" came the groan, from Hal Hastings.

"There, in a second!" panted Captain Jack, beginning to run again.

A blow sounded, then a fall.

Captain Jack raced into a little, bush-lined hollow, just in time to
see Millard leap up and take to his heels.

Hal Hastings lay on the ground, as though badly hurt.

"Oh, you would, would you?" raged Captain Jack Benson, making a swift
spurt after Millard.

He caught the long-legged one, too, by the back of the fellow's coat
collar.

Yank! Millard was pulled over backward. Down he went, Benson piling
a-top of him.

"Down!" cried Skipper Jack, exultantly. He found, however, that Millard
possessed strength enough to put up a stiff fight.

"Come on, Hal--if you can!" called Jack Benson, sharply.

"Can't--just yet," came, in muffled tones, from the usually prompt Hal
Hastings.

"Let go, you young hound!" ordered Millard, striking out savagely.

Jack hung desperately. Yet the trouble was that the young submarine
skipper had tackled a man who was at least fifty per cent. stronger
and fully as agile.

While Hal still hung back, Millard gave a heave, then rolled himself
over on top of Jack Benson.

"I'll give you just a short lesson!" snarled the long-legged one.

He raised a fist, intent on bringing it down like a sledge-hammer
across Benson's face.

That blow, however, wasn't the one that landed. Biff! whack! Two
sturdy, hard fists registered on Millard's head from behind. Then a
boy shot himself forward, battering-ram fashion, hurling Millard over
to the ground. The boy went with the fellow, landing on top of him.

And that boy was Eph Somers!

"Come on, Jack, if you want some of this!" offered Eph, generously.

Truth to tell, there was need of both the submarine boys, for Millard
now fought more fiendishly than before.

Millard was a powerful fellow, when aroused, but he had pitted against
him two of the doughtiest, gamest boys to be found along the Atlantic
coast. He was pretty well beaten up, in fact, by the time that Hal came
limply upon the scene.

"Want any help?" demanded Hal, in a still somewhat breathless voice.

"Nope!" answered Eph, sturdily. "Not unless you want exercise."