dal and touch the ground, to prevent
himself from toppling over.

"Hold on there!" cried another voice. "We've got you where we want you,
now! Hold on! Don't go!"

"I wasn't going to go," responded Tom calmly, trying to recognize the
voice, which seemed to be unnatural. "What do you want, and who are
you?"

"Never mind who we are. We want you and we've got you! Get off that
wheel!"

"I don't see why I should!" exclaimed Tom, and he suddenly shifted his
handle bars, so as to flash the bright headlight he carried, upon the
circle of dark figures that opposed his progress. As the light flashed
on them he was surprised to see that all the figures wore masks over
their faces.

Tom started. Was this the Happy Harry gang after him again? He hoped
not, yet the fact that the persons had on masks made the hold-up have
an ugly look. Once more Tom flashed the light on the throng. There were
exclamations of dismay.

"Douse that glim, somebody!" called a sharp voice, which Tom could not
recognize.

A stone came whizzing through the air, from some one in the crowd.
There was a smashing of glass as it hit the lantern, and the road was
plunged in darkness. Tom tried to throw one leg over the saddle, and
let down the supporting stand from the rear wheel, so the motor-cycle
would remain upright without him holding it. He determined to have
revenge for that act of vandalism in breaking his lamp.

But, just as he was free of the seat, he was surrounded by a dozen
persons, and several hands were laid on him.

"We've got you now!" some one fairly hissed in his ear. "Come along,
and get what's coming to you!"

Tom tried to fight, but he was overpowered by numbers and, a little
later, was dragged off into the woods in the darkness by the masked
figures. His arms were securely bound with ropes, and a handkerchief
was tied over his eyes. Tom Swift was a prisoner.

CHAPTER VIII

A BLINDING FLASH

Stumbling on through the dark woods, led by his captors, Tom tried to
pierce the gloom and identify the persons who had firm grips on either
side of him. But it was useless. A little light sifted down from the
starlit sky above, but it was not sufficient. The young inventor was
beginning to think, after all, that he had fallen into the hands of the
Happy Harry gang, and he knew that if this was so he need expect no
mercy.

But two things were against this belief. One was that the principal
members of the gang were still in jai