Meanwhile, Durgan and Mole with Hugh between them walked very fast indeed.  Had they not supported Hugh, he should have fallen several times; for, young and strong as he was, he was almost worn out with the rough treatment he had undergone.  Every minute he thought they would stop, and, making an end of their senseless threats, release him and run.  But they evidently had no intention of doing so.

Hugh tried to ascertain in what direction they were leading him, but he soon gave this up as useless.  He was on the verge of despair, when suddenly out of the gloom came a startlingly familiar call—–­the call of the Wolf patrol.

“Wow-ow-ooo-oooo-hoo-Hugh!”

It sounded not far away, on his left, and the lad’s heart bounded with joy.  He knew that that call could come from none other than Billy Worth, and Billy must therefore be near at hand, ready to lead his comrades to Hugh’s rescue.

For one wild moment he was tempted to answer the call—–­then discretion prevailed, and he kept silence.

Naturally, the two men also were startled at the sound.  Mole gave Hugh a prod in the shoulder with the point of a knife and Durgan swore volubly.

“None o’ that thar, Harry!” he warned.   “Don’t hurt the kid.   If you
do, we’ll-----”

“Aw, shut up!” retorted the other, and they hurried on.

By great effort Hugh said nothing, asked no questions, did not even answer the wolf-call.  Instinct told him it would be better to do as his captors had ordered, and now he pretended to feel resigned to his fate—–­knowing that help was forthcoming.

As they went on, sounds of a lively scuffle reached his ears, and he could also hear the dull booming of surf, by which he knew that he could be at no great distance from the shore.  Behind him, evidently following, again sounded the wolf-call, giving him courage and renewed hope.

Durgan turned to him angrily.

“What made you jump when you heard that thar howl?” he demanded.

“Nothing.  Where—–­where are we going?” Hugh ventured to ask, at length, forgetting that he was not to utter a word of protest.  “I’m dog-tired, and my knee aches—–­a sprain, I guess.”

“You lie!” retorted Mole fiercely, and he struck Hugh across the mouth.

“You’ll soon have time enough to rest yourself, youngster,” added Durgan in a kinder tone.  “You’re in luck that things ain’t no worse for you.”

But Hugh scarcely heard; at any rate, he paid no heed.  Boiling with rage at the insult, he gave one shout:  “Billy!  This way, scouts!” and struggling desperately, he managed to slip from his captors’ grasp.

In another minute he had whirled around and was running as fast as he could put foot to the ground.

To his surprise, Mole and Durgan did not chase him.  When he paused for an instant to rub his bruised knee and to look around, he dimly saw them in the distance running to a spot where a crowd of men were pushing and struggling to get into a boat.