Mugs screeched with pain. “C-c-cut it outl”
“Then drop your gun!” Bud snapped.
Tom, meanwhile, had followed up his first advantage with a stunning blow to the solar plexus. Packy grunted for breath, then came back viciously with several well-aimed punches that staggered Tom.
As the young inventor stumbled backward, Packy dived for his gun. Though still groggy, Tom managed to kick the weapon out of reach. Before Packy could straighten up, Tom followed with a sweeping uppercut that caught him squarely on the chin.
Packy went down like a felled tree!
Tom picked up the gun before his groaning victim could recover. By this time, Bud had pounded his own opponent into submission. Within a few moments, both thugs were lined up against the wall of the cabin. Their wrists were tightly strapped behind them with their own belts.
“Oh … thank goodness!” Sandy gasped.
Tom gave the girls a reassuring grin. “Are you two all right?”
“I g-guess so.” Phyl gave a nervous smile.
Now that the tables were turned, it was the
152 THE ELECTRONIC HYDROLUNG
thugs’ turn to “march.” The boys herded them warily back down the hillside toward the road, where Bud had parked his red convertible. Sandy and Phyl followed close behind.
Like all cars belonging to the Swifts’ key personnel, Bud’s was equipped with a two-way shortwave radio. Tom switched it on and radioed Shopton Police Headquarters. Chief Slater promised to send a squad car at once.
Minutes later, they heard it approaching. Two husky police officers leaped out as the car braked to a halt, and took charge of the prisoners. Scowling and sullen, they were driven off to jail.
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