Suddenly he stood up in the automobile, as the car passed a deserted and tumbled down hut and exclaimed:
“See! There it is! There is the place!”
“What place, father? What do you mean?” asked Tommy.
But Mr. Bell sat down again, and seemed to have forgotten that he had spoken. The professor could note, however, that there was a struggle going on in the old man’s mind.
“I hope he does not become raving mad, yet it looks bad for him,” the professor thought to himself.
“Ten minutes more and we’ll be there!” exclaimed Jerry, crowding on a little more speed. “I do hope Nestor is having no trouble.”
They were in the midst of a wild mountainous country now. On either side of the road were great bowlders, while a little further back was scrub timber which extended for a mile or more before the deeper woods were reached.
They were just rounding the last turn of the road to swing into the straight stretch that would take them to the mine when there sounded on the air the crack of a rifle. An instant later Mr. Bell gave a convulsive start and fell over in his seat.
“They’ve killed him! They’ve shot him!” cried Tommy, while Jerry suddenly brought the machine to a stop. Glancing across to the left a small curling cloud of smoke could be seen floating above a big stone.
“There’s where the shot came from,” said Ned.