“Things haven’t come out as I anticipated; I shall have to go to Albany again to get a new chemical; the last was not pure; do you understand?”
“Yas, sir.”
“You don’t understand a word I said to you,” snorted the man; “why do you pretend you do?”
With an angry grunt the aviator mounted his seat, started the uplifter revolving and sailed away without another word.
Several days now passed so similar in all respects that it is not worth while to dwell upon them. The Professor remained glum and sour and Bunk held him in too great awe to repeat any questions after his first curt snubbing. He made his sleeping quarters in the cavern, ate and wandered through the neighborhood, watching people at a distance and always keeping out of their sight. Had he possessed a field glass like Harvey Hamilton, he would have made some discoveries that would have interested and alarmed him.
We come now to the day of the disastrous search made by the Hamilton brothers. Bunk was sitting at the mouth of the cavern and beginning to feel drowsy when his nerves were set tingling by the whistled signal of the young man, who had almost come upon him. Had Dick refrained from giving that warning he would have been face to face with Bunk within the following five minutes.
“Dat’s him!” gasped the negro, scooting behind the cavern and among the undergrowth, where he crouched low.
He not only heard every signal, but caught a glimpse of the young man. Had it been Harvey whom he saw he probably would have gone forward in response to the calls, but he dared not let the elder brother see him.
“I’d doot,” muttered Bunk, whose conscience reproved him, “if I could be sure he wouldn’t butt in and make trouble.”