“Oh, no,” laughed Don. “Everyone uses them where we came from.”
Santiago hesitated for a moment, and then said slowly: “It may be right for those who understand. For those who do not it is ill luck. Take it back. I dare not use it.”
Slowly Donald returned the searchlight to his pocket, while Santiago fumbled with the lantern which he was trying to light.
As the blue flame of the match cast a flickering light about the place, suddenly from out the darkness there sprang a figure with uplifted hand, and hurled itself upon Santiago. There was a muttered oath, a blow, and the figure darted through the still open door, and disappeared in the outer cave, while Santiago sank down upon the floor, murmuring to himself:
“The magic light! The magic light! The ill luck has come!”
“It’s Don Rafael! It’s Don Rafael!” shouted Pedro. “Don’t let him escape!”
He sprang after the fleeing figure, closely followed by Billie and Adrian, while Donald bent over the prostrate Santiago, examining his wound by the light of his electric.
A moment later there was a shot from without, but, while Donald still bent over Santiago, trying
to stop the flow of blood from a wound in his shoulder, the others came back.
“Did you get him?” he asked.