“Why,” breathed Andy, “it’s the idea they stole from Mr. Morse. Here’s the suction apparatus, and all!”
“Hi, there! who are you?”
The challenge came so sharp and sudden that Andy was taken completely off his guard. Two men had come from the front tent, their footsteps being noiseless on the soft earth floor. One of them was the man Duske.
“Just looking around,” replied Andy, edging away and pulling his cap down over his eyes.
“How did you get in here?”
“Slit in the canvas.”
“Don’t let him go—grab him,” ordered Duske’s companion quickly, and Andy began to back towards the canvas.
Duske reached out and made a grab at Andy. The latter dodged, but Duske’s hand landed on his cap. His glance falling to the inside peak, he could not help reading there the words: “Eagle—Andy Nelson.”
Nearly everything worn by Parks and Andy, as all the parts of the Eagle, were marked, so that in case of an accident identification would be easy.
“‘Eagle’!” cried Duske, bristling up. “Do you belong to the Eagle crowd?”