“You bet it is!” answered Ben, following along close by his side and watching his every move with suspicion.
The boy regretted now that he had not awakened his chums before giving the signal to the stranger. There was no knowing what the man might attempt to do. Ben did not fear physical violence for he considered himself more than a match for the intruder. But he knew that a stick of dynamite or some other destructive explosive tossed into the mechanism of the machines would render them absolutely useless.
For this reason he watched the visitor closely, never taking his eyes from the rather large and ham-like hands which swung pendulously at his sides. The stranger did not appear to notice the attention he was receiving.
“What I came down for,” he said as he approached the camp-fire and stood warming his hands before the blaze, “was to ask questions.”
He smiled brightly as he spoke and gave a searching glance at the shelter-tent where Jimmie and Carl were sleeping.
“It’s easy enough to ask questions,” suggested Ben.
“Easier than to get them answered,” responded the other. “I found that out this afternoon.”
Ben eyed the stranger in wonder but asked no questions.
“About the middle of the afternoon,” the man went on, “I came upon a machine lying in a little dell back in Indiana. I shot down with something like the nerve I exercised in visiting you, and began talking with the aviator. He certainly was about the most insignificant looking specimen of humanity I ever saw.”
“Wait a minute,” smiled Ben. “He had a small, weazened face, large, wing-like ears, and hunchy shoulders—shoulders which give one the impression that he has spent the most of his life at the end of a mucker’s shovel in the subway. Is that a good description?”