Doniphan was back in a very short time.
“Now,” said Ensign Warwick. “We’ll take up the trail. I haven’t heard a sound for some time. But somewhere up that creek Inspector Burton’s party has met the enemy, and we must go to the rescue.”
Turning to the Chinaman, he said:
“Charley, you are interpreter here. Don’t deny it. You know where ‘Black George’ and his party have gone. And you know the road to follow. You have been violating the laws of this country and you are in my power now. If you do what I say, it may be easier for you later. Now I want you to lead the way.”
Charley Lung looked at him through slitted eyes. There was not a trace of expression on his face to show that he understood or that he feared.
“A’ light,” he said. “Come along dlis way.”
He struck off at once at a tangent from the barracks, bending his steps along a narrow trail following the creek into a canyon between high hills. The
others followed, Ensign Warwick gripping Charley by an arm.
The three chums were at the rear of the procession. As the others dimly seen in the darkness turned a bend in the trail and disappeared up the canyon, Jack chanced to look back. The searchlight still shot steadily, a golden bar of light athwart the darkness and accentuating it by contrast. In its rays the barracks stood out clear-cut as an etching, with the figure of Doniphan, the sentry, before the door. But Jack’s keen eyes saw something else, and he gripped his companions’ arms and pointed upward.
Their gaze followed. Gradually their eyes picked out the dim bulk of the radio station seen earlier in the glare of the searchlight. But what had alarmed Jack? They could see nothing.