station, yet they could not have been deceived regarding the appearance of the lights, ere starting to climb upward. What did it mean? It was this they had been discussing, and now, at Jack’s suggestion, they faced about. A smothered exclamation broke from Jack’s lips:
“Why, this hilltop must be in sight for miles.”
Even in the moonless darkness, it was apparent that such was, indeed, the case. The winding canyon, up which had disappeared Ensign Warwick and his relief party going to the aid of Inspector Burton in his fight with the smugglers, was commanded for a long distance by this outjutting hill on which the radio station had been erected. Two rows of hills, shadowy, bulking in the darkness, stretched ahead on either side and the canyon lay between.
“Fellows, our arrival and landing was watched,” whispered Frank, with conviction. “Then when Ensign Warwick set out with his men, the spy signaled from here by means of a light. And so the smugglers were informed and forewarned.”
“Yes,” said Bob suddenly, “and say——”
The big fellow did not often speak, but when he did it was usually to the point. Bob and Jack looked at him.
“Say what?” asked Jack.
“Why, that Chinaman Charley Lung. I’ll bet he’s in on it. He’s leading our men into a trap.”
“I believe you’ve guessed it, Bob,” said Frank, his low voice taking on increased excitement. “Remember how he looked?”
“Looked like a heathen idol to me,” grunted Bob. “What do you mean?”