“I expect that’s what we better do,” said Jack. “It’s getting quite shallow.”
After some further whispered conversation it was decided that while one of the trio to be chosen by lot should push ahead on foot, the others should busy themselves stringing the aerial.
“If I find out anything to tell Robbins,” said Frank, who had been the one selected to spy out the land, “the radio will be working when I come back.”
Scarcely had he stepped ashore on the left bank than the sound of revolver fire, ahead and seemingly close at hand, was heard. Frank jumped back into the boat.
“Put me ashore on the other side,” he said. “I’ll go up the trail. That shooting can’t be far away.”
“Be careful,” warned Jack, anxiously, as his young chum again leaped ashore.
A quarter of an hour passed, during which Jack and Bob busied themselves stringing the aerial between two trees on opposite sides of the stream. They stopped work frequently to listen. One more burst of firing was heard, and a faint sound of shouting. Then Frank’s voice hailed them, and he scrambled aboard.
“Nobody along the trail,” he explained as soon as he could recover breath, for he had been running. “But around the bend ahead the canyon broadens
out into a rather wide valley, and up above it on a hilltop on the right is a stockade. Our men are in there, and the smugglers are besieging them. The way I could tell the smugglers are outside was by blundering almost on top of a clump of Chinamen directed by ‘Black George.’”
“Guess we better radio Robbins to come up with his men,” said Jack. “Bob and I just completed stringing the aerial. Now to see if the outfit will transmit.”