But the step behind him was accelerated, and he was hailed by name as Morales. Jack halted. Here was the first ordeal to be passed. Well, he was prepared for it. According to his plan, he had bound his face in a handkerchief and intended to pretend having the toothache. The swathings partly hid his features, and the pulled-down hat further obscured them.
"I'm busy. Don't delay me," he growled in Spanish, imitating Morales' voice.
The newcomer approached. It was Muller.
CHAPTER XXVI
THE NIGHT ATTACK
When Jack's figure had become merged in the shadows of the grove, big Bob, standing beside the airplane, reached a decision.
"Not a soul in sight here," he muttered to himself, once more letting his gaze rove over his surroundings. "Jack thought it would be best for me to stay here, but nobody's going to monkey with the plane. I'm going to follow him—till he reaches the house, anyhow. He may need my help."
Thus the big fellow salved his conscience for departing from orders. But he was so eager to take a hand in proceedings that he felt it would be torture to stay behind. He was dressed in Von Arnheim's clothes. And his build was that of the German aviator. If he were observed, he would not be suspected. Even his atrocious Spanish would not betray him, as the German spoke the language almost as horribly as he.
Thus he reasoned to himself, as he strode rapidly after Jack.
When he reached the other side of the grove, and came in sight of the ranch house Bob, as Jack had done, halted in amazement at sight of the splendid structure.