And at any rate, he had been understood. His message of pleading had been received at the flying field. Of that he was certain. And now help would come, help for the rescuing of his comrade from the sinister house into which he had been dragged.
But how long before the American aviators, rushing to the rescue, would arrive? They had said no time would be wasted in attempts to obtain the aid of the police of Nueva Laredo, but that they would come post haste. Yet still a measure of time must intervene. The flying field was some miles distant from Laredo. There might be delays at the Bridge. Bob’s smile of triumph slowly faded to give way to a look of worry.
Young Juan Salazar watched him with puzzled frown all this while. He was too polite, seeing Bob’s pre-occupation, to interrupt with questions. But they crowded to his lips. There were so many things that he wanted to know. This likable young American was in trouble, his companion in worse case. And Juan had a healthy boy’s curiosity to learn all about it. Yet still Bob sat silent, his eyes bent in a growing frown upon the floor, and still Juan held his peace while the flies buzzed in the unscreened room for all its cleanliness. Until at length the younger lad no longer could restrain himself and cried out:
“Senor, can you not trust me? What has happened?”
At that Bob woke with a start from his moodiness and looked at Juan a long minute while the thoughts upon which he had been pondering dropped into the background. Could the boy be trusted? There was a ring of sincerity in his tone, an honest scorn in his references earlier to the house which harbored Ramirez. Yes, he could be trusted. So then Bob got up from his chair and strode to the door, and back again, and once more sat down in an endeavor to still the nervousness preying upon him.
If there were only something he could do, he thought, to while away the dragging minutes before help could arrive. And at that he leaped from his chair with a sharp exclamation. There was something he could do; of a certainty, there was. And what was more, it was something which ought to be done. Fool that he was not to have thought of it earlier?
“Juan,” he exclaimed sharply, “we are in trouble of the worst sort. You have been a good lad and have helped me much with permission to use your radio. Are you willing now to help more?”
“Trust me,” said Juan, drawing himself up proudly. “You are in trouble. And if I can be of help—”
“You can, indeed,” Bob interrupted. “Listen. This is a mess. It’s too long to explain now. We would waste valuable moments in doing so. Juan, there are evil men in that house. They have captured my companion and dragged him within. Me they did not see. I do not believe they know I am in the vicinity. My friend is an American Army aviator. I have called for others who will be here shortly from the Laredo flying field. I gave them your address, and directed them to approach by the Avenue of the Presidents.
“Attend now,” he said sharply. “Until they come we must keep watch to see whether anyone leaves that house. There are two entrances: the front of the house and this secret tunnel through the deserted house on the Avenue of the Presidents of which you have told me. I shall return to the corner of Calle Libertad and keep watch upon the front of the house, and do you post yourself so as to command a view of the secret exit.