Bob made a gesture which seemed to say that he was more deeply bemused than before, and once more turned to Frank.
“Think a minute, old hot head,” laughed Frank. “It was easy. You called the aviation field by radio and—”
But then Bob interrupted, as the light dawned.
“Great Scott,” he cried, punching Frank so hard that the latter reeled backward; “what a boob! I forgot entirely about that belt radio of yours. So you heard me call.”
“Not I?” said Frank, “but Jack. He was wearing it at the time. He remembers Morse better than I because he’s been using it lately. And when he heard you rapping out your call for the aviation field he became excited, and when he heard your explanation and call for help, nothing could hold him. He listened just long enough to get your directions. Then he and his father and I almost fought our way to the exit. For, you see, the bull fighting was still going on and the crowd hated to be disturbed by having us make our way out. We got many an ugly look, and there were cries against the hated Gringoes. I looked for a knife between my ribs every minute. But we managed.
“And then down at the gate there came a taxi cruising along providentially. Jack talked to the chauffeur, who said he could land us at the right place. Lucky you gave such explicit directions. And here we are. The rest you know.”
Bob nodded. He was silent a moment, thinking. This unexpected appearance of help changed the complexion of matters. He must speak to Jack and Mr. Hampton and put them in full possession of the facts. But the corner he had watched must not be left unguarded.
“Juan,” he said, turning to the Mexican boy, “these are not the aviators, but some other friends. We can do nothing as yet. I must consult with the others. Will you take my place at yonder corner and keep vigilant watch?”
“Oh, yes, Senor.”
And young Juan, who was all a-quiver with the thrill of being in the midst of a mystery, sped willingly away.