"They won't be set off, though," continued Reade. "I found the firing magneto, and had a chance to cut the wires."
The foreman wanted to ask more questions, while the half dozen workmen trudged along close at their heels, eager to hear every word. Tom, however, suggested that they save their breath in the interest of speed, until they had Mr. Sambo Ebony in safe custody.
"Here we come, Nicolas!" Tom called, as the party neared the spot where captor and captive had been left.
There was no response.
"Nicolas!" Tom called again, with a start.
Still no answer.
"I don't like the look of that," Reade uttered. "Let's get there on the sprint!"
Tom himself caught at one of the lanterns, leading the way. Neither the negro nor the Mexican was where the young chief engineer had left them.
Feverishly, Tom began to search the ground, holding his lantern close.
"Hang the luck!" he quivered, pointing to fragments of cord on the sand.
"That negro simply burst his bonds—-and now where is he? Where is
Nicolas, for that matter? I thought the little fellow, with his trick,
could easily take care of the big black."