"I wish we had some regular fuse," he said. "Then we could put short fuses on a few sticks, light them, and throw them."
Rick stared at him. "And crimp all the caps with your teeth? Boy, I'm glad we haven't any fuse!"
Scotty's estimate was two minutes off. It took twelve minutes for the troops to come into sight. Watching from behind the banana plants, the boys saw them hiking down the road like a bunch of tenderfeet on their first five-mile hike. It was obvious that discipline in the San Luzian army was slack. The men wore sloppy brown uniforms and a variety of hats. They carried rifles and there were bandoliers of cartridges across their chests and grenades at their belts.
"Can you see?" Rick whispered.
"Fine," Scotty whispered back.
They sat in the jeep, waiting. Rick kept the motor idling, knowing that the sound would be inaudible a short distance away.
The troops reached the point the boys had selected. It was a big papaya about fifty feet beyond the dynamite. Scotty pushed the plunger. The dynamite exploded.
Rick raced the motor, then shifted into gear. Scotty cut the wires loose with one flick of his knife and Rick lurched onto the road and fled toward the hotel as fast as he could accelerate.
Through the rear-view mirror he could see the troops scatter and knew they had slowed things down for a few minutes at least. The last view he had was of one man, evidently an officer, trying to rally the troops again.
Rick rounded the turn leading to the hotel grounds and saw that the scientists were waiting in the jeeps, ready to roll. He slowed long enough to yell, "Let's go," then led the way down the road to the front of the hotel and into Calor.