Darkness was indeed settling over the forest. To make matters worse, a mass of heavy clouds was drifting up from the Mississippi valley, and the chances were remarkably good for a long, slow rain. After proceeding some farther in the thicket, Alex took out his electric searchlight—without which he never left the Rambler—and threw its rays on the thicket ahead. As he did so Hank seized him by the arm.
“Douse it, douse it!” the mountaineer cried. “Don’t you know any better than to make a light in here?”
“Where’s the harm?” asked Case. “We’d never get through there without a light.”
“I’ll tell you where the harm is,” the mountaineer answered. “Them fellers you stirred up back there at the settlement will shortly be sending men out here to look you up. I shouldn’t be surprised if they sent men with bloodhounds.”
“Oh well, then, we’ll have to do the best we can in the dark,” Alex sighed, turning off the light.
“Let me see that, will you?” asked Hank.
The mountaineer took the searchlight in his great bony hand and examined it attentively, switching the light on and off and turning it this way and that, taking the precaution, however, to hold the eye of the electric close to the ground.
“You Yankees,” he said presently, “will soon be getting searchlights by wireless! It’s a pretty good light, though, and I don’t object to it if you do. How much might one of those contraptions cost?” he added.
“All the way from four bits to four dollars,” was the reply. “If you want a real large one, you may go as high as fifty dollars.”
“I’ll buy one when I bring down my next airplane,” said the mountaineer, whimsically. “I don’t doubt but that I could use it in my business. I don’t suppose the wind would put that out, would it? It’s mighty strong up there in the mountains sometimes,” he added.