"Machine!" exclaimed one of the men. "Have you an auto here, too?"
"A big car," said Mr. Cameron. "It could swallow our modest six-cylinder, from the looks of it."
"Oh, then you also came in an auto?" asked Dick of the engineer, who, with Paul, had come back to the fire.
"Yes, I believe I forgot to mention that," said Mr. Cameron. "We escaped into the desert in a gasoline chariot, unlike the Children of Israel, who walked."
"Mr. Cameron!" exclaimed one of the men, "I—ahem—I hope you'll excuse me mentioning it, but you know you promised not to do too much talking. It was the agreement——"
"There are agreements—and agreements," said the young engineer, with peculiar emphasis. "You need have no fear of me, Sam Martin. And, while I am about it, let me present to you my new friends. Boys, these are Sam Martin and Bill Wickford, my—er—my camp-mates," and he named the three chums in turn.
"Pleased to see you," said Sam, with a jerky bow. "Mr. Cameron is camping out here for—er—for his health. Bill and I are running things for him. It's no fun to be in the desert alone."
"That's right," chimed in Bill. "Have you got any ragtime?" he asked, as Innis came back with a record.
Then the phonograph was played again, sounding strangely in that lonely desert. Mr. Cameron seemed at his ease, but the two men were plainly nervous, and Dick was much excited, though he tried not to show it. He had heard what Paul said, and refrained from bringing out any of the papers.