Bert Wilson, Wireless Operator

by J. W. Duffield

For a few moments they gazed blankly into each other’s faces, and uttered never a word. Bert was the first to break the silence.

“I guess it’s up to us, fellows,” he said, and the manly lines of his face hardened. “We’ve got to do something to help that poor devil, and the sooner we start the better. According to the dates in this book it must have been last Thursday night that he was captured, and this is Monday. If we hurry we may be able to trace him up and do something for him before it’s too late.”

The thought that they themselves might be captured or meet with a horrible death did not seem to enter the head of one of them. They simply saw plainly that it was, as Bert had said, “up to them” to do the best they could under the circumstances, and this they proceeded to do without further loss of time.

“The first thing to do,” said Bert, “is to scout around and see if we can find the place where the savages left the clearing with their prisoner. Then it will be our own fault if we cannot follow the trail.”

This seemed more easily said than done, however, and it was some time before the three, fretting and impatient at the delay, were able to find any clue. At last Bert gave an exultant whoop and beckoned the others over to where he stood.

“I’ll bet any amount of money this is where they entered the jungle,” he said, exultantly. “Their prisoner evidently evaded their observation while they were breaking a path through, and pinned this on the bush here,” and he held up a corner of a white linen handkerchief, with the initial M embroidered on the corner.

“Gee, I guess you’re right,” agreed Dick. “Things like that don’t usually grow on bushes. It ought to be easy for us to trace the party now.”

This proved to be far from the actual case, however, and if it had not been for the occasional scraps of clothing fluttering from a twig or bush every now and then their search would have probably ended in failure. So rank and luxuriant is the jungle growth in tropical climates, that although in all probability a considerable body of men had passed that way only a few days before, practically all trace of their progress was gone. The thick underbrush grew as densely as ever, and it would have seemed to one not skilled in woodland arts that the foot of man had never trod there. Monkeys chattered in the trees as they went along, and parrots with rainbow plumage shot among the lofty branches, uttering raucous cries. Humming clouds of mosquitoes rose and gathered about their heads, and added to the heat to make their journey one of torment.

Their previous experience as campers now stood them in good stead, and they read without much trouble signs of the progress of the party in front of them that they must surely have missed otherwise.

After three hours of dogged plodding, in which few words were exchanged, Bert said, “I don’t think we can have very much further to go, fellows. I remember the captain saying that this island was not more than a few miles across in any direction, and we must have traveled some distance already. We’re bound to stumble on their camp soon, so we’d better be prepared.”