“Read this first, my boy, and then I will tell you,” said the professor, thrusting the not over-clean bit of paper into his hands.
“Read it aloud,” urged Pete, and Jack, in a clear voice, read the untidy scrawl as follows:—
“Señors; you are on a mission perilous. Advance no further but turn back while you are safe. The Mountains of Chinipal are not for your seeking, and what you shall find there if you persevere in your quest will prove more deadly than the Upas tree. Be warned in time. Adios.”
“Phew!” whistled Jack, “that sounds nice. But what was all the firing—for I suppose that had something to do with it?”
“Why, the firing was my work,” struck in Walt Phelps, looking rather shamefaced, “and I’m afraid I wounded the man I shot at, too.”
“You see it was this way,” went on Ralph Stetson. “We were watching the woods for your coming when, suddenly, a horseman appeared, as if by magic, from off there.”
He pointed behind him into the dark and silent trees.
“Under the impression that we were attacked, I guess, Walt opened fire. But the man did not return it. Instead, he flung that note, which was tied to a bit of stone, at our feet, and then dashed off as suddenly as he had come. What do you make of it?”