“No, I am afraid that we shall have to postpone that job,” rejoined Frank seriously, “we had another object when we started on this trip. The Chester expedition is out to get hold of Billy Barnes and yank him out of the peck of trouble we both know he’s walked into.”
“You are right, Frank, as usual,” cried Harry abashed, “I simply forgot for a moment.”
His eyes swept over the edge of the plateau and rested on the dark sea of jungle which lay stretched apparently into infinity beneath them.
“By jove,” he cried suddenly, “look there!” The lad pointed eastward excitedly. As Frank’s eyes followed the direction of his finger he saw something that made him get into the tent and out again with field glasses in two jumps. Harry’s sharp eyes had spied out half-a-dozen tiny points of fire ranged in a circle so far off that they seemed little more than bright pinpoints on the black curtain of night.
With night glass in hand Frank gazed long at the tiny glowing sparks. At last he handed the glasses to Harry with the remark:
“They are camp-fires all right but whether Rogero’s or Estrada’s we have no means of knowing at this distance.”
Harry confirmed Frank’s opinion after a long period of careful gazing.
“They must be a big distance from here,” he commented, “even with the glass they seem hardly more than blurs.”
“If they are Rogero’s camp-fires,” went on Frank without replying to Harry’s last remark, “it’s ten chances to one that Billy Barnes is there now. The only question is how we are to get to his aid without being ourselves discovered. They have machine guns undoubtedly, and if we were to be seen in daylight hovering about the camp it would be easy for them to bring us down and worst of all we should not have done any good.”
“That is true,” agreed Harry, “but what do you propose to do about it?”