“We are going to get away by aeroplane,” was the startling answer. “Once we get up aloft, I don’t think that even Rogero can get us.” Billy used as he had recently become to the boys’ resourcefulness gasped out:
“What?” in such an amazed tone that, grave as was their position, Frank couldn’t help laughing.
“That’s the idea,” rejoined Frank, then hastily he sketched out to Billy their plan. He also pointed out to him the absolute necessity of keeping a cool head when the crucial moment came.
“There will be no second chance,” he warned impressively, “even to bring the Golden Eagle so near to the earth once, is a desperate measure. If we don’t make the ladder on the first jump it’s goodnight, remember.”
To Billy’s credit, be it said, that he listened to Frank’s amazing proposal without batting an eyelid. Indeed, he had come to have such faith in the younger boy’s ingenuity and ability that he would willingly have jumped over a precipice if Frank had told him it would be all right. All he said was then:
“Count on me, Frank, if this thing gets ‘pied’ it won’t be my fault.”
“Or ours either, I can promise you that,” returned Frank earnestly.
“Now,” he went on, to Billy, who had been vigorously chafing his numbed ankles all this time, varying the performance by rubbing his wrists alternately; “if you’ve got some of the stiffness out the sooner we are on the move the better.”
“All right, Frank,” bravely whispered Billy. “It feels like every step I took somebody was jabbing a knife into me,” he went on in a rueful tone, “but I guess I can do my part of this job.”
“Bully for you,” whispered Frank in reply. “Now then,” as the sentry’s footsteps died away, “it’s now or never.”