The boys had finished breakfast with what appetite they could and were seated on the porch of the hotel discussing plans. It seemed impossible that they could get away from Gitalong, as, without the escort of the auto to carry the necessary supplies for an emergency, it would have been futile to think of navigating above the desert in an aeroplane. The dirigible, of course, could carry her own supplies.
“Wall, now, thar ain’t no use givin’ up hope,” consoled Bart. “Why, once when I was up a tree with a b’ar at ther foot of it, I thought I’d never git away, an’ what do you think happened—why, ther b’ar jes’ turned up his toes and died.”
Even this anecdote of Bart’s pard did not cheer the boys up, however, and in a disconsolate group they walked down the street to look over the Golden Eagle, which still stood where she had been left. Quite a crowd was clustered about the machine, and as the boys came up a hail of questions was poured in on them.
One of the questioners, a wild-looking fellow, with long, drooping black mustache and a wide-brimmed hat, round the band of which were nailed silver dollars in a row, was particularly curious. After asking questions about every part of the machine, he started in on the wireless. Indicating the aerials he remarked:
“Say, that’s a right pert little conniption, ain’t it? Kin you really send messages out sky doodling through ther blessed atmosphere with it?”
“We can if we’ve got any one to send them to,” rejoined Harry; “but I don’t suppose there’s any one around here who has a wireless outfit.”
“Wall, now, that’s jes’ whar yer wrong,” was the astonishing reply. “There’s an old feller, I reckon he’s crazy or suthin’, anyhow he used ter be some sort of electrical engineer. Wall, sir, on top of his shack at White Willow I’m blamed if he ain’t got things like them wires that’s strung on top of your air ship. Yes, sir, an’ claims he can sind out messages, too, if thar was any one but coyotes and rattlers to git ’em.”
“Whereabouts is White Willow?” asked Frank interestedly.
“Why, it’s right near to Pintoville,” was the answer; “a piece this side of it, I rickin.”
“Pintoville,” exclaimed Frank; “that’s where Luther Barr said he was stopping. Say, boys, let’s send out a wireless to White Willow and see if we can raise the inventor there and ascertain if our auto passed through.”