The boy awakened his brother and Quatty and cautioning them to silence whispered them his alarming intelligence. Each boy grabbed his rifle and prepared to defend the Golden Eagle II with all their power. As for that arrant coward Quatty, all his recent bravado quite gone, he could only tremble and whimper in terror.
“What do you suppose it is, Frank?” whispered Harry.
“I wish I knew,” replied the other.
“Do you think it’s Indians?” was Harry’s next question.
“It might be,” replied Frank, “but I’m afraid that it’s worse than that.”
“What do you mean?” inquired Harry in the same low tone of voice.
“That the men we are in pursuit of have got some inkling of our purpose and are even now lurking about here to wreck the aeroplane and perhaps kill us.”
The prospect was certainly an alarming one. If Frank’s idea was correct they were powerless. It was unlikely that their enemies would be less than half a dozen and perhaps more. Brave as they were the two boys realized that they could do little against such overwhelming numbers and Quatty was worse than useless.
“Here he comes again,” cried Frank in a tense whisper as after several minutes of silence the boys sat gripping their rifles.
Sure enough the slow, heavy tread was again advancing. It was too dark in the shadows of the mighty cypress trees to see anything and the boys could only judge of the enemy’s whereabouts by the sound. After advancing quite close to the aeroplane the steps ceased and the boys could distinctly hear a low, steady breathing.