"Hurray! Now mebbe there won't be something doing!" exclaimed the other, aroused to a full consciousness that duty called.
Tubby in action was a sight to behold. He was so fat that, when his chubby arms got to working vigorously, he looked something like a Dutch windmill with the sails flapping furiously in a half gale.
But Tubby knew his Myers' wigwag code all right, and could receive better than nearly any fellow on the roster of the Eagle Patrol. When one masters the art of taking a message with fair speed, sending is what Tubby always called "pie." This is also the case in telegraph work. In sending, one knows in advance what is coming, and the brain can work ahead, but this is not so in receiving.
Rob made his flag do its duty with a vigor that kept both Tubby and Merritt keyed up to top notch in order to read the message, while, as the fat scout called out the letters, Andy wrote them down.
And this was what the boy on the rocky crag sent as a beginning:
"Can see enemy—number about sixty in sight—have started to turn flank, and make attack from other side—warn Lopez!"
That was alarming news, because, if the movement were undertaken without any notice to the rebel force, they would undoubtedly be caught napping; and it does not require much of a surprise to create a panic with troops who are unseasoned fighters.
"But how could they cross over to the other side of the railroad without being seen, I want to know?" Tubby asked, after the whole message had been received.
"We can't tell that from here, but you bet your boots Rob knows," Andy was quick to reply, showing what an amount of confidence the boys of the Eagle Patrol were wont to place in their recognized leader under any and all conditions.
"Yes, that's right," Merritt added. "It might be there is some gully that the road spans, which we didn't notice when making our dash here, where the Federals could dodge through without anybody being a whit the wiser. Anyway, Rob says that's what they mean to do, which settles it, Tubby."