Ted changed the unpleasant subject.
“Whatever could have happened that the engine died that way? Did I neglect to fill the second tank?”
“No. It’s full. There is something mysterious about it. We might try to find out what the trouble is while we are waiting.”
They examined the tank for air-leaks that would reduce the pressure to the point where the fuel would not feed. But the gauge registered five pounds—more than enough. Then they began tracing the slender feed-pipe from the tank to the carburetor. Almost immediately the trouble was found. Some one had disconnected one of the joints and had stopped up the pipe with soap, so of course the gasolene could not flow.
“We have our friends, the lieutenants, to thank for that,” Stanley said bitterly. “It’s hard to believe that any one could do such a thing.”
“They did a good job. I guess we shall never stand in their way again.”
“If we had only brought a spare stick there would be a good chance of getting out of here. We could make the change in a little while and leave before any one had the courage to come near us.”
“But the fact is we did not bring a spare stick. We knew better than that, too. Luck has been against us from the very start; and it’s getting worse.”
“We might rig up the wireless outfit and send out a call for help. That is the only thing I can think of,” Stanley suggested without enthusiasm.
“It can do no harm, anyway.”