Again his fingers played on the key. He instructed Pant to bring twelve spark plugs to the island on Lake Poncetrane. He was to make a landing there, if possible, then to bring the spark plugs to the northeast corner of the island where he, Johnny, would be waiting for him.
He listened until the other boy’s O. K. rang in his ears then, removing the receiver from his head, he settled back in his seat. It would be two hours before Pant arrived. Everything would be all right if—suddenly he sat up straight, his brow wrinkled—“if he can land on the island!” he exclaimed; “and I doubt if he can. There’s a small bare space in the very center, and that is covered with rocks; the rest is timbered. If he can’t land, we lose!”
At last he rose and, having drawn himself up beside the motor, busied himself with the task of removing the faulty spark plugs.
“The villains!” he muttered. “It’s a dirty trick!”
He had just completed his task of removing the spark plugs, when there came to his waiting ear the drum of a powerful motor.
“Pant,” he murmured, “good old Pant. He’s made it in record time. Now if only—”
He did not finish. He dared not hope that it could be done.
The thunder of the motor grew louder. The fog had cleared now, and he could see the plane, an airplane Pant had borrowed, like some gigantic dragon fly, drifting down upon him.
Before it reached the spot in the sky above him, it swerved to the right and went skimming low over the tree-tops of the island.
Johnny made no move to go ashore; there would be time enough for that after Pant had effected a landing—if he did.