A young Italian who appeared to be the cook gave them a pail.
“The spring is right down the path. You can’t miss it,” said the guide.
His small eyes did not meet Graves’ regard for more than a second.
The government man got the water and went back to the Martin. He found Hinkley already there.
“Find out anything?” he asked as he set down the pail.
“There’s a tent and three men on the top of a steep cliff right above the road. They all seem to be foreigners. And you ought to see the cliff on the lower side of the road. Anybody that stepped off that would have time enough to say his prayers and make a will before he hit bottom. Those three men could hold that road against an army if they had a machine-gun. I came near getting shot myself. They said they were camping.”
“It sure looks like a musical comedy war,” remarked Broughton, sitting cross-legged on the motor.
“There may not be so much comic opera stuff about it, at that,” stated Graves, removing the cigar from his mouth. “It’s bad.”
He told them briefly of his experience, and then went on:
“The size of the matter is, gentlemen, that those men are up to big things. They’re so big and Hayden is in such a predicament that in my opinion he will take no chances. It was only the luck of having an operative over here who happened to be very familiar with Hayden that caused us to know he was here. In view of the questions he asked me about the difficulty of finding a wrecked plane in these mountains, plus what he is, I believe he plans to kill us, burn the plane, and then bury the motors or something. I expect that if I am right it will happen tonight.”