“Didn’t they have it!”
“No!” John turned to answer courteously, “we had no film.”
“You’re interrupting a thrilling treasure story,” warned Don.
He and Garry, with interruptions from Chick, quickly put the pilot who liked spooks in possession of most of the important points.
“Well! It’s wonderful!” Scott commented. “We’ll soon have that gibbering spook in the open. I’ll keep still, though. Go ahead, Mr. Ti.”
“There isn’t much more,” the young Indian stated. “A mail flyer came to our place, while my father was away, and wasn’t very easy to describe, because of his flying togs. But one thing Mother did tell us—”
“What?” Chick was on the edge of his seat. “He had a little vest-pocket camera!”
“He took pictures,” commented Garry. “I wonder what for?”
“If you want my guess,” Don spoke up, “he wanted to get the locality clear in his mind, to study out how to go back—and—get the map.”
“Worse than that!” the young Indian told them. “Father thought little of the camera side of his visit until, first Doc Morgan, and then Mr. Toby Tew, and then Mr. Scott, came up, doctoring or for some reason that was covered by that excuse. He began to wonder, and wrote me. I cancelled my picture house engagements and went home—just before you two young chaps came along with the injured pilot.” Don and Garry nodded.