They could view only the hind feet of the animal and could make out that one of these was encircled by a chain running to an iron stake driven into the ground.
“We’ve found one of your stolen camels,” proclaimed Pep, in a satisfied tone. “There don’t seem to be anybody around except that old man. Judging from the costumes and features lying around, though, it’s easy to see that this is a regular movies camp.”
“Perhaps the rest of the crowd have gone somewhere to act out a scene,” suggested Vic. “Say, Pep. I’m going to find out if that is really mine and if the others are here.”
As he spoke Vic drew from his pocket a three-tubed wooden whistle. Pep had seen this before, for Vic had shown it to him on several occasions and explained its use. Bill Purvis had given it to him, telling him that it was a signal whistle to which the camels always responded. In fact he guided the animals through the whistle, which he had made himself and which gave out a triple hollow note unlike any whistle Pep had ever heard before.
“Try it, if you want to,” advised Pep, and Vic placed the whistle to his lips. He blew one brief trilling blast.
“Gracious!” ejaculated Pep.
“It’s my camel!” exclaimed the overjoyed Vic.
That strange echoing call had produced a startling effect. There was a roar from the shed confining the camel and then a ripping, tearing sound. Out of the stall the animal swung, tearing up the iron stake which now dangled from the end of the chain behind him.
The old man within the enclosure turned to view the aroused camel with frightened eyes. He ran for a sharp-pointed spear nearby. Before he could reach the animal, however, the camel—for the mark on the forefoot proved that it was one of the stolen pets of Bill Purvis—had made a reckless, devastating dash for the spot outside where the familiar signal call had sounded.
“He’s coming straight for the fence,” shouted Pep. “Get out of the way, quick!”