cautions, fired
only with anxiety to prevent Morales from radioing while there was yet
time.

The Mexican also, in his anxiety to reach the ranch and give the
warning, had cast caution aside.

Across the outer room dashed Frank, scarcely noting the trussed-up
figure of Tom Bodine flung in one corner. No hangings obscured the
brightly-lighted interior of the inner cave, for they had been torn
down the night before to form a pallet.

Morales sat with his back turned, the headpiece clamped over his ears.

Frank darted forward and brought the butt of the revolver crashing
down on the Mexican's head. Without a sound, without a gurgle or a
cry, Morales swayed in the chair, then slumped to one side and slid to
the floor.

With nervous haste Frank pulled the headpiece from the other and
clamped it on his head. At once a crackle of Spanish words filled his
ears. He could make nothing of them. What little knowledge of Spanish
he once had possessed was not at his command now.

"Jack, Bob," he cried, pulling the microphone toward him. "This is
Frank. Do you hear me? Frank."

The chattering ceased as if by magic.

"Frank? What in the world?"

Glory be! It was Jack's voice in reply.

"Use the code," cried Frank. In this emergency his brain was working
lightning-fast. And in their own private code he added:

"It's all right now. They captured Tom Bodine while we were down in
the valley seeing you off. But we've recaptured the cave."

"You saved our lives," came back Jack's voice. "I heard your Mexican
friend call the ranch while we were flying, and at once started to
interfere. It's been a job and my throat's hoarse. But he never got
his message through, I can tell you that. Whatever it was he had to
tell, I never did find out. I just started interfering, singing,
talking, shouting. The ranch never found out what he was trying to
say, and neither did I. But, boy, you're just in time. We can see the
lights now. What? What's that?"

What he heard was a shout.

But Frank was too busy to answer his question. Morales had recovered
consciousness and was on his knees and struggling to his feet, when
out of the tail of his eye Frank saw his peril. Snatching the
instrument from his head, he flung himself sideways. The impact of his
body hurled Morales again to the floor.

Frank had placed the captured revolver on the table, as he telephoned.
He would have to fight with his bare hands. Well, he would not let the
Mexican ove