Only to seaward was the place unencumbered by this wild, disordered tangle. In that direction there lay a broad, brick-floored terrace, of immense dimensions, upon which, tradition had it, Marshal De Regny used to strut with a telescope, ever and anon looking seaward for a sight of the expected vessel bearing the rescued captive from St. Helena.
This terrace, the boys were astonished to see, had been recently swept and repaired, offering a broad, smooth floor of considerable extent. At one end, too, stood a brand-new shed, painted green, and quite large. In front, and opening on the terrace, this shed had large double doors. What it housed could hardly be guessed from the exterior. The few fishermen who visited this isolated part of the beach concluded that the green shed must be a sort of boathouse.
The boys, however, basing their conclusions on the conversation they had overheard a short time before, decided that the airship, or aeroplane, or whatever kind of aerial craft it was, with which experiments were being conducted, must be housed within this shed.
Suddenly they saw a slender, erect figure, clad in the uniform of an officer of the United States Army, crossing the rough lawn lying between the house and the bricked terrace.
“It’s Lieutenant Duvall!” exclaimed Rob, hastening forward, followed by the others. The officer presently spied the intruders, and stopped short, with an angry expression on his countenance as he did so.
“You boys must keep off here!” he ordered, coming toward them. “This is now government property.”
“We’ll get off it in just five minutes,” answered Rob, somewhat abashed at this reception, “but in the meantime I’ve something to tell you of great importance. It hasn’t to do with the Moquis, either,” he added mischievously.
At these words, a great light seemed to break over the officer. In the nattily-uniformed boys before him, it was no wonder he had not sooner recognized the lads he had last seen in tattered, worn, cowboy rig-outs, stained with powder, and worn by a hard chase across the mountains to the Moqui valley.
“Why!” he exclaimed, his manner changing, and both hands extended in a cordial way, “it’s the young broncho busters! Hull-lo, boys! I’m glad to see you again. But what are you doing in this part of the country?”