He cut into Joe’s waves with a sharp summons for “_G. I._”
“_Right here_,” flashed back Joe eagerly, thinking that it might be Ding-dong at last. He was soon undeceived.
“_This is station O at Santa Barbara talking_,” came through the air to the Motor Rangers’ aerials. “_You been trying to get young Bell’s station?_”
“_Yes, what’s the trouble?_” inquired Joe.
“_I don’t know exactly, but something was the matter with his wave lengths this morning. He was trying to get you, but couldn’t succeed. But he reached me all right and left a message for you fellows._”
“_A message? What is it?_” flashed back Joe.
“_Dear Nat and Joe. Don’t worry. I have left Santa Barbara on a hot clew to you know who. I expect to recover everything before night.—Ding-dong._”
“We-el, what do you know about that?” gasped Nat, as Joe said “_Good-bye_” and cut off.
“That kid is off along the trail of trouble again as sure as you are a foot high,” exclaimed Joe. “Now what are we going to do? Where do you suppose he’s gone?”
“Looks a good deal as if he might have found out something about Minory, doesn’t it, and is anxious to keep all the credit of recovering the plans and the models to himself,” commented Nat.
“But in that case he may run into grave danger,” protested Joe excitedly. “That fellow wouldn’t stop at a trifle. What are we going to do about it, Nat?”
“There’s only one thing to be done now,” declared Nat.
“Raise Santa Barbara, notify the authorities of the place where we suspect Minory may be found, and let them take after him. If Ding-dong has gone to the right place, they may arrive in time to get him out of trouble. If he’s gone somewhere else, why, I don’t see that there’s anything we can do but hope for the best.”
“That’s about all,” said Joe, as he turned to his instruments. At that moment the door was flung open and in came Nate with a burst of rain and wind at his back.
“That feller off the point is no fisherman,” he declared positively. “I think that it’s up to us to keep our weather eyes open to-night.”
“For what?” asked Joe, as he tapped out the Santa Barbara call.
“For trouble,” was the brief reply. “Got any shootin’ irons on the island?”
“Only an old revolver,” said Nat. “We’ve never needed them.”