THE GLIMPSE THROUGH THE WINDOW
The sun was just climbing above the treetops when the radio boys and
Frank Brandon set out over the forest road, to the accompaniment of a
full chorus of lusty feathered singers. Robin and starling and thrush
combined to make the dewy morning gladsome, and the boys whistled back
at them and wished Larry Bartlett were there to learn some new notes.
"This would be just his dish," commented Herb. "After he got warmed up,
you wouldn't be able to tell him from the birds."
"The only difference is, that he's better," declared Joe. "If he were
here now, he'd be teaching the dicky birds a new song or two. That boy
is certainly a wonder."
"He's very clever," acknowledged Brandon. "He's getting along
wonderfully well at the broadcasting station, and I understand he's had
several good offers from the big vaudeville circuits."
"Why doesn't he accept one?" questioned Joe.
"He hasn't fully recovered from the effects of the accident yet. And,
besides, he says he likes the radio work better. He can stay in one
place, and cut out all the traveling. That seems to be a strong
consideration with him."
"I don't know that I can blame him," commented Bob. "I should think that
continual jumping around from place to place would get on anybody's
nerves."
"Still, it gives one a fine chance to see the country," argued Frank
Brandon. "If any of you fellows ever get into radio work in a commercial
way, the chances are you won't be able to 'stay put' in one place very
long."
"There's one great advantage about traveling, anyway," said Jimmy.
"What's that, Doughnuts?" queried Joe. "I should think that with your
restful nature you'd rather stay in the same place and grow old and fat
in perfect comfort."
"Oh, that part of it is all right," admitted Jimmy. "But don't forget
that different parts of the country have different kinds of cooking. In
New York the specialty is shore dinners; go a little South, and you get
fried chicken and corn pone cooked by guaranteed southern mammies; go up
North, and you get venison steaks; in the West they'll feed you mutton
chops as big as a plate. And so it goes."
"You've even forgotten some places," laughed Bob. "How about a steaming
dish of beans in Boston?"
"Yes, or frijoles and chile con carne in New Mexico," suggested Herb.
"Cease, cease!" groaned Jimmy. "Why talk about such things when we're
such a long way from them? Every time you mention something new it makes
me feel hungrier."
"Hungrier!" exclaimed Mr. Brandon. "Why, it's hardly half an hour since
we finished breakfast!"
"What has breakfast got to do with it?" demanded the insatiable Jimmy.
"That's past and done with. It's time to think of lunch, now."
"You win," laughed Brandon. "Your capacity will make you famous some
day."
"It's made him famous already--at least, up here," Bob informed the
radio inspector. "Didn't you know that he is the undisputed champion pie
eater of the camp?"
"No, I didn't know that, but it doesn't surprise me in the least to hear
it," said Brandon, with a smile. "How did he gain his laurels?"
Then Bob told him about the contest, and when he had finished Mr.
Brandon laughingly congratulated Jimmy.
"I always had a sneaking idea that you could do it," he admitted. "But
after my experience with lumbermen's appetites, I realize that you must
have been on your mettle all the way."
"It was rather hard at the end," admitted Jimmy, "but take it all
together it was a real pleasure. That cook sure does know how to make
good pies," and an expression of blissful reminiscence spread over his
round countenance.
"He made a regular pig of himself, but we knew he would, and that's why
we had such confidence in him," said Joe.
"Nothing of the kind!" protested Jimmy. "You know you fellows got me
into it in the first place. You fixed it all up, and I only went in as a
favor to you. But I might know better than to expect gratitude from this
bunch."
"You'll find it in the dictionary," Joe informed him. "You ought to be
grateful to us for providing you with a feed like that. It would have
cost you a lot of money to buy all those pies back home."
"I think he came well out of it, at any rate," interposed the radio man.
"But we must now be getting somewhere near that cabin, and we'd better
go as quietly as we can. We know that there are two of the gang hanging
out in it, and there's no telling how many more there may be."
"Not so very near the cabin yet," answered Bob. "Nearer that tree to
which they had the receiving set attached."
Nevertheless, they advanced as silently as possible, keeping a sharp
lookout for any sign of the black-moustached stranger and his friend.
The woods seemed devoid of human presence other than their own, however,
and they saw nothing to arouse suspicion until at length they reached
the tree to which the receiving set was fastened. Frank Brandon examined
this with interest. The box was securely locked, but the radio man drew
a big bunch of various-sized keys from his pocket.
"I want to see what's in this box, but first I think we'd better post
sentries," he said, in a low voice. "Suppose you go back a few hundred
feet the way we came, Jimmy. You go the same distance in the other
direction, Herb. And Joe can go a little way up the path that leads
toward the cabin. You can stay here and help me get this box open, Bob.
If any of you hear some one coming, imitate a robin's note three times,
and then keep out of sight. We don't want the crooks to suspect yet that
anybody is on their trail."
The three radio boys scattered to their appointed posts, and Frank
Brandon proceeded to try key after key in the lock. He had to try fully
a dozen before at last the lock clicked and the door of the box swung
open.
Inside was a complete radio receiving set, with vacuum tube detector and
batteries in perfect working order. Between the roots of the tree an
iron pipe had been driven into the earth to act as a ground. The antenna
was strung from top to bottom of the tree on the side away from the
path, and there was nothing to differentiate the box from an ordinary
wire telephone set, except that it was slightly larger. There were a
number of regular wire telephones scattered throughout the woods, to aid
in fighting forest fires, so that anybody traveling along the path would
have been unlikely to give this outfit more than a passing glance, if
they noticed it at all. Had the radio boys not chanced to see the
black-moustached man listening, with wireless headphones over his ears,
the fact that the box contained a wireless receiving outfit might never
have been discovered.
Brandon and Bob went carefully over every article of the equipment. They
were on the lookout for another notebook such as the boys had found in
the cabin, but there was nothing of the kind in the box. When they were
satisfied of this, Mr. Brandon carefully replaced everything as he had
found it, and snapped the lock shut.
"So much for that!" he exclaimed. "Now, let's get hold of the others and
we'll see what that mysterious cabin looks like."
Joe and Herb and Jimmy were soon recalled from their sentry duty, and
all set out along the path to the cabin. When they got close to the
clearing the three sentries were again posted, while Bob and the
inspector made a detour through the woods so as to approach the cabin on
the side away from the path, where there was little likelihood of those
inside keeping a lookout. Very cautiously they advanced from the
concealment of the woods, Frank Brandon with his right hand on the butt
of a deadly looking automatic pistol. They crept close to the wall of
the cabin, and listened intently for some sign of life within.
That there was at least one man in the cabin, and that he was still
sleeping, soon became evident, for they heard the heavy breathing of one
sound asleep. Mr. Brandon cautiously raised himself as high as the
window, and peered within. From this position he could not see the
sleeper, however, and he and Bob moved silently to the other side of the
shack. From there they commanded a good view of the interior, and could
plainly see the sleeping man, who was the same whom the boys had first
encountered the day before.
His black-moustached face was toward them, and Brandon gave a start of
recognition, while his fingers tightened on his pistol. For a few
moments he stood tense, evidently deciding what to do. Then he beckoned
to Bob to follow, and made for the path where the others anxiously
awaited them.
"I know that man in there!" exclaimed Brandon excitedly. "He is known as
'Black' Donegan, on account of his black hair and moustache. He's wanted
by the police of New York and Chicago, and I guess other cities, too. We
could easily get him now, but if we did, the chances are the rest of the
gang would take alarm, and we'd miss the chance of bagging them and
getting back Mr. Fennington's stolen property. It's hard to say what is
the best thing to do."
But on the instant a plan occurred to Bob, and he lost no time in
communicating it to the others.