The Radio Boys on the Mexican Border | Page 5

and Bob Hampton looked at each other in alarm. Their
faces were pale.
That cry for "Help" which abruptly had cut off Jack's voice as he spoke
to them from his radiophone station 2,000 miles away in New Mexico
still rang in their ears. Their heads still hummed from the vibrating
crash which had succeeded. What did it all mean?
Frank snatched the receiver from his head, while Bob removed his
more slowly. Frank voiced the question in each mind as he said in a
tone of apprehension:
"What do you think happened to Jack?"
"You know as much as I do," answered his chum.
"Well, do you know what I think?" asked Frank with energy. "I think
those Mexican bandits he spoke about sneaked up on him."
"Well, if they did, they caught a Tartar," said Bob, with conviction,
remembering Jack's athletic prowess. All three boys were athletic, good
swimmers, boxers and wrestlers, as well as skillful fencers. Jack,
however, was unquestionably the superior of the others, except that
Bob was the best wrestler.

Frank shook his head dubiously. "I don't know," he said. "If there was a
bunch of them and if they sneaked up from behind while he was
talking."
"Just the same," said Bob, "old Jack would put up some battle. I'll bet
you the furniture got mussed up all right, all right. That's the reason for
that crash. Probably the microphone was torn from the cords. They may
even have wrecked the station. Boy, oh boy, don't I wish I'd been
there." And Bob doubled up his fists and pranced around, making
deadly swings at imaginary foes.
"Calm down, Bob," said Frank, dropping into a chair and running a
hand through his hair as he was in the habit of doing when perplexed.
"We don't know that it happened the way we figure. We don't know
what happened. Maybe Jack was badly hurt, maybe he was killed. Or
he may be a prisoner of the bandits.
"Oh," he cried, leaping to his feet and beginning to walk up and down
the room distractedly, "isn't there something we can do? This is
maddening."
"Calm down yourself, Frank," said Bob, always the cooler of the two in
a crisis. "If we can't do any better, at least we can wire to Jack's father
and find out in a few hours what happened."
At this moment the door was pushed open. A tall man of distinguished
appearance, still in the prime of life, and bearing a close resemblance to
Bob, entered the room. He glanced inquiringly at the boys.
"Something gone wrong?" he asked. "What's the trouble?"
"Hello, Dad."
"Hello, Uncle George."
It was Mr. Temple, Bob's father and Frank's guardian, and there was
relief in the boys' voices as they greeted him. He always was so capable
in an emergency.

"Motored home at noon today," he said. "Guess I've got spring fever.
Anyhow, I couldn't stand it in the city. Della told me you were over
here and that you thought, perhaps, you would hear from the Hamptons
today." Della was Bob's younger sister, and the Temples' only other
child.
"We heard all right, Dad," said Bob gravely. Thereupon he proceeded
to relate what had occurred.
Mr. Temple listened in silence. His face showed he was disturbed. At
the conclusion of Bob's recital, he walked over to a headpiece and put it
on.
"No use, Uncle George," said Frank, but Mr. Temple turned to him
with a twinkle in his eye.
"That so?" he said.
With a cry, Frank leaped from his chair, seized a headpiece and put it
on.
"Hurray, it's Jack," he shouted. Then he bent over to the telephone and
called:
"Jack. Jack. Are you hurt? What happened?"
"Oh, I'm bunged up a little," came back Jack's voice, in a cheerful tone.
"But there are no bones broken."
"Was it the bandits?" demanded Bob, who had clamped on a third
headpiece, as he elbowed Frank aside to speak into the transmitter.
"Yes. Three of them," responded Jack. "A scouting party. They sneaked
in behind me. Thought I was alone, I guess, but when I hollered for
help Dad came in from the power house on the run and the pair of us
put them down for the count. We've got them tied up here now. The
microphone cord was snapped but I was able to make repairs. So I
started calling for you right away."

"Jack, this is Mr. Temple," cut in the older man at this point. "If your
father is there, please put him on the phone. I'd like to speak to him."
"All right, Mr. Temple," answered Jack. "He's right here. Wait just a
minute."
Frank and Bob politely removed their headpieces and walked to a
bookcase, talking in low tones, as they leaned