Summary

Frank Walton The Flying Machine Boys in the Wilds…

Nothing had changed, except that the person who a moment before had stood in full view had disappeared as if the earth had opened at his feet.
“Now what do you think of that?” demanded Jimmie.
“Say,” chuckled Carl, “do you think that fellow is custodian of the temple, and has to do that stunt every night, the same as a watchman in New York has to turn a key in a clock every hour?”
Jimmie nudged his chum in the ribs in appreciation of the observation, and then stood silent, his eyes fixed on the broken tower across the cove.
Source: Gutenberg

Frank Walton The Flying Machine Boys in the Wilds…

Jimmie said, after a time, “and they’re coming out! Hold your light steady when they reach the center of the room. I can’t afford to miss my aim.”
“Is your arm steady?” almost whispered Carl.
“Never better!” answered Jimmie.
Four powerful, hungry, jaguars, instead of two, crept out of the opening! Jimmie tried to cheer his companion with the whispered hope that there might possibly be bullets enough for them all, and raised his weapon. Two shots came in quick succession, and two jaguars crumpled down on the floor. Nothing daunted, the other brutes came on, and Jimmie seized Carl’s automatic.
Source: Gutenberg

Frank Walton The Flying Machine Boys in the Wilds…

Jimmie suggested, “if I can only get that gun away from Sam. He wouldn’t let me go. You know that very well! Look here,” he went on, “suppose I fix up in the long, flowing robe, and dig up the wigs and things Miguel must have worn, and walk in a dignified manner between the ranks of the Indians? What do you know about that?”
“That would probably be all right,” Carl answered, “until you began shooting game, and then they’d just naturally put you into a stew. They know very well that gods in white robes don’t have to kill game in order to sustain life.”
Source: Gutenberg

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