Tom examined each stone carefully. He also made various ground measurements, trying to locate mounds which might indicate a site of buried relics.
“How old do you suppose this carving is?” Bud asked as he scraped away some of the jungle growth from one of the stone slabs.
Tom shrugged. “No telling. Most of the known carvings date from after a.d.
300. But the Mayas lived in Central America for two or three thousand years before that.
“Speaking of time”-Tom glanced at his wrist watch with a worried look-“I wonder what’s keeping the truck? Let’s see if we can raise the men on the radio.”
The two boys hurried back to the jeep. Tom hoisted its radio antenna and warmed up the transmitter. “Tom Jr. calling Dick Folsom and Jack Murrayl” he said over the mike.
Repeated calls brought no response.
“Maybe they’re not tuned in,” Bud suggested.
“They should be,” Tom said with a puzzled frown. “Bud, I think we’d better go find out if they’re in trouble. I’d sure hate to have anything THE SKINNY PHANTOM 75
happen to them or my electronic retroscope either.”
Tom notified Chow where they were going, then went to tell Chief Quetzal their plans. The young inventor had started thinking of various unexplained happenings. “Our friends may need help, so Bud and I will go and see what’s wrong. And could you have two men guard our airplane while we’re gone?”
The chief nodded. But his face grew grave when Tom mentioned that the truck was carrying a camera.
“Maybe your friends tried to take some pictures of Indians they met,” Quetzal said slowly. “Some Indians do not like this. They fear their souls are being taken away. If that happened”-the chief shrugged-“your friends would indeed be in great danger.”