could get no spark from them.

Again he sat down and thought. Suddenly he leaped to his feet. "The army
truck!" he cried. "If he overlooked that, I'll beat him yet."

He began to assemble tools and instruments. But when he looked for wire to
fashion an aerial, his face grew black. The intruder had taken both
aerial and lead-in wire, and Charley hadn't a hundred feet of wire left in
the place. What should he do? What could he do?

Again he paused and pondered. And again an idea came to him. "They use
trees for aerials," he muttered, "and they make perfect ones to receive
by. I don't know whether one could send from them or not. But it's my last
chance. I'll try it."

He gathered together his tools and instruments, including the creepers he
had used in putting up the telephone-line, carefully stowed them all in a
big basket and started down the mountain. A hundred yards from the door he
turned about and ran back. When he came out of the cabin again, his rifle
was tucked under his arm. Then he went down the mountain as fast as he
could travel.

Fearfully he studied the truck as he drew near. It was untouched. With a
cry of joy, Charley tore open the battery box. In no time he had some
wires fast to the battery. He spread out his instruments and coupled
everything carefully together. The outfit lacked only an aerial.

Buckling on his creepers, and stuffing some spikes and a hammer in his
pocket, Charley rapidly mounted a tall tree that stood close beside the
truck. As luck would have it, the tree stood all by itself, its nearest