Roy Stone grinned through the sun-wrinkles about his eyes. He knew Bob’s reference was to the affray between the two parties in the lonely mountains of Old Sonora, when the boys were striving to rescue Mr. Hampton from the hands of the Mexican rebels. At that time, as recorded in “The Radio Boys on the Mexican Border,” Stone had been in the rebel forces. But later he changed his allegiance, and warm, indeed, had been the friendship between him and the boys, particularly between him and Bob, who had been his own individual opponent in the fight in the cave. “You like fighting so much,” said Stone, “that it’s a wonder you consented to let us take you away from the Coliseum back there in Athensi.” Bob shook his head and threw up his hands. “A fellow can get too much of any good thing,” he said. “Well, let’s snap into it and go back to this place where our friends are fighting. Maybe we can help a little. But first I’m going to leave this hardware here.” Whereupon he stripped off the various pieces of heavy armor and tossed them into the pit of the airplane, standing revealed in nothing but a G string—a superb figure who caused Amrath, for one, to draw in a breath of admiration. “Monsieur would have been a hard man to beat in the Sacrificial Games,” he said in French. “Aw, forget it,” said Bob. “Come on. Got to give Jack and Mr. Hampton a hand.” CHAPTER XXVI. THE REVOLUTIONISTS SUCCEED. In advance of the mounted re-inforcements from the other pass, which still were some distance in the rear, the four adventurers entered the Great Road and started at a trot up the gradual ascent, Bob in the lead. “Don’t hear any firing yet, do you?” he shouted over his shoulder to the others. “You fellows have got revolvers, but I’m going to hop ahead and root for one in the luggage.” Frank had explained about the grove where their own party was encamped and where the radio had been set up. It was here Bob intended to look for his automatic, which he had not taken with him when departing from the distant oasis on that memorable ostrich hunt. “Not much use this, unless at close quarters,” he called, waving a short, heavy sword of hard wood—a dummy weapon which he had been using against a trainer when rescued from the Coliseum. “Might brain a man with it, but that’s all.” With a farewell wave of the wooden sword, Bob’s naked figure drew away from the others. It was late afternoon, and the Great Road already lay in the shadow cast by the western wall of the pass. Hot though it was, the relief from the heat of the desert was instantaneous, and the others felt it at once and began to increase their speed. As they passed abreast of the grove, Bob emerged, flourishing his automatic, the dummy sword left behind. As he fell in beside them he cried with a grin: “Well, I’m all dressed up now.”