Both of the boys were so excited that they paid little attention to the strange scenes which now surrounded them in the valley town far back in the interior of tropical Colombia.  Indeed, one might even have suspected that they had always been accustomed to living in a region where all manner of tropical fruits abounded, coffee and cocoa were raised as crops, and birds of brilliant plumage flew overhead.

The truth of the matter was, they knew they would presently come face to face with the planter who had actually picked up the little messenger sent out of his cliff bordered prison by Professor Bird.  And this fact set their nerves to trembling with eager anticipations.

In due time the cart on which the aeroplane had been secured, together with the luggage which the young aviators wished to carry along, drew up before a long, low white building, back of which could be seen orange trees and other evidences of a real tropical home.

Their coming must have been noted, for a gentleman was advancing from the grove at the rear.  Senor Carlos looked surprised at seeing the caravan bringing up before his door, but that was as nothing in comparison with his amazement upon learning how one of the two young Americanos was the same Andrew Bird to whom he had desired his friend, Senor Almirez, to forward the strange message picked up in his cocoa grove one day several months back.

The boys had learned from Senor Jose that the owner of the plantation could understand English and even speak it fairly well.  Thus they had no need of fetching Felipe along to act as interpreter.

“Oh, please first of all let me see the remains of the silk parachute that was attached to the bark letter!” said Andy, after they had conversed for a short time and some of the planter’s hired servants had unloaded the boxed aeroplane, which was stowed away in a place of security.

Doubtless the planter understood the reason for the boy’s solicitude.  He immediately took them inside the house and in another minute had thrust into Andy’s eager hands a discolored piece of silk, such as is used in the making of balloons.

Nor did either Frank or the Colombian planter think it strange that the boy should press the token again and again to his lips, while tears ran down his face.  They could understand the feelings that filled his heart, and no matter what the nationality may be, the honest love of a lad for his father cannot but provoke admiration and respect.

“And now,” said Frank, presently, when his cousin had in a measure recovered from his first emotion, “will you tell us, Senor Mendoza, just how you found this strange communication?  I hope you remember the exact day, because it is of the greatest importance to us that we learn, as near as possible, from just what quarter it came.”

“Si, senor, I understand that,” replied the planter, eagerly, his dark face aglow with enthusiasm.  “I made note of the day in my diary, also the fact that it was the third day in succession when the wind blew direct from the south, with just a faint turn to the west.”