"Looks clear," Frank whispered. "Let's work our way to the truck and get out of here."
Joe slithered forward, trying to ignore the pain in his shoulder. "And what if they booby-trapped that, too?" he wanted to know.
Frank grinned. "Are you trying to spoil my night?"
"Just being cautious," Joe retorted. "If I had checked out the stove first - "
"Don't worry. We'll look before we drive."
They crawled on their bellies to the pickup. Still keeping low, they checked over the wheels, behind the seat, and finally in the engine compartment.
"Looks clear to me," Joe said at last. "I'm ready to chance it. You?"
Frank nodded. "I guess. I sure don't want to hang out here until dawn. Think you can make it to the road without any lights?" He climbed into the truck.
"Watch me." Joe slipped into the driver's seat, put the key into the ignition, and with a deep breath, turned it.
The engine roared to life. In a split second Joe had shifted the truck into low, and it was bouncing from rock to rock between the mesquite toward the road.
"Okay," Frank said as Joe expertly whipped the truck over the ditch and onto the dirt road. "Let there be light!"
Joe switched on the high beams. On the quick trip back to the ranch house, they saw no sign of life except for one startled antelope that bounded across the road in front of them.
When they arrived, Jerry's dog greeted them with a wild flurry of barking. By the time Joe switched off the engine, lights were coming on all over the house.
Roy stuck his head out the front door. "Trouble, boys?"
"Just a little rural renewal." Joe's voice was tight. "Somebody blew up the old homestead."
After Roy had heard their story, he said, "You should be safe enough here tonight. Nobody's going to set foot on this place without Shep letting us know about it."
Frank climbed out of the truck. "I think we could use a safe night's sleep. But first thing in the morning," he added with determination, "we're heading for Armstrong. I think it's time we looked for a replacement cable for the ultralight. And we're going to look up that former hand of yours - Jake Grimes. I wonder if he's been playing with dynamite lately."
***
Joe's shoulder was a little stiff the next morning, but aside from that, the boys were none the worse for their narrow escape. It was late morning before they were on their way to Armstrong. They drove past the spot where the tornado had slammed their truck off the road.
"Roy said he called the insurance company," Joe commented. "After they take a look at it, it'll get hauled off for salvage."
On the outskirts of Armstrong, they stopped to get Grimes's address out of the phone book. The place they were looking for was a rundown house a couple of blocks off the square.
"Grimes might be at work," Frank said, as they pulled up out front. "If he is, we'll try the neighbors - find out what they know about the guy."
An angry snarl greeted their knock. "What?"
"Mr. Grimes?" Frank said, to the closed door.
"Bug off! I can't pay you - I'm flat broke."
"We're not bill collectors," Frank said in his most sympathetic voice. "We need your help."
"Help, huh?" Now the voice was suspicious. "I wish somebody would help me." There was a grunt, then a noise like somebody dragging a heavy weight. "Hang on."
In a moment the door opened slowly and the boys were greeted by a scowling, round-bellied man in need of a shave. He had a crutch under each arm and his right pants leg was ripped to reveal a heavy plaster cast from his ankle to the top of his thigh. "Well? Say your business and be quick about it."
Frank exchanged glances with Joe. Obviously, Jake Grimes wasn't in any shape to go prowling around old cabins, setting dynamite charges.
"We understand that you used to work on the Circle C," Frank said a little hesitantly.
"What if I did?" Grimes growled.
"There's been trouble out there," Joe said. "We need some information."
Grimes slammed the door in their faces. "Well, you won't get it out of me," he screamed.
"Jerry Greene's disappeared," Frank called through the door on a hunch. Roy had said that Grimes parted on good terms with Jerry. They might have been friends.
There was a silence. Then the door opened a crack. "What's that about Jerry?"
"He disappeared two nights ago," Frank said.
The door swung open. "Come on in," Grimes said. He led the way into a tiny living room, littered with beer cans and old newspapers, and dropped down into a ratty-looking overstuffed chair. "I don't have much use for old man Carlson, but that kid was okay."
Frank glanced at the cast. "When did you hurt your leg?" he asked casually.
"Last week. Got caught between a fence and a steer with a grudge. Looks like I'll be out of commission for a while." He frowned. "When did Jerry disappear?"
"Sunday night," Frank told him. "As far as we can tell, he went out to check some lights at the old homestead and didn't come back. We're wondering if there was any connection between his disappearance and the dead cattle - and the other things that have happened out there." He eyed Grimes. "You know about the cattle?"
"Heard about it. Bad news, if you ask me, people going around wasting good steers." He grinned bleakly. "I guess somebody else doesn't have any use for Carlson."
"Any idea who?" Joe asked.
Grimes thought for a minute, scratching his stubbly chin. "Nope. None I'd care to name, anyway. How about that old Native American?" He grinned again. "People say he can do magic. Maybe he turned that water to salt."
***
"What did you think about Grimes?" Frank asked Joe as they sat in a dark corner of a little Mexican restaurant where they'd stopped for something to eat.
"My gut reaction is to cross him off the list," Joe replied, taking a bite of his fajita, a soft tortilla wrapped around spicy slices of beef. "He didn't pretend to hide how he feels about Roy - and he probably would have if he'd been involved in any of this."
"Yeah," Frank agreed. "With that leg, he'd need an accomplice. My feeling is that he doesn't have the money to hire one. And I'd bet he doesn't have any friends who'd be willing to go out on a limb with him just for the fun of it."
"Uh - huh," Joe replied vaguely. He was looking over Frank's shoulder.
Frank turned to see what Joe was staring at. He grinned. Might have known - a girl. She was slim and attractive, about their age. She wore jeans and hiking boots, and her long dark hair swung down almost to her western belt. Judging from her tanned face and the easy way she moved, she was the outdoor type.
"Hi, Barb," the manager called from behind the counter. "Where've you been lately?"
"Hey, Tony," Barb replied, giving him a smile. "Como está?" She sat down at the counter and took the mug of coffee that the manager pushed at her. "I've been up in the sand hills collecting samples."
Abruptly Joe got up and went over to the counter. "Pardon me," he said, with his most engaging smile. "I heard you say you'd been up in the sand hills. Was that near Caprock?"
She turned. "That's right. Not far from there." Frank could see that she was giving Joe a suspicious who-wants-to-know look.
"I'm Joe Hardy," Joe said. He turned and pointed to the table. "That's my brother Frank. We're staying at the Circle C, doing a study of our own - kind of." He smiled again. "Maybe you could help us."
Barb regarded him for a minute, the suspicious look turning to an amused glint in her dark eyes. Then she stood up and picked up her coffee mug. "You must be the new guys who've been wandering around town asking questions and tangling with tornadoes."
Joe nodded. "That's us."
"I'm Barbara Harris." The girl shook Joe's hand, then stepped over to the table to shake with Frank.
"How'd you figure out who we were?" Frank asked.
Barbara sat down, flicking her long hair back over her shoulders. "You are new," she said with a smile. "And green, too. Don't you know that gossip t
ravels with the speed of light in a small town like this one?" She put her coffee mug down, her smile fading. "Any word about Jerry?"
Joe shook his head. "Nothing."
"You know Jerry?" Frank asked.
"Sure. We went to high school together," Barbara said. "He stayed on at the Circle C, and I enrolled at Eastern New Mexico U." She shrugged. "I'm majoring in geology, with a minor in anthropology."
Barbara grinned. "I was always interested in the Native Americans around here. Anyway, it was a good combination. It got me a great summer job with the BLM, doing a groundwater survey."
"The BLM?" Frank asked.
"Bureau of Land Management." She eyed them. "You know - the guys who handle all the federal land around here."
For the next half hour the boys listened to Barbara talk. She obviously had a detailed knowledge of the area around the Circle C - and not just the physical territory, either. She knew about its history, as well, and all the current events of the entire county.
"Speaking of current events, I see there's a dance in town tomorrow night," Joe said, pointing to the poster on the wall. It announced a dance at the rodeo on Friday.
"I hope you'll be going," Barbara said with a laugh. "We could use some extra males around here, and I could use a date."
"You've got one," Joe said.
"You know, I don't believe you." Frank shook his head as he and Joe left the restaurant.
"How's that?" Joe asked.
"You know what I mean," Frank said, giving him a sharp poke in the ribs. "You find the best-looking girl in town, who turns out to be one of the best informants we've found. And you get invited to dance, as well."
"Just natural talent, I guess," Joe said with a grin, as they reached the pickup. He went to the driver's side, while Frank went to the other.
Joe reached for the door handle. "Funny. I don't remember leaving the window down."
"Joe," Frank commanded. "Get your hand off that door! It's booby-trapped."
Joe dropped his hand and peered inside. He saw a thin yellow wire leading from the door handle on his side to a large paper bag under the steering wheel. "A bomb in a bag," Joe muttered.
"I'll get in and defuse it." The muscles in Frank's arm tensed as his hand tightened on his door handle.
That's when Joe noticed there were two wires - the other one led to the handle on Frank's side. If he opened the door, Frank would set off the bomb!
Chapter 7
"Frank - don't!" Joe nearly leaped across the hood to keep his brother from opening the door. Frank sucked in a deep breath and joined Joe on the driver's side.
"I didn't figure they'd double booby-trap it," he muttered.
"Looks like they didn't care which door was opened - as long as it would blow us both away."
Frank stuck his head and shoulders through the open window, careful not to touch the frame. In the crevice between the door and the seat was a half-sprung rat trap, with a wire connected to the cross bar and another to the base. If Joe had opened the door, the cross bar would have snapped shut onto the base, and the two wires would have made contact.
"A simple but effective firing switch," Frank said. On the seat he spotted a couple of squares of discarded cardboard. "That's what the bomber used to keep the contacts open," he realized, picking them up.
"If you'll take about twenty giant steps back," Frank told Joe, "I'll disarm this monster."
He glanced back to see that Joe was safely behind cover, took a deep breath, and firmly grasped the trap. As he slowly let the bar down, he slipped a piece of cardboard between it and the base. "That's one," he muttered to himself.
Carefully, he opened the driver's door and reached across to roll down the window on the passenger side, being careful not to jar the truck. Then he went around and repeated the process on the second trap.
"That's two," he announced out loud, as he opened the passenger door very slowly. "I'm going to have a look in the bag."
"What if it's booby-trapped, too?" he heard Joe ask, behind him.
"Doesn't look like it," Frank said, easing the mouth of the bag open. Inside, he saw four large flashlight batteries and seven sticks of dynamite taped into two neat bundles, a network of wires running from the batteries to the dynamite. Gently, he lifted the bundles out of the bag, studied the wires for a minute, and then began pulling them loose. At last, he pulled a small metal cylinder out of the dynamite.
"That's it," he said, holding up the two bundles for Joe to see. "We're clean."
"Maybe," Joe said. "But let's make sure, huh?"
After searching the truck for any more surprises, they climbed in. "All set?" Joe asked. "If we're going to locate that ultralight cable, we'd better get going."
"All set, except for one thing."
Joe raised his eyebrows. "Which is?"
"I wonder," Frank replied reflectively, "whether Barbara Harris had any intention of keeping that date."
***
The boys spent several unsuccessful hours trying to find a piece of stainless steel cable to repair the controls on the ultralight. Finally, they stopped at a pay phone and Frank called the ultralight's manufacturer.
"Sky Streak Aviation," a woman's voice said on the other end of the line.
"My name is Frank Hardy. I was flying a Sky Streak One-oh-seven the other day, and the rudder cable broke. I need-"
But he didn't get to finish. "That's impossible, sir," the woman said confidently. "Our control cables never break!"
Frank chuckled. "Maybe not. But this one did, I assure you. I need a replacement."
On the other end of the line, he could hear the murmur of voices. Then the woman came back. "We hope that the break didn't cause you any inconvenience," she said. "The cable is covered by our warranty, of course. We can ship you a replacement by overnight express." She paused. "Would you mind returning the original? Our engineers would like to examine it."
Frank couldn't help smiling. "It's a deal. I'll pick up the cable at the express package depot in Armstrong, New Mexico, and return the one that broke."
It was late afternoon by the time the boys got into the truck and headed back to the Circle C. They stopped at the store in Caprock for a soda.
"Glad to see you boys," the frail little man greeted them. "Got a message for you."
"A message?" they said together, eyeing each other. What now?
"Old Charlie was in here a little while ago, looking for you."
"What did he want?" Frank asked.
"He seemed to think it was real important that you come to see him, at his place."
Joe's eyes narrowed. "How do we get there?"
"Best I can remember, after you come down off the caprock you hit an old survey road." The storekeeper squinted, trying to think. "Take a left and go south about half a mile, and you'll come up on some ruins. That's where he's got his shack."
Just after the highway reached the bottom of the caprock, Joe spotted a rutted road, not much more than a pair of dusty tracks, leading off to the left through the mesquite. It looked as if it hadn't seen a vehicle all summer.
"That must be it," Frank said.
Joe turned down the road. Within half a mile, the caprock to their left and above them changed dramatically from a gentle slope to a high, rugged cliff. The narrow road, wide enough for only one vehicle, hugged its base.
"Some road," Joe grunted, swerving to avoid a big rock that looked as if it had tumbled off the cliff face.
Frank laughed. "I don't imagine Charlie has a whole lot of visitors," he remarked. He frowned, peering ahead. "Wonder where that dust cloud's coming from?"
Joe glanced up from the road. Up ahead, not too far, he saw a rolling dust cloud. Another storm?
No - this cloud was on the road, coming straight at them. Joe made out the front of a huge truck in the swirling dust.
Then chrome grillwork filled the whole windshield as the truck barreled straight for them.
Chapter 8
Joe swerved sharply to
the right, praying they could scrape past the huge truck. Shrub branches screeched against the sides as the pickup careened on two wheels off the road. Joe fought the wheel, gritting his teeth as they bounced around.
The pickup settled back onto four wheels, unhurt by the passing truck. When Joe looked in the mirror, all he saw was a cloud of dust.
"What was that?" he gasped.
"It sure wasn't the tooth fairy," Frank said, looking behind them. "Looked like a Mack truck cab without a trailer. The driver was pushing that rig at a pretty good clip."
"I wonder if that's the kind of truck they use to pull the tank trailers?" Joe asked.
"Maybe." Frank glanced over at him, frowning. "I don't like this. It's almost as if it were waiting for us to come along."
"Let's try to follow it." Joe restarted the engine and shifted into reverse. The wheels spun, showering sand, but the pickup didn't move.
Frank climbed out and looked under the truck. "Forget about following them - we've bottomed out."
After a half hour of digging in the loose sand, the boys could finally see under the truck again. "Okay," Frank said. "Let's give it a try. I'll push."
With Frank putting his shoulder against the front grill, Joe eased out the clutch and felt the truck lurch backward onto the dirt road.
"Next stop, Charlie's place," Frank announced, hopping in. He grinned at Joe. "Let's stay on the road, huh? I'm not crazy about doing any more digging."
Joe laughed. "Tell that to the big Mack."
A half mile later, by a streambed, the boys spotted a low adobe hut with whitewashed walls and a roof made from scrap sheet metal. They parked in a dirt yard that had been swept clean. But the only signs of life were a couple of chickens and a scrawny-looking goat tethered to a post beside a battered, rusty bucket of water. The door to the hut open invitingly.
"Charlie?" Frank called through his cupped hands. "Hey, Charlie!"
Joe put two fingers to his mouth and whistled, but the only answer came from the goat, who bleated at them with a woeful sound. The boys went to the door and looked into a small, spotless room. The floor was packed dirt. Along the far wall was a blanket-covered cot. In one corner was a set of narrow shelves.
Without a Trace Page 4
