She already had a map spread out as the Hardys climbed into the jeep. "We'll be heading across the caprock, then down into the sand hills." Barbara traced the route with a finger.
"I took another look at the logs this morning before I left," she said. "And I think this is where they tested back in the thirties. It seems like a good spot to start our search - then we can work our way east. The road peters out at this point - " She jabbed at the map.
"The old homestead isn't far to the west, but it's all loose sand. No way to get across in a vehicle, so it's not likely they were doing seismographic blasting in that direction. It would be murder to cross it during the day, on foot." She grinned, proud of her detecting. "So, buckle up and hang on. The road gets a little rough from here on out."
She gunned the engine and headed off fast down a dirt track that Joe hadn't noticed behind the bunkhouse. Boy, she wasn't kidding about it being rough, Joe thought, waking up in a hurry as he grabbed for something to hold on to. At the edge of the caprock, the trail turned south and then dropped over the edge, angling steeply, doubling back a couple of times as it zigzagged down. It was rocky and badly rutted.
Barbara downshifted but she didn't slow down, and Joe, bouncing in the front seat, gritted his teeth and held his breath as they plummeted toward the bottom. At the foot of the cliff, the track wound through the sagebrush and then intersected with a hard-packed gravel road. Barbara pushed the accelerator to the floor.
"That detour saved us about twelve miles," she shouted over the roar of the jeep. She patted the dash affectionately. "Tinkerbell loves to fly down cliffs. It's her favorite thing."
"Tinkerbell?" Frank blinked.
Barbara laughed. "Isn't that a great name? It's definitely far."
Great, Joe thought wryly. Tinkerbell had saved thirty minutes - and only scared about five years of life out of him. But his admiration for Barbara reached even higher. She was some driver.
For the next thirty minutes, they rocketed through a maze of roads and dirt trails, through the scrubby mesquite trees and low sand hills. At each intersection, Barbara twisted the wheel without hesitation. Joe couldn't help being glad they'd left the driving to her. All the roads looked alike to him. He wouldn't have known which way to turn.
At last the jeep slowed to a reasonable speed and they could talk comfortably.
Frank leaned forward and tapped Barbara on the shoulder. "Stop!" he commanded. Seconds later he was vaulting out of the jeep and scrambling up the sandy slope beside the road.
Joe saw what had caught his brother's attention. A little way up the slope were a series of wavy marks, like squiggles traced in the sand by some unseen finger.
"Hey, that looks like the symbol we saw in Charlie's shack!" Joe opened his door and jumped out.
"What symbol?" Barbara asked, standing up in the jeep and putting her binoculars to her eyes. "What's Frank looking at?"
Right then, Joe became aware of a strange buzzing noise somewhere down at his feet. It sounded like a clock radio alarm buzzing, and he glanced down, puzzled.
The next thing he knew, someone was hitting him in a flying tackle.
Joe tried to turn in midair, tried to grab for his attacker. Instead, he found himself going facedown into the gritty sand.
Chapter 12
Joe landed hard, but in a second he was on his feet, glaring at Barbara and spitting sand. "What's the big idea?" he demanded. "Where I come from, they call that clipping!"
Barbara chuckled as she looked down at him. "Around here, they call it saving your hide, cowboy. That sidewinder almost got you."
Barbara pointed under a sagebrush, where a pale, leathery tail with a rattle on it was just wriggling out of sight. "Only a greenhorn goes messing with sidewinder tracks without looking for the sidewinder."
Frank joined them. "So that was a rattlesnake track I was looking at, huh?"
"Give that man an A in herpetology." Barb bent over and traced out a wavy track in the sand. "Somewhere back in its evolution, the sidewinder rattlesnake learned how to get around in loose sand. It throws its body in loops out to one side, turns its head that way, and literally moves sideways. That's how it got its name."
Joe brushed sand off his jeans. "Those tracks look like the symbol on Charlie's wall. And we guessed he's really into snakes." He quickly told Barbara what they had found in Charlie's hut - the snakeskin, the rattles and fangs, and the crude sketch on the old pine board.
"I wouldn't be surprised if it was his symbol for a sidewinder," Barbara said, nodding.
They got back in the jeep and Barbara spun it around. As they drove, the boys kept watch for any sign of recent traffic.
Frank pointed to a trail of tire tracks that led off through the mesquite. "These had to be made after the storm. Let's check them out."
Expertly Barbara shoved the jeep into low gear and headed in the direction Frank was pointing. The tracks wound into the sagebrush for about fifty yards. Then they ended in a clearing.
"Hey, look," Joe shouted, jumping out. On the ground were several pairs of thin yellow wire strands - like the wire they'd found in the truck bomb. These were partly buried in the sand, but Joe could see they led off in several directions.
Barbara pulled up on one end of a wire. "This must have been the firing position," she said. "Let's see what's on the other end of this."
The three of them followed the wire through the thorny vegetation. With its feathery leaves, mesquite might be pretty to look at, Joe decided, and it might even be good to eat, if you were a goat. But it definitely wasn't fun to get scraped by the long, sharp thorns. He winced and muttered as one of them made a deep scratch on his arm.
Barbara was pulling up the wire where it was partly buried under drifted sand. Following it, they came across a small pile of fresh red clay powder. The wire disappeared down a three-inch hole beside the pile.
"That, gentlemen," Barbara said in an authoritative voice, "is a bore hole. If we traced out the other wires, we'd find one of these at the end of each of them."
"Well, I guess we've found the evidence to back up our motive," Joe said. "What now?"
Before the others could answer, a horse's whinny pierced the air - from very close by.
"We've got company!" Frank whispered.
Quickly the three of them slipped behind the cover of some dense mesquite bushes and crouched close to the ground. A minute or two passed. There was only the sound of the wind. The air, which had been chilly when they set out, was beginning to warm up as the morning sun climbed higher in the sky.
"Maybe we shouldn't have left the jeep alone," Joe said. "This far from civilization, we'd be in trouble if somebody took it out."
"Right," Barbara whispered. "It'd be a long walk to anywhere from here."
Frank nodded, agreeing. "Let's swing out wide and double back to the jeep."
The going was rough. They hunkered down, trying to keep to the cover of the low mesquite. It was hard to keep their footing on the drifted sand. By the time they crept back to the clearing where the jeep was parked, Joe was covered with sweat. His eyes ached from straining for any sign of movement that might give away the presence of their uninvited guest.
"No sign of horses or riders," Barbara whispered as they lay on their stomachs on a sandy rise, surveying the clearing.
"Looks okay to me, too," Joe said, wiping the sweat out of his eyes with his sleeve. He started to get to his feet. "I'm tired of this creepy crawly stuff. Let's - "
Ka-bam! A shotgun blast raked the clearing, kicking up geysers of dust. Joe dropped to the ground, shielding his head with his arms. He waited for another blast, but nothing happened. A half minute later they heard the snort of a horse and muffled hoofbeats. It sounded as if whoever had fired at them was heading away at a fast clip. Joe decided to stay put for another minute, just in case.
He glanced at Barbara. "You okay?" he whispered.
"I'm fine," she answered, then turned her head. "Frank?"
There was
a silence, and Joe raised his head, suddenly scared. Had Frank been hit?
"I'm fine." Frank had slithered down the small hill. "But Tinkerbell isn't. They blew away her radiator."
Joe saw a stream of green liquid spurting from several holes in the front of the jeep. A growing pool had already formed under the jeep's engine.
"Poor Tink!" Barbara exclaimed. "How can we plug all those leaks!"
Frank's voice stopped her. "Forget it. Even if we could stop the holes and there was enough coolant left in the radiator, the plugs would never hold under pressure. Tinkerbell's had it. She's not going anywhere without a new radiator."
"Looks like we'll be stuck here for a while," Barbara said calmly. "But I always carry an extra couple of gallons of water in the back of the jeep, and we still have the CB. So let's have a drink and call for help."
"Okay," Frank agreed. "But just in case we're not alone, I say that only one of us checks it out. You two stay here."
Before Joe could protest, Frank headed for the jeep, bent over in a half crouch. Cautiously, he circled the vehicle, then, confident that their attackers had gone, he straightened up, reached into the back of the jeep, and grabbed two plastic jugs.
"Empty," he said, tossing them on the ground.
"Impossible!" Barbara exclaimed in dismay. "I filled them before I left!"
"Then somebody must have emptied them." Joe scrambled hurriedly to his feet. "And if they got the water, maybe they also got - "
"Right." Frank's voice was quiet, but Joe could hear the underlying tension in it. He held up the microphone cord for the CB. The cord was there, but the mike was gone.
Joe wiped the sweat from his eyes and glanced up at the sun. It was already burning down on them and noon was still hours away. "What do we do now? We're at least fifteen miles from help, on foot in the desert. It's going to be murder out there in a couple of hours."
"That," Frank said in a grim voice, "is exactly what our attacker had in mind."
Chapter 13
"They really did a number on us." Frank's face was worried as he started back up the slope. "We're stranded, with no way to call for help, and our whole water supply is sinking into the sand."
Barbara glanced up at the blazing sun. "They might as well have shot us dead."
"Oh, no," Frank said grimly. "If someone found us dead of thirst, it could be an accident - especially if they come back and wreck the jeep. That wouldn't work if we had bullet holes."
"How did these guys know where we were?" Joe asked. "Did they follow us?"
Barbara looked embarrassed. "All they needed was a lookout up on the caprock with binoculars and a radio. The dust we were kicking up would send them a smoke signal. They'd know just where we were going and radio a warning ahead."
Joe felt his anger rising - mostly at himself. "These guys have been one step ahead of us ever since we got here." And one reason they'd kept their lead had been the way he'd let himself get distracted with Barbara. If he'd thought about the case instead, they might not be in this fix.
Barbara patted him on the shoulder. "Loosen up, cowboy. You don't know this country. I guess it should have occurred to me that somebody might not want us poking around, looking for seismography sites. I might have been a little more careful about the dust I was raising."
Frank nodded. "We got what we came for," he reminded Joe. "Now we have a motive for what's happened at Roy's place. And even if we never find out who's behind it, we've got enough to sink their plan. Once Roy hears about the oil, he can protect his ranch - and what's under it."
Joe sat back on his heels. "Not only that, we have a very solid suspect. I'd like to ask Nat Wilkin if Owens has been out using his three-oh-three lately." He frowned. "Unless I miss my guess, Oscar's got an accomplice we haven't met yet - somebody in the oil business."
"That's all great," Barbara said. "But you're forgetting something."
The Hardys looked at one another. "Forgetting what?" Joe asked.
"Jerry Greene." Barbara's face was somber. "It's beginning to sound to me as if Jerry might have stumbled onto their game. And if he did ... "
Joe completed the sentence for her. "If he did, they probably finished him off." He stood up, too. "We've got to get back to the ranch and warn Roy. With this much at stake, there's no telling what these guys will do next."
Frank snapped back to their present bad situation. "Without water," he commented wryly, "one murder could easily turn into three more."
Barbara stood up. "Maybe we can still find some - yiii!" She slipped on a ridge of loose sand, sliding down hard into the ferny branches of a half-buried mesquite bush.
Joe followed her - more carefully - and helped Barbara back to her feet. But she limped as they stumbled over to Frank. "Oh, great," Barbara said, pointing at her leg with a grimace.
Joe looked - and sucked in a quick breath. Four ugly red blotches marred her khaki trouser leg - and sticking out of them were two-inch-long mesquite thorns.
"Broke my fall on a branch," she said in a shaky voice. "But it got its revenge. I don't know how far I can walk just now."
Joe knelt down beside her. Together, they gently pulled the thorns free. Barbara rolled up the leg of the jumpsuit. The bleeding was already beginning to stop, but the areas around the wounds had turned an angry-looking red. They were also beginning to swell.
"Does it hurt?" Joe asked.
"Not too much yet," she said. "But it will." She stretched her leg out in front of her. "I won't be able to search - but one of you should check out the area for water. If we don't find any, I suggest that we just cool it here in the shade until the sun comes down." She glanced up at the sun again. "We'll stand a better chance of survival if we don't move around in this heat."
Frank and Joe flipped a coin, and Frank got the job. Half an hour later he returned from the search, looking hot and sweaty. Joe didn't envy him - the weather forecast had called for a high of 115 degrees.
Frank squatted down beside them. "I lost more water than I found," he said. "Looks like we don't have any other choice - we'll stay put until sunset." He shook his head.
An hour passed, then another, and another. The sun, burning orange in a sky of molten brass, crossed the zenith and began to fall toward the west. Even in the dusty shade of the mesquite, the temperature must have been well over a hundred. It felt like the inside of a kiln, a fierce, dry heat that seemed to warp the roof of Joe's mouth.
Even the flies were off somewhere taking a nap, Joe noticed almost in a daze. He saw lots of ants, though, and he could hear the erratic click-click-click of a locust on the bush above him. Far overhead, buzzards soared in expanding spirals, never in a hurry. Joe began to wonder if that wasn't quite a flock of them overhead, their wings like coal black Vs against the sky. What were they waiting for?
Suddenly Joe sat up. A movement in the brush had caught his eye.
"Ss-s-t." He leaned over and tapped Frank on the shoulder, pointing.
A figure lean and gaunt as a scarecrow stepped into the clearing. He wore homespun cotton pants and shirt. There was a straw hat on his head.
"It's Charlie!" Joe whispered. Beside Joe, Barbara stirred, sat up, and rubbed her eyes.
"What did I tell you?" Frank asked with a grin. "Didn't I say he'd show up again?"
The old man looked directly at them, beckoned slowly with one upraised hand, then turned and vanished into the brush again.
"I think he wants us to follow him," Frank said.
"But it looks like he's heading east," Joe said uneasily. "We want to go west, toward the ranch."
Painfully, Barbara pushed herself up. "I'd bet on Charlie," she said. "His people lived on this land long before any of us got here. We can count on him to get us out of this fix."
Frank nodded. "Let's go," he said. With Barbara hobbling along, leaning on Joe for support, they made their way slowly after Charlie.
He glanced back at them, and motioned for them to stay low. A second later they saw a brief glint of
light up on the caprock far to the east.
"I'll bet that's either a pair of binoculars or a rifle scope," Frank said, as they crouched down. "Our friends must be keeping an eye on us."
"That flash came from just south of Lawson's Bluff," Barbara said, a little breathlessly. "That's down on the Triple O."
"How come I'm not surprised?" Joe muttered.
A little farther on Charlie led them into a dry stream bed that wound eastward, toward the caprock. The gullied sides were just high enough to hide them from the bluff where the flash had come from. The ravine floor was littered with rocks and rough gravel, and in places it was crusted with white, sun-baked alkali. It was slow, hard going, but Joe had to admit it was better than being shot at.
He marveled at Charlie. The man's thin, wiry body moved effortlessly. He never glanced at the ground. Yet he put each foot down firmly and surely, without pausing, without stumbling, his sandals never leaving a print in the dusty sand. How did he do it? For a second Joe wondered if he were following a mirage. Then he grinned. "The heat must be getting to me," he told himself. "The three of us wouldn't see the same mirage."
To keep himself going, Joe began counting steps. When he reached a thousand, he glanced at Barbara. "How're you doing?" he asked. She'd managed to keep pace with him, but she was limping and leaning on him more and more heavily. He knew that leg must be giving her real trouble.
"I'll make it." She smiled bravely, but her dry lips had little cracks. "But I sure could use a drink of water. Anybody have a Popsicle?"
Joe laughed. He knew what she was talking about. His mouth was as dry as parched shoe-leather, and he was beginning to feel a little lightheaded. Somewhere close by, a raven gave a loud, raucous laugh, and a minute later, a couple of other ravens joined him in a chorus of mad laughter.
Without a Trace Page 7
