Joe didn't blame them. There had to be something pretty funny about two greenhorns and a girl following a little old man down a bone-dry canyon under a blast-furnace sun. If his mouth weren't so dry, he'd laugh, too.
But he realized they were getting somewhere. Now the caprock cliff towered above them. Ahead, the dry stream bed they were following made a sharp bend around a heap of big gray boulders, fragments of the cliff face that had broken off and tumbled down. Beyond, Joe could see the green shadow of what looked like a cottonwood tree.
"I guess the heat's getting to me," Frank said. "I'd swear I just heard running water."
Joe and Barbara stopped and listened. The sound of the wind rose and fell, eerily, and Joe could hear the faraway call of a mourning dove. But beneath those sounds was an unmistakably melodious note - the sound of water dripping into a deep pool! Without a word, they redoubled their efforts to catch up with Charlie, who had never broken his effortless pace.
"Look!" Frank exclaimed, as they rounded the heap of boulders.
A clear ribbon of water oozed from a thin, crumbly layer of sediment in the cliff. It trickled over harder rock, then dropped six feet into a deeply sculptured basin in the rock below. The water hold was surrounded by monkey flowers and clumps of maidenhair ferns. Overhead the wind stirred the cool, green canopy of cottonwood.
Seconds later, as Charlie watched, the three of them lay flat on their faces, drinking the cool, sweet water. After he'd sipped enough, Joe dunked his head and shoulders under, staying a long time, letting the water cool him off.
"Watch out," Frank cautioned Joe when he finally came up for air. "You don't want to drown in the stuff."
"Drown?" Joe laughed, giving his head a shake. He took another loud slurp. "When I finish drinking, there won't be enough left to drown in."
"It's funny," Barbara said. "I've been all over this part of the cliff, and I didn't know this spring was here. It must be seasonal."
"I'm for staying until it dries up." Joe stretched out in the shade of the cottonwood.
"Where do you think we are?" Frank asked Barbara.
Barbara grinned. "You're not going to believe this, but I'll bet we're almost directly below the bunkhouse. It's on the caprock, up there."
At that moment Charlie stepped forward and said something to Barbara in what sounded to Joe like Spanish. She replied. Joe couldn't make out anything but the urgency in Charlie's voice.
"He says we have to go now," Barbara told them. "If we don't hurry, we'll be late."
"Late for what?" Joe demanded without stirring. He opened his eyes. "Is somebody giving a party?"
"I couldn't quite make out why," Barbara replied. "But it's got something to do with getting to the top of the caprock."
Joe blinked. "Up there?" he asked. The top of the caprock was straight over their heads. "What does he think we are, mountain goats?"
But Charlie had already set off, taking a narrow path that clung to the side of the cliff.
Joe stood up with a sigh. He could take the climb, maybe. But what about Barbara?
She caught his look. "I can make it."
They climbed for a half hour. The sun was much lower in the west now and not so hot. But the loose limestone made the footing treacherous, and at its widest, the trail was only a foot wide. Ahead of them, Charlie moved along steadily, never wavering. Behind him, Barbara faltered, clinging to the rock with both hands. Joe and Frank brought up the rear, moving carefully, one foot in front of the other. Joe didn't want to look down.
When they finally reached the top, they were only a hundred yards from the bunkhouse. Bringing up the rear, Frank breathed a sigh of relief and took a quick look around. Everything was quiet. More importantly, the pickup truck was still parked beside the house, still in one piece.
Charlie picked up the pace now, heading straight for the house. When they'd gotten almost to the back door, Frank turned to Joe. "You don't suppose we're walking into another trap, do you?"
Joe looked around carefully. "He could have left us out on the sand," he said. "But he got us here safely. I'd trust him a little further."
Charlie was saying something to Barbara.
"He wants us to go in," she said. "He says we've got to hurry."
Frank stepped to the kitchen window, checking the inside of the small house. "Everything seems okay," he said. "Just the way we left it this morning." He opened the back door.
"I still don't understand," Joe said as he stepped in. "Why all the hurry? What's - "
"Telephone!" Charlie said in a low voice, raising his hand to his ear as if he were picking up the receiver.
Pick up the phone? Was that what Charlie wanted? Frowning, Frank reached for the receiver.
"Careful!" Charlie whispered, putting his finger to his lips.
Gently, Frank lifted the receiver, keeping a hand over the mouthpiece.
"Told you ... never use ... party line ... risky!" The line crackled with static, and the angry voice was too low-pitched to make everything out.
"Relax, relax," another voice said. Maybe it was nearer, because it came through a little more clearly. Frank wished the line were better - he almost recognized the speaker. "The only other phone on this line is Carlson's bunkhouse. And I left those kids in a bad way. The sun's probably finished them off by now." A blast of static cut him off in midlaugh.
Frank picked up the conversation again. "Greene kid played his part well ... wait for the two of you up here on the caprock."
Another blast of static wiped out the response. "Reach the old windmill to pick up our other friend. Look for us after dark."
Frank had to strain to hear the next part. But what he caught made his stomach turn over. "Have two bodies to get rid of instead of one."
Chapter 14
Frank heard a loud click, and the connection was broken. He put the receiver down and faced the others. "I wish that line had been better. I knew the voice, but couldn't swear it was Owens, At least it confirms part of our suspicions - there is an accomplice involved." He shook his head. "But from the sound of things, Jerry's mixed up in it, too."
Barbara shook her head firmly. "I can't believe that Jerry's part of this," she protested. "He's just not the kind of guy to - "
"Look!" Joe exclaimed. "He's done it again!"
Frank turned. Joe was pointing to the open door. Charlie was nowhere to be seen.
"We turn our back on him for one second," Joe said, "and he goes into his vanishing act."
"I guess he figures we can take it from here." Frank grinned crookedly. "I hope he's right."
"Listen," Joe said, leaning forward, "I'm with Barbara on this Jerry bit. She knows him - we don't."
Frank nodded. "It did sound as if the guy on the other end was on his way to pick somebody up. And if they're planning to kill two people, that must mean Jerry and this other person. We need to get to Roy," Frank said urgently. "They talked about an 'old windmill,' and maybe Roy knows what they might have been talking about. It sounded as if they were on the caprock somewhere."
"We don't dare phone him, though," Joe said. "The bad guys might pick us up on the party line. We've got the old yellow pickup, but it doesn't have a CB." He looked at Barbara. "We used the ranch road to get here. Is there a faster way back to the Circle C ranch house?"
"The long way round, by the highway," Barbara replied. "It's probably ten miles farther, but it's a lot faster and there's less risk of being spotted."
Frank and Joe checked out the pickup in record time.
"It looks like you guys have had a lot of practice at this," Barbara said as Joe rolled under the pickup and Frank crawled under the dashboard.
"You bet," Joe told her. "As of a couple of days ago, we don't drive anything we haven't checked out first."
"Clear here," Frank called.
"Let's go," Joe said, sliding into the driver's seat. "Roll 'em!" He shoved the gearstick into first, scattering gravel, and they were off.
They were a mile and a hal
f from the ranch house when a sharp bang came from the right front. The truck pulled hard to the right. Wrestling the wheel, Joe managed to keep the truck from skidding and bring it to a smooth stop on the shoulder.
"Of all the luck!" Joe thundered. "A blowout! Just what we need!" He thumped the steering wheel.
Frank peered around cautiously. There wasn't any good cover nearby. "You don't suppose somebody took a shot at us, do you?"
Joe was already out of the truck, studying the flat tire. "Doesn't look like it to me. I think we just got unlucky." He stood up, scowling. "Now what?"
Frank looked in the bed of the truck and gave the spare tire a thump with his fist. "Looks like the spare's good, and there's a jack behind the seat. I'll take off on foot, and we'll see who's fastest."
"I'd race you, but..." Barbara gave a wan smile at her injured leg.
"I'll need someone to cheer me on with this tire fixing," Joe said with a grin.
Frank set off at an even, steady trot. It was much cooler now that it was almost sunset, and the sun was falling into a cloud bank of crimson and orange and blue. A nighthawk, high above, folded its wings and plunged straight down through the still air, pulling up just above Frank's head, where it plucked an insect out of the air and soared away.
Fifteen minutes after he'd left Joe, Frank panted the last hundred feet up to the ranch house. The only vehicle he could see out front was the white car that Dot drove. Shep came running out to greet him with a storm of excited barks. Dot came out on the front porch.
"Frank!" she exclaimed. "What are you doing on foot? Where's Joe?"
"Fixing a flat," Frank gasped, catching his breath. "They'll be along in a minute." He stepped up onto the porch. "Where's Roy? I need to talk to him right away. We've solved the case! Now all we have to do is find Jerry and - "
"Find Jerry?" Dot broke in, looking confused. "But I don't understand. Roy's already left, to meet you. Right after he got the phone call, three-quarters of an hour ago."
Frank stopped dead still. "To meet us? Who called?"
Dot's confusion was turning to concern. "Roy didn't know who it was. Anyway, whoever it was said that Jerry was still alive and that you and Joe had found out where he was. Roy was suspicious - he insisted on talking to Jerry in person."
"What happened then?" Frank asked. He could see a cloud of dust on the road, the yellow pickup barreling in front of it.
"Then Jerry came on the line and said he was okay. Roy was sure that it was Jerry's voice, even though he sounded like he was sort of in a daze." She stopped, her voice beginning to fill with panic. "After that, the caller came back on the line. He said - he said that he had you and Joe and Jerry, and that if Roy wanted to see any of you alive again, he had to meet him. Right away. Alone."
"Meet him where?" Frank demanded. But he already knew the answer.
"At the windmill," Dot replied. "Down on the old homestead."
Frank kept his face still. How was he going to tell Dot that Roy's appointment was a setup for murder?
Chapter 15
"Bad news!" Frank shouted as Joe drove up. "They're after Roy. He left for the old homestead nearly an hour ago."
"Roy Carlson!" Barbara exclaimed. Then she nodded. "That figures, I guess."
"What are we waiting for?" Joe demanded. He put the truck into reverse and got ready to back up. "Let's go! Maybe we can get there in time."
Frank shook his head. Whatever was planned at the old windmill had already happened. Joe cut the engine in disgust. But from the look on Frank's face, they might have another plan.
"It'll be dark in half an hour," Frank told them. "Owens said that he and Jerry would be waiting up on the caprock. So that's where this other guy will be taking Roy. They've counted us out. So if we can get up there, maybe we can catch them off guard - and save Roy and Jerry."
"But where on the caprock?" Barbara wondered.
Frank wheeled to face Dot. "We're looking for a place that's on the same party line as the bunkhouse," he said.
Dot's face was drawn with worry. "Then you're looking for the old shack at the north end of the Triple O, just south of Lawson's Bluff. The place is a wreck - I thought that phone line had been down for years."
"Well, that explains the great connection on the call we overheard," Frank said.
"And that must have been where we saw the flash this afternoon," Barbara added.
"How's the land there?" Frank asked. "Flat and fairly open, like around the bunkhouse?"
Dot frowned. "As best I can recall, it's mostly open pasture with some mesquite bushes. There's an old shed and a corral out back. And it's quite a distance from the highway."
Joe leaned against the truck. "They're bound to be keeping an eye on the road coming in from the highway," he said, "so we can't surprise them that way." He shook his head. "Too bad we don't have more time. We could cross the sand hills and climb the caprock, the way we did this afternoon."
"Yeah, sure," Barbara said skeptically. "In the dark, without Charlie to guide us."
"Anyway, there's no time for that, even if we could," Frank said. He grinned. "What I had in mind was dropping in on them."
Without waiting to explain, he strode into the house and headed for the office, where he studied the wall map for a minute, and then got a ruler out of the desk and began to measure distances on the map. Finally, he sat at the desk and began to punch numbers into the calculator. "It should work," he muttered to himself, satisfied. When he came back out onto the porch, Barbara and Dot were talking in low voices, confusion on their faces. Joe was wearing a big grin.
"Drop in on them?" Dot asked. "What in the world are you talking about, Frank?"
Frank pointed toward the east. Above the caprock, slightly to the north, they could see some blinking red lights.
"Those lights mark three tall radio towers a couple of miles beyond the caprock," he said. "If Joe and I fly directly toward them - "
Barbara gave Frank a withering look. "And just where are you planning to get your wings, Peter Pan?"
Frank ignored her. "If we fly directly toward them in the ultralight, we'll get to maximum altitude just as we cross the caprock. From that point, we should be able to reach our objective."
"But that contraption makes too much noise," Joe objected. "They'll hear us coming and shoot us out of the sky."
Frank grinned. "There won't be any noise. When we cross the caprock, we cut the engine and glide the rest of the way. I figured it out on the calculator. At maximum altitude, and with the ultralight's glide ratio, we can make it to the shack where they're holed up."
Joe stared at him. "Glide?" He gulped.
Frank paused, testing the wind. The crescent moon was just rising to the south of the radio towers.
"Unfortunately, this south wind isn't going to help. It'll cut our ground speed. But the moon should give us enough light to spot the shack from the air, even if they don't have any lights on."
"Assuming you find it," Barbara asked worriedly, "what then?"
Frank squared his shoulders. "The tough part is the landing. We'll have only one try. If we have to restart the engine, they'll hear us. And then we might as well forget rescuing Roy and Jerry."
"What can we do?" Dot asked.
"You and Barbara can get ahold of Sheriff Clinton and seal off the road," Frank said. "In fact, you might even catch the guy who's bringing Roy in." He chewed his lip. "I just hope he hasn't got there yet with Roy. I have the feeling that Roy and Jerry won't stay alive very long once they're up there."
"What if you need reinforcements?" Barbara asked.
"We'll signal. Three of anything - shots, honks, flashes," Frank said. "That'll be your signal to close in."
While Dot began to dial the phone, Frank, Joe, and Barbara headed for the barn and rolled the ultralight outside.
"We'd better top off the tank," Frank told Joe. "Running out of gas tonight could be embarrassing."
Barbara picked up a gas can inside the door and followed
them as they pushed the ultralight onto the dirt road. She was still limping. Frank took the can and filled the small fuel tank.
"I think that does it." He stepped beside the pilot's seat.
Joe looked at the light craft. Suddenly, it seemed pretty puny looking.
"What did you say the maximum altitude is?" he asked, trying to keep the uneasiness out of his voice.
"About five thousand feet," Frank replied carelessly, climbing in. He was grinning. "Come on. No guts, no glory!" He turned on the ignition, and the little engine screamed to life.
"Take care, cowboy." Barbara gave Joe a quick hug. Then Joe climbed in beside Frank, trying not to look as reluctant as he felt.
"Are we legal?" he shouted, over the shrill whine of the engine.
"Not until I get my license," Frank replied, testing the controls. "If we run into an FAA inspector, you'll have to get out and walk." He stared into Joe's unhappy face. "Look, it's the only way we can get there to save Jerry and Roy."
The yellow pickup rolled to a stop beside the ultralight and Barbara ran over to it. Dot took a shotgun out of the gun rack and handed it to Barbara through the window, saying something Joe couldn't hear.
"Dot says you might need this," Barbara reported, handing Joe the gun. "Just in case you run into varmints or something."
Joe gave her a thumbs-up as Frank pushed the throttle to full power. The ultralight gained speed very slowly, it seemed to Joe. Finally, Frank eased the controls back and slowly, laboriously, they rose into the air.
"Anybody ever tell you that you're a lot of dead weight?" Frank shouted as they sluggishly climbed above the scrub.
"I just hope you did those calculations right," Joe said with a worried glance groundward.
He could see the lights of the pickup already heading north at top speed toward the highway. Ahead of them in the darkness were the three radio towers, their red lights blinking. Frank turned the ultralight to bear directly on them and leveled the wings. Slowly they gained altitude, climbing through the chilly dusk, the laboring engine shrieking in Joe's ears.
Without a Trace Page 8
