“Sure, I’ll fill one out,” Joe said. “My friends will, too.”
Frank, Joe, and Terry each took a form and leaned on a parked car to write. After a few minutes, they handed their forms back to Sykes.
“Many thanks,” Sykes said as he stuffed the forms into his briefcase. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a lot of ground to cover tonight.”
Joe opened his mouth to ask Sykes some questions about his work and about the orange glow, but the man was already scurrying away toward his car.
The Hardys and Terry talked with a few other people who were gathered nearby. Frank checked his watch. “It’s nine-twenty. We’ve still got some time,” he said. “What else can you show us, Terry?”
“Not much from the inside, since almost everything here closes early, especially on a Wednesday night, but I can walk you around town.”
Terry showed the Hardys the city hall and public library, both of which were brick buildings from the 1920s. When the trio returned to the Black Elk at nine forty-five, Robinson had not yet arrived. They passed the time talking for a half-hour. Robinson still did not appear.
Terry checked her watch. “I don’t know why he’s so late. Waring Road isn’t very far from here. Why don’t we walk in that direction.”
Terry and the Hardys walked out of the downtown area and soon came to a dirt road. The road was dark and quiet, surrounded by the silhouettes of trees, brush, and rocks.
After they had walked for about a quarter of a mile, Joe noticed something up ahead on the road. “Hey, look,” he said. “I think that’s Robinson’s Jeep.”
Frank, Joe, and Terry trotted up to the vehicle. Sure enough, it was Robinson’s maroon Jeep, parked on the side of the road. The driver-side door was wide open, and the keys were still in the ignition.
“This doesn’t look good,” Terry said.
“Maybe he had car trouble,” Joe said. “He could have gone for help.”
Frank glanced up and down the road. “But why would he leave the keys in the ignition and the door wide open? It makes no sense. Let’s take a look around.”
Frank, Joe, and Terry spent a few minutes searching the area, but they found no sign of Robinson.
“I don’t like this,” Joe said. “No one leaves a car like this unless something is wrong.”
“Mr. Robinson!” Terry called out. “Mr. Robinson! It’s me, Terry! Can you hear me?”
There was no answer. Except for a slight rustling in the trees, the area was dead quiet. Joe saw the moon glowing above.
“I don’t know what’s going on,” Frank said quietly, “but I think Clay Robinson is in some kind of trouble. No one just vanishes into thin air.”
3 Tombstone Trail
* * *
“We should go to the police,” Terry said in a shaky voice.
“Definitely,” Joe answered as he put a hand on Terry’s shoulder.
Frank knew it might help if they could pinpoint the time Robinson had disappeared. He looked at his watch. “It’s ten-twenty. Let’s check the gas station and Robinson’s lawyer’s house,” he said. “We can see if he made it to either of those places.”
All three got into the Jeep. Terry started the engine and drove down the road. Before they had gotten far, the headlights picked up a man walking toward them along the road. “Do you know who that is, Terry?” Frank asked.
“No, I don’t,” Terry replied.
“Maybe he saw Robinson,” Frank said. “Let’s ask him.”
When Terry reached the man, she stopped the Jeep, and Frank leaned out his window. The man was in his twenties, with shaggy blond hair and ragged clothing. Even though it was night, he wore mirrored sunglasses with a blue tint. Frank guessed he was one of the drifter types Robinson had told them about earlier.
“Excuse me,” Frank said. “In the last hour or so did you happen to see a man around here? In his forties, reddish hair, beard.”
“Nope,” the drifter said with little expression in his voice.
“Did you see anything at all suspicious?” Frank asked. “Like a car speeding by or something?”
“Nope,” the man said again.
“Do you need a lift somewhere?” Frank asked.
“Nope,” the man said. “Just out for a stroll.”
Frank studied the man a moment then said, “Okay, thanks.”
“Oh, wait,” the man said, holding up a hand. “I did see something strange. There was this really psychedelic light in the sky. Did you see it?”
“Yes, we saw it,” Frank said. “Thanks again.”
Terry continued driving down the road. Joe looked back at the man and said, “I never trust anyone who wears sunglasses in the dark.”
Soon Terry brought the Jeep to the Coalville gas station, which was on the highway just outside of town. A man in a grease-stained jumpsuit was locking the door to the building.
“Hey, Billy,” Terry called to the man. “Did Mr. Robinson come by here tonight?”
“Yeah, he came by,” Billy said as he walked over to the Jeep. “About an hour ago. He was my last customer. We talked a few minutes, and then he drove off.”
“Did he seem all right?” Terry asked.
“He seemed same as always,” Billy replied.
“Was there anyone with him?” Frank asked.
“Not a soul,” Billy said with a shrug.
“Thanks,” Terry said. She put the Jeep in gear and steered it back onto the highway. She drove back to the dirt road and this time continued on to the home of Mr. Wilkins, the lawyer.
Terry and the Hardys were invited inside to tell their story to Wilkins. He listened carefully as he puffed on a pipe.
“I was expecting Clay tonight,” Wilkins said with a furrowed brow, “but he hasn’t shown up. This is most puzzling.”
“Mr. Wilkins,” Joe said, “would Clay Robinson have any reason to skip town suddenly?”
“On the contrary,” Wilkins said, “things couldn’t be going better for Clay. He finally got his development project approved, and he stands to make a sizable amount of money from it.”
“Do you know of anyone who might have reason to harm Mr. Robinson?” Frank asked.
The lawyer puffed thoughtfully on his pipe before answering. “A lot of people are opposed to his development project, especially that fella Max Jagowitz. But these are peace-loving people in these parts. I can’t imagine any of the locals resorting to violence. All the same, we’d better give a call over to the police station.”
“You don’t need to bother,” Terry said as she stood up. “We’ll just drive over there and give a full report.”
Fifteen minutes later Terry and the Hardys were in the Coalville Police Station, a small building next to the city hall. The station was nothing more than an office with a few desks and a single jail cell. They told all the details to Sergeant Bunt, a husky young man with a crew cut.
Sergeant Bunt tapped a pencil on his desk. “No, I can’t imagine what might have happened to Mr. Robinson,” he said. “I’ve gotten plenty of calls about that orange light, though. Did you all catch a look at that thing?”
“It was amazing,” Terry said.
Frank wanted to stay on track. “It seems Robinson disappeared some time between nine-ten and ten-twenty.”
Sergeant Bunt wrote this down.
“Terry, what are the names of those two bikers?” Joe asked.
“Bev Kominski and Myra Hart,” Terry said.
“Oh yes, those the two women I’ve seen riding all over the place on their bikes?” Bunt said. “They rent the red house at the end of Route Forty-seven.”
“Have you had any trouble with them?” Joe asked. “Mr. Robinson fired them a couple of weeks ago, and he said they’re really angry about it.”
“I’ve had no trouble with them,” Bunt said.
“Mr. Robinson never pressed charges against Bev and Myra,” Terry told the Hardys. “We’re almost positive they stole some things, but we didn’t actually catch them in the act. S
o Robinson just fired them.”
“He should have reported it anyway,” Bunt said.
“What should we do about Mr. Robinson?” Joe asked.
“We don’t consider a person officially missing until he’s gone for forty-eight hours,” Bunt said, “But, well, why wait? They’re holding the presses down at the local paper so they can write an article about that thing in the sky. I’ll tell them to put in something about Robinson’s disappearance, too. That way if anyone saw anything, he can call it in. In the meantime I’ll do some driving around to look for Robinson.”
Bunt leaned back in his chair. “It’s funny. Days go by in Moondance Pass with nothing much happening. Then all of a sudden we have a strange night like this. It’s almost like that thing in the sky and Robinson’s disappearance are related. But, nah, I don’t see how that’s possible.”
Terry and the Hardys left the police station and drove around Moondance Pass for another two hours. With the exception of a deer darting across a road, they saw no one. “I don’t think there’s anything else we can do tonight,” Frank said, yawning. “Let’s head back to Silver Crest.”
“I guess we’d better,” Terry said. “I’ve got a rafting expedition first thing tomorrow morning. Why don’t you guys come along?”
“Rafting—yes!” Joe said enthusiastically.
“Absolutely,” Frank added. “We’ve done all we can for the moment about finding Robinson. We might as well have some fun.”
Back at Silver Crest, Terry went to her dorm room at the HQ, and the Hardys walked to the small cabin they were renting.
The cabin was a simple room with two beds, a small kitchenette, and a bathroom, but the place was comfortable and clean.
Frank and Joe washed up quickly and were in their beds in minutes. Frank drifted off to sleep immediately, but Joe’s thoughts kept him wide awake.
“Frank,” Joe said after a few minutes, “what do you think the chances are that that was an alien spacecraft we saw tonight?”
“Slim,” Frank mumbled. “Joe?” he added.
“What?”
“What do you think the chances are that I’ll be getting a good night’s sleep? We’ve got an early morning date with a river tomorrow.”
“Party pooper,” Joe said, but Frank was already asleep.
• • •
Terry, Frank, Joe, and the honeymooners from New York City were rushing through a run of white water in a large inflatable raft early Thursday morning. Two other rafts from Silver Crest were cruising through the waters of the Yukandaya River a short distance ahead. As the guide of her raft, Terry sat in the back, calling out instructions to the passengers.
“Right back!” Terry called.
Those on the right side of the raft paddled energetically while those on the left waited. Depending on the water and the position of the raft, Terry gave various orders to keep the raft on course.
“Everyone back!” Terry called.
Everyone paddled as the raft bounced in the air. Frank winced when a sheet of water flew up and drenched him. At this hour of the morning, eight o’clock, the water was icy.
“Is this great or what?” Joe called as the raft shot through the churning water.
“Fantastic!” Frank called back. “But cold!”
Soon the raft slowed in a calmer section of the river. Terry was able to steer the raft by herself for a while, giving the passengers a chance to relax. “This is so beautiful,” the stockbroker’s wife observed.
Frank admired the passing scenery. The river was flanked by steep slopes covered with spruce and pine trees. Early morning sunlight glinted on the water. The water was so clear that Frank could see the pebbles on the bottom.
Frank’s pleasant thoughts were disturbed by thoughts about Clay Robinson’s disappearance. As soon as they had woken up, Frank had called the police station. There had still been no word on Robinson. Before the rafting expedition, Terry had told most of the staff about the Robinson incident, and they had made arrangements how to run Silver Crest without the owner present.
“You might call this the calm before the storm,” Terry said as she paddled. “We’re coming up on Tombstone Trail.”
“What’s that?” the stockbroker asked.
“It’s the roughest run on the river,” Terry said. “It’s called Tombstone Trail because some of the rocks are shaped like tombstones.”
“That’s a relief,” Joe said. “I thought it might be because people have died crossing it.”
“Not on my expeditions,” Terry replied. “But I want you all to make sure you’re securely tucked into the boat.”
Frank could hear the water roaring again in the distance. Soon the raft was moving more swiftly, and the water churned against big rocks, creating a white foam. Frank tucked his left foot deep into a crevice where the side of the raft met the bottom. He made sure his body was well balanced.
“Here we go!” Terry called out. “Everyone paddle forward!”
Everyone began paddling. The raft blasted forward into what looked like a boiling cauldron. The roar of the river became deafening, and the raft bumped up and down on the rapids as if it were a roller-coaster car. The force of the water threw the raft sideways.
“Left paddle forward!” Terry yelled. Frank lifted his oar from the water as Terry and the left-side passengers paddled.
Then the raft was thrown the other way and it crashed into a boulder right beside Frank. Flying up with the raft, Frank kept his foot securely tucked in.
“Right paddle forward!” Terry yelled, and Frank dug his oar into the rough water.
As the raft shot ahead, Frank found that it was harder to stay balanced now. Perhaps the raft had been damaged by the last boulder, he thought. Before he could say anything to Terry, the raft hit an even wilder stretch of water and vaulted into the air.
Frank slid off the raft and felt the cold water slap him in the face.
He plunged underwater, holding his breath. Then his life jacket jerked him back to the surface. He was on his back, flying through the water so fast that it was as if he had been shot from a cannon.
Frank’s senses were assaulted by so many things he could barely separate them—people yelling, the roar of the rapids, the freezing water, the rocks scraping his arms and legs. A boulder flew by, and instinctively Frank grabbed on to it.
The water pounded against Frank’s face as he turned to see the raft about thirty yards behind him. Everyone was paddling furiously, and Terry was yelling something Frank couldn’t understand. If he could hang on for just a few more moments, he thought, the raft would rescue him.
Then without warning Frank was ripped from the boulder and sent hurtling downriver. Through the foamy spray, Frank glimpsed about a dozen tall rocks jutting up through the water. They were scattered across the width of the river, most of them shaped like tombstones.
Whether he liked it or not, Frank was about to plow into the rocks of Tombstone Trail with terrifying force.
4 An Alien Debate
* * *
Frank’s heart was pounding as hard as the water. He knew there was no way he could ride past those rocks without serious injury.
His mind raced through his options. He could roll up into a ball to lessen the damage, or he could attempt to grab on to one of the first tombstone-shaped rocks. He chose the second idea.
Scanning the river, Frank picked out a rock. With the water thundering furiously around him, Frank focused all his concentration on that particular rock. He knew he would have only one chance to grab it, and if he missed, he would crash into the rocks that lay just beyond.
A wild cyclone of water suddenly spun Frank sideways. He whipped his head around to find the rock he wanted. Lifting himself out of the water, he made a desperate lunge.
He threw both arms around the rock. With astonishing power the water wrestled with Frank, trying to tear him away. Frank was not letting go of that precious rock for anything.
“We’re coming!” Frank could hea
r Terry’s voice above the roar of the water.
As Frank battled with the water, the raft approached. All of the passengers were paddling backward to keep the raft in place while Terry reached over and grabbed Frank’s life jacket. Terry was strong, and soon Frank felt himself being hauled over the side of the raft.
He lay on the bottom of the raft, totally exhausted, but he was still in one piece.
“Everyone paddle forward!” Terry yelled. She paddled left, then right, keeping her eyes on the treacherous rocks of Tombstone Trail. The raft crashed against the rocks and bounced on the swells, but with Terry’s expert guidance, it kept on shooting forward.
“The raft got punctured on that rock and that’s why you fell out!” Joe called to Frank. “It could have happened to anyone.”
Frank nodded, too tired to speak.
As soon as the raft passed safely through Tombstone Trail, Terry guided it to the bank, and everyone hauled it out of the water. Because the raft had lost some air, it was not safe to continue the journey. Soaked to the bone, Terry and the others made their way up a steep bank, then began walking along a narrow dirt trail.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” the stockbroker asked Frank as his wife looked on with concern.
“I think so,” Frank said. The fact was, he had been extremely lucky. Aside from a few scrapes and cuts, he was fine.
“Does that happen to these rafts very often?” Joe asked Terry.
Terry shook her head. “I’ve never seen it happen. We check the rafts before each trip and we check them carefully every few days. But when you’re up against nature, you can’t count on anything.”
After a half mile, the group made it to a spot where the two other rafting groups were waiting beside a van. All the rafts were placed on a flatbed attachment that the van drove back to Silver Crest.
There was no sign of Robinson back at the resort. After the Hardys changed into dry clothing, Frank went with Terry to get his minor wounds treated. Joe hit the mess hall for a late breakfast.
The mess hall was a sectioned-off area on the main floor of the HQ. Under the thick wooden beams of the ceiling were several tables and a cafeteria-style counter.
The Rocky Road to Revenge Page 2
