CHAPTER X
_Plumb Loco_
The sheriff of Cocos County was reacting exactly as Rawson hadanticipated. Smithy stood before him, a disheveled Smithy, grimy offace and hands. He had made his way to the highway and caught a rideto the nearest town, and now that he had found Jack Downer, sheriff,that gentleman leaned back in his old chair behind the battered deskand regarded the younger man with amused tolerance.
"Now, that's right interesting, what you say," he admitted. "TonahBasin, and the old crater, and red devils settin' fire to everything.I've heard some wild ones since this Prohibition went into effect andsome of the boys started makin' their own, but yours sure beats 'emall. Guess likely I'll have to take a run up Tonah way and see whatkind of cactus liquor they're makin'."
"Meaning I'm drunk or a liar." Smithy's voice was hot with suddenanger, but the sheriff regarded him imperturbably.
"Well, I'd let you off on one count, son. You do look sort of sober."
Smithy disregarded the plain implication and fought down the angerthat possessed him.
"May I use your phone, Mr. Downer?" he asked.
He called the office of Erickson and his associates in Los Angeles andtold, as well as he could for the constant interruptions from hislistener, the story of what had occurred. And Mr. Erickson at theother end of the line, although he used different words, gave somewhatthe same reply as had the sheriff.
"I refuse to listen to any more such wild talk," he said. "If ourproperty has been destroyed, as you say, there will be an accounting,you may be sure of that. And now, Mr. Smith, get this straight, youtell Rawson, wherever he is hiding, to come and see me at once."
"But I tell you he has been captured," said Smithy desperately. "He'sgone."
"I rather think we will find him," was the reply. "He had better comeof his own accord. His connection with us will be severed and alldrilling operations in Tonah Basin will be discontinued, but Mr.Rawson will find that his responsibility is not so easily evaded."
The sheriff could not have failed to realize the unsatisfactory natureof the conversation; he must have wondered at the satisfied grin thatspread across Smithy's tired face.
"Do you mean you're through?" he demanded. "You're abandoning Rawson'swork?"
"Exactly," was Mr. Erickson's crisp response.
* * * * *
Smithy, as the telephone clicked in his ear, turned again to thesheriff. "That unties my hands," he said cryptically. "One more call,if you please."
Then to the operator: "Get me the offices of the Mountain Power andLighting Corporation in San Francisco. I will talk with thepresident."
The sheriff of Cocos County chuckled audibly. "You'll talk to thepresident's sixteenth assistant secretary, son," he told Smithy. "AndI take back what I said before--now I know you're plumb loco. By theway, son, it costs money for telephone calls like that. I hope youain't, by any chance, overlookin'--"
But Smithy was speaking into the telephone unmindful of the sheriff'sremarks.
"Is Mr. Smith in his office?" he was inquiring. "Yes, PresidentSmith.... Would you connect me with him at once, please? This isGordon Smith talking."
"Hello, Dad," he said a moment later. "Yes, that's right. It's theprodigal himself. Now, listen, Dad, here's something important. Canyou meet me in Sacramento and arrange for us to see the Governor--gethis private, confidential ear? I'll beat it for Los Angeles--charterthe fastest plane they've got...."
There was more to the conversation, much more, although Smithyrefrained from giving details over the phone. An operator was breakingin on the conversation as he was about to hang up.
"Emergency call," the young woman's voice was saying. "We must havethe line at once."
* * * * *
Smithy handed the telephone to the sheriff. "Someone's anxious to talkto you," he said. He searched his pockets hurriedly, found aten-dollar bill which he laid on the sheriff's desk. "That will coverit," he said with a new note in his voice. "Perhaps you're not justthe man for this job, sheriff. It's going to be a whole lot too hotfor you to handle."
He had turned quickly toward the door, but something in the sheriff'sexcited voice checked him. "Burned? Wiped out, you say?"
Halfway across the room Smithy could hear another hoarse voice in thetelephone. The sheriff repeated the words. "Red devils! They wasn'tInjuns? The whole town of Seven Palms destroyed!"
"I thought," said Smithy softly to himself, "that we'd have to go down_there_ to find _them_, and instead they're out looking for us. Yes, Ithink this will be decidedly too hot for you to handle, sheriff." Heturned and bolted out the door.
* * * * *
An attentive audience was awaiting Gordon Smith on his arrival inSacramento. Smithy's father was not one to be kept waiting even by theGovernor of the state. Also, Smithy was coming from the Tonah Basinregion, and the news of the destruction of the desert town of SevenPalms had preceded him. Even the swift planes of the Coastal Servicecould not match the speed of the radio news.
There were only two men in the room when Smithy entered. One of them,tall, heavily built, as square-shouldered as Smithy, came forward andput his two hands on the young man's shoulders. Their greetings werebrief.
"Well, son?" asked the older man, and packed a world of questioninginto the interrogation.
"O. K., Dad," said Smithy simply.
His father nodded silently and turned to the other man. "Governor, myson, Gordon. He got tired of being known as the 'Old Man'sson'--started out on his own--not looking for adventure exactly, but Ijudge he has found it. He's got something to tell us."
And again Smithy told his wild, unbelievable tale. But it was not soincredible now, for, even while Smithy was talking, the Governor wasglancing at the report on his desk which told of the destruction ofthe little town of Seven Palms.
"I can't tell you what it means," Smithy concluded. He paused beforeventuring a prediction which was to prove remarkably accurate. "But Isaw them--I saw them come up out of the earth, and I'm betting thereare plenty more where they came from. And now that they've found theirway out, we've got a scrap on our hands. And don't think they're notfighters, either. They're armed--those flame-throwers are nothing wecan laugh off, and what else they've got, we don't know."
He leaned forward earnestly across the Governor's desk. "But that'syour job," he said. "Mine is to find Dean Rawson. He's alive, or hewas. He sent up his ring as proof of it. I've got to find him--I'vegot to go down in that pit and I want your help."
Two Thousand Miles Below Page 11
