CHAPTER VI
Dangerous Trail
The search for the missing dynamite had failed completely. Rick, Scotty,and the scientists were equally puzzled. Why steal dynamite? What wasthere to be gained?
At a conference early the following morning Hartson Brant voiced thequestion.
Julius Weiss was the first to respond, and his answer was anotherquestion. "What was to be gained by stealing the tracings and Jeff'ssketch? Isn't the theft of the dynamite in the same category?"
"I suppose it is," Hartson Brant agreed. "I see no motive whatever foreither theft. After all, it was simple enough to make additionaltracings, and it will not be difficult to obtain more dynamite. So I goback to my original question. What is to be gained by the theft?"
"Dynamite has some value," Zircon boomed.
"To be sure. But the tracings had none, except to us."
Rick said what had been on his mind. "Both thefts resulted in only onething . . . delay. The tracings put us a day behind, and the dynamitemight delay us even longer. It depends on how fast we can get more."
"Maybe Rick has something there," David Riddle said. "But who gains froma delay in the project?"
"No one," Brad Connel said testily. "I think we're looking for a motivethat doesn't exist. The tracings probably were stolen by someone on thehotel staff, because they looked important. Maybe the thief thought theycould be sold. Certainly the dynamite can be sold. What motive do weneed other than the usual profit a thief expects?"
"Perhaps none," Hartson Brant admitted. "The question is, what now? Wecan proceed no further without explosives."
"I will go to the governor and see if he can obtain more for us,"Esteben Balgos announced. "If he has none here on San Luz, there areother islands close by. A few telephone calls will locate a supply."
"Fine. And while you're doing that, there is little the rest of us cando except relax. Will you let us know by telephone what the governorsays?"
"Yes, at once. Any of you care to go with me?"
Williams and Riddle volunteered to go along. Weiss announced that hewanted to make some calculations and asked Hartson Brant and Zircon tohelp him.
Rick and Scotty, left on their own, considered the possibilities foramusement and found none except the ocean itself--which was plenty.They decided on a swim and hurried back to their room to put on trunksunder their slacks. Zircon readily gave permission to use the jeep.
As they changed clothes, a jeep motor roared into life. Scotty walked tothe window and opened the draperies. "Balgos and the others," heannounced.
A few minutes later another jeep motor started up. Rick went to thewindow and was just in time to see Brad Connel start across the parkinglot in his jeep. He was alone.
The boy turned away from the window, very thoughtful. "That was Connel.Wonder where he's going?"
"Maybe to Calor, for shopping or sightseeing," Scotty replied. "What'son your mind?"
"He worries me," Rick said bluntly. "I don't really know why. Only he'scertainly determined to keep us away from his firing stations, isn'the?"
"Go on. Something's biting you, and I want to know what it is."
Rick stared at his dark-haired pal without really seeing him. Hestruggled to put into words the vague thoughts in the back of his mind.
"Well, he acted worried about Ruiz, but I don't really think he was. Itwas kind of overdone, you know? His face didn't match his words."
Scotty shook his head. "You're on thin ice, boy. People don't react toaccidents in a standard way. It might have been overdone, but it mightnot, too. What else?"
"He didn't want us to go along as helpers after Ruiz was hurt. I knowthat doesn't mean much, and he said he was just afraid of anotheraccident, but wouldn't you think he'd like some company? Besides, twoaccidents like that just don't happen. Then, when we suggested changingstations so he could have more time to work on other things, he yelledpretty fast."
"Because we don't know his terrain," Scotty pointed out. "At leastthat's what he said."
"Sure. But what's to know about the terrain? All we'd have to do wouldbe to follow his jeep tracks, and shoot where the ground is already tornup from his earlier shots. If it's safe for him to carry caps anddynamite, it's safe for us."
Scotty scratched his chin thoughtfully. "I see what you mean. But theevidence isn't very conclusive, is it?"
"No," Rick admitted. "Only where's he going now? If he planned to go totown, he'd invite anyone who wanted to go, wouldn't he? That's what mostpeople would do."
Scotty chuckled. "One thing I like about you. When you get a notion inthat noggin, it doesn't come out easily. Next you'll be suggesting thathe slugged Williams and stole the dynamite."
"He could have," Rick pointed out. "Apparently he was alone in his roomboth times. At least no one said he was with them."
Scotty held up his hands in surrender. "Okay. What do we do about it?"
"Let's see where he's going."
"I knew it," Scotty said resignedly. "Okay. But we'd better hurry."
There was a clear view from the front of the hotel down the slopes ofthe foothills to the town of Calor. The road wound around andoccasionally vanished from sight in clumps of green growth, but the boyswatched for several minutes and saw no sign of Connel. The jeep withBalgos and the others was rolling along in the distance, but it wasstill close enough to see three occupants.
"He didn't go to town," Rick said finally, "and there's only one otherroad out of here."
"To the shot stations," Scotty agreed. "Unless he cut off and headed forSan Souci." That was a little fishing village on the west coast. Neitherboy had been there, but they had used a flagpole on the tip of the capenear the town as a sighting marker.
"Let's go see," Rick suggested.
They hurried through the hotel to the parking lot and got into the jeep.Rick started the vehicle, crossed the fissure in the lot, and took theroad west. According to the map, the road was paved as far as the pumiceworks. Beyond that it was graded dirt. If Connel had taken the dirtroad, instead of the trail to the shot stations, they should see dust.
He kept the jeep rolling at good speed as far as the pumice-worksshacks, then stopped to look for signs of a dust haze. There was none.At the end of the blacktop, he and Scotty got out and examined the roadsurface. There were signs of traffic, but none very recent so far asthey could tell. Rick drove the jeep a few hundred yards along the road,then got out and looked again. The heavy treads of his vehicle wereclearly visible in the dust. If Connel had gone this way, he would haveleft similar marks.
"He took the trail," Rick said.
Scotty nodded. "Looks like it. Do we follow?"
"We sure do. What reason would he have for going to the station withoutdynamite?"
"None that I know of. Let's go."
Rick turned the jeep into the trail and sped along it as fast as theruts allowed. As they reached their third station with no sign ofConnel, Scotty spoke suddenly. "Suppose we find him? How do we explainwhy we're following him?"
Rick considered. He rejected a casual trip as explanation. Connelwouldn't buy it.
"We can park the jeep in the jungle," he said finally. "It will be wellhidden. Then we can go on foot. If we see him coming, we can take to thebush. We'll be invisible a few feet away."
The jeep was driven into the area where their shots had been set off. Itwas invisible from the trail. The boys left it and started hiking.
It was hard going. The heat and humidity were both high, and they weresweating before a quarter mile was covered. The film of perspirationseemed to attract insects, too, and before long the pests were drivingthem to distraction. Rick brushed futilely at the shining swarm of gnatsaround his head. "I'm not sure it's worth it," he said grimly.
"Neither am I," Scotty agreed. "But we've started. Let's keep plugging."
They reached the first of Connel's shot stations without a sign of thegeologist. It was much like their own, a small clearing with the groundtorn by the dynamite.
They strode up the trail, grimly determined to find the geologist. Onemore station remained ahead. Rick doubted that he had gone farther thanthat. He wiped his streaming face and squinted his eyes to protect themfrom the whining gnats. They swarmed around but didn't seem to sting orbite. He was grateful for that much.
Suddenly Scotty let out a warning gasp. The dark-haired boy threwhimself sideways, on top of Rick, and the two of them crashed to theground.
"Roll away," Scotty said urgently. "Back! Hurry!"
The ground opened up a few feet away. Rick felt a giant hand pick himup, shake him, then slam him into a palmetto. Bruised and dazed, hegrabbed the palmetto for support and lacerated his hands on the roughcovering. He slid to the ground, consciousness slipping from him.
For a moment Rick lay slumped at the base of the palmetto. He didn'tlose consciousness completely, but he was stunned and unable to functioneither mentally or physically. He had neither sight or hearing for thefirst few seconds, then these faculties slowly returned. He becameaware that he was looking down at a broad green leaf, and that the leafwas gradually turning crimson.
He watched, his vision clearing, and suddenly realized that the redpigment was dripping onto the leaf in a steady series of drops that wasalmost a stream. At almost the same instant he knew that the red wasblood and that it was his. He shook his head to clear it, and the redspray flew from side to side. Through the periphery of vision he sawthat it was coming from his nose.
Rick realized that he was on his hands and knees. He rose to a kneelingposition and fished for his handkerchief. He put it to his nose and itcame away stained red. He sighed with relief. Nosebleed. For a moment hehad wondered. . . .
A few feet away Scotty was slowly stretching one limb after another,checking to be sure he was functioning. Satisfied, the ex-Marine sat up,with some effort. Rick saw that his nose was bleeding, too.
"You've got a nosebleed," Rick said faintly.
Scotty touched his nose with the back of his hand and examined the redtrace. "Uhuh," he agreed.
"What happened?" Rick asked weakly. His voice sounded far away!
Scotty's answer was barely audible. "We found the missing dynamite. Isaw a length of wire along the trail. Are you okay?"
"I think so." Rick got to his feet, feeling as though his body were insections. "We must have been close when it went off."
The two held onto each other for mutual support while strength came backinto them.
"We weren't too close," Scotty said finally. He gestured up the trail.Rick looked, and saw a gaping hole some distance away. Beyond it, comingtoward them at as high a speed as the trail allowed, was Brad Connel inhis jeep.
The geologist stopped as he reached the hole, then swung off the trailand plowed through some scrub and back onto it again. He drew up next tothe boys.
"So it was you who stole the dynamite!" the geologist said grimly. "Whathappened? Did it explode while you were fooling around with it?"
The boys stared at him, dazed and openmouthed.
"You're crazy," Rick managed finally. "We didn't steal it, but we almostgot blown up in it. If Scotty hadn't seen the wire, we both would havebeen blown to bits."
The geologist's eyes narrowed. "Do you mean to tell me someone tried toblow you up? That's nonsense!"
"That's what happened, nonsense or not," Rick said curtly.
Scotty added, "And what were you doing here?"
"Came to get my wallet," the geologist answered readily. "I missed itand figured I must have dropped it up here. It wasn't anywhere else I'dbeen. Better get in and let me take you back. If you were close enoughto get nosebleeds you must be shaken up quite a bit."
"We're shaken," Rick agreed. "Our jeep is down at our shot station. Wedecided to leave it there and take a hike."
They climbed into the back of Connel's jeep. The nosebleeds had stoppednow, but their faces were smeared with blood. Neither felt like talking,nor, apparently, did Connel. He stopped at their third station andasked, "Can you make it? Or do you want to ride back with me?"
"We can make it," Rick said. "Thanks for the lift."
"I'd better stay behind you to make sure," Connel stated.
The boys headed straight back to the hotel, Connel a hundred yards totheir rear. In the parking lot they thanked him again for the lift, thenhurried in to let warm water wash away the traces of their experience.
Later, stretched out on their beds, they talked it over.
"You saved our bacon," Rick stated. "But what really happened?"
"I'm not sure," Scotty replied. "There are two possibilities. One, wesprung a booby trap. I don't really credit that one much, because wewere rolling away when the stuff let go. If we'd hit a trip wire orsomething similar, the dynamite would have gone off right then. So,second possibility, someone was waiting for us. We jumped back just ashe pushed the plunger. Or, maybe he saw we had spotted the trap andtried to get us, anyway."
"Who's he?" Rick asked.
"Persons unknown," Scotty answered. "Or maybe one person not unknown."
"Meaning Connel? He could have done it. Suppose he set the trap, thentook his jeep up the hill out of sight. Then he could have walked back,fired the shot, hurried back for his jeep, and driven down."
"Could be," Scotty agreed. "Only, did he know we were coming?"
Rick shrugged. "How can we know that? For all we know, from his thirdshot station he might be able to look right down on the trail. He seesus, hurries into position, fires the charge, and hurries back. We can'treally tell until we get to that third station. Personally, I vote forConnel."
"Not proven," Scotty warned.
Rick knew it. "It may never be proven, on account of no witnesses. Butsuppose it was some unknown party? Why wouldn't that party try forConnel? Why wait until he's passed, and we're coming into position?Would an unknown thief be that interested in us?"
"Too many questions," Scotty objected. "I haven't any answers. But youmake a good case for its being Connel. Also, did you notice how hejumped on us for stealing the dynamite? That probably would have beenhis story if we'd been killed. Now tell me what his motive is. Whyshould he try to delay the project?"
Rick had no answer to that. "Makes no sense," he agreed. "Unless there'ssomething he doesn't want us to see. That dynamite sure discouraged ourtrip to his third station!"
The Flaming Mountain: A Rick Brant Science-Adventure Story Page 6