Bolts

by Alexander Key

  “That’s it!” Bingo cried. “He’s crawled into a narrow hole where he can’t use his radio. What direction is it from here, Pirate?”

  “Sou’east by south,” Pirate admitted reluctantly.

  “How far?”

  “Three hundred and nine and a quarter miles—and that’s all I’m telling you. You’ve strained my second sight to the breaking point!”

  Bingo’s fingers flew over the control buttons. The earth seemed to shift, and below them a new range of mountains appeared. Now Bingo pressed the down button, and the Space Jumper, like a falling elevator, began to descend through the atmosphere. Everyone except Big Butch felt an oopity feeling in his stomach, which is the opposite of the umpity feeling of going up.

  A half mile above the mountains, Bingo halted the Space Jumper and everyone peered down through the viewing ports. There were wild and barren ridges below them, some topped with snow, but at this height neither Bingo nor the commander could make out details. Big Butch, however, had built-in super vision, and could spot a beetle at a thousand yards.

  “See anything?” Bingo asked.

  “Not a soul,” Big Butch answered. “If that poor little dog was being chased, there’d be men around. Your navigation must be off.”

  “Jiminy!” Bingo exclaimed. “I’ll bet Pirate gave me the distance in nautical miles. I was using land miles.”

  “Lubber!” squawked Pirate. “You’ll never be a sailor.”

  “Aw, we were traveling over land,” Bingo said. “So naturally I thought …” His fingers flew over the button panel again, and now an auxiliary jet motor began to drive them forward. It seemed terribly slow after their zip speed in space, but finally new peaks were beneath them, with a desert in the distance.

  “There they are!” Big Butch cried. “In that little valley. Men, horses, dogs—lots of them! There’s a hole in the rocks, and they’re digging in it!”

  “Keep your eye on them,” the commander ordered. “Quick, Bingo, call Bolts again.”

  Poor Bolts, half a mile and some spare feet below, was still unable to use his radio. After overhearing Major Mangler’s unpleasant plans for him, his main concern was to get as far down in the hole as possible.

  He had managed to turn around once more, and squeeze past rocks he couldn’t dig out with his paws. Once he wondered how he could escape from the hole—if that happy chance ever came—then he told himself, “Aw, what’s the diff? I’ll worry about that later.”

  His sniffer had already warned him that he was not alone down here. There was some sort of critter ahead—a very cautious and quiet critter that kept retreating as he advanced. He decided he had better get acquainted with it before trouble cut loose on them both.

  “Hey, you!” he called. “I don’t know who you are, but we’re in a pickle. How deep does this hole go?”

  The critter refused to answer.

  Bolts pushed on, then stopped abruptly at a fork in the passage. On his right was only blackness and strange smells his sniffer didn’t care for. But in the dimness on his left he made out a pair of shrewd, beady eyes in a sharp-pointed face. The eyes were studying him intently.

  “By Joe,” Bolts muttered, “ain’t you a fox critter?”

  “I admit to nothing,” replied the fox critter. “Especially to a metal doglike thing that ticks and talks. Explain yourself.”

  “Ain’t got time to explain,” Bolts told him. “Can’t you hear the racket outside?”

  “I’m unpleasantly aware of it—and it doesn’t inspire me with confidence in you. What’s going on?”

  “That’s Major Mangler and his men, and they’re hard after me,” Bolts said hurriedly. “When they find they can’t dig me out, they’re aiming to blow me out. We gotta scram—if there’s a deeper place to scram to. What’s over on your side?”

  “Bats and darkness. And all of it unhealthy.”

  Bolts shivered. “How ’bout this other direction?”

  “The same, only more of it.”

  “That don’t sound so good.”

  “It isn’t at all good, except that it’s deeper. Being the greater of two evils, I’d hardly recommend it—but since the situation is desperate, I’d suggest you take it.”

  “After you,” Bolts said nervously. “And we’d better hurry—time’s running out on us.”

  “Can you see in the dark?” inquired the fox critter.

  “I—I’m supposed to have special night sight,” Bolts admitted.

  “Then what are you waiting for?”

  “B-but I’m kinda inexperienced in places like this,” poor Bolts protested. “Why don’t you go first, and let me follow?”

  “Oh, but that would be most unwise. Beyond this point there is utter and complete darkness. In such a place, good vision should always lead, and good advice should always follow. It makes for safety as well as speed.”

  Bolts would have preferred to have his good advice ahead of him, but at that moment Major Mangler—who had decided that picks and shovels were useless—set off his first blast. The explosion rocked the hole and sent Bolts tumbling into the blackness.

  Bolts slid over a hundred feet downward, mainly on his sniffer, before he fetched up with a mighty jolt against a rock. If his sniffer hadn’t been made of the very best stainless steel—as was most of him, in fact—his sniffing days would have been over. Even so, he was so badly shaken that he skipped several ticks before his jangled circuits cleared.

  “Keep going!” the fox critter urged. “It’s caved in behind us! Do you want the next blast to bury us?”

  Bolts went slipping and sliding on downward. Several hundred feet later he reached a level spot and stood blinking his eye lights unhappily. Going back was forever impossible—but going forward seemed quite unthinkable.

  His night vision showed a monstrous cavern opening ahead. The place curved away in all directions into the darkest dark imaginable. It took no imagination whatever to fill the impenetrable black distance with the most horrible of dangers.

  Bolts rotated his sniffer, then wished he hadn’t. “What’s that I smell?” he asked fearfully.

  “I’d advise you not to question it,” replied the fox critter, staying carefully behind him.

  “B-but it smells dangerous! I gotta know what it is.”

  “You asked for it, brother. Didn’t you ever face the Terrible Unknown before? It has the most dangerous of all smells.”

  “Ulp! I’ll confess I ain’t been around much. W-what’s it like?”

  “One never knows. That’s the awful part about it. Anything unknown is always terrible until you tangle with it. I’d advise you to proceed, for delay always makes it worse.”

  “We can’t go back, so I reckon it’s gotta be done,” Bolts mumbled. “But I ain’t tangling with nothing till I scare it down to size.”

  Without the least suspicion of what its effect might be, he opened his mouth and loosened his Number Two growl.

  A thunderous echo roared back at him, and for an instant poor Bolts thought he had made a ghastly mistake and loosened his unspeakable Number Three. Had that happened, it is almost certain that the mountain would have caved in upon him. As it was, the mountain only seemed to cave in. Bolts flattened in his tracks and pressed his flexible paws over his hearing plates, trying to shut out the terrible roaring.

  The echoes died away at last, and now all he could hear were the squeaks of frightened bats. Quite shaken by his experience, Bolts got to his feet and looked around.

  The fox critter had vanished.

  “Guess he’s kinda high-strung,” Bolts muttered, just loud enough to hear himself talk. “Sure hope I didn’t unstring him, ’cause this ain’t no place to be alone in.”

  He gave himself a little shake to stiffen his courage. His tail snapped up, and he heard Bingo’s voice again.

  “Bolts, please answer!” Bingo was saying despairingly. “Oh, please, please answer!”

  Bolts gave a yelp of pure joy that sent echoes rumbling. Instantly he
lowered his voice and said, “I’m right here, Bingo! Tried to call you before, but couldn’t. Sure been in a squeeze.”

  “Hot diggity!” Bingo cried happily. “I thought we’d lost you for good. Why is your voice so low? Are you hurt?”

  “Naw, just kinda cautious. I’m in an awful cave sort of place, and every time I get loud the roof gets wobbly. Where are you?”

  “We’ve come to rescue you in the Space Jumper, and we’re a half mile above the spot where you went underground. We saw the blast and were worried sick about you. There are men all over the place. They’re clearing out the hole and getting ready to blast again.”

  “Let ’em blast. A jet-powered mole couldn’t reach me now. How’d you locate me?”

  “Pirate told us. He’s the commander’s parrot. He’s got second sight.”

  “Tell him he’s a mighty fine bird. Wish he could figger some way to get me out of here.”

  “Maybe he can. Here’s Pops—he wants to talk to you.”

  “Bolts,” said a new voice, “this is Commander Brown. Can you tell us how far down you are?”

  “Plenty far, Commander. A hop and a skip from China, seems like.”

  “How big is the place you’re in?”

  “It ain’t little. You could mighty near stuff a mountain in it.”

  “Are there bats around?”

  “Billions of ’em.”

  “Can you hear water running?”

  “Ain’t heard none yet.”

  “H’mm. Your speech is disgraceful, Bolts. If we ever get you out of there, you’ve got to mend your ways and learn to be a proper robot—if that’s possible. Now listen to me carefully. You’ve become a spelunker, and you’ve got to use your head. Understand?”

  “W-what’s a spelunker?”

  “My, but they’ve trimmed your brain close,” grumbled the commander. “I’m beginning to have more doubts about you. A spelunker is a cave explorer. You’ve got to explore that cave and locate running water. There’s a possibility it can lead you to another entrance. If that fails, watch the bats. They’ll fly out at sundown to hunt for food. Got that straight?”

  “Yup, I got it.”

  “Don’t say yup to me! Say ‘Aye, aye, sir!’”

  “Aw, Commander, I’m only a tin dawg!”

  “That’s no excuse—and you’re not tin! You are made of the very finest stainless steel, and I hate to see it wasted on a—a—” The commander stopped, at a complete loss for words. Then he snapped, “Bolts, do you know who stole you?”

  “Sure do! A couple no-good throat-cutting varmints named Comrade Pang and Major Mangler.” Bolts described them carefully, and in very uncomplimentary language. “They got a feller named Lumpy Lopez working for ’em, and I’ve heard it said they’re all in the pay of the Mongolians.”

  “Wonderful!” exclaimed the commander. “Can you tell me where their headquarters is located?”

  “If you’re high up, Commander, you oughta be able to see their hangout. It’s a bunch of little mud buildings over on the edge of a desertlike place. There’s a cactus forest this side of it.”

  “We see it! Good work, Bolts! I’m calling the Mexican Air Patrol immediately. Maybe they can capture all those rascals. Here’s Bingo again.”

  “Bolts,” Bingo said hurriedly, “find water and follow it down as fast as you can. We’ve got to get you out soon because you’re needed on a space trip. It’s terribly important.”

  “By Joe, a space trip! Where you aiming to go, Bingo?”

  “Tell you later. Pops wants to use the radio to call the Air Patrol.”

  7

  He Walks Underwater

  For a minute after Bingo signed off, Bolts stood blinking his eye lights happily, his predicament entirely forgotten. A space trip! He knew he’d been designed for a special purpose, and that space had something to do with it, but he hadn’t realized how much Bingo was counting on him.

  “By Joe!” he told himself. “Mebbe I got shortchanged at the factory, but it looks like I’m going to be a mighty important dawg after all.”

  Maybe he’d turn out to be a real VID—a Very Important Dog. That is, if he ever got out of here. This last thought brought him back to unpleasant reality. He shook himself again, wishing he had a little more built-in gumption, and took a few hesitant steps forward while he studied the blackness.

  In spite of his growl, the blackness hadn’t improved a bit. If anything, it looked much worse, now that he was alone.

  Then he rotated his sniffer, and instantly became aware of a familiar presence. Considerably relieved, Bolts turned and saw a pair of beady eyes glaring at him from under a shelf of rock.

  “Hey, whatcha hiding from?” he asked.

  “Consequences,” the fox critter answered sourly. “You’ll live longer if you learn to avoid them. I’m all in favor of taming the dark—but why pull the roof down on us?”

  “Didn’t aim to. It’s still up there, so you’d better come out. We got some exploring to do.”

  “Not—so—fast,” said the fox critter. “I’ve been forced to take you on faith—but faith has its limits. Anything that ticks is questionable—but when it talks it better be ready with some answers.”

  “Aw, I tick because I’m factory-built,” said Bolts, and explained about his trimmed brain. “Reckon I could talk to any kind of a critter—even a bat. That satisfy you?”

  “Hardly. Were you talking to bats just now?”

  “Now lissen,” Bolts snapped, “the situation’s bad, but it ain’t that bad. I got folks, see? Mighty important people, and they gave me a built-in radio. Can’t I keep in touch with ’em without you getting into a tizzy?”

  “I’m not in a tizzy,” said the fox critter, easing from his hiding place. “But I’ve learned that prudence pays. I value my hide, and I’d like to get it out of here. Did your folks happen to suggest how that little matter could be arranged?”

  “Yup,” Bolts admitted. “They said to hunt for running water.”

  “Well, you’ll never find it standing here.”

  “Then lead on,” said Bolts, blinking unhappily at the blackness. “It’s your turn.”

  “Oh, no. You’re the one with night vision. Besides, you got us into this pickle—so you should get us out.”

  “Pshaw!” Bolts grumbled. “Who’s afraid of the dark?”

  He began moving cautiously forward, following his sniffer. There was bound to be water somewhere ahead, and if he followed his sniffer long enough, he couldn’t possibly miss it.

  Time passed. For Bolts, where every dark and uncertain minute seemed endless, it positively dragged. But up in the Space Jumper, time—which had been dawdling—suddenly began to speed up, and presently it was rushing along at a great rate. Soon there was so much excitement that poor Bolts was momentarily forgotten.

  The Mexican Air Patrol had not been overcome with enthusiasm when Commander Brown first called them on the radio. “Bandits, did you say?” purred the officer in charge. “And they’re after your dog? Dear me, Commander, you have my sympathy, but—”

  “I don’t want your sympathy!” bellowed the commander. “I want your help! I’m trying to tell you this is a very special dog—and these bandits are more than bandits. They are spies. They are working for the Mongolians. The ringleaders are Major Mangler and Comrade Pang. They—”

  “Major Mangler!” exclaimed the officer. “Why didn’t you tell me that in the first place? There are rewards in nine countries for that rascal! Commander, what percentage of the reward money do you want?”

  “I don’t want any of it! Just get here fast, and you can capture the whole gang.”

  “Coming—¡muy pronto!”

  So it was that a swarm of helicopters loaded with guardsmen suddenly appeared over the mountains. As they landed in the valley, Bingo, eyes popping, eased the Space Jumper lower for a better look. There was a great to-do below, with men rushing this way and that, falling in tangles, scrambling out of tangles, and raising clouds o
f dust through which horses and dogs raced madly.

  The dust was just clearing a bit when Bingo was startled to hear Bolts on the radio. “We’ve found flowing water, Bingo—but I still don’t see no way out.”

  “Which way is it flowing?” Bingo asked.

  “Aw, how would I know? What’s the diff? It’s all the same down here.”

  “It makes a lot of difference!” Bingo cried. “If you’ll tell us the direction, we’ll head that way in the Space Jumper and search for an outlet. The Air Patrol has come and they’ve captured that gang. Now we can land safely and hunt for you.”

  “That’s great news, Bingo—but I’m kinda shy on directions. The sun ain’t exactly shining down here.”

  “Bolts, you’ve got a built-in compass! Use it!”

  There was a silence, then Bolts muttered, “By Joe, I wondered what that little gadget was that kept jiggling in me. Bingo, this water winds about, but it seems to be flowing mainly northwest.”

  “B-but that would take us way over on the other side of the mountain! You must be wrong.”

  “Nope. My gadget says northwest, Bingo.”

  “Then you’ll just have to keep going. We’ll cross over and see what we can find.”

  While Bolts plodded on in the darkness, Bingo’s fingers flew over the control buttons, and the Space Jumper rose and sped to the opposite side of the mountain.

  Big Butch, on watch at a port, suddenly pointed and said, “Look at that deep canyon! There’s a stream in the bottom of it. D’you suppose it’s the one Bolts is following?”

  “We’d better investigate it,” said the commander. “Take us down, Bingo.”

  The canyon was so deep and narrow that Bingo had to use all his skill to ease the Space Jumper into it and bring it safely to the bottom. He stopped it a few feet above the canyon floor, and Big Butch opened the hatches and dropped an anchor.

  Everyone crawled out, including Claws, the cat, who had been asleep under a bunk all the time.

  Bingo looked worriedly around. There was no cave entrance in sight. If one was to be found, it would obviously have to be found on foot, for the canyon was much too narrow to explore in the Space Jumper. It was also obvious that the commander wasn’t going to be of much help, for it was hours past his lunchtime, and there wasn’t a scrap left to eat. The commander, Bingo saw, was sagging like a starved jellyfish.