The Scarlet Lake Mystery Part 11

Scotty waved a hand. "Look, and hope there's something to see."

"Okay. Let it go. We'll wait and see." Rick fell silent, watching the desert. It was odd, he thought, that most people thought of deserts in terms of sand. It was a fact that some deserts were sandy, but this one was composed of hard-packed earth and stones in which plants struggled for survival. It was more like smooth clay. Then, as the desert rose from smooth plain to mountains, the ground became simply broken rock, spa.r.s.ely dotted with creosote bush and cholla.

Once or twice he turned and looked back at the road over which they had come. The jeep left a trail of dust behind it, but he could see no dust from any other vehicle. Apparently they were well ahead of Big Mac and Pancho. He hoped they would stay ahead.

"If Mac and Pancho do catch up," he said thoughtfully, "we can always say we just came out for the ride, to see a little of the country."

Scotty gave him a sideways glance. "Think they'd buy it?"

"Could be. They have no reason to suspect us. We're just a couple of kids who work on the base."

The road was steep now, and Scotty s.h.i.+fted into second to take some of the strain off the engine.

Careless Mesa loomed ahead. Rick wondered if the road led all the way to the top. Apparently it did, because the trail twisted and turned, climbing constantly. He closed his eyes and visualized the map.

Somewhere up there the road split.

Suddenly Scotty pointed. "Look!"

In a shady spot just off the road two sidewinders were coiled on a rock, beady eyes watching the jeep's pa.s.sage. The snakes were the color of mottled sand, the "horns" on their diamond-shaped heads clearly identifiable. Their tails were a blur, and he knew they were rattling a warning, but the distinctive buzz couldn't be heard above the jeep's engine noise.

Rick restrained a shudder. Although he had no particular fear of snakes, he had an inborn dislike of the creatures. He had read that the sidewinder, or "horned" rattlesnake, was common in the Western deserts.

Then the jeep rounded a turn with a sheer drop of several hundred feet on Rick's side, and the sidewinders were lost to view. Rick looked down at the steep slope and said, "Nice place to meet a car coming down."

"Let's not meet one," Scotty replied. He had to drop back into first gear now, because the climb was very steep.

The road cut through a notch and emerged onto a relatively level area.

Rick tried to get his bearings. The road had twisted and turned so much he had lost his sense of direction. The sun's position helped him to get oriented again, and he realized they were high on the side of Careless Mesa, overlooking the road across which they had just traveled.

"Clearing ahead," Scotty said. "Bet we've reached the station."

He was right. The road led across a wide shelf, perhaps fifty feet below the top of the mesa. On the far side of the shelf the road dipped again.

Scotty let the jeep roll to the edge of the dip and they looked down the roadway which twisted and turned and finally forked a thousand feet below.

Scotty put the jeep in reverse and backed to the center of the shelf. It was about two hundred feet wide, the road hugging the inner cliff.

Toward the edge of the shelf the ground was disturbed by vehicle tracks.

"Stop here," Rick said.

Scotty killed the engine, and pointed to a pile of cans near the remains of a fire. "This must be where Mac and Pancho set up their radar gear."

Rick looked around him appreciatively. In the direction of Scarlet Lake there was a clear view for miles. Only the low ridges of intervening hills prevented them from seeing the base itself. A radar outfit could track the rockets from here with no interference at all, once the rocket had risen above the range of low hills.

Scotty indicated the scenery with a wave of his hand. "Plenty to see.

But twenty tons of transistors could be in plain sight and we'd never know it. How would you hide stolen goods, if you had to do it?"

Rick turned and surveyed the base of the cliff that led to the top of the mesa. "I'd probably hunt for a s.p.a.ce between two big rocks, pack it in, and load rocks on top."

"And that ain't stuff and nonsense," Scotty agreed. "Come on. Let's start moving boulders."

Rick shook his head as his eyes encompa.s.sed the more than a hundred yards of strewn rocks at the cliff's bottom. "Shall we move them a ton at a time?"

Scotty grinned helplessly. "At that rate we'd be here six months." He kicked an empty beer can. "Maybe we'd better look in the cans instead."

As though by magic the can flew into the air, flas.h.i.+ng in the sunlight.

At the same instant they heard the spiteful crack of a rifle.

Scotty reacted instantly, and Rick was only a fraction of a second behind. They dashed across the road and dove for cover in the rocks behind the jeep.

The rifle cracked again. A slug whined into s.p.a.ce a few feet from their noses, leaving a silvery streak of lead on a rock.

The boys moved again, closer into the face of the cliff, and took shelter under a slight overhang.

"Now what?" Rick asked.

Scotty surveyed the situation, estimated the line of fire from the lead smear on the rock, then shook his head.

"We can't get in the jeep and make a run for it, because we'd be right in the line of fire. He's on top of the mesa, whoever he is. He can't reach us here, but he can reach us if we move, or if he moves."

The rifle punctuated Scotty's estimate of the situation. This time the slug slapped rock close enough to spatter sandstone chips in their faces.

"We can't stay here," Scotty said grimly. "I'm going to see what I can do."

"How?" Rick demanded.

Scotty was busily picking up stone fragments, choosing them by weight and shape. "I can move along the face of the cliff, staying under cover.

At least I think I can. If I reach the place where the road drops, I can get up to the top. With luck, I won't be seen. Besides, you can distract him."

"How?"

"I don't know. Put the Brant brain to work and figure out something."

Scotty unrolled his sling, slipped the loop over his index finger, and gave Rick a tight grin. "Keep the boy busy, chum. Here I go."

Scotty moved rapidly but silently, across the bottom of the cliff, taking advantage of every overhanging rock. When Scotty was perhaps ten yards away, Rick moved into action. He picked up a rock, hefted it, then threw it into the pile of cans. They scattered noisily, bringing a rifle shot in reply.

Rick thought swiftly, then peeled off his s.h.i.+rt and wrapped it in a good-sized rock. He gauged the distance and heaved it in the direction opposite the one Scotty had taken, aiming for a niche under an overhang six yards away. He hoped the motion would be mistaken for one of them.

Evidently he succeeded, because a rifle slug chipped rock a foot away from the s.h.i.+rt as it rolled under the overhang.

Raising his head cautiously, he saw a rock perched precariously on the steep slopes. Evidently it had come to rest there, or the rains had washed away much of its support. He found a rock to throw, sighted with care, and tossed it underhand. It struck directly under the balanced rock and dug away enough dirt to upset its equilibrium. The rock tumbled down, bringing a tiny landslide of other rocks and dirt with it. There was no response from the rifle this time.

Rick turned to see how Scotty was doing, but his pal was out of sight, behind some boulder along the way. Now what? His bag of tricks was almost exhausted.

He looked outward, across the road. A few yards to the right of the campfire and cache of cans was a rock pile. It was big enough to s.h.i.+eld him, if he could make it. He took a deep breath. If he dodged and twisted fast enough, the rifleman probably couldn't hit him, and he would certainly have the man's full attention. That would give Scotty a better chance.

He chose a rock, hefted it, and got up into a sprinting position. He made sure of his footing, then simultaneously tossed the rock sideways to attract the rifleman's eye, and charged out of the niche.

Ten feet and he jumped sideways, took two forward leaps, and went sideways again. The rifle barked and dirt spurted where he had just been. But by then Rick was within reach of the rock pile, and he went over it in a headlong dive, rolling like a tumbler as he landed. Quickly he flattened out, as close to the rocks as he could get. A bullet whined off the top of the pile, and then there was silence.