The Yellow Ground
Governor Luis Montoya could not be located. Neither his family nor his
staff knew his whereabouts. There was great alarm over his unexplained
absence. The police were searching for the missing executive, but with
no success.
Hartson Brant called a council of war and told the scientific group that
his most recent phone call to Guevara had even resulted in a turndown
when he asked for more dynamite. The lieutenant governor evidently was
not content with refusing to help, he was going to obstruct.
"There is dynamite on Trinidad," Hartson Brant said. "Plenty of it. I
made a phone call to a friend at the U. S. Air Base there, and he agreed
to get it for us. Rick, you and Scotty fly over to Port of Spain right
away. The information is written down here." He handed Rick a slip of
paper.
"If you leave now, you can get there before dark, spend the night and
come back in the morning. Bring all the dynamite you can carry, with
caps and a few reels of primer cord. We'll need more wire, too. Get
hopping, now."
"Yes, sir," Rick said. He and Scotty ran to their room for toothbrushes,
stuffed their pockets with extra socks and underwear, and ran to the
parking lot for the jeep.
The weather was fine and clear, and the flight uneventful. When they
landed at the U. S. base they found that Hartson Brant's friend, Colonel
Tom Markey, had arranged for a full load of dynamite, and full gas tanks
for the plane. The boys spent the night at bachelor officers' quarters
at the base and took off at dawn, the Sky Wagon sluggish from its load
of dynamite cases.
Back at the Hot Springs Hotel, they unloaded the dynamite from the jeep
and stored it under police protection in the pump house. Then they went
to look for the scientists.
Hartson Brant, David Riddle, and Julius Weiss were in the conference
room working over drawings. Rick saw that they were sketches of a
tunnel.
The scientists welcomed them, and Rick asked, "Any progress, Dad?"
"No, Rick. The governor is still missing. We can't get help until he's
found."
"Where are the others?" Scotty asked.
"Placing tiltometers on the mountain," his father told him. "The
instruments were ordered by phone from Caracas right after you left and
got in on the first morning plane."
Rick glanced at Scotty. He asked, "Exactly where are the others?"
"Balgos and Connel are at the north end of the mountain, above Redondo.
Williams and Zircon are up above us somewhere. They started the climb
behind the hot springs."
"I think we'll get a bite to eat," Rick said. "Unless you need us."
"No. There's nothing for you to do right at the moment, but Balgos wants
you to take some photos from the air later this afternoon."
"Okay, Dad." Rick gestured, and Scotty followed him out.
"All's quiet," Rick told his pal. "And a quiet time is a good time to do
a little investigating. Let's go to the kitchen, get a couple of
sandwiches, and eat them on the way."
"To where?" Scotty asked. He grinned. "Don't tell me. To see what Connel
is hiding over at his stations."
"On the button. Let's get going."
There was nothing whatever of interest at Connel's first two stations.
The ground was torn up somewhat from the series of shots, but the boys
could find no trace of anything unusual. They got back into the jeep,
and Rick drove up the trail to the last station. He followed the path of
broken vegetation Connel's jeep had made, noticing that the trail was
dipping downward to a spot lower on the mountain than the other
stations.
They reached a patch of crushed and yellowed growth where Connel
obviously had parked his jeep. There were oil stains on some of the
broken leaves.
Scotty pointed to a brown-paper cigarette stub. "Ever see Connel smoke
one of those?"
Rick hadn't. "He smokes cigars. Where do you suppose that came from?"
Scotty got out of the jeep and bent over the butt. "The tip is still
damp," he said. "Someone's been here very recently. We'd better keep an
eye open."
Trampled vegetation showed them the path to the firing place. Moving
cautiously, the boys walked down the path, eyes constantly searching for
signs of movement in the heavy growth.
The clearing where Connel had placed his shots was only a short distance
down the path. Rick examined it carefully, but it looked like all the
others, except for one thing. The broken earth was yellow, and of a
different texture than the deep jungle loam at the other stations.
Rick walked into the shattered area and picked up a piece of the yellow
ground. It broke in his hands. "Funny-looking stuff," he said.
"Yes," Scotty agreed. "Take a look around while I keep a watch. I have a
funny feeling we're not alone here."
There was a fairly deep crater in the middle of the area. Rick stepped
into it and kicked yellow earth out of his way. He was puzzled. There
was nothing visible in the area except the yellow ground, and there was
nothing about that to give him a clue to Connel's determination to keep
them away.
His foot dislodged a clump of earth. It rolled to the bottom of the
shot crater, exposing two large crystals. Rick picked them up and rubbed
the dirt off. They felt rather greasy. He didn't think they were quartz.
His mind ranged over the possibilities. Probably datolite, he decided.
The color was about right, and he knew datolite was found in igneous
rocks of volcanic origin. He put the crystals in his pocket.
A trace of blue caught his eye and he knelt, digging with his hands. He
uncovered a few more of the datolite crystals and put them in his
pocket. They weren't particularly good specimens; he had some in his
rock collection that were perfectly formed and clear, but at least they
were something to take home.
Digging uncovered a layer of hard blue rock, heavily pockmarked and
filled with the yellow ground. He saw one place where the blue actually
blended in with yellow and decided that the blue and yellow were
probably the same rock. The slaty blue simply turned to yellow when it
was exposed to the air for a while.
There were loose pieces of blue, broken by the dynamite blasts. He
picked up a couple of smaller pieces, then added a piece of yellow to
his collection. He uncovered another crystal, too, a large one nearly
the size of a golf ball and put that in his pocket.
Scotty was getting restless. "Let's get going," he said. "I don't like
this."
Rick had seen enough, and it had told him nothing. He was just as
puzzled over Connel's motive as ever. Obviously, the answer was not
here--or, if it was, they couldn't see it.
"Okay," he said. "Move out."
Scotty led the way back to the jeep. Rick got into the driver's seat and
started the motor. He backed and turned in the narrow space Connel's
jeep had created, and finally got his wheels straight for the run back.
From somewhere behind them a voice called, "_Parada!_"
"Who's that yelling at us to stop?" Rick asked.
"I can't see anyone," Scotty replied. His eyes were scanning the jungle.
"But I don't know anyone around here we want to talk to. I've got a
hunch we should get going."
Rick felt the same. He released the clutch and the jeep moved ahead.
"_Parada!_" the voice yelled again, and on the echo came the clear crash
of a rifleshot. A jagged star suddenly appeared on the windshield
between them!
Rick reacted instinctively. He shoved the gas pedal to the floor and
bent low, the skin of his back crawling with the expectation of a rifle
bullet hitting it. The jeep leaped ahead and he steered as best he
could. He shifted into second and the vehicle picked up speed. The rifle
snapped again and he heard the sound of the slug hitting metal in the
rear of the jeep. Then the trail turned and there was heavy jungle
growth between them and the unseen sniper.
Not until they reached the second station, a mile away, did Rick slow
down. He looked at Scotty, his face grim. "The place was guarded. What
else can you make out of it?"
"Just that," Scotty agreed. "The guard must have been making a tour
around the shot station. He got back just as we were taking off."
"Funny he didn't hear the jeep when we came," Rick said.
"Not very. Sound gets lost pretty fast in this heavy growth. You
couldn't hear us a hundred yards away. Probably there's just the one
guard, and he goes around the station in a big circle."
"I'll buy it," Rick agreed. "But why? Why guard a chunk of jungle with
nothing in it but some torn up yellow ground?"
"When I find out," Scotty replied, "I'll let you know first thing."