fell headlong. The rifle bullet meant for his head merely creased him
instead, from shoulder to elbow.
He scrambled behind a large rock, managed to get to his feet, and faced
the gleaming eyes of the oncoming dogs. Something that Quiz once had
read to him out of a sports magazine flashed through his mind: “If
attacked by vicious dogs, hold out some object, such as your hat, at
waist height. They will hesitate while they decide whether to leap over
it or under it, thus giving you an advantage.”
His left arm was numb from the shock of the bullet, but he managed to
use it to rip the dog skin from around his waist and hold it forward. As
the dogs whined and tried to make up their minds as to the best method
of attack, he tore the board on which the “ear” was mounted from his
chest with his good hand. Thank heaven, one end of the plank had been
whittled down into a sort of handle, for easier carrying.
Then he charged, swinging the improvised club like a demon.
Luckily, his first blow landed squarely on the snout of a leaping dog!
Sparks flashed. Pieces of equipment flew in all directions. The animal
howled and rolled on the ground, holding its nose with both paws. Its
companions backed away.
Sandy followed up his advantage. He struck again and again. The dogs
fled, howling, to a safe distance.
To the right of him, the boy now heard the pounding of human feet.
Cavanaugh had abandoned a frontal attack for the moment and was
sprinting to cut him off from the road leading back to the village.
“Don’t kill him, Red,” Pepper was shouting. “It would be murder.”
“Nobody’s going to kill anybody—yet,” Cavanaugh yelled as he ran. “But
we can’t let him get away, after what he may have heard. Rig another
floodlight. Then come over here and help me.”
Forgetful of the thorns that tore his skin and the rocks that cut his
knees, Sandy wriggled, Indian fashion, into a darker spot. In his bare
feet, he had no chance of reaching the road ahead of Cavanaugh, or even
of staying out of his way. Keeping a wary eye on the dogs that still
followed, whining with uncertainty, he ripped Maisie’s hide into pieces
and bound them under his feet. There. That would be better!
He made a feint for the road now—and ducked as another bullet whispered
overhead and smacked into a nearby tree.
He was in a real spot! If he tried to cross the bare top of the natural
bridge that arched over the hole in Window Rock, he would make an ideal
target, silhouetted against the moon. (Thank all the little Navajo gods
and demons that Cavanaugh’s right eye must be swollen shut from the
beating Ralph had given him. He was in no condition to shoot accurately
even if he disregarded Pepper’s warning.)
Sandy decided that his best strategy lay in hiding among the mesquite
and sagebrush thickets under the pine trees that covered the side of the
rock nearest the village. Kitty must have heard the racket. Perhaps she
would understand what was happening and head for town to get help.
A whoop of delight, followed by several quick shots, made his heart
sink.
“That jeep will never move again,” he heard Cavanaugh yell. The next
words made him feel much better. “Come on out of the woods, driver, and
give yourself up. I’ve got you cut off from the road.”
Sandy dithered in his hiding place. He was feeling decidedly queer all
of a sudden. The fact that his left hand felt wet and slippery brought
him up short. He was bleeding steadily from that wound in his shoulder.
He tried dabbing sand on the crease, but it didn’t stop the flow.
Another fifteen or twenty minutes and he would be so weak, that he would
fall easy prey to his pursuers.
“Bring flashlights out here,” Cavanaugh was shouting to Pepper now.
“We’ll beat the woods for the driver first.”
Sandy bit his cold lips. Time was running out. He had to act, and act
fast, before he keeled over from loss of blood. Should he throw himself
on Pepper’s mercy? But, even granted that his old rival wouldn’t betray
him, what good would that do? Cavanaugh had the gun!
The sight of the blond boy walking reluctantly into the woods through
the floodlight glare, with a heavy flashlight in either hand, gave him
an idea.
Or was it Quiz who told him what to do? He shook his head dazedly.
Almost, he could hear Quiz saying: “Where would Professor Moriarty least
expect to find you, Sherlock Holmes?”
“Elementary, my dear Dr. Watson,” he whispered in reply. “In the
trailer, of course.”
Gripping the breadboard in both hands, he made a last weak lunge at the
circling Dobermans. They fled, yelping, from this blood-spattered
terror.
Then he crawled frantically toward the open trailer door.
Safe inside, and with the door locked behind him, he hung onto a table
and stared about him with eyes that were beginning to go out of focus.
He should find a cloth with which to bind up his wound, he knew. But he
had no time.
The glittering light-beam mechanism caught his attention. That was the
key to the whole situation! It must project a million candle-power, at
least, to be seen at Elbow Rock. If he could turn it on Window Rock it
would light up the village as bright as day.
There must be a wheel or something by which the light could be moved....
There it was! On the control board to the right!
He twisted the little chrome wheel frantically, watching through a
window as he did so. At first his aim was wild. Then, every street and
building in Window Rock leaped into view, as though outlined by a
lightning stroke.
There! That would tell them something was wrong up here.
He was sleepy and tired after all that effort. So sleepy! He sank into a
chair in front of the beam console and pillowed his head on his bloody
arms.
But something nagged him. What he had done wasn’t enough. Kitty was out
there alone in the woods. Cavanaugh might come pounding on the trailer
door at any moment. He had to tell them ... tell them ... tell them
what? Why, where he was, and what was happening, naturally!
He jerked himself upright and started tearing at the mass of wiring that
ran to the light beam modulator. Finally he got down to the heavy
insulated lead-in wires ... tore them loose.
The beam illuminating the village died away.
He slapped the leads together. The light blinked on.
“SOS,” he heliographed in Morse code remembered from Scouting field
trips. “SOS. May Day. May Day.”
Surely somebody at Window Rock would know the code. Certainly Ralph did.
He repeated the international distress calls again and again.
“SOS. May Day!” he spelled out, his cold fingers making many mistakes.
“Sandy Steele and Kitty on the Rock. Cavanaugh trying to kill us. Send
help. SOS. May Day! Sandy Steele and Kitty on the Rock. Cavanaugh....”
He fell forward across the console.
The smash of some heavy object against the door brought him back to
semi-consciousness.
“Stop that!” Cavanaugh was yelling. “Stop it or I will kill you. Stop
it. Stop it!” The man sounded completely insane now.
The door bulged, then broke loose from its hinges under a rain of blows.
Cavanaugh stood in the entrance, his good eye wild and rolling, his
rifle pointed. Behind him, Pepper appeared, still holding one of the
heavy flashlights.
“An Injun,” Cavanaugh gloated without recognition as he took in Sandy’s
dirt-smeared, blood-caked body. “One of Hall’s dirty, stinking Injuns.
This will teach you!”
His finger tightened on the trigger.
“Pepper!” Sandy gasped with the last remnant of his strength. “Don’t let
him kill me, Pepper!”
He slid to the floor as the gun went off.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The Fourth Touchdown
Sandy fought his way up from unconsciousness like a diver rising from
the bottom of a dark sea. For a long time he lay without moving as he
tried to sort out the sounds around him. He was dead, of course, he
reasoned. Nevertheless, some of the voices he seemed to hear sounded
familiar.
He opened one eye experimentally, prepared to snap it shut if he didn’t
like what he saw. Mrs. Gonzales was bending over him with one of her
eternal compresses. So was a man with a goatee who had a stethoscope
clipped around his neck.
Sandy opened the other eye and turned his head, which seemed to weigh a
ton.
He found that he was in bed and bandaged right up to his chin. Kitty,
her pretty face badly scratched, was watching him too. So were John Hall
and ... yes, it was Pepper!
“But I _ought_ to be dead,” Sandy whispered in great surprise. “What
happened?”
“I conked Cavanaugh with his own flashlight,” Pepper said with pride.
“Knocked him out. His shot went wild.”
“Thanks a lot, Pepper. Shake.” Sandy tried to hold out his hand but
found he couldn’t quite make it.
“Easy,” said the doctor.
“Am I badly hurt?” Sandy managed to say.
“Nothing worse than loss of a lot of blood. I’ve pumped you full of
plasma. You’ll be all right in a few days, but you mustn’t exert
yourself for a while,” said the doctor as he started packing instruments
into his little black bag.
“But I’ve _got_ to know what happened,” Sandy said fretfully. “For
Pete’s _sake_!”
“I called Kitty out of the woods after I hit Cavanaugh,” Pepper
explained. “We got you into his car and brought you home as fast as we
could.”
“And you’re all right, Kitty?” Sandy persisted.
“Just a few scratches and bruises.” She came forward to prove it and
patted his bandaged shoulder.
“And ... and Cavanaugh?”
“The crazy fool is still up there,” Hall spoke up. “Look.” He pointed
through the bedroom window.
Sandy worked his head around in that direction. The great hump of the
Window Rock was lit up as bright as day.
“Floodlights,” Hall explained as he saw the boy’s surprise. “They’re set
up permanently to illuminate the Rock on Frontier Day and for other
tourist events.”
“But....”
“The Navajo police turned them on. The whole force, as well as most of
the Indians who attended the joint Council meeting, are up there trying
to flush Cavanaugh out of hiding.”
“Ralph too?” Sandy’s eyes were shining.
“Yes.”
“Did the Council meeting come to anything, Mr.—John?”
“It broke up before any formal agreement was signed when we got your
message, but....”
“Gee, I’m sorry about that.”
“Forget it. I only had the chance to say a few words to Ralph while they
were organizing the posse, but he told me the tribes understand each
other’s position now. It’s just a matter of ironing out details before
they agree to put those boundary-line leases up for bids.”
“That’ll be great for you,” Sandy said, “but I sure wish I hadn’t had
to....”
“Forget it, I said.” Hall patted his shoulder too. (Why did everybody
have to pat him as if he were a dog? Sandy wondered crossly. Then he
burst out laughing, although to do so hurt his face and chest. Why, he
almost _was_ a dog, wasn’t he?)
“Young man, you’re getting much too excited,” the doctor warned as he
approached the bed, hypodermic needle in hand. “I’d better put you to
sleep for a while.”
Sandy pushed him away.
“There’s something else,” he cried. “John, did Pepper tell you about the
message Cavanaugh received from Washington?”
“I told him there had been a message, and what Cavanaugh said to Elbow
Rock,” Pepper spoke up. “But I couldn’t hear the message itself.
Cavanaugh was wearing the earphones.”
“Better forget all this for a while and go to sleep, Sandy,” said Hall.
His face was gaunt with worry.
“No! You must listen now.”
Sandy wanted desperately to go to sleep, but he wouldn’t let himself
give in. Slowly, forcing each word out of his mouth as though it weighed
several pounds, he repeated the message to Cavanaugh as well as he could
remember it.
“Good Lord!” Hall gasped. “This changes the whole picture. I must call
Ken!”
He rushed to the telephone while Sandy’s eyelids closed in spite of his
efforts to keep them open. He just _had_ to have a few minutes’ sleep.
White’s arrival at the cottage jerked him awake again. The Agent was
wearing heavy boots and carried a pair of binoculars slung over his
pudgy shoulder.
“What’s all this, John?” he demanded. “I was just leaving from the Rock
when you called. I sent off an inquiry to the Department of Interior
immediately, of course. Then this message came in from San Francisco.
That’s what took me so long getting here. The message is for you,
Sandy.”
“Read it to me, please,” the boy said. “I’m too weak to lift a finger.”
White ripped open the yellow envelope, got out his glasses, and read:
FINALLY GOT HERE STOP NEWSPAPER FILES SHOW THERE WAS CAVANAUGH ON
STATE TEAM IN 1930 WHO MADE ALL-AMERICAN STOP BUT HE WAS CALLED BRICK
NOT RED STOP ALL SPORTS PAGE STORIES ON BIG GAME SAY HE MADE FOUR
TOUCHDOWNS REPEAT FOUR TOUCHDOWNS AGAINST CALIFORNIA STOP QUIZ TAYLOR
“Aw shucks,” Pepper said disgustedly. “That proves our Cavanaugh isn’t
an impostor after all.”
“Wait a minute! Wait a minute!” Sandy dragged himself up on one elbow
despite Mrs. Gonzales’ efforts to make him lie still. “It proves no such
thing!”
“But if he did make those three touchdowns he was always bragging
about....” Pepper started to protest.
“_Four_ touchdowns, the telegram says,” Sandy panted. “Now look, all of
you. Maybe a real football player might _add_ a touchdown to his record
if he thought no one would catch him at it. But who would _subtract_ a
touchdown? Nobody. That’s who!
“Cavanaugh is a phony, I tell you. Whoever he really is, he wanted to
impress people, and keep them from asking too many personal questions
when he went to Valley View and started building his lab with the money
he had stolen from Mr. Gonzales. He remembered that there was another
Cavanaugh on the State team, so he took his identity. But the game had
been played so many years ago that he got the details wrong, see? I’ll
bet that, if we start digging into his past, we’ll find lots of other
queer things.”
“We’ll need to do a lot of digging, too, to make any charges stick
against him after we catch him,” White said grimly.
“What do you mean?” Hall exploded. “He’s guilty of attempted homicide,
defrauding the Indians, disturbing the peace, and I don’t know what all
else.”
“Oh, he’s guilty all right,” the Agent agreed, “but could you prove that
to a jury, particularly out here where so many people still think that
the only good Indian is a dead Indian?”
“Oh, you’re being an old woman, Ken,” the oilman snapped.
“Maybe so, John. Maybe so. But I’ve been in this business a long time.
If Cavanaugh or whoever he is hadn’t lost his head, he would have come
right down here and given himself up. Then his lawyers could have
claimed that he was only defending his property from a prowler. No. No.
Shut up and listen to me. People are awful touchy about property rights
out here. Remember what they used to do to cattle rustlers—still do, for
that matter, on occasion.
“And now about this message that Sandy heard: Cavanaugh’s lawyers would
say ‘Prove it!’ And what real proof have we got? We’d be putting up the
word of a minor who _did_ prowl—I’m not blaming you, Sandy. You did the
only thing possible and your idea of using the light beam to call for
help was a stroke of pure genius—but, as I say, the word of a minor
against the word of an established businessman who has a lot of friends
in these parts.”
“Then you don’t think....” Hall was really shocked.
“I _think_ we have a chance of making our charges stick with the help of
the information Quiz has dug up, but I’m not even sure of that. Frankly,
if the government doesn’t act faster than it usually does, I’m afraid
all of Cavanaugh’s uranium lease bids may have to be accepted tomorrow.
He can claim, you see, that he put them in before the time that he is
even _accused_ of having received his illegal tip.”
“Wow!” Sandy stared at his employer with round eyes. “Well anyway,” he
added, “the change in policy will give you a chance to develop your own
uranium strike on the San Juan.”
“Fat lot of good that will do me if Cavanaugh ties us up with a libel
and defamation suit,” Hall grunted. “Well, Ken, it looks as if we’re all
in trouble unless ... what was that?”
They all whirled toward the window.
Far up near the top of Window Rock, pinpoints of light were flashing.
The clean, thin sound of rifle shots came down to them through the still
desert air.
White snatched at his binoculars and trained them on the mountain. Long
moments passed as he fiddled with the focus.
“The idiot!” he almost whispered at last. “The poor scared, hysterical
fool. He’s making a run for it across the top of the natural bridge!”
Hall snapped off the room light. Somehow, Sandy managed, with Kitty’s
help, to sit up where he could get a view of the bare slab of rock where
he had almost been tempted to do what Cavanaugh was now trying.
They all held their breath in the darkness as they strained their eyes.
There he was! A tiny black shadow, bent nearly double as he raced madly
through the floodlight glare.
“He’s going to make it. He’s going to make it!” Pepper shouted, his old
loyalty to his boss coming to the fore. “Run, Red. _Run!_”
The fleeing man stumbled. He threw up his arms and reeled to the edge of
the narrow rock bridge. Almost, he recovered his balance....
Then he fell, turning over and over slowly, for a thousand miles, it
seemed.
Kitty and her mother screamed together.
“It’s better so,” White murmured at last as he put his glasses back in
their case. “A clean death. Cavanaugh made that fourth touchdown after
all.”
SANDY STEELE ADVENTURES
1. BLACK TREASURE
Sandy Steele and Quiz spend an action-filled summer in the oil fields of
the Southwest. In their search for oil and uranium, they unmask a
dangerous masquerader.
2. DANGER AT MORMON CROSSING
On a hunting trip in the Lost River section of Idaho, Sandy and Mike
ride the rapids, bag a mountain lion, and stumble onto the answer to a
hundred-year-old mystery.
3. STORMY VOYAGE
Sandy and Jerry James ship as deck hands on one of the “long boats” of
the Great Lakes. They are plunged into a series of adventures and find
themselves involved in a treacherous plot.
4. FIRE AT RED LAKE
Sandy and his friends pitch in to fight a forest fire in Minnesota. Only
they and Sandy’s uncle know that there is an unexploded A-bomb in the
area to add to the danger.
5. SECRET MISSION TO ALASKA
A pleasant Christmas trip turns into a startling adventure. Sandy and
Jerry participate in a perilous dog-sled race, encounter a wounded bear,
and are taken as hostages by a ruthless enemy.
6. TROUBLED WATERS
When Sandy and Jerry mistakenly sail off in a stranger’s sloop instead
of their own, they land in a sea of trouble. Their attempts to
outmaneuver a desperate crew are intertwined with fascinating sailing
lore.
PUBLISHED BY SIMON AND SCHUSTER
Transcriber’s Notes
--Copyright notice provided as in the original—this e-text is public
domain in the country of publication.
--Silently corrected palpable typos; left non-standard spellings and
dialect unchanged.
--In the text versions, delimited italics text in _underscores_ (the
HTML version reproduces the font form of the printed book.)