sitting with his back against the stone wall. “How about you, Joe? Feel
like going out?”
Joe smiled and shook his head slowly. “I don’t think so,” he said
quietly. “I’ll just wander around here for a while until I get my
mountain legs under me.”
“Suit yourself,” Hank Dawson replied. “What’s your pleasure, gents?” he
said, turning back to the boys.
“How do you mean?” Sandy asked.
“What do you want to go out after—giraffes, elephants, saber-toothed
tigers—you name it!”
“You’re the boss,” Mike said, grinning. “You say!”
Hank paused and considered the question. “Well,” he said slowly, “how
about trying for an _Oreamnos montanus_?”
“A _what_?”
“A mountain goat to you, Mike.”
“A mountain goat!” Mike’s face fell. “I thought we were going to go
after some big game—not a billy goat!”
Hank laughed. “Don’t kid yourself—if you’ll pardon the pun. A mountain
goat is my personal candidate for the most dangerous animal in the
world.”
“No fooling!”
“I’m serious. A mountain goat lives in the most inaccessible places.
He’s got eyes like binoculars, he’s smart and fast, and he’s not afraid
of anything that walks. I’ve known of cases where mountain goats have
killed a lion. He may not be much to look at, but I can promise you an
exciting chase and one you won’t forget in a hurry. Okay?”
Sandy and Mike both nodded their heads in agreement. “Okay,” they
chorused.
“Good.” Hank stood up and stretched his arms over his head. “I’m for
bed,” he announced. “And you better do the same. If we’re going hunting
tomorrow, we’ll have to be up at....”
“Oh, no!” Mike groaned as he lumbered to his feet. “Don’t tell me—dawn
again! Why is it,” he asked plaintively, “that everything around here
starts at dawn?”
“Tell you what,” Hank said, moving to the door of one of the bedrooms
that opened off from the main room. “When we get back, we’ll let you lie
around in bed some morning all you like.”
“Sure,” Sandy agreed. “We’ll let you sleep till six—or maybe even
seven.”
“Lucky boy.” Mr. Cook chuckled as he reached over to turn down the wick
of the kerosene lamp. “Just let me know what the sunrise is like
tomorrow morning, will you? Personally, I plan to sleep until noon.”
“Still want that goat?” Hank asked Mike, a smile playing at the corners
of his mouth.
Mike grinned back at him. “See you at dawn,” he said. “If I’m lucky, I
may even have one eye open.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Rockslide
The urgent jangling of the alarm clock woke Sandy first. The room was
icy cold and pitch-black, but the soft glow of the dial read
four-thirty. Sandy forced himself to grope free of the blanket and shut
off the insistent clamor. He leaned over and gave Mike’s shoulder a
shake.
“Hey, Mike!” he called.
Mike groaned, opened one eye, and then turned back to the wall,
muttering something under his breath.
Sandy shook him a second time. “Wake up, Mike. Let’s go.”
The figure under the blanket heaved up and settled back down on the
mattress. “Whazzamattawhyuh, huh?” it said.
Sandy sighed and swung his feet down on the cold floor. “A brilliant
conversationalist,” he observed, reaching for his trousers. “May I quote
you on that?” A bulge under the blanket made a tempting target. He gave
it a friendly whack. “Rise and shine, boy. We’ve got a date with a
goat.”
There was a sharp yelp and a flurry of movement. Slowly a tousled head
appeared from under the covers and regarded Sandy with a baleful look.
“No self-respecting goat is up at a time like this,” he said bitterly.
“So let me go back to sleep. What time is it, anyway?”
“After four-thirty. I’m going to go out and see about breakfast. See you
in the kitchen.”
Mike reached for the covers. “Good,” he grunted. “That gives me another
fifteen minutes.”
Sandy stood over Mike’s bed threateningly. “You want the cold-water
treatment?” he said.
“You win.” Mike struggled up and peered out at the morning. “Looks like
the middle of the night,” he said.
“The sun’ll be up pretty soon. I’ll throw on some bacon and eggs while
you get dressed.”
“Lots of eggs!” Mike shouted as Sandy opened the door and went out into
the main room.
Hank was already up. A fire was going in the fireplace and Sandy could
hear noises coming from the kitchen. He pushed open the door to find
Hank mopping up a plate of eggs. He was dressed in a heavy flannel
shirt, a pair of corduroy trousers and high-topped, sturdy-looking
climbing shoes. A leather jacket, a bedroll and a rifle were propped
against the far wall.
“I put out some bacon and eggs for you two,” he said when he saw Sandy.
“Got your gear all packed?”
“We’re all ready. We did it last night.” He threw half a dozen thick
slabs of bacon into the frying pan and sat down beside Hank. “Doesn’t
look as if it’s going to be much of a day,” he said.
“’Fraid not. We’re due for some rain.” Hank got up and scraped his
plate. “Hurry up with your breakfast and meet me outside. I’d like to be
up in the peaks by dawn.”
Later that morning, they stood on a narrow, windswept ledge of rock,
nearly ten thousand feet high, watching a pale, watery dawn touch the
tops of mountain peaks fifty miles away. It was an experience Sandy
would never forget. One moment they were in darkness; then gradually the
world around them began to take shape. First the tops of the ridges
loomed up out of the gray mist. As the sun rose higher, faint fingers of
light streaked down into the valleys far below, probing the shadowy
pools of night that still huddled there.
Sandy and Mike stared at the scene wordlessly, lost in the wonder of the
view. Finally Mike sighed deeply. “It must have looked like this a
million years ago,” he said softly.
Sandy nodded. “Not a living thing in sight. Just the mountains and the
wind....”
“And the rain,” Hank said suddenly. “Here it comes.”
The first spattering gusts of rain lashed the rock outcropping above
them. In the east, dirty ragged clouds scudded over the sun. “Want to go
back?” Hank asked.
Sandy and Mike both shook their heads. “Not unless the rain drives the
goats away,” Sandy said.
“Don’t worry about that,” Hank replied. “I told you they’re tough.
Weather like this won’t stop a goat.” He dropped the pack from his
shoulder and reached into a pocket for a pair of binoculars. “Here,” he
said, offering the glasses to Sandy. “Start looking.”
Sandy brought the binoculars up to his eyes and started to scan the
neighboring peaks. “Where do I look?” he asked.
“Notice how the south sides of all the peaks are covered with trees?”
Hank asked. Sandy nodded. “That’s because they get most of the sun.”
“The sides facing north are practically all rock,” Sandy observed.
“Except for a big yellow pine here and there. See them?”
“Sure. And there seems to be something that looks like snow at the base
of each tree.”
“Right.”
“Snow!” Mike said. “At the end of June?”
“It never had a chance to melt,” Hank explained. “The shade of the tree
keeps the ground cold until the middle of July. Now take a close look at
every patch of snow you can see. That’s where you’ll spot a goat.”
Sandy swept back and forth across the peaks with his glasses. “Not a
thing,” he announced.
“Let me look.” After a moment or two, Hank stiffened and leaned forward.
“There’s your billy goat,” he said.
“Where?” Sandy cried. “I just looked there.”
“Well, you didn’t look hard enough.” He turned the glasses back to
Sandy. “Try another peek.”
Sandy focused in on a tiny white spot that stood out against the gray
granite. At first he thought it was a faint smear of snow. But then,
unexpectedly, he saw it move. “I’ll be darned!” he breathed. “You’re
right!”
“Let me take a look!” Mike cried. He stared through the binoculars and
nodded his head excitedly. “I see him,” he cried. “How do you know it’s
a billy?”
“I don’t think it’s a nanny goat,” Hank said. “This one’s all by himself
and nannies mostly stay together.”
“Just like women!” Mike observed with a laugh.
“That’s right.” Hank grinned. “I guess they like to gossip. And then
you’ll usually see some kids around if it’s a nanny.”
“Anything else?” Sandy asked.
“One more thing. Nannies are snow-white, but billies get dirty. From the
color, I’ll bet that goat’s a billy.”
“Okay,” Mike said. “Now how do we get him?”
They were separated from their quarry by a deep box canyon whose sides
plunged almost straight down from the narrow ledge at their feet. To
reach the goat, they would have to work their way down the sheer rock
wall, cross over a small stream that flowed along the canyon floor and
then climb up the far side.
But instead of heading directly into the canyon, Hank Dawson led them
along the narrow ledge, around to the other side of the mountain.
“We can’t climb right up under his nose,” he explained. “He’d spot us
for sure. We’re going to have to get behind and above him.”
“Is there a trail up there?” Mike asked.
“I doubt it. You all set for a rough ride?”
The boys tightened their pack straps and nodded.
“Then let’s go. We’ll have to move fast. He’s not going to stay up there
all morning.”
Hank set a fast, sure-footed pace over a ledge that curled around the
peak like a vine. Sandy and Mike followed as best they could,
concentrating on keeping their balance as they worked their way over
rain-slippery rock, inches away from about 700 feet of space that yawned
emptily to their left.
As they came puffing around the first turn, Hank was waiting for them, a
tree branch in either hand.
“We’re in luck,” he said, pointing down. “A rockslide.”
Sandy peered over the edge. Hundreds of small pieces of rock had spilled
down the side of the mountain, forming a steep pathway to the floor of
the canyon below.
“Isn’t that dangerous?” Mike asked. “Won’t the whole thing give way?”
“It’ll slide, if that’s what you mean,” Hank replied. “But it won’t all
come tumbling down at once. It’s sort of like running down a long sand
dune. The particles of sand keep slipping downhill, but the hill itself
holds together. Use these branches for balance and you’ll get down
without any trouble. Here, watch me.”
With a carefree abandon that made the boys gasp, Hank flung himself down
on the river of rock. The force of his leap made the slide slip forward
about six feet. Rocks about the size of a man’s fist clattered and
grated downhill in a sagging wave with Hank riding on the crest. When it
stopped, he plunged his branch down and leaned on it to catch his
balance. Lifting one leg free, he used his makeshift alpenstock like a
pole vault to propel himself forward a second time.
“Look at him go!” Mike said admiringly.
“We’d better get going ourselves,” Sandy said. “Or he’ll be halfway up
the other side.”
“What we need for this maneuver,” Mike said as he braced himself for a
take-off, “is a little armor for the seat of our pants. I have the
feeling we’re going to need it.”
Sandy grinned at him, took a deep breath and jumped. His feet ground
into a bed of pebbles and suddenly he was sliding downhill. Clawing
wildly to keep upright, he felt the rocks brake to a halt. Before he
fell he managed to catch himself and push off for another short spurt.
Their progress was remarkably fast. They made the 700-foot descent in a
matter of minutes, arriving at the bottom shaken, bruised, but
triumphant.
“Good for you,” Hank said as they came hurtling down to join him. “You
made that like experts. It’s a little like skiing, isn’t it?”
Mike managed a lopsided grin as he shook out a pocketful of pebbles.
“Think we’ll make the Olympics?” he asked.
“Not this year, Mike,” Hank answered.
“Good,” grunted Mike. “I can wait. Where to now?”
“We’ll follow the canyon down to the other side of the peak and go up
there.”
The south face of the peak was covered with scrubby pine that somehow
managed to grow despite a fifty-degree slope. Burdened by their rifles
and full packs, they began to haul themselves up, using tree trunks,
rock outcroppings and anything else that came to hand. Slowly they
inched along, scraping on their stomachs through soaking wet, sharp pine
needles that cut their faces and dripped water down the backs of their
necks.
“Brother!” Mike muttered. “This is work!”
“We can always go back if you don’t think it’s worth it,” Hank called
back. He was almost fifty yards ahead of them, moving through the
tangled underbrush with comparative ease.
“Wouldn’t dream of it!” Mike replied. “I just wish I could get one hand
free. I’ve got a terrible itch on my right shoulder blade.”
“You would think of that at a time like this!” Sandy said.
“Just keep moving, please,” Mike said. “That’s a beautiful boot you’ve
got on, but not in my face.”
“Hey, boys!” It was Hank calling from up ahead.
“What?” Sandy said.
“I’m going on and spot the goat,” he said. “I want some time to figure
out the best stalk for the shot. It’s a little clearer up ahead, so you
won’t have too much trouble. Just keep coming as fast as you can and
I’ll meet you at the top.”
“Okay,” Sandy yelled. “We’ll see you up there.”
“You’re sure you can find the way?”
“Positive,” Sandy assured him.
Hank waved a hand and scrambled out of sight. Behind him, Sandy heard
Mike mutter, “We’re a fine pair of hunters! Here we are—stuck on the
side of a mountain in the middle of a cloudburst like a couple of flies
caught on flypaper.”
“Well, at least we can move,” Sandy said philosophically, shaking the
water out of his eyes. “Looks like another seventy-five yards or so.
Think you can make it?”
“Carry on, old man.”
After another five minutes of hard climbing, they broke through to a
clearing that led in one direction to another clump of trees. In the
other direction was another rock slide, similar to the one they had just
negotiated, but smaller.
“Which way?” Mike wondered.
“Hank said it was easy going from here on,” Sandy reasoned. “He must
mean up the slide.”
“He certainly can’t mean through those trees,” Mike agreed. “Let’s try
it your way.”
Moving along on all fours, Sandy started to scramble up the slippery
rock. He was surprised to find the going was much easier than he had
anticipated.
“Hey!” he said. “This is a cinch.”
“A real pleasure,” Mike echoed.
They were halfway up when, abruptly, the rock slide gave an ominous
lurch. Both boys froze as they felt the tremor and heard a grinding
rumble beneath their feet.
“I don’t think I like this!” Mike’s voice sounded shaky.
“Me either,” Sandy said. “Let’s go back—quick!”
“Right!”
Sandy could hear Mike backtracking down the slide. There was a clatter
of loose rolling stones, a second, more violent tremor, and then a sharp
cry.
“Sandy!” Mike shouted. “It’s giving way! I’m falling!”
Forgetting his own balance, Sandy whirled around and grabbed for Mike’s
arm. Below him the entire slide was slowly caving in. Sandy’s fingers
tightened around Mike’s wrist but he could offer no support.
Suddenly, the sliding surface gave way with a rush, and he was plunged
with sickening force through a roaring avalanche of grinding rock.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The Hidden Cave
Neither boy cried out. The accident had happened so suddenly there
wasn’t time. Sandy started to protect his head from flying hunks of
granite, but before he could lift his arms, he felt his body break
through the curtain of tumbling rock. The next instant his feet hit
solid ground and he was thrown over on his side.
For a moment Sandy lay in semi-darkness, dazed by his fall. The
thundering roar of the avalanche was passing somewhere over his head.
Then he remembered Mike. “Mike—you all right?” he called, almost afraid
to ask the question.
It seemed hours before he heard an answering gasp. “Yes. Wind knocked
out ... me.”
Sandy pulled himself over beside Mike. A swirling cloud of dust cut down
visibility to a few inches. Just as he reached over to touch Mike’s arm,
there was a sigh and Mike struggled to sit up. “I’m okay now, thanks,”
he said. “I just couldn’t catch my breath.” He looked around
wonderingly. “What happened?”
They were sitting in what looked like the entrance to a large cave that
sloped back down into the mountain at a steep slant. A jagged pile of
loose stones nearly—but not quite—blocked the mouth.
“How did we get here?” Mike asked in an awed voice. The dust had settled
and they were sitting in a tomblike silence. Occasionally a single stone
clattered noisily down the slope outside.
“I’ll tell you in a minute.” Sandy crawled over the rocks and stuck his
head out through the opening.
“What do you see?” Mike called.
“We got caught in an avalanche, all right,” Sandy said. “Half the
mountain seems to be down there below us.”
“I still don’t see how we ended up in here.”
“There’s only one explanation,” Sandy said as he scrambled back to join
Mike. “The slide was covering the mouth of this cave. When the rocks
started to give way, the entrance suddenly opened up and we fell in.”
“And all that stuff passed right over our heads,” Mike said.
“Looks like that’s it.”
The two boys stared at each other in silence. “You know,” Sandy said
quietly, “we’re a couple of pretty lucky guys.”
“I’ll say! If we had been any other place when the slide started to
go....”
“We’d be down there at the bottom under a few hundred tons of rock,”
Sandy finished.
“Let’s not talk about it.” Mike shivered.
“All right,” Sandy agreed. “Let’s talk about how we’re going to get out
of here.”
Mike’s brows knit together in a frown. “Do you think Hank knows what
happened?”
Sandy laughed. “One thing’s for sure,” he said. “He certainly heard us.
That was a pretty big racket we set off.”
“Yeah,” Mike agreed. “But I wonder if he knows where we are?”
“I don’t see how he can,” Sandy replied. “Do you feel good enough to
crawl up to the entrance?”
“Oh, sure,” Mike said. “I’m fine.”
Together they scrambled over the loose rubble that had collected at the
mouth of the cave. “Let’s take it easy,” Sandy said, picking his way
with care. “We don’t want to start another one.”
Mike flashed Sandy a grin over his shoulder. “Why not?” he demanded.
“Now that we’ve done it once, the next time should be easier.”
“Do me a favor and practice it when I’m not around,” Sandy said with a
chuckle. He pulled himself up to the lip of the cave and leaned over.
“Nobody in sight,” he announced.
“Do you think it’s safe to go down?”
“I don’t know,” Sandy said. “I wish we could see Hank.”
“I’ve got an idea,” Mike declared. “We’ve got our rifles. Why don’t we
fire off a couple of shots?”
“Hey, that’s using your head!” Sandy commented. “Can you reach mine and
unstrap it?” Both boys still carried their rifles, having secured them
firmly to their packs before starting out. Sandy could feel Mike working
the slings of his rifle loose. “Got it?” he asked.
“Just a minute,” Mike muttered. “There,” he said at last. “Where are the
shells?”
“In a flap pocket on the side.”
“I see them.”
Mike opened the box and fed the shells into the chamber. “Here,” he
said. “Fire away. The safety’s on.”
Sandy took the gun, flipped the safety switch and jabbed the barrel out
of the cave. He fired twice. The booming shots echoed hollowly as they
rumbled over the mountains.
“Hear any answer?” Mike asked.
“Give him a chance.”
A moment later they heard a pair of muffled explosions. Mike grinned
over at Sandy. “That’s Hank, all right. Let’s try it again.”
“Okay.” Sandy blasted two more holes in the sky and sat back to wait.
This time Hank answered almost immediately.
“I wonder where he is?” Mike muttered.
“Hank!” Sandy shouted. “Hello!”
“Sandy!” came a voice. “Mike! Are you all right?”
“We’re fine!” Sandy yelled.
“Where are you?”
“Up here!”
“That’s a big help!” Hank’s voice was tinged with sarcasm. “Where’s ‘up
here’?”
“He’s got a point,” Sandy muttered sheepishly. “Do you have a
handkerchief, Mike?”
“I think so.” Mike fumbled in his pocket. “Here.”
Quickly Sandy tied the white handkerchief to the forward sight of the
gun and poked it out over the ledge. “Can you see that?” he yelled. “I’m
waving a handkerchief.”
After a minute or two there was an excited shout from below. “I’ve got
you! How’d you two ever manage to get up there?”
“It wasn’t easy!” Mike yelled back. “If you can figure a way of getting
us down, we’ll let you in on our secret.”
“What’s the matter with walking?”
“You think it’s safe?”
“Sure. It is now.”
Sandy and Mike grinned at each other. “Sounds simple,” Mike said. “Let’s
go.”
Minutes later they were down at the foot of the slope, telling Hank, as
best they could, what had happened.
When they finished, Hank looked at both of them and shook his head. “You
know,” he said, “some people think there’s a guardian angel whose
special job is to look out for tenderfeet in the mountains. I never
believed it before. But I do now. There’s no other explanation.”
Mike thought back over the past several days and broke into a grin. “If
there is such an angel,” he said, “the poor fellow must be close to a
nervous breakdown. He’s been working overtime.”
Hank grunted and peered up the side of the mountain. “It’s funny about
that cave,” he said. “You think it’s a big one?”
Sandy nodded. “It looked that way to us.”
“It must have been covered over for a long time. I’ve never seen it
before.”
“Why don’t we explore it some day?”
“Not a bad idea.” Hank’s eyes were still glued to the hillside. “You can
hardly see it from here,” he said. “The rocks cover it up completely.”
“A good place for an ambush—if there were any Indians around,” Sandy
commented.
“Or a hiding place,” Mike suggested.
Hank glanced at them with amusement. “You fellows sure have lively
imaginations.”
“Well, you see,” Mike explained seriously, “we live such dull lives.
Nothing ever happens to us.”
Hank laughed. “All right,” he said, “let’s give you a little action.
Still want that goat?”
“Is he still around?” Sandy asked wonderingly. “After all that noise?”
“You mean the goat we spotted up on the peak? Oh no! He lit out for
Canada soon as he heard you two tearing that mountain apart. But he’s
not the only billy in these hills. How about it?” He looked at them
closely. “Or are you still a little shaky?”
Sandy turned to Mike. “What do you think?” he asked. It had almost
stopped raining, but instead of clearing, the sky had taken on an even
darker, more ominous color. Mike squinted up at the gathering clouds,
hitched his pack more comfortably onto his shoulders and nodded. “Let’s
go!” he said firmly.
Hank grinned at them. “You boys are all right,” he said. “I’m going to
take you to a hill that’s swarming with goats. I never took anybody
there before. We might even get ourselves a head that’ll make the record
books.”
But just as he started to turn down the trail, the storm broke with
violent, ear-shattering fury. Angry flickers of lightning danced across
the tops of nearby ridges. An earth-shaking peal of thunder boomed and
rattled down far-off valleys. The rain, which earlier had been falling
in a steady drizzle, now came flooding down in streaming torrents.
“Let’s find some shelter,” Mike shouted.
“Don’t bother,” Hank replied, pulling up the collar of his jacket.
“We’re about as wet as we’ll ever be. Let’s head back to the house. The
mountains aren’t safe in an electric storm.”
Bracing himself against the wind, Hank hunched over and bulled his way
through the driving rain, with Sandy and Mike following. It was a
miserable hike back, climbing down muddy ravines and slipping over wet
gravelly rock. Sandy breathed a sigh of relief when he caught sight of
the well-worn trail that led down to Hank’s lodge.
“Boy, that looks good!” he shouted above the wind.
Mike looked back and started to say something, but an enormous clap of
thunder drowned his words. He gave it up and grinned instead.
They were about halfway down the trail when two sharp reports rang out
over the howling storm. Hank stopped abruptly.
“What’s that?” Mike asked. “Thunder?”
As another report boomed out, Hank stiffened in surprise.
“No,” he said uneasily, reaching for the rifle at his back. “Those are
shots. Somebody’s shooting down near the house.”
Suddenly all three of them were running down the trail. They had heard a
sound that was definitely not a part of the storm. It was a terrible,
high-pitched scream that cut through the sighing wind like a knife.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Yellow Fury