single file. The descent was about a hundred feet and at the bottom
they started to walk easily on the thick crust across a couple of
acres of open space, then they reached the back of a row of sheds which
had been used for machinery, tools, and also a smithy and general
catch-all. Summers removed a loose board so they went through, and then
proceeded by a winding way past the numerous ranch buildings until they
came to the further end where the deserted home had been erected. There
were a few scrub trees around it, their branches poking up through the
snow, and here and there were layers of soft snow that had not frozen
because it had been jarred from the branches or blown from near-by
roofs.
“Here you are.” Summers stopped at the edge of a clear spot on the far
side of the house, which was less exposed than the front, and protected
from the colder winds by the elbow of the cliff. The three looked down
quickly, and sure enough, they saw a set of tracks that must have been
made by some large animal. It looked as if the beast had made the
circuit twice, for most of the imprints were irregular, but many of
them were distinct enough to show their form.
“I pass, what’s the joke?” Kramer asked.
“They do look a little like a bear,” Bob hesitated, and a moment later
Jim turned to their guide.
“Is it someone who has his feet wound up?” he asked.
“You go to the head, that’s it,” Carl grinned. “Reckon if I hadn’t been
so blamed scary I’d a thought of it myself.”
“Whose tracks are they?” Bob demanded.
“And why do they go around in a circle?” inquired Jim.
“Come along and see the rest of the exhibit,” Carl invited.
They followed him to the root cellar, which, as they approached, looked
like a long high mound of snow. At the further side, they saw the
entrance, a short steep incline, with a heavy, old fashioned cellar
door that fitted into a frame which was level with the ground. This
opening was thrown back, so the three stepped down, Carl pulled another
heavy door, and instantly the odor of a miscellaneous collection
of vegetables which had been stored there for years, came to their
nostrils. Coming, as they did, from the glaring white of the world
outside, everything looked pitch black, but in a moment their eyes
were adjusted to the change and they saw a long room with a sloping
roof. Two lighted lanterns were suspended from the huge beams overhead.
A rough attempt had been made at furnishing. There was an army cot in
one corner, some bright blankets draped the walls, and the earth floor
was almost concealed under a collection of dressed hides. A couple of
home-made chairs and a table completed the items.
“Some palatial house. Where did you get this stuff?” Bob asked.
“Mostly from the bunkhouse,” Carl answered.
“What’s beyond that?” Kramer wanted to know. He nodded toward the
further end where he saw a partition of wide planks.
“Just another hole. I went in to see. These root houses used to be
divided off. When I was a kid I played here one day, and explored this
place. My dad said that the first hole was small, but every year a
new section was added to hold more, and some of them were used in hot
weather to keep things cool,” Summers explained.
“Great idea--”
“Who’s this?” Kramer asked, as he jumped back quickly.
“Pigeon Jute. You boys know him,” Carl chuckled. A tall slender Indian,
wrapped in a grey blanket, had risen from the cot and stood staring at
them gravely.
“Why sure we know him,” Jim laughed. “Haven’t seen you for a long time,
Jute. How’re the pigeons?”
“Heap good,” the Indian grunted.
“When I first knew him he was trying to get a breed of birds that would
be world beaters on long distance,” Jim explained.
“How did you make out, Jute?” Bob asked goodnaturedly, but the Indian
merely grunted and shrugged.
“Real loquacious, isn’t he?” Kramer remarked softly, but he did feel as
if he were getting a taste of the ancient west he had read of when he
was a youngster.
“He’s all right. When I was a little kid he used to do things for my
mother and he made enough bows and arrows to destroy an army,” Bob
declared. He was genuinely glad to see his old friend.
“I suppose you made the tracks,” Jim laughed. “You thought you would
have some fun with Carl so you hopped out of a tree, or started them
by jumping from where the ice is clean.”
“Jumped!” came the brief explanation.
“So that finishes the mystery,” Bob sighed with relief.
“Surely does. He showed up today and wanted something to eat. I was
as glad to see him as if he were a bouquet of spring flowers,” Carl
assured them.
“I should have wanted to punch his jaw,” Kramer laughed.
“You wouldn’t if you hadn’t seen a human being for two weeks, besides,
I’ve got a sense of humor,” Summers answered.
“We’ve brightened your day a lot, old man, but we’ve got to breeze
along. Does the sheriff know what the answer is?” Jim asked.
“Yes. I just caught him when he was ready to start up here, so he
called off the Reserves and went back to work. Much obliged to you all
for dropping in and I hope you do it again.”
“Maybe it’s just as well if we stay on our side of the line a while
longer, but you have skis, slide up and pay us a visit when things get
too dull. You ought to rig up a radio; that would keep you in touch
with a lot of fun,” Jim suggested.
“I’ve been building one, want to see it?”
“We’d better not linger any longer, it’s getting late,” Bob urged. Now
that the mystery was solved he began to feel that he and Jim couldn’t
get away from the place any too quickly, besides the short day was
coming to a close and it would soon be dark. The Indian followed them
outside, and strolled off unceremoniously.
“He’s got some traps set in the cliffs,” Carl explained. They watched
the tall grey figure striding over the snow almost as swiftly as if
he were on snowshoes, and soon he was lost from sight. He stepped so
lightly that he didn’t leave an imprint.
“How do you like being a ranch nurse?” Bob asked, just to make
conversation as they hurried along.
“It hasn’t been so inter--” He stopped short in his answer, and for an
instant the four of them stood in startled silence. To their strained
ears came an unmistakable rumble.
“Is it a plane?” Jim asked softly, but he knew it wasn’t. The words
were hardly out of his mouth before the rumble grew into a thunderous
roar, the earth under their feet rocked as if it had a convulsion;
there was a terrific boom, followed in quick succession by three more
violent explosions which threw all four of them on their faces. Kramer
struck an icy spot and slid twenty feet. The land behind them ripped
open, a sheet of flame and smoke belched forth, carrying huge rocks,
hunks of earth and ice which flew high, wide and handsome, then began
to shower as far as the cliffs.
“Come on,” Bob gasped. He caught Jim’s collar and the two struggled to
their feet. Carl was lying motionless some distance away, and Kramer
was rolling as hard as he could roll toward the row of sheds.
“We’ll get Summers,” Jim snapped. Bending low, the Buddies raced to the
prostrate guardian of the ranch, each grabbed him and then hauled him
along with them toward safety. One lump of debris struck Bob’s hand a
hard crack, forcing him to let go, but Jim dragged harder and after a
breathless stampede, the three at last reached the open door of the
shed where Kramer was picking himself up gingerly.
“Don’t go in there,” Jim shouted. “It may come down.” He thought it was
safer to trust themselves to the rain of missiles than to a building
which might also be destroyed and crush them under its weight. By that
time Carl was gaining consciousness and he jerked himself to his feet.
“What’s the mat--”
“Can you walk, old man? We’ve got to get out of here,” Jim urged.
“Sure.” Carl took a hasty glance over his shoulder and the sight of the
yawning root house, to say nothing of the hail of frozen earth that
filled the air, fairly put wings to his feet and he ran as fast as they
could carry him. The others followed, but keeping their footing was a
difficult matter for most of the time they were sliding, and several
times Carl sprawled in a frantic effort to stay upright. Then Bob
noticed that the direction they were taking would fetch them up quite a
distance beyond the trail they must climb in order to reach the plane
on the cliff.
“Buddy, Buddy,” he panted. “We’re out of the course.” Jim heard, dug
his heels to act as a brake, and skidded around. Glancing ahead he
realized they could never scale the wall. He made a megaphone of his
hands and bellowed.
“Summers!” But the deputy was going too strong to stop at once, so they
panted after him until finally they managed to get him to listen. “We
have to get to the trail.”
“Oh, yes, sure!” He seemed too dazed to understand what they really
meant, so they each caught him by the arms and struggled to get in the
right direction. For a moment they completely lost sight of Kramer,
then suddenly they heard him shout.
“Hey--stop--” They heard his gun snap and the crack of a bullet as
it struck the rocks. Then sputtered a half dozen shots in quick
succession, and the three paused uncertainly.
“He’s attacked,” Jim shouted. “Come along.” They ran faster and
presently they could see across to the trail. The air man was holding
his right arm to one side, but he pointed with the other. The boys’
eyes followed where he indicated, and in a moment they caught a glimpse
of a fleeting figure leaping up the rocks of the cliff. Once, when the
fellow came to an open spot, he stopped and leveled his gun, but by
that time Summers’ brain began to work. He fired three shots as fast as
he could pull the trigger, and they struck dangerously close to the man
on the trail. With a curse he leaped back into the shelter of a huge
rock.
“Drop,” Bob shouted, but they kept on running and were surprised that
the fellow did not fire again. He might have used all his ammunition or
his gun jammed. Then, suddenly above the commotion and confusion, they
heard another sound.
“Suffering cats,” Bob gasped.
“Sacred Cod--the plane--” Jim started to race in pursuit, and although
he ran as he had never run before, he barely reached the trail before
the plane moved. Bob, who could see it best, stopped to stare, and
there in the cock-pit sat Arthur Gordon. He waved impudently as the
machine lifted, and in less than a second he was soaring with a
thundering roar of the engine into the sky.
IV
“THANKS FOR THE BUGGY RIDE”
As the three boys stood staring in the gathering gloom at the plane
that was taking young Arthur Gordon to safety, something dropped at
Jim’s feet and mechanically he picked it up. It was a note weighted
with a hunk of ice. “Thanks for the buggy ride. A. G. Jr.” He read it
aloud, then gave a little grunt of disgust.
“Great boy, that. He’s as lovable as a meat ax,” Bob remarked. A
prolonged silence followed as the group glanced anxiously about them.
The explosion had spent itself, the air was cleared but the ground was
covered as far as they could see with the debris that had been thrown
up. Kramer, who had fallen, struggled to his feet, staggered forward,
but by that time the sound of the stolen plane died away in the
distance.
“We’d better see how badly you are hurt,” Jim announced practically.
“Oh, I’ll be all right.”
“We’ll make sure. Bob’s a whiz at first aid, his mother taught him.
Have you got any bandaging or stuff like that, Carl?”
“Had a kit,” Summers replied ruefully as his eyes rested on his
destroyed quarters, “but I calculate there isn’t much of anything left.”
“Who do you suppose started that thing?” Kramer asked weakly. He
wavered a bit and Caldwell sprang to support him. “Was it the Indian?”
“I don’t know, but I imagine it was the lad who stole the plane,” Bob
answered. “Come along to the bunk house. Wish one of you fellows would
make a fire. There’s an old stove in there. Rustle around and find a
kettle or something so I can heat some water.” They prepared to obey
the commanding officer and presently they had Kramer on one of the
bunks, but there wasn’t any sort of cover to put over him. Jim ran out
and gathered an arm full of wood, there was plenty of that scattered
around, and it didn’t take him long to get things ready. Carl found an
old pail, but it leaked, so he filled it with clean snow and rummaged
further.
“Who’s got a match?” Jim asked. “I haven’t.”
“Neither have I,” Bob added.
“I had some in the roothouse--”
“Feel around in my pockets, Buddy. I guess you’ll find a few in a
folder.” The folder was located but there were only two left.
“Here’s the whole stock.” Bob handed it to his step-brother, who
promptly whittled a good collection of shavings to make doubly sure
he got his fire. When he struck the first one it crackled like a
firecracker and was useless. The four watched as the boy cautiously
scratched the last one. After several futile attempts it lighted
successfully, a piece of shaving caught, flickered an instant then
blazed up and lighted other bits. They sighed with relief at the
performance.
“What next, Doctor?” Jim grinned.
“See if you can find some kind of pail or pot, to heat some water in.
How many snivel dusters have you got? My patient is bleeding.” Two
clean handkerchiefs were produced, then leaving the patient and his
attendant, Carl and Jim started to forage for a container. After a
five minute search they found a pot which was serviceable, then they
filled it with snow and took it in to melt.
“Couldn’t you get any water?” Bob demanded.
“No,” Jim answered.
Kramer was partly stripped and the boy found that he had been shot
in the shoulder. “Don’t know how bad it is, but I can tie it up for
a little while, then we have to find a way to get out. See what you
can do.” He went back to his task, and the two assistants watched his
capable fingers making a temporary dressing for the wound.
“It’s getting pretty dark. Let’s take some dry wood for torches, then
investigate,” Jim proposed. He selected one of the longest pieces from
the pile on the floor, lighted the end, and again the two sallied forth.
“Great guns, Jim, suppose we all had been in that place when that thing
went off. We’d have been scattered over the landscape.”
“In small chunks,” Jim supplemented. “The sheriff told us that you
tapped the wires and reported to him. Suppose we do that now. We can
call K-A, his office and get a doctor here, or something like that. I
didn’t do any extra gabbing about Kramer, but I know Bob, and I have
a hunch that the chap has been hurt pretty seriously and needs help
quick.”
“A part of the instrument is in the shed, we can get it and try, but
I did the tapping in my dugout and that’s blown to blazes,” Carl
answered. They were making their way to the shed, and Jim frowned at
the information.
“There’s a telephone, or several of them in the house--”
“Sure, but the root-house was between that and Crofton so if the wires
are broken we are out of luck unless we can find an end.” A few minutes
later Carl found the instrument, and the pair went on to the scene of
the disaster. They picked up several sections of dry wood to use when
they needed more torches. Holding the light high the boys stopped at
what had once been the entrance to Summers’ quarters but now it looked
more like a hole that had been shelled with a big gun. From one end
to the other they couldn’t see a thing that wasn’t badly broken, or
wedged so tightly it was immovable. The iron cot was a twisted mass
of metal, some of the larger sections of planking stuck up out of
the accumulation of earth which had dropped back, and near by they
discovered a piece of ski too short to be of any use.
“You hold the light and I’ll feel around,” Jim suggested. “Where abouts
was the place you tapped?”
“On the right side of the door. A long time ago someone who owned the
ranch had all the wires put in cables underground. It’s a great way to
have them but if you don’t know how they are placed it’s some job to
locate them,” Carl explained.
“Yes, I know. The only telegraph poles go along the back of the K-A, so
they won’t help us. Can you get into the house?”
“Sure, I’ve got the keys--no I haven’t. I left them here on the shelf
in a jar this morning. Thought I wouldn’t take a chance on losing them
and they are kind of awkward to carry around,” Carl answered. “Whoever
set this off surely got us where they want us.”
“We’d better break in somehow. You are an officer of the law, so you
have a right to do that in an emergency. Come along and we’ll see
how things are inside. My family will be throwing fits about now,
especially if the bang of that blow-up carried so far,” Jim urged. They
hurried toward the old ranch house and presently were standing on the
long, low veranda. Their first try was to find out if there were any of
the windows which had been left unfastened, but they were all nailed
tightly.
“Here goes.” Carl smashed one of the larger panes with a piece of the
torch wood they carried, then he ripped out the cross sections, and in
a few minutes they were standing in what had been the family living
room. Considering the haste the owners had been forced to make when
they took their departure, the place was almost bare.
“How do you account for this?” Jim asked in surprise.
“Can’t really. I’ve never been in here, not since I came up to keep
watch. The sheriff told me not to unless it was necessary. He said
the house had been locked just as they found it and not to disturb
anything,” answered Carl. “Expect Arthur Gordon has been hanging around
and got away with the stuff. Great Scott, I’m some watchman.”
The same depleted state existed everywhere they investigated and
as they walked from room to room their footsteps echoed hollowly.
Carefully they both watched for telephone instruments and at last they
found one in the long hall which went from one end of the building to
the other but after examining it they learned that it was merely a
house phone that was not used for outside purposes at all.
“That’s that! I know there was a phone in this room,” Jim declared
suddenly making his way back to the living room. He remembered the
day he had been in Don Haurea’s laboratory and had sat before the
television-radio watching and listening to the two Gordons. That time
the phone had rung and the young man talked over it. Without the
furnishings it was not easy to locate where the instrument had stood,
so they lighted a second torch and painstakingly examined the floor.
“Isn’t that a hole?” Carl pointed to the floor and sure enough they
found an opening large enough to permit wires or a cable to go through,
but there wasn’t even an inch of one left.
“It must go into the cellar,” Jim announced. He stood a moment to get
the position, then they searched for the trap door through which they
followed the stone steps down to the cave-like basement. It too had
been systematically cleaned out. There wasn’t a useful thing in the
place. It took a few minutes to find the hole that went into the living
room above, but there was nothing left of the telephone.
“Wonder why in heck he ripped them up!” Carl exploded. “What did he
expect to do with them?”
“Search me,” answered Jim. “I say, this place surely is spooky.”
“Let’s get out,” urged Carl. “Think it’s all right to leave Bob and
Kramer alone?” he added.
“We’re here, so we’d better have another look for some wires,” Jim
insisted. “We’ve simply got to get into connection with somebody soon.”
Later they found the place where the cable went through the masonry but
everything had been ripped away, and there was no possible means of
getting at the connections that had once been there.
“We’re dished at this end. If I had been above the house I’d have
discovered that these things were out of commission. Perhaps that’s why
Gordon blew up the root-house,” volunteered the deputy.
“Think he did it?” asked Jim softly. The mystery of the place was
beginning to get on his nerves. An almost overwhelming sense of
helplessness was taking possession of him, but he struggled to combat
it.
“Who else would? I don’t believe it was Jute. I’ve known him since I
was a kid. He gave me my first pair of pigeons--they were beauties,”
Carl answered.
“How did he happen to come around here?”
“I don’t know that, but I think he was following his traps and
discovered I was guarding the place. He thought he’d have a little
fun with me, so he made the tracks, but he just walked in on me this
morning. I sure was glad to see him, and he laughed when I told him how
he got my nanny with his trick. If he had done any mischief around the
place he would have sneaked off and no one would have been the wiser.
Let’s go and see if the doc and Kramer are all right.”
“Yes, then we’ll get to work on the dugout. We ought to be able to get
connected with some wires there unless they are buried too tightly
under that mound. I saw some tools in the shed, we can dig and chop.”
They were glad to get out of the house and later when they reached the
“hospital” Bob greeted them cheerfully.
“My patient is comfortable,” he announced with a grin. “Able to do
anything?”
“Not yet, but we’ll try something else. Got plenty of wood? We may be
gone an hour or so,” explained Jim.
“Lots. I discovered a box full, so we’ll be comfortable.” Kramer was
lying on the bed, but his eyes were closed and he did not move.
“Asleep?” Summers wanted to know.
“Yes, just dozed off. If you find anything to eat, bring it along.”
“Sure pop. I say, Bob, are those guns you have, loaded?” Jim asked.
“To the gills,” the young fellow replied.
“Well, you keep them handy--”
“Shoot first and apologize afterwards,” Carl advised.
“The door is a good solid one and it has a bar across,” Bob told them
so they realized that his labors had not made him forget to be cautious.
“So long. Meet you in the olive grove.” The two went out again and
in the shed they found a couple of hatchets, a spade, and a short
handled pick, which they took with them to the hole and immediately
set to work to locate a weak spot in the mass. Necessity made them
search thoroughly and at last they were rewarded by discovering a place
where some of the beams had only a few inches of covering, which Jim
industriously shoveled out of the way while Carl held the torch.
“Here she comes,” Austin exclaimed with satisfaction. Summers stuck the
light in the ground, the two hauled on the boards and presently had a
good sized opening.
“It lets us in toward where the door was,” Carl announced and he let
himself down. “I say, Old Timer, you light another torch; we’d better
each have one so we can see our way and not stumble over each other.”
“Rip snorting idea. Gosh all fishhooks, I’m hungry.”
“There is some grub. You look at the far end, you’ll find a sort of
cache I made near the partition. I’ll see if I can get at the wires.”
They started on the task but the debris cluttered the root-house so
they were forced to proceed slowly, and several times they helped each
other lift pieces of logs and rocks out of the way. Finally they were
busy at their respective ends, Carl looking for exposed wires, and Jim
trying to find some food that had escaped destruction. He had to do
more chopping and hammering and, after several minutes he succeeded
in clearing a wide section of the partition, but he didn’t locate the
cache, so he went to work again, stopping once to kindle a fresh torch,
and with its bright light he discovered that he had come through the
dug-out to the second cellar.
“Having any luck?” Carl shouted.
“Not much,” he answered. “How about you?”
“I think I’ll have it in a minute,” replied Carl and he began to chop
away, while Jim at the opposite end stepped into one of the older
sections. Like the front of the place this too was wrecked, but not
quite so badly as there had not been such a variety of things to
scatter. However, one side was inaccessible, and although Jim saw
nothing of special note on the other, he decided to examine it anyway.
One thing which attracted his attention was a quantity of paper which
looked as if some big books had been torn to bits, and some of their
pages burned. Curious, Austin picked up some pieces, wondering from
where they had come, then he found out, for right in front of him was
an opening. Beyond the boy was a very small room which seemed to be
lined with some sort of masonry. It was about seven feet square, and
had projections which might have been used for shelves and seats. On
the floor was more of the paper, like that which he had picked up
outside, but in the poor light the boy could not be sure if it was
blank or not.