SHORT CUT
“Well, how about it?” Jarrett Walz asked impatiently, as the Scouts
stood mute. “My proposition is a fair one.”
“Yes, it is,” Mr. Livingston acknowledged.
“Then why hesitate? Are you afraid to team up with me?”
“No, we’re not afraid, Mr. Walz.”
“You don’t think I’m trying to outwit you?”
“We’re taken by surprise,” Mr. Livingston replied. “You offer to pay all
the expenses of the trip?”
“I do. That is, from here to Elks Creek. Meals. Overnight lodging, if we
have to hole up in Colorado.”
“What can you hope to gain from such an arrangement?” Hap went on.
“Nothing, probably. The chances are we’ll find Craig Warner and turn the
map over to him. But if no such person exists, the map will be mine.”
“And you rate the map so highly?”
Walz began to feel hemmed in by his own conflicting statements. He
hesitated, then said, “I want that map. Maybe I misled you at first
because I didn’t know anything about you or your motives. But there’s an
outside chance Stony’s map may have some value.”
The Scouts were far more inclined to trust the motel owner now that he
made a frank admission of his interest in the paper.
“Well, what do you say?” he prodded.
“We’ll have to think it over,” Mr. Livingston stalled.
“How long will you need?”
“We figured on going to the telegraph office again before we pull
out—and to the funeral.”
“I’ll meet you here at eleven o’clock,” Walz suggested. “By that time, I
must have your answer.”
“You’ll have it,” Mr. Livingston promised. “If we should accept, how
soon could you be ready to leave?”
“In ten minutes. All I need to do is toss a few things into a suitcase.”
“We’ll see you at eleven o’clock,” Mr. Livingston replied.
Over breakfast, the Scouts discussed the matter, finding it difficult to
reach a decision. They still distrusted Jarrett Walz. On the other hand,
it seemed selfish to deny him a ride to Elks Creek when his own car was
not in good running order.
“And he’s offered to pay all expenses,” War reminded the group as he
reached for a second biscuit. “That’s quite an item.”
“I’m for taking him up,” said Willie. “We’d get back to Belton City with
cash in our treasury.”
Mr. Livingston gazed at Jack and Ken, waiting to hear their opinions.
“I don’t know,” Jack admitted frankly. “On the surface it looks okay,
but—”
“I feel the same,” said Ken. “Before making a decision, why not inquire
in town as to Walz’ reputation?”
“A good suggestion,” the Scout adviser answered. “We’ll do it on our
trip to the telegraph station.”
After breakfast, the Scouts struck camp, packing everything into the car
and transferring the map to Mr. Livingston’s billfold for safekeeping.
As they started to pull out of the parking yard, Mr. Walz came rushing
out of the motel.
“Don’t worry, we aren’t leaving for good,” Mr. Livingston reassured him.
“We’ll see you at eleven o’clock as we promised.”
At the telegraph office, the Scouts were told that no answer had been
received to their telegram. Then they stopped at the post office and the
bank. While the Scouts were mailing cards home, Mr. Livingston made a
few inquiries about Mr. Walz. The information he received was not very
helpful. However, the motel owner seemed to be well regarded in the
community.
“So far as I can gather, this is the picture,” Mr. Livingston told the
Explorers. “Walz did give Stony a home when the old fellow wasn’t able
to do much work. He’s considered a hard driver but fair. Stony wasn’t
too grateful for what he received.”
“Maybe we misjudged Walz,” Jack said thoughtfully. “Well, what’s our
decision?”
“How can we lose by taking him up?” Willie argued. “I’m for it.”
The others offered no objection, so it was decided that Walz’
proposition should be accepted.
“Just a word of warning,” Mr. Livingston advised. “Walz knows we have
the map. Let’s not tell him who has it, or give him any detail of what
it shows.”
“If I know him, he’ll try to pry it out of us,” War chuckled. “But my
lips are sealed.”
The Scouts attended Stony’s funeral along with a few townspeople, and
Walz was not present. When they drove back to the motel, he was waiting
for them.
“My suitcase is packed,” he announced. “Ready?”
“You’re taking our acceptance for granted?” Mr. Livingston remarked
dryly.
“Figured you wouldn’t turn it down,” the motel owner said with a grin.
“Where do I ride?”
Willie slid out of the front seat to make room for him and crowded into
the back with War and Jack.
“If you want, I can take the wheel,” Walz offered, once his suitcase had
been stowed away. “I know this road like a book.”
“I’ll drive,” Mr. Livingston said, “but thanks.”
The Explorers had decided to be cordial to Walz, and therefore they kept
up a polite conversation. The motel owner was in a good mood and
seemingly had an endless stock of stories to relate. At first the Scouts
did not mind, but after an hour or so they began to weary of his
chatter.
When the car made its first stop at a filling station to get gas, true
to his bargain Walz paid the bill.
“Maybe he’ll be okay, after all,” Willie remarked to Jack as they
checked the tires before driving on.
“Maybe,” Jack agreed. “Time will tell.”
Once the party was well beyond the Colorado border, Walz began to
suggest short-cut roads which he said would greatly reduce the mileage.
Feeling that the motel owner knew the country, Mr. Livingston and the
Explorers accepted his advice. But as the roads became increasingly
poor, they wondered if they actually were saving any time. Late in the
afternoon, when they were confronted with a choice of highways, Mr.
Livingston stopped the car so as to study the road map.
“No. 416 will take us directly into Elks Creek,” Hap said. “With luck,
we ought to get there before dark.”
With his forefinger, Walz traced another route. “It’s 40 miles shorter
this way,” he pointed out.
“Your short cuts haven’t worked out so far,” the Scout leader objected.
“But I know this country,” said Walz. “This road is paved all the way.”
“All right, if you’re sure,” Mr. Livingston said, “but I don’t like the
look of the sky.”
Black, fast-moving clouds were swirling over the distant mountain peaks.
“Oh, it may rain a little,” Walz replied carelessly. “All the more
reason for taking the shorter road that’s paved.”
The highway he had insisted on taking ran for a while through desolate
territory, and they didn’t meet any other cars. There were no houses or
filling stations, and the only persons they saw along the road were
occasional Indians. However, the highway was paved, as Walz had said.
Instead of having bridges, the road dipped down through dry creek beds.
Jack called attention to a sign which read: “Notice to Motorists: Do not
attempt to cross if creek is running more than six inches deep.”
“Sometimes these creeks come up fast,” Walz explained carelessly. “The
mountains feed the streams at a terrific rate, especially if there’s
been a heavy downpour above.”
“Cheerful thought,” commented Ken, studying the clouds again.
“I’ve read of cars being swept away,” Mr. Livingston remarked. “Maybe we
should have taken the other road.”
Walz regarded him scornfully. “Why, the creeks are bone dry.”
“They won’t be for long,” Mr. Livingston replied. “It’s starting to
rain.”
Huge drops splashed the windshield. Faster and faster they came down.
Mr. Livingston suggested pulling up until the rain was over.
“That may be an hour,” Walz rasped. He was looking worried. “This is
coming down like a regular cloudburst. If we don’t get through this
area, we’ll be trapped maybe for half a day between creeks.”
The Scouts said nothing. They were deeply annoyed, however, that the
motel owner by his stubborn insistence had brought them to this sorry
situation. Mr. Livingston hesitated and then decided to accept Walz’
advice. He drove on.
Rain was already falling so fast that it became difficult for him to see
the road ahead.
“This is awful!” the Scout leader gasped. “We ought to stop—”
“No!” Walz shouted. “Another creek lies ahead. Once we get through that,
we’ll be all right.”
“How far?”
“Only a mile or two.”
With a worried shake of his head, Mr. Livingston kept on. Rain fell in a
deluge, threatening to damp out the car motor.
“The creek is just ahead,” Walz encouraged him.
“How deep is the water running?” the Scout leader demanded.
Water sprayed the windshield and he could not make out even the drop-off
of the pavement into the depression.
“It’ll be okay,” Walz assured him. “The rain hasn’t been falling long.
Keep on.”
Mr. Livingston obeyed and immediately regretted it. The moment the car
rolled down into the creek bed, he saw that the water was far higher
than he had imagined. It swirled angrily around the tires and kept
creeping higher. Too late, Mr. Livingston saw he could not back out.
“Jeepers!” Walz exclaimed. “The rain must have started earlier in the
mountains! Keep going, man! Keep going!”
Mr. Livingston was doing his best, but the motor sputtered and died.
The car rolled a few feet farther and stopped in the lowest point of the
raging torrent.