The Scarlet Lake Mystery: A Rick Brant Science-Adventure Story

Scotty led the way, taking advantage of every bit of cover, and in a short time they emerged from the desert behind the row of ghostly, abandoned buildings. Rick recognized the hotel, the only two-story structure in the town. It was directly in front of them.

"Wait here a minute," Scotty whispered. He moved quickly and silently into the shadow of the livery stable. Scotty was skillful at this kind of work, and Rick knew it was best to let him reconnoiter alone.

Presently Scotty materialized from the shadows and moved to Rick's side. He whispered, "They came in a sedan. I couldn't see any lights, but I heard voices. They're in the hotel."

"Let's get closer," Rick replied softly.

Scotty plucked at his sleeve and Rick followed, moving swiftly into the shadow of the livery stable. Scotty moved slowly along the wall, then crossed the narrow alley between the stable and hotel with one long step, hesitating at the hotel corner. Rick followed silently. There was a window. Scotty crouched, so he would be below the window, and scuttled past it. Rick was right behind him.

The rear door of the hotel was next. Scotty's gesture told Rick they would stop there and try to listen. Scotty moved a few steps and stopped once more. He was in position. Rick crowded close behind him, then moved out from the wall a little so that he, too, could hear directly through the door.

From almost under his foot came a strident, warning buzz, and an icy ripple moved down his back. A snake! And he couldn't even see it! He froze where he was, muscles tense for the shock of needle-sharp fangs. He waited an eternity, not even daring to breathe. There were voices from within the hotel, but he didn't hear what they were saying. At that moment he couldn't possibly have cared less.

Then, his probing eyes saw the faint outline of the creature, half coiled, flattened head weaving. It was barely beyond striking distance. He watched it, not daring to look away, not daring to move.

Had Scotty heard the snake? But of course he must have. Rick reached with infinite caution and tugged at his pal's sleeve. Scotty would have to move first. Then Rick could move slowly to a position tight against the wall, where Scotty was now. Only by moving into the wall could he get away from the snake.

But in that moment the rattler apparently decided it had waited long enough. The evil head moved slowly toward Rick's foot.

Rick couldn't help it. He let out an involuntary yelp and jumped sideways, into Scotty. Scotty had no place to go but through the hotel door. He crashed into the rickety, partly hanging door, Rick on top of him.

Rick tried to get to his feet, sensing sudden noise and movement within the hotel, but he wasn't fast enough. A hand grabbed him by the arm and hauled him upright, and a fist glanced off his cheek-bone, snapping his head back.

Scotty, underneath, gathered his feet under him and charged like a plunging fullback, directly into the hotel. There was a grunt as the boy's head met yielding flesh, then a powerful arm circled his neck and he was lifted off his feet, fighting for breath.

A hand yanked Rick forward. His arms were twisted behind him. A pencil flashlight flicked on briefly and a voice muttered, "It's a couple of kids!"

Rick struggled, but subsided when it became clear that he could do nothing but wrench his arms out of joint.

A man muttered, "Rope in the car trunk."

Feet sounded on the boards of the hotel. Rick tried to pierce the gloom, to see his captors, but there wasn't enough light to see more than vague shapes. He had never heard the voices before. The feet came back. The voice said, "Lash 'em tight."

Rick was dumped face down on the dusty floor. Expert hands tied his wrists and ankles tight and lashed them together, with his knees bent at an acute angle and his shoulders pulled back. Next to him he sensed that Scotty was getting the same treatment.

A voice whispered, "Wonder who they are?"

"Doesn't matter," the first voice said. "We'll be out of here in fifteen minutes, if the others keep to schedule, and we won't be back. We can't use this place again."

A third voice broke in. "I didn't see a car. They must have cached it somewhere."

"You're right," the first voice agreed. "Find it, and fix it. Where'll we put these kids?"

The second voice had a suggestion. "The old jail across the street. We can lash 'em to the bunks."

Rick felt himself lifted like a sack of grain. He swayed as the man lugged him through the front of the hotel, across the porch, and into the street. His captor rounded the car that was waiting there and Rick strained to turn his head, to try to see the license plate, but couldn't catch a glimpse of it.

A creaky door was swung open and he was carried into an inner room and dropped face down. It knocked the breath out of him for a moment. When he recovered, he was tightly lashed to a rusty iron frame. His groping fingers felt the frame and the rope, but the knots were beyond his reach.

A voice asked, "Will we turn 'em loose later? We don't want 'em to die in here."

"They won't. They can get loose, but it will take a while and we'll be long gone. Come on."

The door creaked again. Rick listened to the sound of footsteps across loose boards, then there was silence.

Scotty whispered, "What do we do now? Wait for the Lone Ranger and Tonto?"

Rick had to grin, in spite of their plight. "Looks like it," he agreed. There was something ridiculous about being bundled into an antique Western jail. "Anyway, we didn't get bitten by that blasted snake."

"That worried me plenty," Scotty agreed. "Can you move at all?"

Rick's fingers hadn't stopped exploring. "Not much. How about you?"

"There's a sharp end of wire under my hands. I'm going to see if I can loosen the knots. Keep working."

"Don't worry," Rick whispered fervently. "I will."

Silence fell, except for an occasional scrape as they struggled. Rick's arms began to hurt, and his neck felt as though it would never straighten again. Gradually he worked the rope end into reach and began to move it, hoping to loosen the knot. Then there was a soft exclamation of triumph from Scotty.

"Are you free?" Rick whispered quickly.

"No. But I pulled the rope between my wrists and ankles loose enough so I can move. Just a minute."

Scotty got to his knees, balancing precariously. "I'm going to try to slide my hands down the frame to yours."

Rick strained his neck trying to see if there were any obstacles in the way, but he could see nothing. Scotty grunted. "I think I'm hung up on a bolt that's sticking through the frame." There was silence for a few moments while the boy struggled. "Made it," he muttered. "The ropes loosened a little."

Presently Rick felt Scotty's fingers and moved his own, seeking the ropes around his pal's wrists. He probed, trying to find the key to the knots. Finally, his right forefinger touched a free end, and he followed it into a twist of rope. His first two fingers could just reach the twist, and he set to work on it, moving the rope back and forth, trying to pull on it. Suddenly it gave.

"One," he said softly. There was another knot immediately under the loop he had just untied. It was tougher than the first one, but eventually he made it.

"I think you loosened it a little," Scotty said. "Maybe I can slide a knot over that bolt and pull loose."

Scotty moved away from him, sliding his hands along the rusty frame. The boys worked in silence, Rick tackling his own knots again while Scotty tried to use the rusty bolt as a lever.

Rick had to give up for a while. His hands hurt too much, and he knew that Scotty's must be hurting, too.

"Listen!" Scotty said suddenly.

A car, or a truck, was approaching the town, from the direction of Careless Mesa!

The boys tackled the knots with desperation and suddenly Scotty fell forward as his hands loosened.

Outside, the car braked to a stop. Rick wondered if Mac and Pancho had come to keep a rendezvous? He couldn't get rid of the feeling that those two were involved somehow.

"A few minutes more," Scotty gritted. "The knots are loose." Then, "I got it."

Moving swiftly, Scotty untied his ankles and knelt at Rick's side. Long minutes later Rick felt the ropes fall from his wrists. It didn't take long to get his ankles free, and he stood up, rubbing circulation back into his hands.

Scotty went to the doorway of the old jail and Rick joined him. "See anything?"

"No," Scotty whispered. "We'll have to go outside."

"We can't go out the front," Rick murmured. "They'd see us. That car stopped right in front. Let's see if there's a back entrance of some kind."

He led the way to the rear of the jail building, walking carefully in the darkness. There were windows but they were barred. He carefully felt his way past the jail's only cell, and along the back wall.

Outside, a motor spun into life.

Rick whirled. "They're going!"

Another motor started.

The boys turned and hurried to the front of the building. They were in time to see a sedan shift and speed away from the hotel, following the road toward civilization.

They hurried into the street and Scotty pointed in the opposite direction. The road back to the base was a dim, pale ribbon in the faint moonlight. Along it a dark shape was speeding.

"That does it," Rick said aloud.

Scotty turned to watch the departing sedan. "It didn't take them long to complete their business, whatever it was. I didn't hear any talk, did you?"

"Not a word. Do you suppose that was Mac and Pancho that came from the base?"

"No way of knowing, but it could have been. Come on. Let's find our jeep."

The jeep was where they had left it, but the hood was up. Scotty hurried to look, while Rick went to the glove compartment. The flashlight hadn't been touched. He got it and joined Scotty, throwing the beam under the hood.

For a moment everything looked normal, then Rick saw that the distributor cap and rotor were missing. The question was, had the men simply hidden them? Or had they taken the parts along?

Scotty put his thoughts into words. "If the parts are here, we'll find them in the morning. If they aren't …"

Rick finished, "We'll be here until someone finds us!"

CHAPTER XI

Deadrock Ogg, Mayor

At dawn's first light Rick and Scotty began the search for the distributor cap and rotor. The boys searched methodically, taking in the area far beyond throwing distance, on the assumption that whoever had taken the two essential parts might have walked a distance away from the jeep before throwing them as far as he could.

"It's not here," Rick said positively.

Now all that remained was the town itself. They walked back to the town, Rick carrying the water bag and Scotty the canteen. At least their water hadn't been dumped.

Scotty paid careful attention to the vehicle tracks in the dust of the road.

"It's pretty clear," he pointed out at last. "Here's where the sedan was parked. And here's where the other vehicle parked. See how this area is scuffed up? They made quite a few trips, carrying something from the side of the vehicle to the rear of the sedan, probably stowing the stuff in the luggage compartment. And, from the tire tracks, I'd say the vehicle from the base was a light truck."

"Like Mac's truck?" Rick asked.

"Maybe. Anyway, whoever it was had to go through the guard gate, and the run might even be chalked up on the board. Not to here, of course, but maybe to Careless Mesa or Dry Spring."

"We can check when we get back," Rick said. "Come on. We'd better take the town apart and see if the rotor and distributor cap are here."

It was midmorning before they gave up the search, and both of them were exhausted.

"Now what?" Rick asked wearily. He had never in his life felt so badly in need of sleep. Except for a few brief catnaps in the jeep, he had been awake continuously for forty-eight tense hours.

Scotty scratched his head. "There are a few buildings we haven't searched yet."

"No, but they wouldn't be in those. If the men were going to leave them here, they'd drop them nearby and not hide them in one of the distant buildings. But I suppose we'd better look, anyway."

"We'd better. I'm fresher than you are. Go stretch out in the hotel lobby and I'll look."

Rick was too tired to argue. He walked into the comparative coolness of the rickety old hotel and found a section of undamaged floor. He removed his shoes, stretched out, and was asleep almost at once. In a short time Scotty joined him after an unsuccessful search.

When Rick woke again it was dark and Scotty was stretched out beside him, sound asleep. He turned over and went to sleep again.

Both boys woke up, stiff and bleary-eyed, as dawn light flooded the hotel. They grinned at each other.

"I must have slept for two days," Rick said.

"Not quite. Just about sixteen hours. But you needed it, and there wasn't anything to do."

"We're okay so long as the water lasts, but then what?" Rick knew without even putting it into words that they could never walk to civilization. Their water would run out and heat exhaustion would get them before they were halfway to anywhere. The base was closest, and it was over thirty miles away, across desert and waterless mountains.

Scotty walked over to what had once been the hotel desk and held up a can. "Want some breakfast?"

Rick was at his side in an instant, examining a can of tomatoes. "Where did you get it?" It was shiny, the label unfaded.

"Down the street. In one of the houses. Someone comes here now and then, I guess. There are blankets, a sleeping bag, and a small supply of food."

Rick's brows knitted. "Shouldn't we have been standing guard?"

"I thought about it," Scotty admitted, "but I figured there wasn't much sense to it. We'd welcome friend or foe at this point. Anyway, I don't think whoever hangs out here is part of the gang."

"Why not?"

"Wouldn't the gang have been at his hide-out instead of here in the hotel? Besides, this looks like a cache for just one man."

Rick had to admit that made sense. "Do you suppose he's here now?"

"I doubt it. I'd have heard a car if one came into town last night. I wasn't sleeping that soundly."

"Well, I'm grateful to him, whoever he is. Let me at that can." Rick searched in his pocket and found his scout knife. He opened the can-opener blade and got to work. In a moment they were taking turns drinking the slightly acid, refreshing juice and pouring whole tomatoes into their mouths.

An amused voice spoke from the doorway. "Looks good."

Standing on the porch was a figure in worn but clean denims and miner's boots. His face was weathered from years in the desert sun. His hair was grizzled where it could be seen under an ancient and disreputable flat-topped, broad-brimmed hat. His eyes, under shaggy brows, were a clear, twinkling blue. The man held a rifle; the muzzle pointed unwaveringly at the boys.

"That your jeep in the wash?" he asked.

"That's ours," Scotty affirmed.

"Mislay a few parts?"

"You might say so," Rick agreed. "Who are you?"

"I'm the mayor of Steamboat."

The boys started. "The mayor?" Rick echoed.

"Yep. Likewise the sheriff. As mayor, I welcome you. As sheriff, I want your names and business."

The boys gave their names, then Scotty asked, "How did you get into town? I didn't hear a car."

"Good reason. I didn't drive. Now, what are you doing here?"

"Waiting to be rescued," Rick said on impulse.

"Reckon that can be arranged. You drove in, hey? But you didn't drive into town. Instead, you parked in the wash. Now, as sheriff, I find that mighty interesting. You wouldn't have parked there unless you didn't want to be seen. Only I suspect you were seen, and whoever did the seein' walked off with your distributor cap and rotor. Unless you have 'em, which I doubt. If you had 'em you wouldn't need rescuin'. Correct?"

"You're telling it," Rick replied courteously.

"Yep. Also, you're from Scarlet Lake, and you're nosy. Day before yesterday you got nosy at Careless Mesa and nearly got pinked. Are you busybodies, or have you got a right to snoop?"

Rick stared at the man. He had a strong suspicion they were looking at the mysterious rifleman. Since the man hadn't come into Steamboat by car, he must have come by horseback. The rifleman had departed from Careless Mesa by horseback, too.

Scotty spoke up, in response to the man's question. "You might say we're busybodies. We're curious about everything."

"Uh-uh. Toss me your badges."

Rick's eyes met Scotty's. He shrugged. There was no reason for not complying. Both boys detached their badges and tossed them across the floor. The man picked them up, examined them closely, then tossed them back.

"All right. Come on with me and we'll have some breakfast." He tucked the rifle under his arm, turned, and walked out. As the boys followed, they cast puzzled looks at each other. The man led them to the cache Scotty had found. A saddled horse was standing in front of the house.

"I've seen that horse before," Scotty said. "It was nice of you to wave at me up at Careless Mesa."

The man grinned.

Rick asked bluntly, "Why did you shoot at us?"

Twinkling blue eyes surveyed him. "Didn't. If I'd shot at you I'd have scored a few hits."

"You were warning us off," Scotty said. "Were we getting too close to something?"

The man tilted his hat back and chuckled. "Mighty curious pair, I'd say. No, son. But if you stayed around, I wouldn't get close to what I wanted to get close to. What's more, I figgered you weren't just tourists. You had a purpose in being at Careless Mesa. Your actions told me that, and I didn't want you there."

"We might have reported the shooting," Rick said carefully. "You could have gotten into trouble. Why didn't you just ask us to leave?"

"That would have brought questions I didn't want to answer. Why didn't you report it?"

That stopped Rick. They might have reported it, if there had been more opportunity to go into detail with John Gordon.

Conversation lapsed. The man filled a coffeepot from a water bag, brought out a propane-powered single-burner camp stove, and started the coffee going.

In a short time a simple breakfast of fruit juice, crackers, cheese, and coffee was ready. Then, as he juggled a hot mug of coffee, Rick said, "We're mighty grateful, sir. But we can't thank you properly when we don't know your name."

The man studied them again, over the lip of his coffee mug. "When did you boys get to Scarlet Lake?"

Rick told him. There was no reason to conceal it.

"Uh-uh. I figgered you were pretty new. Now tell me exactly what happened here last night."

The boys hesitated.

Rick asked, "Are you just being curious?"

"No. I've got a reason, and it's a good one."

Instinct told Rick that the man was more than he seemed, but that he was in no way a thief or law-breaker. Briefly he sketched the events of the previous night without going into the reasons for their own actions. Scotty filled in a few details.

"All right. I'm Deadrock Ogg. Besides being the mayor and all the other city officials of Steamboat I'm a prospector. Last night I was doin' a little prospectin' and I came up with pay dirt. You saw what happened here. Well, I kind of figgered in advance what was going to happen, and I waited on the turnoff to Pahrump Valley. A sedan went by me pretty fast, but not so fast I didn't get the license number. Mostly because I was lyin' at the roadside waitin', and interested only in that."

"But the sedan traveled without lights."

"Not past the turnoff it didn't. Road's too curvy, and in too much shadow. That's why I was there. I knew they'd have to turn on lights."

It was Rick's turn to give Deadrock Ogg his own question back. "Who are you, Mr. Ogg? Are you a busybody? Or do you have a right to snoop?"

Deadrock Ogg chuckled. "The answer you gave me is good enough. Now, I'm going to lend you a distributor cap and rotor."

"Where are you going to get the parts?" Scotty asked.

"My own jeep. I've got one cached just above here. Now, when you get back to Scarlet Lake, you see Tom Preston right away. You know who he is. Tell him exactly what you told me, and what I told you. And give him the number I'm goin' to write down for you. Then you ask Tom to send a plane back to drop off my cap and rotor. And tell him to send a walkie-talkie, too.

"Now, I got a real good idea what game you boys are playin' and it's fine by me. Only don't get into my game. Stay on the base. You mean well, but you could cross me up when it would hurt most. Some day, after we have the one we want, we'll compare notes. Now let's get goin'. You kids are goin' to have a long, long drive. I'm sendin' you home by way of Pahrump Valley."

"It's shorter directly back to the base," Scotty objected.

"Sure. And you'll attract more attention that way. Go through the valley and back to Route 95, and you'll enter from the front gate. Then who'll know you didn't spend the night in Vegas?"

It took only ten minutes to get the parts from Deadrock's jeep, which was parked in a ravine, invisible to anything except a low-flying plane. They said good-by to the "prospector" at the edge of town.

"Got the map in your heads? You won't get lost?" Deadrock asked.

"We'll be fine," Rick assured him.

"All right. Get goin'. And, boys – look out for sidewinders!"

CHAPTER XII

Servomotors Missing

Rick and Scotty took time to shower and change, then left on their prearranged errands. Scotty headed for his own department, to check all travel to the north since the Orion firing. Rick set out to find John Gordon.

The Spindrift scientist was not in his office, nor could Rick find him around the base. Finally he took the jeep and headed for the firing area.

There was considerable activity down on the lake bed. At a pad close to the blockhouse a tower was under construction. That was the launching tower for Cetus. But of even more personal interest to Rick was the presence of a gantry crane at a third firing pad where one of the special rocket-transport trucks was just putting the first stage of Pegasus into place!

It was at the Pegasus pad that he found Gordon, in conversation with Gee-Gee Gould, Dick Earle, Frank Miller, Cliff Damon, head of the instrumentation section, and Lars Jannsson, head of the Pegasus propulsion section.

"We'll start security immediately," Gordon was saying as Rick walked up. "Tom Preston will arrange for a guard around the clock. We'll also arrange an exchange-badge system, so no one gets inside the fence without handing in his own badge and getting a special one. That way, we'll have absolute control on who comes and goes."

Gee-Gee Gould saw Rick and dropped a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Rick and I will do the final electronics check, just as we did on Orion."

Rick looked at Gordon. "Did you say something about a fence, sir?"

"I did. Look over there." Gordon pointed to a crew with a mechanical posthole digger that was just starting work, then gestured to sticks with red flags that formed a huge box around the pad. "That's where the fence will go. And there will be only one gate."

Rick took advantage of the brief exchange with Gordon to wink at the scientist. Gordon picked up the cue quickly. "Can I ride back to the base with you? I rode down with Dick, but he's not ready to leave yet."

"Glad to have you, sir," Rick replied.

On the way back to the base Rick told his story in detail, starting with Scotty's and his own first suspicions about Mac and Pancho and ending with their rescue by Deadrock Ogg.

John Gordon remained silent for long minutes after Rick had finished. Finally he said, "You've certainly stirred up something, Rick, but I don't know how it fits into the over-all pattern. You and Scotty meet me in thirty minutes in my quarters and we'll see."

Rick dropped the scientist off at his office, then went to find Scotty. His pal was just emerging from the big maintenance shed. "Anything new?" Rick greeted him.

"Mac and Pancho took their truck out last night," Scotty reported. "The timing was right. They could have been driving the second vehicle that arrived while we were getting loose in the jail."

Rick looked at him curiously. "Funny. Why would they take a truck out? I mean, what legitimate reason could they have?"