Part 3

“Yes, a spell ago. I’ve been feeling that I wasn’t alone on this ranch and it got me worried, not because I was afraid, but because I couldn’t come up with anyone. The first time was at night, I was asleep in a bunk I fixed myself in the old root house, that dugout, and I awoke thinking I heard prowlers. I couldn’t find anything, but dozens of times since then I was sure I was being trailed; then I found those bear tracks and I know bears are enjoying a siesta this time of year, but they were tracks and they went around in a circle. It didn’t make me feel too good trying to figure what made ’em.”

“It must have made you anxious,” Kramer remarked.

“Surely did, brother. I reported to the sheriff and he promised to get someone here as fast as he could, and he told me to keep watch. Now, you two know bear tracks, just for fun come and look at this set and see if you can tell what made them and where the animal came from or went,” he proposed.

“Lead on, McDuff,” Kramer invited.

“You got my name wrong, buddy, it’s Summers--”

“I know, but that’s just a quotation,” Kramer hastened to explain.

“He wants you to show us,” Bob added.

“Oh, I see, he’s from Missouri. Well, come along.”

“Do we need the battery?” Kramer asked. He didn’t like toting a gun and seeing the two in the boys’ belts made him feel uncomfortable.

“We’ve got them on, and we might as well keep them,” Jim answered cautiously.

“Bring it with you, it will make you feel more as if you are in the woolly west,” Bob put in quickly. Both he and Jim were sure that leaving them behind would be foolish, and although all thought of danger had been effectively dispelled by Summers, they were not taking needless chances, at least until the ranch guardian had absolutely convinced them.

Carl made his way back down the slippery trail while the three followed 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.