The Sandy Steele Mystery MEGAPACK®: 6 Young Adult Novels (Complete Series). Roger Barlow
“There’s another way to go about it,” Donovan replied. “I’m a pretty good geophysicist as well as a geologist, Sandy. I have to be out here, where I may go out looking for oil and find a uranium lode if I keep my eyes peeled and my Geiger counter turned on.
“Over on that table”—he nodded toward a small electric furnace and a collection of retorts, chemicals and test tubes on one corner of his work bench—“I have equipment so sensitive that I can burn the branch of a pine tree, or even a bunch of loco weed and find out whether the roots of that tree or weed reach down into a uranium ore deposit. With it, I can detect in the ash as little as one part in a million of any radioactive ore the plant has sucked up from underground in its sap. Which reminds me that any time you run across a patch of loco weed, let me know immediately. The poisonous stuff seems to like to grow on ground in the vicinity of uranium.
“All right. Any physicist understands the principles of electronics, the properties of light, and so on, doesn’t he?”
Sandy nodded with growing excitement.
“Also, you may have heard that the FBI has an electronic gadget so sensitive that it can eavesdrop on the conversations of crooks, even though they may be sitting in a boat half a mile from shore.”
“I’ll bet the Shoshonean water spirits take a dim view of that,” said Ralph, grinning.
Donovan waved him to silence with his pipe and continued.
“Now my guess is that Cavanaugh is using a lot of power from a portable generator to produce a beam bright enough to be seen a hundred or so miles away. And it’s a lot easier for him to modulate that current so it will modulate the beam than to use revolving mirrors or some other mechanical means to do the job. There is bound to be considerable leakage in a circuit of that kind. I think I can go to one of the radio supply stores in Farmington tomorrow and pick up-enough parts to make an electronic ‘ear’ that can tune in on that leakage if we get it within a hundred feet of Cavanaugh’s transmitter.”
“Sherlock Donovan,” said Ralph, “I take off my hat to you.”
* * * *
The haywire “ear” that Donovan built during the next several days with what little assistance Sandy was able to supply didn’t look like much. It was just a collection of transistors, fixed and variable condensers, coils and verniers mounted on an old breadboard. But it had the advantage of being light and portable. And, when they tried it out with the help of their radio receiving set, it worked!
They found that, with the set’s loudspeaker disconnected, they could place their gadget several hundred feet away and hear the programs perfectly, either on the short-wave or regular broadcasting channels.
“That does it,” Donovan finally said after a careful series of night tests. “We don’t know the frequency that Cavanaugh is using as a modulator, but this thing is flexible enough to tune in on practically any wave band. Now the question becomes, when do we try it out?”
“Why not right now?” Ralph asked.
“Boyd has gone in to town, so I’m in charge of keeping an eye on the well,” said the geologist. “I can’t go with you tonight.”
“Sandy and I can handle it,” said the driller. “We’ll take the jeep. If we get in a jam we’ll send up a rocket or something.”
On the slow, twenty-mile drive to Elbow Rock, Ralph spun old tales about Ute scouting expeditions and buffalo hunts, but Sandy scarcely listened. He was feeling miserable, and wished for the first time that he was back home in Valley View.
“You don’t like what we’re doing, do you?” Ralph said at last.
“Well, gee. Eavesdropping seems sort of sneaking.”
“I know it does, but don’t forget that we’re dealing with a sneak. Tell you what: you stay in the car. I’ll take the ear in.”
“No,” Sandy said firmly. “I’ll do anything I can to help Mr. Hall. Besides, I helped build the ear and know just how it works. I’ll carry it.”
They parked as close to Cavanaugh’s brightly lighted trailer as they dared. Then Sandy strapped the detector on his chest and walked slowly up the mountain in darkness so intense and silent that it could almost be felt. Remembering the lay of the land from the time that he and Quiz had visited the spot with Pepper, he managed to stay mostly on the trail.
He was still several hundred yards from the trailer when the night exploded in a blare of savage noise. Several large dogs had started baying furiously near the trailer. A door opened. Cavanaugh shouted angrily at a pack of long-legged animals that leaped and whined in the shaft of light.
When quiet had been restored, Sandy inched forward once more. But it was no use. The chorus of barks rose louder than before and several of the dogs started in his direction. With mixed emotions of annoyance and relief, he returned to the jeep and reported.
“Dogs!” Ralph growled. “That means Cavanaugh really has something to hide. What did they look like?”
“They had long legs, sharp noses and big white teeth.”
“Doberman pinschers, I’ll bet. Say! Tim Robbins breeds Dobermans over in Bluff. They make better sheep tenders than shepherds, he claims. Let’s pay him a visit, even if it is late.” He started the jeep.
“What are you planning to do?” Sandy asked sharply.
“If Utes could behave like buffalo, there’s no reason why I can’t be a dog,” Ralph answered.
“But you don’t have a dog skin,” Sandy objected.
“I’m going to get one.”
Old man Robbins was in bed when they arrived at his home on the outskirts of the little mining town. He came downstairs in his nightshirt when he recognized Ralph’s voice, made coffee for his visitors, and listened to their request without surprise.
“Why, sure, I’ve got a few skins,” he said. “Here’s one that belonged to poor Maisie. She died of distemper last year. I was going to upholster a chair with her, but you can have her for a dollar.”
“Mind if I take a look around your runways and kennels, Dad?” Ralph asked.
“Go ahead, but don’t get yourself bit, young feller.” The old man shook his head at the strange ways of all Indians.
Five minutes later they were headed back toward Elbow Rock.
“Phooey!” said Sandy. “You smell like dog, all right.”
“I rolled around a bit in the kennels.” Ralph’s grin was just visible in the light from the dash bulb. “Now I’ve got to start thinking like a dog. Don’t bother me, human!”
When they arrived at their destination the driller took a brief lesson in the operation of the ear, slipped its harness over his shoulders, and draped Maisie’s hide around his hips.
“Keep your fingers crossed and say a prayer to the water spirits,” he whispered just before he faded into the velvety darkness.
For long moments Sandy held his breath, expecting a renewal of that wild barking. But it didn’t come. High on the Elbow Rock the aluminum trailer glowed undisturbed in the soft light pouring from its picture windows.
A trout, leaping in the stream nearby, caused the boy to start violently. He tried to relax but that only made him listen harder. Once he thought he heard a strain of music coming from the trailer. Hours later, it seemed, an owl’s hoot made his hair stir on his scalp. He smoothed down his cowlick and then gripped the wheel of the car with both hands to stop their trembling. What if Dobermans didn’t always bark before they attacked? What if Ralph was up there…
“I’m back.”
Sandy almost yelled with relief as his friend materialized out of nowhere and climbed nonchalantly into the car. “Wha…what