The Sandy Steele Mystery MEGAPACK®: 6 Young Adult Novels (Complete Series). Roger Barlow
There was no rope in the truck, so Sandy snatched up a coil of heavy wire cable used to lower electric logs into test wells. With it over his shoulder, he tore out into the storm after the driller.
They got the jeep going after considerable cranking and headed downstream. It was a nip and tuck race since there was no trail along the gorge. But Ralph put the car in four-wheel drive and tore along over rocks and through flooded washes while Sandy hung onto the windshield frame for dear life. Finally they managed to pull ahead of the tossing barge.
“There’s a rapids about five miles downstream,” Ralph shouted above the thunder that rolled back and forth like cannon shots among the buttes and cliffs. “He’ll never go farther than that. The only thing I can do is to stand by there and try to throw him a line. It’s a long chance. Thank heaven and the water spirits that I learned to rope horses when I was a kid.”
They reached the rapids with only seconds to spare. The Indian fastened one end of the cable to the power takeoff at the rear of the jeep and coiled the rest of it with great care at the edge of the gorge. Then he stood, braced against the howling wind, swinging the heavy log in his right hand.
“Here he comes,” Ralph said. “What a shame that damned fools often look like heroes. Your friend is probably thinking he’s Lewis, Clark and Paul Revere rolled into one. Stand by to start the takeoff and reel him in if I hook him, Sandy… There he goes. There he goes! Stand by!”
Pepper was fighting the rapids now, like some yellow-haired Viking out of the past. It was no use. Halfway through, the awkward barge hit a submerged rock. Slowly its bow reared into the air. The heavy pipe with which it had been loaded started cascading into the boiling water.
Pepper had enough presence of mind to drop the useless sweep, and scramble out of the path of the lengths of pipe as they flew like jackstraws. As he managed to grab the uptilting rail, Ralph’s mighty arm swung back and forward. The end of the cable carrying the log paid out smoothly. Out and down it sped in a long arc.
It struck the boat and slid slowly along the rapidly sinking rail. After one wild look upward, Pepper understood what had happened. He snatched the wire as it went by and looped it twice around his waist.
“Haul away,” Ralph whooped to Sandy. “We’ve caught our fish.”
As the jeep’s motor roared and the takeoff spun, Pepper was snatched from his perch and dragged helter-skelter through the wild waters. Minutes later Ralph dragged him over the edge of the cliff, choking and half drowned.
“No real damage except a few nasty bruises,” the driller grunted after he had applied artificial respiration with more vigor than was really needed. “How do you feel, bud?”
“Awful!” Pepper groaned. Then he amazed them by sitting up and glaring at them.
“That was…a stinking trick,” he croaked after he had spat out a mouthful of dirty water. “Stringing cable…capsizing my barge… I’d have made it.”
“Whaaat?” Sandy hardly believed his ears.
“I’d have made it, I tell you! I would have!” Pepper wailed hysterically. “Then you…then you…” He retched miserably.
“Listen, kid,” Ralph snapped as he half-carried the boy to the jeep. “Your Red Cavanaugh ought to be strung up for egging you on to try a stunt like that.”
“No!” Tears dripped down Pepper’s dirty cheeks. “My idea. He didn’t know.”
“Bunk! You mean he didn’t know you had built a barge and loaded it with pipe? Don’t lie! Your boss is a stinking, no-good, lowdown louse.”
“Oh, no!” Pepper tried to pull free, then leaned against the side of the car and clung there like a half-drowned monkey. “Red’s best boss a man ever had. He’s…he’s wonderful… Likes good music…dogs…Indians. I’d die for Red.”
“That’s the point.” Ralph rummaged in the back of the jeep, found Maisie’s mangy hide, and wrapped it around the shivering boy. “You almost did die. Cavanaugh’s next door to a murderer.”
Pepper stared at them as if he were waking from a dream.
“You really believe that, Sandy?” he gulped weakly.
“I know it, Pepper.” Torn between pity and anger, Sandy gripped the blond boy’s arm. “Cavanaugh’s a crook!”
“Crook?” Pepper babbled. “No, no!” His knees sagged and they just managed to catch him as he fell.
“A strange boy,” said Ralph as they drove back to camp with the would-be Viking sleeping the sleep of exhaustion between them. “He’s in trouble, some way. Maybe he was trying to prove himself, like young Indians once did before they could become braves.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Serendipity
Pepper was black, blue, stiff and somewhat chastened when he ate breakfast with Ralph and Sandy the next morning. Also, he was disturbed by the fact that Cavanaugh’s plane had come over at dawn, circled the wrecked barge in the rapids for several minutes, and then scooted eastward without landing.
“He must have known I planned to run the river,” the blond boy admitted. “But why do you suppose he didn’t stop to ask whether you folks had seen me?”
“Probably was afraid to.” Ralph attacked a big plate of ham and scrambled eggs. “Figures he may be blamed for letting you drown, so he’s gone home to frame an alibi. Won’t he be surprised when you show up in one of our supply trucks!”
“Gee whiz! Do you really think he’s that bad, Mr. Salmon?”
“I think he’s worse. See here, kid. Why don’t you stop working for that heel and come over here? I’m sure John will give you a roustabout job.”
“No.” Pepper shook his head stubbornly. “I signed a contract and I can’t go back on my word. Besides, I haven’t seen him do anything really bad. I’ll admit that some of the things he does seem, well, sort of queer. But maybe you’re just too suspicious.”
“Maybe.” Ralph washed down a hunk of Ching Chao’s good apple pie with half a cup of steaming coffee. “Well, it’s your funeral.”
“I’ll keep my eyes open after this.” Pepper rose as a honk from the truck told him it was time to get going. “Thanks for everything. And I really do mean for everything.”
The Indian stood up and stretched like a lazy panther as he watched their visitor depart. “Crazy kid,” he said. “Well, it’s time for us to be getting back to the mines, Sandy. Don’s staying here for a few days to run some final tests. He has assigned our group to start surveying the other structure. So pick up your rock hammer and stadia rod. Hike!”
The new location proved to be several miles north of the river in a tumbled and desolate region of weathered buttes and washes that already were dry as bone.
“Geologists call those buttes ‘diatremes,’” Stack, the surveyor, explained to the crew as they unloaded equipment at a central spot. “They stick up like sore thumbs because they’re really vents from ancient volcanoes. The lava they’re made of doesn’t erode much although the surrounding sedimentary rocks have been worn away in the course of ages. There are at least 250 diatremes scattered through this Colorado Plateau area, and some of them are rich in minerals. So keep your eyes open while you’re prowling.”
“Prowling” was exactly the word for what the crew did, Sandy decided after a few days in the broiling sun. He had to admit that the territory was beautiful, in its wild way, but he decided that it was more fit for mountain goats than human beings. More and more, as he slowly worked his way from one rod location to another, measured the slope of exposed strata with his Brunton compass, or chipped rock samples for analysis back at camp, he began to dream of the soft green hills and winding streams near Valley View.
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