Gary jumped to his feet and grabbed his rifle. He ran swiftly out into the center of the canyon. He turned and clearly saw a hatless man standing at the edge of the rim looking down at him, but Gary could not see the shadowed face. "Who are you? What do you want?" he demanded angrily.
The man raised a rifle. Gary threw up his own gun and fired high over the unknown's head. He slammed out three more rapid-fire rounds. The man jumped out of sight. The crashing echoes bounded and rebounded between the canyon walls in roaring confusion.
"You loco?" screamed Tuck.
Gary waved Tuck on. Lobo sped toward Gary, barking deeply. Gary wasted no time. Tired as he was his feet fairly seemed to fly over the rough ground. This time Tuck did not pass him. They were half a mile down the canyon when Gary threw himself on the ground to regain his breath. Tuck staggered up and fell down beside him. There was now no sign of life up the moonlit canyon.
When they had their breath back they trudged on to the south. Far ahead of them they could see where the canyon floor slanted down toward the distant desert, silvered by the moonlight.
The haunting cry arose behind them like the dire wailing of a doomed soul, echoing eerily down the canyon until at last it died away. This time the boys did not stop for breath nor look back until they reached the hidden mouth of the canyon.
10
Clues from the Sky
The moon had died, leaving behind it an intense darkness that cloaked the mountains with only the wolf-fanged peaks showing against the dark blue blanket of the sky. Two tired boys trudged toward the Cole ranch house. Gary turned to look at Tuck. "We still have two days," he said, "in which to hunt." He eyed his lean companion. Tuck had hardly spoken since they had emerged from the mouth of the canyon into the desert. Maybe Tucker C. Browne had his belly full of treasure hunting.
Tuck yawned. He trudged on, shifting his shotgun from one shoulder to the other.
"Tuck?" said Gary uneasily. He himself wanted to keep on searching, but he'd hardly want to do it without Tuck.
Tuck yawned again. "Well, kid, it's like this," he said quietly. He paused.
"Go on, Tuck! Say it! You want to quit!"
Tuck turned slowly. "What's with you?" he said in astonishment. "I was about to say we've got as good a lead as we could wish. It's a lead-pipe cinch that the treasure has to be back there beyond that water hole. I figure we can go right back into the canyon we just left. One of us can stand guard while the other hunts for more symbols."
"What about that man, or thing, we saw back there?"
Tuck spat indelicately. "Well, if it was a ghost, he won't be around during daylight hours. If it was a man, he knows we mean business. Man, you scared the Hades out of me when you opened up on him." Tuck grinned. "If that wasn't a ghost, I'll just bet whoever it was, was a mite worried himself with all that lead whistling over his head. Hawww!"
Gary couldn't help but grin himself. Then he looked down at Lobo. The dog had hunched his shoulders and was standing still, looking intently toward the darkened house. "Wait," said Gary quickly to Tuck.
They stood there in the windy darkness. The windmill creaked softly. There was no other sound. "Go on, Lobo," said Gary. He loaded his rifle. The dog trotted ahead and squirmed beneath a wire fence. The two boys climbed over it and eyed the house. The dog padded on, circled the house, then came back. He looked up at Gary as though to let him know it was all right to go to the house.
Gary opened the back door and walked in. Until he lighted the room there was a tautness of fear within him. He stared at the once immaculate kitchen. It was a shambles. Drawers hung open, tea towels were scattered on the floor, cabinet doors gaped and even the oven door hung open. Tuck whistled softly. "Mice?" he suggested.
Lobo padded into the living room, followed by the boys. The room was a mess. Chair cushions had been removed, table drawers opened, books tumbled from the shelves, the rug peeled back, and the couch overturned, with the padding slit open by a knife.
It was Gary's room that had suffered the most damage. The mattress had been torn to pieces.
The lining had been pulled loose from the closet. His books were scattered all over. The pockets of his clothing had been pulled out. Gary felt sick. He looked at Tuck. "Oh, Lord," he said, "you were supposed to be watching the place until I got back."
"Yeh," said Tuck with a weak grin. He looked about. "I don't think we have any doubt about what they were looking for in here."
Gary shook his head. "The windmill," he said quickly. "I wonder?"
"Don't go near it now!" warned Tuck.
"There'd be no one watching nearby," said Gary. "Lobo would let us know."
Tuck shrugged. "Shall we risk it?"
Gary walked to the front door. He flicked off the lights and peered through the glass window set in the door. It was as dark as the inside of a boot out there — a mysterious, clinging darkness that seemed to be a menace in itself. He eased open the door. "Take a look, Lobo," he said in a low voice.
The dog vanished in the darkness. In a few minutes he was back and he dropped to his belly on the porch. Gary walked to the windmill and looked up the ladder. It was possible that a person at a distance might be able to skyline him up there. It wasn't a pleasant thought, and a .50/110 slug could bore a big hole in a man. He climbed slowly and as quietly as possible, reached the top, felt beneath the loose board, and almost panicked. The derrotero was not there!
He clung to the ladder and peered out into the darkness, wondering who or what was out there. Perhaps the person who had removed the derrotero was still somewhere nearby. There was a green sickness within him. To find the derrotero after years of search and then to lose it again! He eased his hand beneath the board and felt along it. Something rustled dryly and fell from the platform. He almost panicked again. Swiftly he descended the ladder and dropped to hands and knees, pawing the damp ground. When at last his hands closed on the folded chart, he breathed a silent prayer, then hurried back to the house. He did not feel at ease until the door had been locked and barred behind him. He wordlessly handed the derrotero to Tuck, who took it as though it were red hot. He juggled it a little. "What do I do with it?" he asked.
Gary leaned against the wall. "We'd better take it with us tomorrow. Right now I'm going to get some sleep. I want to be out of here before dawn, as we were this morning."
Tuck nodded. "I'll take the first watch," he said. "Tired as I am, I can't sleep right now."
Gary walked into his room and lifted the ripped mattress onto his bed. It was no time to be choosy. He pulled off his hat and boots and dropped onto the mattress. It seemed as though he were asleep the instant he hit it.
When he opened his eyes again it was still dark. He had no idea as to what time it was. The house was deathly quiet. He sat up and dropped his legs over the side of the bed. Something seemed to warn him as he sat there; he reached for his rifle and then stood up. He stood there for a few minutes, listening with cocked head for a sound. Gary walked softly to the bedroom door and through the dark hallway to the living room. Gentle and steady breathing sounded from the couch. Gary tiptoed across the littered room and looked down at Tuck, sound asleep, faithful as ever to his trust. He couldn't help but grin. He was a little startled when the pendulum clock struck one. It seemed much later than that. He reached out to arouse Tuck and his hand stopped midway. A grating noise came from the back of the house.
Gary turned quickly. Lobo was either sound asleep or had wandered off, as he often did at odd hours. The kitchen door squeaked as it was opened, and Gary remembered then that he had not locked it. He reached down and clamped a hand on Tuck's mouth. He looked down into Tuck's wide eyes and shook his head, then released his grasp. Tuck stood up and reached for his shotgun but Gary again shook his head. The scatter-gun was too dangerous in close quarters.