Gary shrugged. He started forward, walking quietly, although no one near The Needle could possibly have heard footsteps on the playa. Still, it was said that Asesino had supernatural powers, or at least highly sensitive hearing and sight. As long as it was dark he could not see to shoot. But supposing he did not stay near The Needle?
The ground sloped upward toward the mouth of the canyon below The Needle. Higher and higher the two boys went until they could see the distant lights of The Wells clearly against the darkness of the desert.
There was a faint suggestion of moonlight in the east when Gary stopped. The huge bulk of The Needle seemed to tower over them, although it was a good half-mile away. The wind whispered down the canyon, rustling the brush and murmuring against the canyon walls.
"Wait," said Tuck. "Maybe we ought to wait until tomorrow, Gary."
Gary turned. "You were the one who wanted to sneak in here before moonrise, keeping quiet as the grave."
"Did you have to say that?" hissed Tuck.
Gary walked on, peering ahead, past the dark bulk of The Needle. There wasn't much to see. He didn't really know why they had come in there, except that this weekend would probably be his last real chance to probe the mysteries of the place.
They squatted down behind a dike of rock that hid them completely except for their heads which protruded above the rock like the heads of two turtles encased in one shell.
Slowly the new moon came up, first flooding the wide desert in cold silvery light, then penetrating the canyon to light the western wall, although the eastern wall was still thick in shrouding shadows.
The two boys stared at that eastern wall. Somewhere on it was supposedly marked an ancient Spanish mining symbol. That same symbol was also supposed to be marked on the treasure chart left to Pete Cole by his father, but Pete had never been able to quite remember its exact location, or what it was. There were quite a few symbols in the old Spanish miner's code, some of them with varying meanings, some of them important, most of them of little importance. Although the existence of the symbol on the eastern canyon wall was doubtful, it was a well-known fact that there were many symbols scattered throughout the Espectros. Many men had seen them, and Gary's great-grandfather had made a chart of them and had tracked down their meanings. Gary had been given the chart by his father and he had memorized all of the cryptic markings. In fact it had been that very chart which had sparked his abiding interest in lost treasures and in the Lost Espectro Mine in particular.
Time dragged past, and then suddenly the moonlight began to creep along the eastern wall of the canyon, while two almost breathless boys stared at it until their eyes ached. Forgotten was the threat of Asesino and the unsolved mysteries of the Espectros.
The moonlight was now flooding the area where Gary had often thought he had seen something that was not a natural feature of the canyon.
Just as the moon completely illuminated the wall a mournful cry came drifting down the silent canyon on the cold night wind. It seemed to emanate from the very bowels of the upper canyon, or from an opened grave. Gary quickly levered a round of .30/30 into his rifle chamber, knowing full well that it would be of little use against the thing that had emitted that ghostly sound.
Tuck gripped his friend so hard by the arm that Gary winced. "Look!" he croaked.
The moonlight flooded the naked rock, and midway up the wall was a line, seemingly sharply etched — a long, long line that trended around a curved shoulder of rock. "Is it man-made or natural?" whispered Tuck.
Gary stared at it. "Only one way to find out," he said quietly.
"You're not going out there, are you?"
Gary did not answer. He leaned his rifle against the dike and walked around the end of the rock formation, keeping as much as possible in the shelter of scattered rocks and boulders and clumps of brush, until he could see that the line continued farther around the curve of rock. He wanted to see the end of it. Perhaps it was a gigantic arrow, pointing to the particular branch canyon where the Lost Espectro was. Perhaps it was a horizontal cross which indicated the same thing as the arrow, or a huge depiction of a bowie knife, also indicating a specific direction. He had to know!
The haunting cry came faintly down the canyon. Gary's throat went dry and his heart thudded against his ribs. He was getting awfully close to The Needle — too close perhaps. He could almost see where the line ended. He hurried forward, getting careless in his haste. He could hear Tuck panting along behind him.
The moon crept along the bald rock face. The moving light was a lodestone that Gary found impossible to resist. Forgotten were the warnings he had received.
He could see something now. He ran forward, head upraised, staring at that thin etched line on the whitish rock. Any second now he would know the secret.
The rifle shot crashed loudly in the stillness of the canyon. The slug whispered through the air just above Gary's head, and the harsh report of the rifle slammed back and forth between the canyon walls raising the hollow echoes.
Gary whirled and saw that he was beyond the towering mass of The Needle. He took off down the canyon. His booted feet slammed against the hard ground like pistons and his breath came harshly in his dry throat. Fast as he was — and Gary had lettered in track at high school just the season before the summer — a gaunt figure passed him as though he were marking time. A strange, thin figure like an awkward crane, head outthrust, thin arms pumping up and down, big feet slapping the ground lightly, wheezing breath pumping from a gaping mouth, flew by him. Tuck Browne easily cleared a four-foot-high rock dike, the very picture of grace and motion, in ideal high-hurdle form, striking the ground like a feather on the far side, losing not a second of rhythm in his incredible burst of speed.
They passed the mouth of the canyon and headed toward the jeep. Gary reached it in time to see Tuck dive under it like a baseball player sliding home. He dragged the lean boy from beneath the jeep, shoved him into it, leaped in himself, turned on the ignition, shifted into first, and whirled the vehicle around, slamming it into second, ramming down on the accelerator to gather speed. He shifted into third as they reached the road and raced for home, raising a thick plume of dust behind them.
Not until they were inside the house with the thick door shut and barred did they look at each other with wide eyes. "It was Asesino all right," said Tuck.
"Did you see him?"
"Sure! Rose up like a jack-in-the-box atop The Needle! Aimed right at us! Lordy! Bullet nearly parted my hair, Gary!"
Cold sweat trickled down Gary's sides. He wiped the sweat from his face and grinned weakly. "Never saw you move so fast off that Honda."
Tuck nodded. "You and your letter," he scoffed. "Man, I was accelerating! Wasn't even out of second when I reached the jeep." Tuck walked to the refrigerator and opened it. He turned, and the light from inside the box accented his sharp features. "Come to think of it, Gary, I know how he got wise to us."
"Go on."
"The moonlight was shining off the windshield of the jeep like a sheet of silver. Could be seen for miles."
Gary leaned against the wall. "Never thought of that," he said.
Tuck selected a cold chicken leg. "Close," he said. He looked at Gary. "You don't suppose he'll come down here tonight, do you, Gary?"
Gary sat down on a chair and reached for a Coke from the refrigerator. "Quien sabe? Left my rifle up there."
"Great, oh great," murmured Tuck. "And Lobo isn't even here." He sank his fangs into the chicken leg.
Later, as they got into Gary's big bed, Tuck placed a hatchet under his pillow. "Might want to cut some wood later on," he said casually.