Professor Walsh stood behind them, his eyes twinkling behind his thick glasses.
“Doing some research, boys?” he asked.
“Yes, sir,” replied Pete. “We want to find out all about Moaning Valley.”
“Good, good,” Professor Walsh said encouragingly. “That’s just what I’m doing myself. I haven’t had a great deal of luck, though. There doesn’t seem to be much except unreliable legends… Have you been to the Fiesta?”
“Yes, sir,” Pete replied enthusiastically. “Boy, they sure have some great horses.”
“It’s a fine celebration,” the professor agreed. “I think I’ll go take a look since I’m not having much luck here. How are you boys going to get back to the ranch?”
“We have our bikes, sir,” Bob said.
“Well, then, I’ll see you later.” Professor Walsh turned to leave.
Bob hesitated, then asked, “Did you happen to see a tall man with an eye patch while you were in the library?”
Walsh shook his head. “No, boys, I didn’t. You mean that same man you saw last night?”
“Yes, sir,” Pete said.
“Right here in town, eh?” Professor Walsh looked thoughtful. “No, I haven’t seen him.”
After the professor had gone, Bob and Pete went to work. They found three or four books that mentioned Moaning Valley, but none of them added anything to what they already knew. Then Bob discovered a small book, with yellowing, wrinkled pages, which was a complete history of Moaning Valley up to the year 1941. It was on the wrong shelf, which was probably the reason Professor Walsh hadn’t seen it.
They borrowed the book with Mrs. Dalton’s library card. Outside, the afternoon was still hot and sunny and the parade was just ending. People were streaming away from the main part of the town, many of them still in costume. The boys tied their packages on the luggage racks of their bikes and started home. Soon they began the long climb up San Mateo Pass. They rode as far up as they could with ease, then dismounted and continued on foot.
Stopping to rest a moment, they looked out over the water towards the Channel Islands, hazy in the distance.
“Gosh, I’d like to get out to those islands,” Pete said.
“They actually herd cattle on some of them,” Bob said. “Cowboys and all, right out in the ocean.”
Near the islands they could see the slim grey hulls of Navy vessels on manoeuvres.
A car was coming up the highway from the direction of Santa Carla, but the boys were busy gazing out at the ocean. They paid no attention to the car until they suddenly realized, from the rasp of the motor, that it was travelling at top speed.
Whirling around, they discovered that it was partly off the road and heading straight for them.
“Look out, Bob!” Pete shouted.
Both boys leaped out of the path of the onrushing car just in time. It roared past them, veered back on to the road and raced away.
But their desperate leaps had carried them over the edge of the road. Slipping, unable to hold on, they plunged towards the deep chasm far below.
10
Jupiter Reveals a Plan
Pete slid down the steep incline over sharp rocks and brush that tore at his clothes. He clawed at the bushes to slow his fall, for the slope ended in an almost sheer drop ahead. But the vegetation was not strong enough to hold him. He was only some four feet from empty space when he crashed into the heavy trunk of a twisted tree.
“Oof!” Pete grunted, as his fingers instinctively closed around the thick trunk.
For a moment he lay still, clinging to the tree-trunk and breathing heavily. Then he realized that he was alone.
“Bob!” he cried.
There was no answer. Below him was nothing but yawning empty space.
“Bob!” he called again frantically.
There was movement just to Pete’s left. Bob’s face peered up through thick bushes.
“I’m all right… I guess,” Bob said weakly. “I’m on a kind of ledge. Only… I can’t move my leg!”
“Try moving it just a little.”
Pete waited while he saw faint movement in the bushes where Bob lay. Then Bob’s voice came more strongly.
“I don’t think it’s bad,” Bob reported. “I can move it. It was just twisted under me. It hurts, but not so much.”
“Do you think you can crawl back up?” Pete asked after a minute.
“I don’t know, Pete. It’s awful steep.”
“And if we slip — ” Pete did not have to finish that statement.
“I guess we’d better try yelling,” Bob said.
“Loud,” agreed Pete.
He opened his mouth to yell, but what came out was only a faint whisper. For just as he started to shout he spied a long face peering down from the edge of the road above. A face with a wicked scar and an eye patch!
The boys and the man with the scarred face stared at each other for a full ten seconds. Then, abruptly, the face vanished and they heard the sound of running feet, a car engine, and the squeal of tyres as the car roared away.
Its motor had scarcely faded out of hearing when the boys heard other vehicles approaching.
“Yell!” Pete cried.
Both boys shouted as loud as they could, and the sound echoed through the mountains. Brakes squealed and gravel crunched above. Two kindly faces peered over the edge of the road.
Soon a thick rope came flying down to Pete. He wrapped it twice around his waist, held the loose end in both hands, and was pulled up to the road. The rope was thrown down again, and a moment later Bob stood beside Pete.
Bob tested his leg and decided it was probably only sprained. The burly truck driver who had supplied the rope was going in the direction of The Crooked-Y, and he insisted that the boys accept a ride with him. Less than fifteen minutes later they were deposited with their bikes at the front gate of the ranch. They waved their thanks to the truck driver, and limped up to the porch of the ranch house.
Mrs. Dalton came out of the house and stared at them. “Good heavens! What happened? Your clothes are a sight!”
Pete started to answer when he felt a light kick from Bob.
“We went downhill too fast and fell off our bikes in the pass, ma’am,” Bob explained, which was more or less true. “I hurt my leg a little, so a man gave us a ride.”
“Your leg?” Mrs. Walton said. “Let me see, Bob.”
Like most ranch women Mrs. Dalton was a good practical nurse. She pronounced Bob’s leg uninjured except for a mild sprain. No doctor would be needed, but Bob would have to rest his leg as much as possible. Mrs. Dalton sat him on the porch in a comfortable chair and brought him a pitcher of lemonade.
“But you can get to work, Pete Crenshaw,” she said. “Mr. Dalton isn’t back yet so you can start by haying the horses in the front corral.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Pete said hastily.
Bob sat in the shade with his leg up on a chair and grinned while his friend worked in the hot sun. Pete glared at the smaller boy, but he didn’t really mind. It felt good to be working with his muscles in the warm sun.
Just before supper-time Jupiter pulled up in the truck from his uncle’s salvage yard with big, blond Konrad at the wheel. Pete helped Jupiter unload the scuba equipment and store it in the barn, along with another small, mysterious bundle.
Konrad stayed for supper, and Mr. Dalton admired the enormous stature and muscles of Titus Jones’s Bavarian helper.
“How would you like to work on a ranch, Konrad?” Mr. Dalton said. “If I had you with me, I could afford to lose ten hands.”
“You need help, maybe for a few weeks,” Konrad said, “Mr. Titus let Hans and me come to help, sure.”
Mr. Dalton thanked him. “I hope it won’t come to that. I’m sure this will all blow over soon. Young Castro says he isn’t frightened, and he’s going to talk to the men when he comes out of the hospital.”