  At that moment, Sandy tripped over a branch, flung up his arms as he fell headlong. The rifle bullet meant for his head merely creased him instead, from shoulder to elbow. He scrambled behind a large rock, managed to get to his feet, and faced the gleaming eyes of the oncoming dogs. Something that Quiz once had read to him out of a sports magazine flashed through his mind: “If attacked by vicious dogs, hold out some object, such as your hat, at waist height. They will hesitate while they decide whether to leap over it or under it, thus giving you an advantage.” His left arm was numb from the shock of the bullet, but he managed to use it to rip the dog skin from around his waist and hold it forward. As the dogs whined and tried to make up their minds as to the best method of attack, he tore the board on which the “ear” was mounted from his chest with his good hand. Thank heaven, one end of the plank had been whittled down into a sort of handle, for easier carrying. Then he charged, swinging the improvised club like a demon. Luckily, his first blow landed squarely on the snout of a leaping dog! Sparks flashed. Pieces of equipment flew in all directions. The animal howled and rolled on the ground, holding its nose with both paws. Its companions backed away. Sandy followed up his advantage. He struck again and again. The dogs fled, howling, to a safe distance. To the right of him, the boy now heard the pounding of human feet. Cavanaugh had abandoned a frontal attack for the moment and was sprinting to cut him off from the road leading back to the village. “Don’t kill him, Red,” Pepper was shouting. “It would be murder.” “Nobody’s going to kill anybody—yet,” Cavanaugh yelled as he ran. “But we can’t let him get away, after what he may have heard. Rig another floodlight. Then come over here and help me.” Forgetful of the thorns that tore his skin and the rocks that cut his knees, Sandy wriggled, Indian fashion, into a darker spot. In his bare feet, he had no chance of reaching the road ahead of Cavanaugh, or even of staying out of his way. Keeping a wary eye on the dogs that still followed, whining with uncertainty, he ripped Maisie’s hide into pieces and bound them under his feet. There. That would be better! He made a feint for the road now—and ducked as another bullet whispered overhead and smacked into a nearby tree. He was in a real spot! If he tried to cross the bare top of the natural bridge that arched over the hole in Window Rock, he would make an ideal target, silhouetted against the moon. (Thank all the little Navajo gods and demons that Cavanaugh’s right eye must be swollen shut from the beating Ralph had given him. He was in no condition to shoot accurately even if he disregarded Pepper’s warning.) Sandy decided that his best strategy lay in hiding among the mesquite and sagebrush thickets under the pine trees that covered the side of the rock nearest the village. Kitty must have heard the racket. Perhaps she would understand what was happening and head for town to get help. A whoop of delight, followed by several quick shots, made his heart sink. “That jeep will never move again,” he heard Cavanaugh yell. The next words made him feel much better. “Come on out of the woods, driver, and give yourself up. I’ve got you cut off from the road.” Sandy dithered in his hiding place. He was feeling decidedly queer all of a sudden. The fact that his left hand felt wet and slippery brought him up short. He was bleeding steadily from that wound in his shoulder. He tried dabbing sand on the crease, but it didn’t stop the flow. Another fifteen or twenty minutes and he would be so weak, that he would fall easy prey to his pursuers. “Bring flashlights out here,” Cavanaugh was shouting to Pepper now. “We’ll beat the woods for the driver first.” Sandy bit his cold lips. Time was running out. He had to act, and act fast, before he keeled over from loss of blood. Should he throw himself on Pepper’s mercy? But, even granted that his old rival wouldn’t betray him, what good would that do? Cavanaugh had the gun! The sight of the blond boy walking reluctantly into the woods through the floodlight glare, with a heavy flashlight in either hand, gave him an idea. Or was it Quiz who told him what to do? He shook his head dazedly. Almost, he could hear Quiz saying: “Where would Professor Moriarty least expect to find you, Sherlock Holmes?” “Elementary, my dear Dr. Watson,” he whispered in reply. “In the trailer, of course.” Gripping the breadboard in both hands, he made a last weak lunge at the circling Dobermans. They fled, yelping, from this blood-spattered terror. Then he crawled frantically toward the open trailer door. Safe inside, and with the door locked behind him, he hung onto a table and stared about him with eyes that were beginning to go out of focus. He should find a cloth with which to bind up his wound, he knew. But he had no time. The glittering light-beam mechanism caught his attention. That was the key to the whole situation! It must project a million candle-power, at least, to be seen at Elbow Rock. If he could turn it on Window Rock it would light up the village as bright as day. There must be a wheel or something by which the light could be moved.... There it was! On the control board to the right! He twisted the little chrome wheel frantically, watching through a window as he did so. At first his aim was wild. Then, every street and building in Window Rock leaped into view, as though outlined by a lightning stroke. There! That would tell them something was wrong up here. He was sleepy and tired after all that effort. So sleepy! He sank into a chair in front of the beam console and pillowed his head on his bloody arms. But something nagged him. What he had done wasn’t enough. Kitty was out there alone in the woods. Cavanaugh might come pounding on the trailer door at any moment. He had to tell them ... tell them ... tell them what? Why, where he was, and what was happening, naturally! He jerked himself upright and started tearing at the mass of wiring that ran to the light beam modulator. Finally he got down to the heavy insulated lead-in wires ... tore them loose. The beam illuminating the village died away. He slapped the leads together. The light blinked on. “SOS,” he heliographed in Morse code remembered from Scouting field trips. “SOS. May Day. May Day.” Surely somebody at Window Rock would know the code. Certainly Ralph did. He repeated the international distress calls again and again. “SOS. May Day!” he spelled out, his cold fingers making many mistakes. “Sandy Steele and Kitty on the Rock. Cavanaugh trying to kill us. Send help. SOS. May Day! Sandy Steele and Kitty on the Rock. Cavanaugh....” He fell forward across the console. The smash of some heavy object against the door brought him back to semi-consciousness. “Stop that!” Cavanaugh was yelling. “Stop it or I will kill you. Stop it. Stop it!” The man sounded completely insane now. The door bulged, then broke loose from its hinges under a rain of blows. Cavanaugh stood in the entrance, his good eye wild and rolling, his rifle pointed. Behind him, Pepper appeared, still holding one of the heavy flashlights. “An Injun,” Cavanaugh gloated without recognition as he took in Sandy’s dirt-smeared, blood-caked body. “One of Hall’s dirty, stinking Injuns. This will teach you!” His finger tightened on the trigger. “Pepper!” Sandy gasped with the last remnant of his strength. “Don’t let him kill me, Pepper!” He slid to the floor as the gun went off. |
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