  “We’re in it now!” Walz shrieked, staring in horror at the fast-rising water. “The car will be swept away!” Mr. Livingston tried desperately to get the motor started. “You should have seen the water was too deep for a crossing!” Walz whimpered. “It’s rising so fast you can see it!” Ken, who was riding in the center of the front seat, shoved past the motel owner and got out of the car. Jack, Willie and War, in the back seat, followed suit. The water was up to their knees and rising unbelievably fast. “Altogether, push!” Jack ordered. The four applied their shoulders and shoved. The car moved ahead through the swirling, raging water, but could not make the steep incline. Back it rolled. “Again!” Jack urged. Walz did not offer to help, though he must have known that his strength was vitally needed in this desperate race against time. “We’ll never get ’er out,” Willie muttered in despair. Once more the Scouts heaved, and again the car began to roll. This time, as the uphill grade became too much of a barrier, Mr. Livingston helped move the car on the battery. Inch by inch it crept up the sloping bank to the higher road above. War made a last powerful shove, lost his balance, and sprawled in the torrent. Jack grabbed him, and they all splashed out of the stream. Wet and bedraggled, they climbed back into the car to consider their plight. “I suspect the spark plug is damp,” Mr. Livingston said, getting out a handkerchief with which to wipe it. “The engine stalled even before we hit the deep water.” Despite protests from the Scouts, he took his turn in the rain. Walz, however, made no offer to help. Scowling, he sat huddled in the steamy car. After twenty minutes of fussing with the spark plug, the Scout leader managed to get the engine started again. By that time, the rain had slackened considerably. “Any more creek beds ahead?” Mr. Livingston asked Walz as the car crept forward once more. “No,” Walz snapped. “I suppose you’re blaming me for what happened?” “I didn’t hear anyone making any complaints,” the Scout leader replied. “An accident is an accident.” “Well, it wasn’t my fault. How was I to know there had been a cloudburst up in the mountains?” “It’s always a wise precaution—” Mr. Livingston started to say and then cut himself off. He finished: “Well, we’re lucky we didn’t lose the car, or at least damage it. The rain has almost stopped, too.” In their wet clothes and shoes the Scouts were rather uncomfortable. At the first filling station, thirty miles farther on, they stopped, unpacked the luggage, and changed into dry clothing. Walz fretted at the delay. “It will be after dark before we get to Elks Creek,” he complained. “Sorry,” Jack replied shortly. “Sometimes the shortest road is the longest way to a destination.” “Real philosophical, aren’t you?” Walz asked, his lips curling. To Jack, it was plain that the motel owner found it hard to hold his temper in check. Obviously he had no liking for the Scouts or Mr. Livingston and tolerated their company only to gain his objective. As for the Explorers, they now had even less respect for Walz than they had had before. His judgment, they thought, had been proven faulty. He was sullen, selfish, and, in addition, he had a cowardly streak. After the rain, night came on fast. The Scouts would have preferred to camp, but Walz kept insisting that they push on to Elks Creek. Actually, it was 9:25 P.M. when the car finally pulled into that little mountainside hamlet. There was no suitable camp site, and for once the wearied Scouts had no enthusiasm about finding one. Mr. Livingston suggested that they all spend the night at the town’s only hotel, an unimposing wooden structure. “At my expense, naturally,” Mr. Walz said sarcastically. The Scout leader shot him a quizzical look. “It was your proposition—” “Yes, it was! Well, I’m not kicking. Not if you keep your end of the bargain. If we fail to find Craig Warner, you turn the map over to me.” “Yes, if we’re convinced he can’t possibly be found.” “It’s too late tonight to try to find Red Cliffs Ranch,” Walz went on. “We’ll register at this dump of a hotel. While you’re getting some supper, I’ll make a few inquiries.” The Scouts took rooms, cleaned themselves up a bit, and joined Mr. Livingston in the dining room. A silent, shy waitress served them an excellent meal consisting of steak, potatoes, and fresh peas. For dessert came large cuts of juicy apple pie with big wedges of cheese. “Say, this is real food!” Willie said with relish. “A mighty welcome change from that eternal stew Jack is always feeding us.” “Just for that, you’ll get beans next time!” Jack retorted good-naturedly. “Such gratitude!” “The best part of this meal is that it’s free,” War chortled. “I hope so,” responded Mr. Livingston as he signed the check with Walz’ name. “But sometimes things don’t work out as we expect.” “Meaning Walz is likely to welch on the deal?” “Not if he gets what he wants, War.” “And if he doesn’t?” “Well, in that case, we may see fireworks. I have a hunch—” Mr. Livingston left his remark unfinished, for Jack flashed him a warning glance. Jarrett Walz had just come into the dining room. Crossing over to the Scouts’ table, he sat down. “Well, friends,” he began, “I’ve made a few inquiries. The outcome is just about what I expected.” “Craig Warner doesn’t live here?” Ken asked quickly. “He did live here years ago. Then he moved north. Three years ago, he died of pneumonia.” “Craig Warner’s dead?” War echoed flatly. “Yes. It’s disappointing but, frankly, I expected it.” “You expected it?” Jack asked. “I mean, it’s no more than I expected. Stony probably hadn’t written to Warner in six or eight years.” “It seems our trip here is without purpose,” Mr. Livingston observed, looking down at his plate. “I admit I am disappointed.” “I’ll be starting back to Rocking Horse early tomorrow morning,” Walz said briskly. “I can catch a train at nine o’clock. You boys will probably want to get an early start east, so the best thing would be to give it to me now.” “The map?” Mr. Livingston asked. “Naturally. That was the agreement.” “Why are you sure Craig Warner is dead?” the Scout leader demanded. “A dozen people told me so.” “Can you give me their names?” “You doubt my word?” “No, but in a matter such as this, we can’t afford to make a mistake.” “I don’t recall to whom I talked,” Walz said with a scowl. “But the dope was straight. Warner is dead. I’ve kept my agreement. Now I want that map.” “See us in the morning at breakfast,” Mr. Livingston said suavely. “I told you I have to take an early train.” “We’ll be up before seven o’clock,” Mr. Livingston promised him. “Meet us here at seven thirty. Okay?” Walz started to argue, then suddenly changed his mind. “All right,” he agreed. “Breakfast at seven thirty. Get a good sleep. You still have a long ride before you.” In leaving the dining room, the Scouts casually inquired of the hotel owner if he knew anyone by the name of Craig Warner. “Never heard of him,” he replied. Once the Scouts were in Mr. Livingston’s room, they discussed turning the map over to the motel owner. “I may have to do it in the morning,” Mr. Livingston said reluctantly, “but, somehow, his information doesn’t satisfy me.” “Why not do a little checking of our own?” Jack proposed. The idea appealed to the others. It was decided, though, that Walz might become resentful if he saw the entire crew leaving the hotel. So Jack and Ken were assigned to tour the town to see what they could learn. The two were away from the hotel more than an hour. When finally they returned, they fairly burst into the Scout leader’s room where the others had gathered. “What did you find out?” War demanded, getting up from the bed where he had been sprawling. “Plenty!” Jack announced. “We talked to three people,” Ken said. “The first two had never heard of Craig Warner. Then we ran into an old-timer, a rancher who has lived in this country most of his life.” “What did he say?” Willie asked impatiently. “Craig Warner is very much alive,” Jack announced. “In fact, he lives less than forty miles from here—not at Red Cliffs Ranch, though. Another place.” “Then Walz lied!” “Ken and I think so,” Jack said soberly. “He’s made up his mind to get that map at any cost. And it’s up to us to prevent him!” |
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