  “Well, how about it?” Jarrett Walz asked impatiently, as the Scouts stood mute. “My proposition is a fair one.” “Yes, it is,” Mr. Livingston acknowledged. “Then why hesitate? Are you afraid to team up with me?” “No, we’re not afraid, Mr. Walz.” “You don’t think I’m trying to outwit you?” “We’re taken by surprise,” Mr. Livingston replied. “You offer to pay all the expenses of the trip?” “I do. That is, from here to Elks Creek. Meals. Overnight lodging, if we have to hole up in Colorado.” “What can you hope to gain from such an arrangement?” Hap went on. “Nothing, probably. The chances are we’ll find Craig Warner and turn the map over to him. But if no such person exists, the map will be mine.” “And you rate the map so highly?” Walz began to feel hemmed in by his own conflicting statements. He hesitated, then said, “I want that map. Maybe I misled you at first because I didn’t know anything about you or your motives. But there’s an outside chance Stony’s map may have some value.” The Scouts were far more inclined to trust the motel owner now that he made a frank admission of his interest in the paper. “Well, what do you say?” he prodded. “We’ll have to think it over,” Mr. Livingston stalled. “How long will you need?” “We figured on going to the telegraph office again before we pull out—and to the funeral.” “I’ll meet you here at eleven o’clock,” Walz suggested. “By that time, I must have your answer.” “You’ll have it,” Mr. Livingston promised. “If we should accept, how soon could you be ready to leave?” “In ten minutes. All I need to do is toss a few things into a suitcase.” “We’ll see you at eleven o’clock,” Mr. Livingston replied. Over breakfast, the Scouts discussed the matter, finding it difficult to reach a decision. They still distrusted Jarrett Walz. On the other hand, it seemed selfish to deny him a ride to Elks Creek when his own car was not in good running order. “And he’s offered to pay all expenses,” War reminded the group as he reached for a second biscuit. “That’s quite an item.” “I’m for taking him up,” said Willie. “We’d get back to Belton City with cash in our treasury.” Mr. Livingston gazed at Jack and Ken, waiting to hear their opinions. “I don’t know,” Jack admitted frankly. “On the surface it looks okay, but—” “I feel the same,” said Ken. “Before making a decision, why not inquire in town as to Walz’ reputation?” “A good suggestion,” the Scout adviser answered. “We’ll do it on our trip to the telegraph station.” After breakfast, the Scouts struck camp, packing everything into the car and transferring the map to Mr. Livingston’s billfold for safekeeping. As they started to pull out of the parking yard, Mr. Walz came rushing out of the motel. “Don’t worry, we aren’t leaving for good,” Mr. Livingston reassured him. “We’ll see you at eleven o’clock as we promised.” At the telegraph office, the Scouts were told that no answer had been received to their telegram. Then they stopped at the post office and the bank. While the Scouts were mailing cards home, Mr. Livingston made a few inquiries about Mr. Walz. The information he received was not very helpful. However, the motel owner seemed to be well regarded in the community. “So far as I can gather, this is the picture,” Mr. Livingston told the Explorers. “Walz did give Stony a home when the old fellow wasn’t able to do much work. He’s considered a hard driver but fair. Stony wasn’t too grateful for what he received.” “Maybe we misjudged Walz,” Jack said thoughtfully. “Well, what’s our decision?” “How can we lose by taking him up?” Willie argued. “I’m for it.” The others offered no objection, so it was decided that Walz’ proposition should be accepted. “Just a word of warning,” Mr. Livingston advised. “Walz knows we have the map. Let’s not tell him who has it, or give him any detail of what it shows.” “If I know him, he’ll try to pry it out of us,” War chuckled. “But my lips are sealed.” The Scouts attended Stony’s funeral along with a few townspeople, and Walz was not present. When they drove back to the motel, he was waiting for them. “My suitcase is packed,” he announced. “Ready?” “You’re taking our acceptance for granted?” Mr. Livingston remarked dryly. “Figured you wouldn’t turn it down,” the motel owner said with a grin. “Where do I ride?” Willie slid out of the front seat to make room for him and crowded into the back with War and Jack. “If you want, I can take the wheel,” Walz offered, once his suitcase had been stowed away. “I know this road like a book.” “I’ll drive,” Mr. Livingston said, “but thanks.” The Explorers had decided to be cordial to Walz, and therefore they kept up a polite conversation. The motel owner was in a good mood and seemingly had an endless stock of stories to relate. At first the Scouts did not mind, but after an hour or so they began to weary of his chatter. When the car made its first stop at a filling station to get gas, true to his bargain Walz paid the bill. “Maybe he’ll be okay, after all,” Willie remarked to Jack as they checked the tires before driving on. “Maybe,” Jack agreed. “Time will tell.” Once the party was well beyond the Colorado border, Walz began to suggest short-cut roads which he said would greatly reduce the mileage. Feeling that the motel owner knew the country, Mr. Livingston and the Explorers accepted his advice. But as the roads became increasingly poor, they wondered if they actually were saving any time. Late in the afternoon, when they were confronted with a choice of highways, Mr. Livingston stopped the car so as to study the road map. “No. 416 will take us directly into Elks Creek,” Hap said. “With luck, we ought to get there before dark.” With his forefinger, Walz traced another route. “It’s 40 miles shorter this way,” he pointed out. “Your short cuts haven’t worked out so far,” the Scout leader objected. “But I know this country,” said Walz. “This road is paved all the way.” “All right, if you’re sure,” Mr. Livingston said, “but I don’t like the look of the sky.” Black, fast-moving clouds were swirling over the distant mountain peaks. “Oh, it may rain a little,” Walz replied carelessly. “All the more reason for taking the shorter road that’s paved.” The highway he had insisted on taking ran for a while through desolate territory, and they didn’t meet any other cars. There were no houses or filling stations, and the only persons they saw along the road were occasional Indians. However, the highway was paved, as Walz had said. Instead of having bridges, the road dipped down through dry creek beds. Jack called attention to a sign which read: “Notice to Motorists: Do not attempt to cross if creek is running more than six inches deep.” “Sometimes these creeks come up fast,” Walz explained carelessly. “The mountains feed the streams at a terrific rate, especially if there’s been a heavy downpour above.” “Cheerful thought,” commented Ken, studying the clouds again. “I’ve read of cars being swept away,” Mr. Livingston remarked. “Maybe we should have taken the other road.” Walz regarded him scornfully. “Why, the creeks are bone dry.” “They won’t be for long,” Mr. Livingston replied. “It’s starting to rain.” Huge drops splashed the windshield. Faster and faster they came down. Mr. Livingston suggested pulling up until the rain was over. “That may be an hour,” Walz rasped. He was looking worried. “This is coming down like a regular cloudburst. If we don’t get through this area, we’ll be trapped maybe for half a day between creeks.” The Scouts said nothing. They were deeply annoyed, however, that the motel owner by his stubborn insistence had brought them to this sorry situation. Mr. Livingston hesitated and then decided to accept Walz’ advice. He drove on. Rain was already falling so fast that it became difficult for him to see the road ahead. “This is awful!” the Scout leader gasped. “We ought to stop—” “No!” Walz shouted. “Another creek lies ahead. Once we get through that, we’ll be all right.” “How far?” “Only a mile or two.” With a worried shake of his head, Mr. Livingston kept on. Rain fell in a deluge, threatening to damp out the car motor. “The creek is just ahead,” Walz encouraged him. “How deep is the water running?” the Scout leader demanded. Water sprayed the windshield and he could not make out even the drop-off of the pavement into the depression. “It’ll be okay,” Walz assured him. “The rain hasn’t been falling long. Keep on.” Mr. Livingston obeyed and immediately regretted it. The moment the car rolled down into the creek bed, he saw that the water was far higher than he had imagined. It swirled angrily around the tires and kept creeping higher. Too late, Mr. Livingston saw he could not back out. “Jeepers!” Walz exclaimed. “The rain must have started earlier in the mountains! Keep going, man! Keep going!” Mr. Livingston was doing his best, but the motor sputtered and died. The car rolled a few feet farther and stopped in the lowest point of the raging torrent. |
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