Читать книгу The Sandy Steele Mystery MEGAPACK®: 6 Young Adult Novels (Complete Series) - Roger Barlow - Страница 14

CHAPTER NINE

Fighting Fire with Fire

When he got back to the well Sandy found that Hall had already set out on his fund-raising campaign while Donovan had locked himself in his trailer laboratory and was running analyses on oil samples he had taken before the cement was poured. Ralph had just finished welding a heavy cap to the top of the casing.

“I defy anybody to find out what’s down there until we’re ready to let them know,” he said as he grinned at the tired and dirty boy. The grin changed to a frown. “What have you been up to this time, Sandy? You look like something the cat refused to drag in!”

When he learned about the events at Kitty’s school, the driller nodded grimly.

“I warned you about the curly wolves,” he said. “Go get cleaned up and have some supper. Then come over to the lab. We’ll talk to Don about this.”

The geologist smoked thoughtfully while Sandy reported. Then he knocked out his pipe and said, “He’s impossible.”

“Who’s impossible?” Ralph asked.

“This man Cavanaugh. No man can spread himself as thin as he has been doing. Look at it this way.” He held up a long finger stained with chemicals. “First, he’s bidding for helium leases on land where he wouldn’t be allowed to drill. Second”—another finger went up—“he’s bidding for uranium leases although the government isn’t buying ore from companies that don’t have mills. Third, he’s spying on our well. Fourth, he’s trying to lease land in the disputed San Juan River bed. Fifth, he’s prospecting on school lands without asking anyone’s permission. Hmmm! I’ll run out of fingers pretty soon. Sixth, he’s peddling electronic exploration equipment that isn’t worth a hoot when used by itself. Seventh, he’s operating an unlicensed light beam communications network. Eighth—and here’s something I learned when I drove over to Farmington with John and we called Lukachukai to find out how Chief Ponytooth is getting on—Cavanaugh flew down there yesterday and almost pulled the hospital apart trying to get permission to talk to the old man.”

“That means he hopes to get in on the ground floor if the Navajos and Hopis settle their dispute,” said Ralph.

“Either that or he wants to hurt John by convincing the Chief that the tribes shouldn’t get together.”

“How is the Chief feeling?” Sandy asked.

“Just fine, the nurse told me. He’s tough as shoe leather. Now, is there anything else about Cavanaugh’s activities that we should consider?”

“Why does he work day and night to convince people that he’s a heel?” Ralph contributed.

“Quiz thinks there’s something wrong with the football stories he’s always telling,” said Sandy.

“All right,” Donovan went on thoughtfully. “I suggest that a lot of the things Cavanaugh is doing are meant to be camouflage. He’s throwing up some sort of smoke screen to get people confused about his true intentions. And, since we’re the ones most likely to get hurt by whatever he’s really up to, I also think we had better do a little investigating. Does either of you have any suggestions?”

“If he were sending up smoke signals instead of talking on a light beam, I’ll bet I could soon find out,” the Indian said.

“That’s an excellent idea, Ralph.” The geologist fired up his pipe and sent clouds of smoke billowing through the crowded lab. “Eavesdroppers never hear anything good about themselves, they say. Nevertheless, I think we should fight fire with fire by listening in on him and learning the worst.”

“But how can we listen in?” Sandy objected. “Even if we got high enough to intercept his beam—in a helicopter, let’s say—he would know something had gone wrong when his receiving station didn’t reply. He’d stop talking.”

“There’s another way to go about it,” Donovan replied. “I’m a pretty good geophysicist as well as a geologist, Sandy. I have to be out here, where I may go out looking for oil and find a uranium lode if I keep my eyes peeled and my Geiger counter turned on.

“Over on that table”—he nodded toward a small electric furnace and a collection of retorts, chemicals and test tubes on one corner of his work bench—“I have equipment so sensitive that I can burn the branch of a pine tree, or even a bunch of loco weed and find out whether the roots of that tree or weed reach down into a uranium ore deposit. With it, I can detect in the ash as little as one part in a million of any radioactive ore the plant has sucked up from underground in its sap. Which reminds me that any time you run across a patch of loco weed, let me know immediately. The poisonous stuff seems to like to grow on ground in the vicinity of uranium.

“All right. Any physicist understands the principles of electronics, the properties of light, and so on, doesn’t he?”

Sandy nodded with growing excitement.

“Also, you may have heard that the FBI has an electronic gadget so sensitive that it can eavesdrop on the conversations of crooks, even though they may be sitting in a boat half a mile from shore.”

“I’ll bet the Shoshonean water spirits take a dim view of that,” said Ralph, grinning.

Donovan waved him to silence with his pipe and continued.

“Now my guess is that Cavanaugh is using a lot of power from a portable generator to produce a beam bright enough to be seen a hundred or so miles away. And it’s a lot easier for him to modulate that current so it will modulate the beam than to use revolving mirrors or some other mechanical means to do the job. There is bound to be considerable leakage in a circuit of that kind. I think I can go to one of the radio supply stores in Farmington tomorrow and pick up-enough parts to make an electronic ‘ear’ that can tune in on that leakage if we get it within a hundred feet of Cavanaugh’s transmitter.”

“Sherlock Donovan,” said Ralph, “I take off my hat to you.”

* * * *

The haywire “ear” that Donovan built during the next several days with what little assistance Sandy was able to supply didn’t look like much. It was just a collection of transistors, fixed and variable condensers, coils and verniers mounted on an old breadboard. But it had the advantage of being light and portable. And, when they tried it out with the help of their radio receiving set, it worked!

They found that, with the set’s loudspeaker disconnected, they could place their gadget several hundred feet away and hear the programs perfectly, either on the short-wave or regular broadcasting channels.

“That does it,” Donovan finally said after a careful series of night tests. “We don’t know the frequency that Cavanaugh is using as a modulator, but this thing is flexible enough to tune in on practically any wave band. Now the question becomes, when do we try it out?”

“Why not right now?” Ralph asked.

“Boyd has gone in to town, so I’m in charge of keeping an eye on the well,” said the geologist. “I can’t go with you tonight.”

“Sandy and I can handle it,” said the driller. “We’ll take the jeep. If we get in a jam we’ll send up a rocket or something.”

On the slow, twenty-mile drive to Elbow Rock, Ralph spun old tales about Ute scouting expeditions and buffalo hunts, but Sandy scarcely listened. He was feeling miserable, and wished for the first time that he was back home in Valley View.

“You don’t like what we’re doing, do you?” Ralph said at last.

“Well, gee. Eavesdropping seems sort of sneaking.”

“I know it does, but don’t forget that we’re dealing with a sneak. Tell you what: you stay in the car. I’ll take the ear in.”

“No,” Sandy said firmly. “I’ll do anything I can to help Mr. Hall. Besides, I helped build the ear and know just how it works. I’ll carry it.”

They parked as close to Cavanaugh’s brightly lighted trailer as they dared. Then Sandy strapped the detector on his chest and walked slowly up the mountain in darkness so intense and silent that it could almost be felt. Remembering the lay of the land from the time that he and Quiz had visited the spot with Pepper, he managed to stay mostly on the trail.

He was still several hundred yards from the trailer when the night exploded in a blare of savage noise. Several large dogs had started baying furiously near the trailer. A door opened. Cavanaugh shouted angrily at a pack of long-legged animals that leaped and whined in the shaft of light.

When quiet had been restored, Sandy inched forward once more. But it was no use. The chorus of barks rose louder than before and several of the dogs started in his direction. With mixed emotions of annoyance and relief, he returned to the jeep and reported.

“Dogs!” Ralph growled. “That means Cavanaugh really has something to hide. What did they look like?”

“They had long legs, sharp noses and big white teeth.”

“Doberman pinschers, I’ll bet. Say! Tim Robbins breeds Dobermans over in Bluff. They make better sheep tenders than shepherds, he claims. Let’s pay him a visit, even if it is late.” He started the jeep.

“What are you planning to do?” Sandy asked sharply.

“If Utes could behave like buffalo, there’s no reason why I can’t be a dog,” Ralph answered.

“But you don’t have a dog skin,” Sandy objected.

“I’m going to get one.”

Old man Robbins was in bed when they arrived at his home on the outskirts of the little mining town. He came downstairs in his nightshirt when he recognized Ralph’s voice, made coffee for his visitors, and listened to their request without surprise.

“Why, sure, I’ve got a few skins,” he said. “Here’s one that belonged to poor Maisie. She died of distemper last year. I was going to upholster a chair with her, but you can have her for a dollar.”

“Mind if I take a look around your runways and kennels, Dad?” Ralph asked.

“Go ahead, but don’t get yourself bit, young feller.” The old man shook his head at the strange ways of all Indians.

Five minutes later they were headed back toward Elbow Rock.

“Phooey!” said Sandy. “You smell like dog, all right.”

“I rolled around a bit in the kennels.” Ralph’s grin was just visible in the light from the dash bulb. “Now I’ve got to start thinking like a dog. Don’t bother me, human!”

When they arrived at their destination the driller took a brief lesson in the operation of the ear, slipped its harness over his shoulders, and draped Maisie’s hide around his hips.

“Keep your fingers crossed and say a prayer to the water spirits,” he whispered just before he faded into the velvety darkness.

For long moments Sandy held his breath, expecting a renewal of that wild barking. But it didn’t come. High on the Elbow Rock the aluminum trailer glowed undisturbed in the soft light pouring from its picture windows.

A trout, leaping in the stream nearby, caused the boy to start violently. He tried to relax but that only made him listen harder. Once he thought he heard a strain of music coming from the trailer. Hours later, it seemed, an owl’s hoot made his hair stir on his scalp. He smoothed down his cowlick and then gripped the wheel of the car with both hands to stop their trembling. What if Dobermans didn’t always bark before they attacked? What if Ralph was up there…

“I’m back.”

Sandy almost yelled with relief as his friend materialized out of nowhere and climbed nonchalantly into the car. “Wha…what happened?” gasped the boy, gripping the Indian’s arm to see if he really was real. “You fooled the dogs?”

“Nothing happened. And your little friends never batted an eyelash. I’m good, I guess.” He removed the skin and tossed it into the rear of the jeep.

“What do you mean, nothing happened? Didn’t the ear work?”

“It worked perfectly.” He started the motor and jammed the car into gear.

“What did you hear?”

“Music,” said the Ute disgustedly. “Highbrow music. Bach and stuff.”

“Was it code of some kind?”

“Nah!” Ralph spat into the night. “Your friend Pepper would say, ‘Come in, Gallup. I’ve got something here that you’d like: the umpteenth symphony by so-and-so.’ Then he’d play a record and say, ‘How did that sound, Gallup?’ And Gallup would answer, ‘Clear as a bell, kid. Keep it up.’ Or Window Rock trailer would come in, ask for a Belafonte number, and then say it was fuzzy and to sharpen up the beam. Craziest performance I ever heard.”

“Maybe they’re just lonesome, way up here,” Sandy said with great relief.

“Maybe. But it’s a mighty expensive way to be lonesome.”

“Or they could be testing,” the boy went on with less assurance.

“That sounds more like it.”

“Or they’re killing time while they wait for a message of some kind?”

“Now you’re cooking with LP gas. The question remains: where is that message going to come from? I don’t like this business, Sandy. It gets screwier. I wish we could monitor his station every night, but that’s impossible, of course. Well, at least we know our ear works and that Cavanaugh keeps a kennel. I wonder what John and Don will make of this one.”

“When will Mr. Hall be back?” Sandy was glad for a chance to change the subject.

“Next week, I think. Keep this under your hat, but he has got his loan, and has flown down to Houston to put some more rigs under contract. Also, I wangled a portable drill rig when I was in Farmington today. That means we’ll soon be heading for the other lease to run some surveys. And that’s a job that separates the men from the boys, I can tell you.”

“After what happened tonight I feel as if I’d already been separated.” Sandy yawned. “Gee, don’t oilmen ever get any sleep?”