The Desert Thieves (9 page)

“There's nothing in here but a box of granola bars and some trail mix of nuts and raisins,” Joe said. “Not fancy, but it'll keep our stomachs full.”

“Perez wants to go with us,” Frank said. “He wants to learn to climb.”

Joe groaned. “Man, that guy is a real pest,” he said. “Is he still out there?”

“I don't know. I think Diane wanted to come over and talk to us, but she stopped when she saw Perez,” Frank said.

“You don't think she knows something about him, do you?” Joe asked.

“Either that or she didn't want him yelling at her,” Frank said. “Check and see if she's out there now.”

Joe looked out the door. Professor Townsend was bent over the climbing ropes. “Is there something we can do for you, Professor?” Joe asked.

Townsend straightened up, startled at first, then angry. “Yes, there is,” he said. “I understand that you accused my daughter of putting a rattlesnake in your RV. Is that correct?”

“No, sir,” Joe said carefully. “It's not. The other guy who was here said something to Diane, but I don't know what he meant by it.”

“Understand one thing, young man,” Townsend said. “We are scientists, my daughter and I, not pranksters. We have no desire to be mixed up in whatever mischief you are involved in. Have you got that straight?”

Just then Fenton pulled into the campsite, with Grish close behind in his official truck.

“Remember what I said,” the professor growled. At that, he went back to his campsite, marching past Grish and Fenton without so much as a nod.

“What was that all about?” Fenton asked, climbing out of the car.

“Professor Townsend says he doesn't like accusations,” Joe said vaguely. He was concerned that Grish had shown up. The ranger would undoubtedly want to know why they had the climbing equipment out, and Joe didn't want to waste precious time explaining.

“I wonder what he meant by that,” Grish said. “Say, what are all these ropes and things? You aren't planning to do what I think you are, are you?”

Joe grinned nervously.

Grish lowered his voice. “Don't forget I'm in
charge of this investigation,” he said, “and I do
not
want anybody getting hurt over some cactus thefts. Tell me what you're planning.”

Joe gave in and told him, pointing out that a stakeout from a high spot, instead of from the desert floor, could turn up something. If he and Frank could get started soon, they would have time to climb to a good vantage point above the area where Townsend had been working.

“Hey, Joe,” Frank called from inside the motor home. “Give me a hand in here for a sec.”

Joe excused himself and went inside. Frank said quietly, “If we are going to do this thing, we'd better get moving.”

Fenton came in to see what was going on. “Dad,” Frank said, “you need to help us get out of here before dark. Otherwise this plan isn't going to work.”

Fenton nodded, drew a breath, and went back outside, Frank and Joe behind him. “Listen, Grish,” he said. “My sons are bright and experienced. They know what they're doing. I think I should just load them into the car, take them out where they need to go, and turn them loose. The worst that can happen is that they'll come home cold and tired in the morning.”

Grish eyed both boys for a moment and then relented. “Be careful,” he said with a sigh. “I don't want to be responsible if you get hurt.”

“Don't worry,” Frank said. He and Joe loaded
their gear into the trunk. “We'll be fine, just as my dad said.”

As Frank was getting into the car, he saw Diane approaching their motor home. When she saw they were leaving, she turned abruptly and went back into her trailer. Frank looked at Joe. He'd noticed Diane's strange behavior, also, and could only shrug.

Fenton started the car and drove off while Frank fiddled with the walkie-talkie. “What channel should we use on the CB?” he asked. “How about channel five?”

Fenton shrugged. “You guys pick a channel, and I'll stay with it in the motor home.”

“Channel five will work,” Joe said. “Channel ten was the one we monitored last night when we picked up those voices. We can check channel ten and stay in touch on five.”

“Channel five it is,” Frank said, setting the dial on the walkie-talkie. “If we see anything suspicious, we'll call Dad, and he can notify Grish.”

“I wonder what Diane wanted to tell us,” Joe said.

“Whatever it was, she wanted to say it in privacy,” Frank said.

Fifteen minutes later Fenton parked at the foot of the mountain. “Be careful,” he said.

“No problem,” Frank said.

“We'll be fine, Dad,” Joe said.

Fenton waited while they slipped on their day
packs, which contained food, water, and extra sweaters. Then they slung the climbing gear over their shoulders and started toward the cliff.

“See you in the morning,” Fenton called, and drove off.

Frank and Joe stopped and watched the taillights until they were out of sight. The desert suddenly seemed darker, bigger, and ominously silent to Frank.

“Let's move it,” Joe said.

They walked to the cliff and looked up. “Piece of cake,” Frank said. Joe nodded.

•  •  •

They put on their webbed climbing harnesses, which wrapped around their legs and waists. As they climbed, they would keep the ropes fastened to the harnesses. If one of them slipped or fell, the rope would catch him.

Joe went up first. Frank stood below, acting as belayer, letting out the rope gradually as Joe climbed up about six feet. At that point, Joe removed a wedge-shaped chock from his gear sling and wedged it into a fissure in the rock. He would use the chock to anchor his climbing rope to the cliff, to protect him in case of a fall. After placing the chock, he clipped the rope into a D-shaped silver ring called a carabiner, which was hanging from the chock, and continued upward. Every five or six feet, he placed another chock to anchor the rope.

Below him, standing on the ground, Frank kept the rope loose enough so that it didn't hold Joe back, but tight enough so that, if Joe did fall, he wouldn't fall far. Frank watched patiently as Joe worked his way up higher and higher, gripping the cracks and small outcroppings with his fingers and toes. From below, it was sometimes hard to see what Joe was hanging on to, but Frank knew that when his turn came, the grips would be obvious.

The sun was heading for the horizon in a hurry, he realized. They had less time before dark than they had anticipated. “I hope we don't run out of daylight,” he called.

Resting his tired fingers for a moment as he stood on a small ledge, Joe looked at the setting sun, then at how much distance remained to the top. It looked like only about thirty feet. “I think we'll be okay,” he called. “I should be at the top soon.” He wedged another chock into a crack, clipped the rope to the carabiner, and continued upward.

When he finally reached the top, he tied the rope around a large boulder. “All set,” he yelled down to Frank. “It's your turn.”

Frank started up, bracing himself in the cracks and fissures, always moving upward. As he came to each of Joe's chocks, he jiggled it loose from the rock and clipped it to his gear sling. He knew he didn't need the chocks for protection, because Joe was holding the rope above him. When they came down in the morning, they would rappel from the
top, swinging down, with the rope anchored to the top of the cliff.

•  •  •

The sun slipped below the horizon, and Frank climbed in the afterglow until he was halfway up. “When you get a chance,” he yelled to Joe, “you'd better get the flashlight out. It'll be completely dark by the time I reach the top.”

“Will do,” Joe called back. “Be careful.” He watched as Frank climbed higher and higher, and at a point where it looked as if he was balanced, Joe grabbed the flashlight from his pack and set it on the ground where he could reach it as he belayed the rope.

Frank did not stop to rest at the ledge, as Joe had, but pushed onward, trying to beat the oncoming darkness. His fingers were tiring, though. About ten feet from the top, he said, “Take the slack out. My fingers need a break.”

Joe pulled the rope to create tension so that Frank could lean back in his sling, taking the pressure off his fingers for a minute or two.

“We need to work on our timing,” Frank said as he rested his weight on the rope. “Next time let's—” Frank stopped in midsentence, his mouth gaping as the realization hit him.

Without warning, the rope had broken. With no time to react, Frank fell backward off the cliff and into the darkness.

“Frank!” Joe shouted frantically as he peered over the ledge. “Frank? Frank?”

“Don't worry, Joe,” came Frank's voice hoarsely. “I've caught a ledge.”

“Are you all right?”

“I think so. Just give me a minute,” Frank called, trying to catch his breath. A small bush growing on the ledge had stopped Frank's downward plunge. He climbed out of it and leaned against the wall, clinging gratefully to its solidity.

Joe sat up straight, waiting and listening to the wind that was coming up with the setting of the sun. “Frank?” he called again, worried about his brother's safety against the windy rock face.

“I'm up on the ledge,” Frank called back, “and
it's wide enough for me to stay here for the night. It's too dark to keep going. I'm strapping myself in with my sleeping bag around me. I'll be okay.”

“Can I do anything for you?” Joe asked.

“Yeah, give me a wake-up call around seven,” Frank answered.

Joe let out his breath and smiled with relief. He knew Frank was safe by the sound of his voice and the attempt at a joke. He took out the walkie-talkie, set it to channel 5, and pressed the transmission button. “Break five,” he said.

There was no answer, so he tried again. “Break five. Dad, are you listening?”

Still no answer. The sun was gone, but there was a trace of light left. He decided to try again when it was completely dark, when there'd be less radio interference from the sun. Maybe the walkie-talkie wasn't strong enough to get a transmission all the way back to the campground in the daylight.

Except for the wind, the night was quiet, and the air grew increasingly chilly. Joe decided to keep warm and crawled into his sleeping bag. He munched on a granola bar while he listened to the CB. He wondered whether Frank had any food with him. Every now and then, out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of something flying through the air. He knew there weren't any birds flying around at night, except maybe owls, but the rustling sounds he heard sounded as if they came from something smaller. It must be bats, he decided.

“Frank?” he called out. “Do you hear the bats? Can you see them?”

“Yeah, I hear them,” Frank called back. “No, I can't see them.”

“Don't go getting yourself bitten,” Joe said. “I'd hate to have to drive all the way to Phoenix at night because you've become a vampire and can't travel in the daytime.”

“I'll try not to,” Frank called. “Anything on the radio?”

“Not yet,” Joe answered. He put out another call for his father on channel 5, but again there was no answer.

“Nothing on the CB,” Joe called down to Frank. “I'll try again later.”

“Okay,” Frank answered. “In the meantime, I think you should scan the other channels.”

“Roger,” Joe called. “I'll do that. It'll help keep me awake.” He switched from channel to channel, listening, but could pick up nothing more than static. He listened for a while on channel 10, where he and Frank had heard the voices the night before.

Just as he was about to switch back to channel 5 to try Fenton once more, a voice cut in, and he heard the words “boy detectives.”

Joe almost dropped the walkie-talkie. He froze, listening for more. After a few moments the voice came back with “enjoy that wild-goose chase.”

“Get off the radio,” another male voice crackled. The voice sounded familiar to Joe, but it was so faint and the crackling so bad he couldn't place it.

He listened for a while longer, but there were no more transmissions.

“Joe, was that the radio?” Frank's voice rose up the cliff like a whisper. “Did you reach Dad?”

“No,” Joe called back, “but I heard someone talking about us on channel ten. He called us boy detectives.”

“Boy detectives?” Frank asked.

“Yeah, and they said something about a wild-goose chase,” Joe called.

Frank was silent for a few moments. Then he called up, “I get the feeling we aren't going to see the cactus thieves tonight. How about you?”

“I have the same feeling,” Joe answered.

After that, the two fell silent. Every so often, Joe tried to raise Fenton on the CB, but got no answer. He knew Fenton would be listening, which meant the problem was probably in the CB itself.

He lay awake, trying to figure out whom he'd heard on the CB. Joe recalled how he and Frank had left Perez alone while they'd gone looking for Townsend. Could Perez have built the stack of rocks himself to throw the Hardys off track? And what about the rope? Why had it snapped?

He listened to the coyotes howling in the distance, some behind him in the mountains, others out in the flat country. Coyotes out hunting in the darkness, just as he and Frank were hunting.

Joe moved over to the edge of the cliff and called down softly, “Frank, are you awake?”

“Of course I'm awake,” Frank said. “This is a stakeout, don't you remember?”

Joe laughed. “Yeah, I remember,” he said. “Listen, who thought of the stakeout up here?”

“It was you,” Frank said. “You suggested it when we were talking to Grish. But Perez is the one who gave us the idea that something might be going on out here. He's the one who found the trail marker by Townsend's truck.”