Bolts (9 page)

Again he stopped, his eyes widening. Claws was not in sight. But over on one side were cots, blankets, boxes of provisions, camping equipment, and a large radio on a crate. Filling the dimness beyond was a deep pool of water from which ran the tiny stream.

Whose cave was this?

Suddenly uneasy, Bingo thought of Bolts, and turned on his wrist radio.

“Bolts!” he called. “Where are you? Please come in!”

Poor Bolts couldn't hear him, for he was in a ticklish pickle, and needed his tail for a balance. He was clinging to a slippery rock that threatened to send him tumbling at any moment, and it was positively the last foothold in the cavern. The way of escape was in sight—but reaching it seemed forever impossible.

Behind him the fox critter was saying crossly, “What's the matter with you? Go on! Go on!”

“Can't!” Bolts said despairingly. “Ain't you got eyes? There's nothing ahead but water! We've come to the end of the line.”

The trickle they had been following had widened and deepened. Behind them lay several large pools that they had passed with difficulty, for the cavern had been narrowing as the water widened, leaving little room to stand. Now there was no place left to stand, and in front of them stretched the largest pool of all.

On the far side of it gleamed a pale narrow streak of daylight.

“Start swimming!” snapped the fox critter. “Any fool can swim if he has to!”

“Then I reckon I ain't a fool—and I sure ain't a fish. I'm a tin dawg, and I'd sink like a stone.”

“That's too bad,” said the fox critter, quite without feeling. “But this is a hard world, and it's either sink or swim for all of us. Frankly, I've found you very undesirable company, and I'm glad to leave you to the bats.”

With that, the fox critter plunged into the pool, swam toward the streak of daylight, and soon vanished in the distance.

Bolts had never felt so hopeless. Then he thought of Bingo, and very carefully eased backward until he could safely raise his tail and turn on his radio.

“Oh, Bingo! Bingo!” he called forlornly. “Can you hear me?”

“I hear you!” came Bingo's happy voice. “Where are you now?”

“At the end of the line. I can see daylight ahead, but it's all water between here and there. And since I ain't a fish or a fox critter—”

“Did you say fox?” Bingo interrupted.

“Yup. I been traveling with a sharptongued sourpuss of a fox critter, and he's swum out.”

“Wow!” cried Bingo. “There's a fox just crawling from the water here. Bolts, you're closer than I thought! Water won't hurt you. Shut your mouth, hop in, and start walking.”

“B-but suppose I wet my circuits? Won't it ruin me?”

“Not if you keep your mouth closed tight. You're waterproof. Come on!”

Bolts closed his mouth and plunged in. The pool seemed a mile deep, but presently he was pushing his way along the bottom, half walking, half swimming. A startled trout, marooned here, stared at him goggle-eyed, then flashed away in fright. Bolts struggled on as fast as he could move. Naturally, when he was so anxious to meet Bingo, time did more stretching than ever, and he was sure he had been in the water for hours before he reached a shallow spot. Actually it was only a few minutes later when his head came to the surface in the outer cave where Bingo waited, and his sniffer caught the most wonderful boy scent in the world.

“Bingo!” he cried, and leaped out with joyful yips and sprang upon Bingo with his tail wagging. Then, suddenly worried, he said, “Bingo, they shortchanged me at the factory, and I know I ain't exactly what you wanted. B-but d'you reckon you can sort of put up with me anyway?”

“Aw, Bolts,” Bingo said happily, “I couldn't ask for a better dog, and it doesn't matter if your brain is trimmed. Boy, oh, boy, I never dreamed you'd be able to talk to animals! Why, it might even be of help on our space trip.”

Bolts wanted to ask where they were going in space, but all at once there was a buzzing in his head. “Bingo,” he said quickly, “we gotta scram. My built-in instinct says this is a bad place, and my sniffer tells me it belongs to Major Mangler.”

“Major Mangler!” Bingo stared at the equipment piled in the cave. “Why, this must be his emergency hideout. But, Bolts, he was captured. He won't come here now.”

“Mebbe not, but something's wrong. We sure better move.”

“But we can't leave till we find Claws. He's our cat.” Bingo explained what had happened.

“I'll sniff him out,” Bolts said. “You hurry on and watch for the Space Jumper.”

Bolts raced across the cave, following his sniffer to a dark opening in one corner. Peering upward, he saw Claws's round green eyes peering down. “Hey, Claws!” he called. “This is Bolts. Come out quick!”

“Meow,” said Claws, in a small purry voice. “It's nice to meet you, but I see
no
reason for leaving. Anyway, I'm looking for bats.”

“Bats! You ain't got time to fool with those critters! You better come out—and come out fast!”

“Don't be silly. I don't have to come out for anybody. I'll have you know I'm my own boss. I'm looking for bats, and I intend to find bats. So there!”

“O.K.,” Bolts snapped. “If it's bats you want, it's bats you'll get.” There was no time to waste, so he opened his mouth and loosened his Number Two growl.

The result was not as bad as it had been in the main cavern, but it was bad enough. The walls of the cave shook with sound. Bats poured squeaking from a hundred crevices, and down shot Claws like a black streak, every hair on end as he raced from the cave to seek Bingo's protection.

Bolts ran outside, and stopped abruptly. Just ahead of him Bingo was standing frozen, staring at a wild figure with bristling black whiskers staggering toward them around the curve of the canyon.

It was Major Mangler.

8

He Has a Date in Space

In escaping from the Air Patrol, Major Mangler had lost nearly everything, including his horse, his pistols, and most of his steam, but he still clung to a very wicked machete, which he instantly raised at the sight of Bingo. Realizing his secret hideout had been discovered, his temper began to boil again.

“Who are you?” he demanded hoarsely. “Speak up!” Then he caught sight of Bolts, and the machete almost fell from his hand. “
You
!” he screamed. “
You!
The cause of all my troubles! By the seven plagues …”

Suddenly he started forward with his machete swinging, this time bellowing in such a rage that the canyon began to echo with the fury of it.

There was only one thing to do, and Bolts did it. “Quick,” he told Bingo, “put your fingers in your ears—and keep 'em plugged tight!”

In a flash he snapped forth his hackles and his teeth, put all his power into his unspeakable Number Three, and charged.

The result, to say the least, was quite ghastly. The narrow canyon, already full of echoes, shook and trembled with such a horror of multiplying sound that it was almost more than rock walls could bear. Major Mangler dropped his machete. In the next second he was knocked sprawling by the fierceness of Bolts's charge. He fell in a quivering heap, and for a while, now that his steam was all gone, even ceased to quiver. Poor Claws turned a double somersault in fright and lay so limp it seemed he had lost all his lives. Bingo, even with his fingers in his ears, was nearly petrified.

Bolts, though jangled to the ends of his circuits, managed to scramble into the cave, find a coil of line in the equipment, and return with it in his mouth.

“Help me, Bingo! We gotta tie up this varmint.”

By the time they had Major Mangler securely bound, the Space Jumper had returned, and Big Butch was clumping toward them over the sand. Behind him came Pirate and the commander.

“Great gobbling guns!” Commander Brown exclaimed. “What have you here?”

“The spy of spies!” cackled Pirate. “Ha! I said it would be a rewarding experience.”

Bingo said, “Bolts captured him single-handed with his growl.” He shuddered. “Whew! I hope I
never
hear such a sound again.” He stooped and picked up Claws, who was just beginning to twitch.

“Good work, Bolts,” the commander said approvingly. “You're starting off fairly well in spite of your shortcomings. I hope you're capable of the job ahead of you. It's going to be a tough one, and I'm afraid your growl won't be of much help.”

“W-what kind of a job is it?” Bolts asked uneasily.

“We'll explain it later. We've lost so much time finding you that we have to hurry. Every minute counts. Butch, put the prisoner aboard. Bingo, you pilot us home, and I'll radio the Navy and the FBI. I want to get rid of the prisoner as soon as we land, and then load on supplies and equipment. Let's get going!”

“On the double!” cackled Pirate. “We've got a date with an asteroid!”

Bolts wondered what an asteroid was, but he didn't like to ask and expose the awful extent of his ignorance, especially in front of a smart bird like Pirate. Having a trimmed brain put him in a spot—for they had sure trimmed off a lot of extra knowledge a dog could use now. The thing to do, he figured, was to be real diplomatic and kind of hint around for answers.

But before he could get worked up to any diplomacy—except to tell Pirate what a handsome bird critter he was—the fastmoving Space Jumper had zipped back to Battleship Lane, and for the next half hour everything was confusion. There was a big to-do over the capture of the celebrated Major Mangler, and at the last minute, just as the guards were carrying him away, a swarm of reporters came rushing to the door.

“No time for interviews now,” snapped the commander, very harassed. “We've a date in space, and it can't wait.”

“But we heard Mangler was captured by a dog, single-handed!” a reporter burst out. “That's top news! What kind of dog is he? If we could see him—”

“You can see him later—if you can stand to listen to him. His speech is disgraceful.”

The commander slammed the door and locked it, and ran puffing for the Space Jumper, which Big Butch and Bingo, with Bolts helping, had just finished loading.

“All aboard!” cackled Pirate. “Stow the gear later! We're off to catch a renegade!”

Bolts didn't at all care for the sound of that word. As soon as the hatches were secured, and the Space Jumper was on its way again, he looked worriedly at the commander and asked, “What kind of a space varmint is this I gotta tangle with? A renegade asteroid?”

“Exactly,” said the commander. “But don't ask me about it now. I've never been so exhausted. What a day! But thank heaven we're off! Bingo, we're hours late—you'll have to make up for it by using full zip speed.”

“B-but, Pops,” Bingo protested. “I can't stand that—and neither can you!”

“Nonsense. Put us on course, take an anti-addle pill and stay in your bunk while Butch handles the buttons. If we miss that thing while it's still in orbit, we'll be days getting home and the food will be gone—and where will I be?”

“I'd hate to guess,” mumbled Bingo. “It would sure be a calamity.”

Commander Brown sank with a long sigh upon his bunk, swallowed an anti-addle pill, and went instantly to sleep. Presently, with the Space Jumper on course and zipping so fast that outlines were getting fuzzy, Bingo took a pill and curled up on the other bunk. Big Butch, at the button panel, pressed the last zip button, and suddenly everything faded completely.

Bolts skipped three ticks and almost stopped ticking. “Oh-h-h, w-woe is me!” he cried. “W-w-where am I?”

“Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!” cackled Pirate. “He's lost himself!”

“Shaddup!” growled Big Butch. “We all lose ourselves at this speed. It's downright frightful. Bolts, you'll be able to see things in a minute—but we'll all look ghosty till it's time to slow down.”

Soon Bolts was blinking around him in astonishment. He could see—but it was like having X-ray vision. He could see through everyone. It almost gave him the shakes.