The Desert Thieves (6 page)

Joe pointed to the footprints around the hole. “One set of prints is cowboy boots,” he said. “The other looks like sneakers or running shoes.” He stooped down and measured the sneaker prints.

“It must have been a huge cactus,” Perez said, “if they had to dig a hole that big to uproot it. How could they possibly have lifted something that big out of the ground?”

“With a crane,” Frank said. “They dug all around the roots, loosened the soil, and then lifted the plant, roots and all, with a crane. That's the only way they could have done it, I think.”

“I'll bet it weighed tons,” Perez said. “A cactus is heavier than other plants because it holds so much water. The crane must have been very powerful.”

Frank heard a vehicle approaching. He watched the road until he saw a gray motor home come around the bend and go on by, the driver scarcely glancing at the boys.

“Not much traffic out here, is there?” Joe said.

“Later in the morning there will be,” Perez said. “People like to drive around this loop and check out the desert. But I don't think too many of them get up early in the morning.”

“Before it gets too late, we'd better catch up with Kidwell,” Frank said.

“Who's Kidwell?” Perez asked.

As they walked back to the car, Frank told Perez of Grish's suspicions about Kidwell. “We're supposed to keep an eye on him,” Frank said. “Grish gave him a work assignment a few miles up the road.”

“Does he know he's a suspect?” Perez asked.

“Nope,” Joe said.

“You know,” Frank said to Joe after they had gotten in and driven off down the road, “I've been thinking about that. Kidwell got awfully upset at Grish yesterday. And before that he almost ran us off the road. He may suspect that Grish is on to him.”

“In which case we'd better be careful how we approach him,” Joe said. “Working way out here, he can hear our car coming from a long way off. We don't want to be too obvious. How far is this place he's working?”

Frank pulled out the map. “Well, he's about here,” he said, pointing to a spot on the map, “and I think we're about here.” He scrutinized the map. “These lines show where the mountains are. It
looks like there's a hill not far from the road just before we come to the place where he's supposed to be working. We could park the car and check out what he's doing from the top of the hill.”

They drove for about ten minutes, with Frank checking the map. Finally he said, “I think this is our hill on the right. Pull over here.”

Joe pulled the car over and parked. The three of them got out and hiked up a steep, brushy hill, bending low when they got to the top, where the bushes were less dense, so that Kidwell wouldn't see them on the crest. “This'll be our lookout point,” Frank said.

Joe saw that the road continued around to the other side of the hill as it made a one-way fifty-mile loop through the western half of the park. Two hundred yards from the base of the hill he saw a scene similar to the one they had just visited—a swath of crushed vegetation leading from the road to a partly filled-in hole. There was no sign of either Kidwell or his truck.

“Maybe he's parked over there under those mesquite trees,” Perez whispered, pointing to a copse of dull green trees. “I'm pretty good at moving around in the desert unnoticed—it helps me get pictures of animals. Why don't I go down there to see if he's around?”

Joe and Frank looked at each other and nodded. “Okay,” Frank said, “but stay out of sight, and come right back.”

Perez headed back down the way they had come. While Frank and Joe were waiting, they heard another vehicle coming slowly along the road. They waited for it to pass in view of their lookout. They couldn't see it, but it sounded as if it had come to a stop near where the Hardys had parked. After a few moments it sped up again, and when it came into view, Frank and Joe saw it was a yellow Volkswagen van, not Kidwell's truck. Disappointed, they waited, watching for a glimpse of Perez, but he never came into view among the many rock outcroppings and bushes.

After about fifteen minutes, Perez reappeared at the top of the hill with them. “I was right,” he said. “Kidwell is parked under those mesquite trees, and he's sitting in his truck. He seems to be doing paperwork.”

“Did you notice who was in that yellow van?” Joe asked.

“What yellow van?” Perez said. “I was sneaking up on Kidwell.”

“You'll never make a great detective,” Joe said, “until you notice everything around you.”

“What's the big deal?” Perez said, his voice rising. “I said I was sneaking up—”

“Keep it down!” Frank whispered firmly. At that moment he heard an engine start up in the distance. He saw Kidwell's truck pull out onto the road from under the trees and drive away. The three jumped up and hurried down the hill before
he could get too far ahead of them. It took them several minutes to get back to the car, and they were out of breath when they arrived.

Joe threw open the driver's door and then stopped. “I smell gasoline,” he said.

Frank said, “I do, too.” At the same moment he and Joe got down on their knees and looked under the car. There was a large wet spot underneath.

Joe reached over, touched the wet spot, and smelled his fingers. “Gas,” he said.

Frank, easing his shoulders farther under the car, touched a rubber hose. “It's been cut!” he cried. “Somebody cut our fuel line.”

“It's been sliced right through,” Joe said, peering under the car at the hose Frank was pointing out. “Unless we can figure out a way to splice it or bypass the cut, we either wait for someone to come along and give us a ride or we walk.”

“But it's ten or fifteen miles back to the campground,” Perez said.

“That shouldn't be a problem for an experienced desert rat like you,” Frank said.

“Experience hasn't got anything to do with it,” Perez said. “We're talking about a long walk, with no water or food.”

Joe opened the trunk, looking for a piece of tubing he could use to splice the gas line. Finding nothing, he closed the lid. “Too bad this is a rental
car,” he said. “We carry extra tubing and belts in the van at home.”

Cupping his hand above his eyes, Frank looked up and down the road. “Who do you suppose did this?” he asked.

Joe shook his head. “I don't see how it could have been Kidwell if he was sitting up there in his truck,” he said. “It could have been whoever went by in the yellow van. Its driver could have stopped for a few moments.”

“I don't remember seeing that van around the campground,” Frank said. “Maybe it was Kidwell's accomplices. Perez, did you notice if Kidwell was talking on the CB radio?”

“His CB?” Perez shook his head. “He wasn't. He was sitting there doing paperwork.”

“Why do you ask about the CB?” Joe said.

“It would explain how the people in the yellow van knew we were around,” Frank said. “Kidwell could have been watching for us. He might have figured out that Grish would send us out to watch him. So he could have set it up so the yellow van went by at the exact right time to sabotage our car.”

“Yeah, but we don't even know whether Kidwell realizes he's a suspect,” Joe said. “One thing's for sure, though. Whoever did this knows about the cactus thefts in the park and knows what we're doing.”

Joe peered under the car again. “There must be
some way to bypass this slice,” he said as he scooted on his back under the car.

“You know what?” Frank said. “This wasn't necessary. Whoever did this—whether it was Kidwell or somebody in the yellow van—could have just left us alone and then gone ahead with their schemes when we weren't looking. Somebody wanted us to get a message.”

Joe slid out from under the car. “Yeah,” he said. “And the message is this: start walking or start hitchhiking. There's no way we're going to be able to repair the gas line without some extra tubing. Perez, you said traffic usually starts to pick up later in the morning?”

“That's right,” Perez said. “But I don't know if it will actually pick up today.”

“Well, you're a real font of information,” Joe cracked.

“If we start walking now,” Frank said, before Perez and Joe started going at it, “we should be back at the campground in about three hours. Before we get started, though, let's check out the place where Kidwell was working. Maybe we can pick up some clues to what he was up to.”

In silence they walked the half-mile distance to the grove of mesquite trees where Perez had seen Kidwell. There were fresh tire prints on the shoulder of the sandy road, exactly where Perez had said he'd seen Kidwell parked. Just beyond the mesquite trees they found the destructive trail of the cactus thieves, and the pattern there was similar to
what they'd seen earlier: two sets of heavy tire tracks mutilating everything in their path, with a big hole at the end. This time the hole had been filled in, and there were scrape marks from a shovel all around it.

Perez squatted down and flicked his finger at a small white spot.

“What have you got, Perez?” Frank said.

“Nothing,” Perez said. “I thought it was a cigarette butt, but it was just a little rock. Man,” he added, waving his hand at the destruction, “this is really sick. Who would do something like this?”

“I wish I knew,” Frank said. “But it looks as though Kidwell was only doing his job while he was here.”

Joe nodded. “Okay, then, let's hit the trail. The road is a one-way loop. The shortest way back to the campground is against the direction of the loop. If we get a ride from someone, they'll be coming back around this way, so we'd get back in the same amount of time if we walked. I vote for walking back.”

Perez groaned, but Frank agreed with Joe. They started back toward the road.

As they passed the place where Kidwell had parked, Joe veered off for a moment and said, “Go ahead. I'll just be a second.” He poked around, looking at the ground.

“Man, is that guy always looking for clues?” Perez said.

“Only when he's investigating,” Frank said. He
glanced back and saw Joe walking slowly, head down. He looked up at Frank and Perez, and then down again. Then, abruptly, he started jogging briskly toward them.

“What's up, Joe?” Frank asked.

“Oh, nothing,” Joe said. “I was just checking to see if Kidwell did anything around his truck.”

“And did he?” Frank asked.

“I . . . couldn't tell,” Joe said.

Frank glanced at him curiously, wondering at his hesitation. “What do you mean you couldn't tell?” he asked.

“I mean I couldn't tell,” Joe said. He gave his brother a look that said he didn't want to talk about it in front of Perez. The two brothers tried to hang back a little, but Perez slowed down to their pace as they walked along in the middle of the deserted road.

“Are you guys sure you want to walk?” Perez said. “Someone is bound to come along and give us a ride.”

Neither Frank nor Joe answered him. They walked in silence for a while. Joe was thinking about an ice-cold lemonade, and Frank was wishing he had worn a hat to shield his head from the sun.

“Do you hear that?” Joe asked ten minutes into their journey.

“A truck,” Frank said.

Perez grinned. “Enough exercise for today,” he said. “I'm for getting back to the campground and solving this case.”

Just then a pickup came over the rise, headed their way.

“Great,” Perez said. “We can ride in the back, and nobody will complain if you get the upholstery dirty, Joe.”

“I wouldn't get my hopes up,” Frank said, watching the oncoming vehicle.

“Why not?” Perez said.

“That's Professor Townsend's truck,” Joe said.

“Oh, no,” Perez said. “Dr. Crabby.”

“And we're not too popular with him right now,” Joe said. He moved off the road, and Frank and Perez joined him. The truck drew closer, and Perez held up his thumb for a ride.

Townsend, with Diane beside him, slowed down and nearly came to a stop. Then he must have realized who the three hitchhikers were. He sped up and spat out the window as he went by.

The truck moved away, but a few moments later the red brake lights came on, and it slowed down.

“Maybe he's thinking it over,” Perez said.

“Yeah, and maybe the sun is going to turn blue,” Joe said. “Probably Diane is arguing with him. If it was up to Professor Townsend, he'd let us rot out here.”

As they watched, the backup lights came on, and the truck began to back toward them.

“He's changed his mind,” Frank said. “It must have been Diane's doing.”

When the truck came abreast of them, Townsend scowled and said, “Are you three stranded?”

“Yes, sir, we are,” Frank said. “We—”

“What happened to your vehicle?” Townsend demanded. “Is it broken down somewhere?”

“Yes, sir,” Frank repeated. “As a matter of fact, it's a mile or so up that way. It appears that someone—”

“What's wrong with it?” Townsend said, interrupting again.

“Someone,” Frank began, “or rather something happened to the fuel line. We have to go back for some tubing to fix it.”

Townsend drew a deep breath and looked ahead into the distance. “Get in the back,” he said. “All three of you. I've got some tubing that might be the right size, and some duct tape you can put around it if it's too big.”

“Yes, sir,” Frank said, waving to Joe and Perez to get into Townsend's truck. “The car is by the side of the road. You can't miss it. It's the tan Toyota.”

“I know what it looks like,” Townsend said. “Get in, though I don't know why I should help you, after all the damage you've done.”