The End of the Trail (12 page)

Biff grumbled but could hardly disagree. Being in pain seemed a lot less important than getting away from Morgan's Quarry.

Joe handcuffed Bill McSavage to one door of the old limousine while Frank handcuffed Quentin to another.

“Where are the keys to these things?” Frank said. “We'd better take them so these guys can't follow us again.”

“Right there,” Jack Mason said, pointing at Sheriff Brickfield's belt.

Joe grabbed for the keys, but Sheriff Brickfield swatted him with his free hand.

“Oh, no, you don't!” Frank said, grabbing the sheriff's arm in both of his hands. Joe unclipped the key chain and put it in his pocket.

“We're ready to go,” Frank said, grabbing the sheriff's
gun and Bill's and Quentin's rifles. “Everybody back in the truck.”

“Can you promise to drive a little better this time?” Phil Cohen said, climbing into the back with the confiscated guns.

“I'll try,” Frank said. “But the roads out of town are pretty bumpy.”

Once everybody was in the back, Joe closed the doors. Then Frank, Rhonda, and Joe got into the cab. Frank revved up the engine and put the truck in gear.

“Okay,” he said. “This time we'll take the left fork in the road.”

“I'm really sorry about what happened,” Rhonda said. “I leave this town so rarely that I actually forgot which road to take. Can you forgive me?”

“Of course,” Joe said. “You've helped us out since we've been here. And you've been great to Biff.”

Frank hit the accelerator and headed out of town again. This time, when they reached the fork in the road, he headed to the left.

The road was a little smoother, but the ride was still bumpy. Frank could have sworn he heard Phil Cohen yelling at him from the back of the truck, but through the armor he couldn't tell what was being said.

The trees opened into a clearing. A wooden structure loomed up ahead.

“The bridge?” Joe said.

“Yes, that's the bridge,” Rhonda said.

“Then we're almost out of town,” Frank said.

“You know,” Joe said, “maybe you were right when you said we shouldn't get too excited before we're completely out of this place. I've got a bad feeling.”

Frank slowed as he approached the bridge. It didn't look especially rickety, but it was obviously old and he wanted to cross it as slowly as possible. He eased the truck onto the wooden surface.

Each plank made a groaning noise as they passed over it, but the bridge seemed to be solid. Joe held his breath but was prepared to let it out in a sigh of relief.

Then everything seemed to spin in a circle in front of them. The bridge was tilting to the left. The truck slid to one side and hit the wooden guardrail, which snapped in two like the fence they had driven through earlier.

Then the truck fell off the bridge and plummeted toward a small stream below!

Frank awoke to the splash of cold water across his face. Where was he? He figured he must have lost consciousness for a while.

He was lying on his left side, a heavy weight on top of him. He turned his head to see both Rhonda and Joe lying on top of him. They were all in the cab of the truck, but it had been rotated ninety degrees. Water was flowing through every tiny crack in the vehicle.

“Hey, you guys!” Frank shouted, spitting water from his mouth as he spoke. “Get off me before I drown!”

“Huh?” Joe said. “What happened? Oh, yeah, we took a header on the bridge. Well, not a header exactly..

“Just get off of me!” Frank shouted again. “And get out of this truck! Fast!”

Rhonda moaned. Joe reached up and opened the passenger side window, which was now directly above them. He pulled himself up on the edge of the window, then reached down to pull Rhonda up after him. Frank pushed from below as Rhonda groggily allowed them to drag her out of the truck.

The three of them crawled out of the window and jumped to the water below. The truck was lying on its side in the middle of a shallow stream about twenty feet wide.

“Now what do we do?” Joe said. “How are we going to get this truck out of here?”

“Let's get everybody out of the back first,” Frank said, opening the rear door. Phil Cohen came tumbling out, landing in the water with a splash.

“I take back what I said,” Phil groaned. “That was just mildly lousy driving before.
This
was really bad driving!”

Loraleigh and Jack clambered out after him. Biff took a little longer to maneuver. He was barely able to use the crutches now because he was in so much pain.

“What happened?” Loraleigh asked.

“Looks like the bridge finally collapsed from old age,” Rhonda said.

“No,” Jack Mason said. “It wasn't old age. Look over there.”

He walked to the bridge. A large section in the middle had broken off and was tilting precariously to one side. At the points where it had broken away from the rest of the bridge the wood had a cleanly sawed look.

“Somebody deliberately cut the bridge so that nobody could get across it,” Jack said. “Probably those Brookburn boys. They wanted to make sure there was no way you boys could leave town.”

“So what are we going to do with the truck?” Joe asked again. “Pull it out of here by hand?”

“Maybe we should just walk to the highway,” Frank suggested. “We can hitch a ride to the nearest town.”

“No,” Rhonda said. “That would take too long. By then Sheriff Brickfield will be out of those handcuffs and coming after us.”

“That's true,” Jack said. “Someone will notice him missing and will unlock the cuffs. They'll let Bill and Quentin go, too.”

“Then we'll pull the truck out ourselves,” Frank said. “Come on, everybody. If we all lift together, maybe we can get it upright so we can drive out of the water.”

“I'd like to help, guys,” Biff said, “but I'm afraid I'll have sit this one out.” He limped to one bank of the
river and sat on a large rock, laying his crutches beside him.

Everybody else gathered along the top of the truck and reached into the water, gripping the lower edge of the roof as tightly as possible. On Frank's command, they began to lift.

The truck began to budge. Little by little, as everybody strained, it rose slowly until it was about two feet out of the streambed. Then nobody could lift it any farther. Finally, their arms fatigued, the group eased the truck back into the stream.

“It's no use,” Jack Mason said. “We'll never get this thing upright without help.”

“Well, where are we going to find help in the middle of the woods?” Frank asked.

His question was answered by the sound of galloping hooves coming up the road from the town. Chet Morton appeared at the head of the collapsed bridge, atop the muscular horse from the farm.

“Hey, you guys tried to leave without me!” he yelled at the group.

“Sorry,” Joe said. “We had to save the group, and you were impossible to find. I thought you were going to take that horse back to the barn hours ago.”

“I wanted to, but Formby couldn't stand to be parted from me,” Chet answered sheepishly. “So what are you trying to do? And why are you standing around in the middle of a river?”

“We're trying to get out of here,” Frank said.

“People are trying to kill us,” Joe added.

“And Mr. Lousy Driver here dumped our truck in the water,” Phil Cohen said.

“People are trying to kill us?” Chet asked. “You mean those guys back on the road who are handcuffed to their cars? Boy, were they yelling at me when I rode past.”

“Yeah, those guys,” Joe said. “And some of their friends.”

“So why don't you help us get the truck out?” Frank asked.

“Sure,” Chet said, jumping off the horse and scrambling down the riverbank.

“Actually, it's the help of your horse that we'd like,” Joe said.

Chet stopped and looked back up the slope. “Oh, yeah,” he said. “Formby's pretty strong. He could probably get that truck right out of there.”

Chet went back up and led the horse into the water. The cold stream didn't seem to bother Formby.

Jack Mason grabbed the ropes from off the bags of money, and Frank and Joe lashed three of them around the truck. Then they connected the other ends to Formby's harness. The horse stood calmly next to the truck, on the opposite side from the others.

“Now, everybody,” Frank said, “we'll push while Formby pulls.”

They stooped down and grabbed the roof of the truck. Chet mounted the horse and yelled, “Giddyap!”

All at once the horse began to strain against the ropes. The others began to lift as hard as they could. This time the truck began to rise more quickly out of the water: one foot, two feet, three feet...

Finally, with an extra burst of effort, the truck was out of the water and standing on its wheels again. Everyone cheered.

“Let's see if it works,” Frank said, jumping into the cab. The ignition made a rumbling sound, but the engine wouldn't turn over.

“It must be flooded,” Joe said.

“Literally,” Phil added.

“Floor it, Frank,” Joe said. “That'll get gasoline back into the engine.”

“That's what I'm doing,” Frank replied.

Finally the engine did turn over and roar to life. Everybody cheered.

Rhonda walked up to Frank's side of the cab, where the door was still open. She reached inside and, before Frank was aware of what she was doing, turned the engine off and pulled the keys out of the ignition. She clutched them tightly in one hand and threw them far off into the bushes.

“Hey, what was that about?” Frank yelled, startled.

“Yeah,” Joe said. “We were almost out of here. For real, this time.”

“Sorry, guys,” she said, pulling a gun from the pocket of her pants. “You're not going anywhere. We're waiting here for Bill McSavage and Sheriff Brickfield—and then you're all going back to Morgan's Quarry, where you belong.”

Frank desperately looked around for the guns they had taken from
the sheriff and the others. Then he saw them—underwater and useless.

Biff grabbed his crutches and pulled himself to his feet.

“Rhonda!” he exclaimed. “What are you talking about?
You're supposed to be on our side!”

“The key phrase there is ‘supposed to be,'” Rhonda
said cryptically. “Unfortunately, you ‘supposed' wrong. I was in on
the plans for the robbery from the very beginning. In fact, I'm the one who
suggested it, after I found out that the Brookburn boys knew somebody who drove an
armored truck for a large bank.”

“Then... then why have you been helping us?” Frank asked.

“You brought me someone who was injured,”
Rhonda said. “I'm a nurse. I swore a long time ago to heal the wounded, and
that's what I did.”

“But why did you pretend to help us escape?” Joe asked.
“Why were you locked in that room with Biff back at the McSavage
mansion?”

“Bill McSavage came to me before you even arrived at my
house,” Rhonda said. “He told me what had happened, that you boys had seen
the money, and that I should pretend to be on your side so I could keep my eyes on you
in case you tried to get out of town.”

“I don't believe this,” Biff said. “I really
thought we were friends.”

“I... I was just pretending,” Rhonda said, looking away from
Biff as she spoke. “It was all a ruse, you understand. Just a ruse to keep you in
town.”

“No, it wasn't,” Biff said. “I really enjoyed
chatting with you.”

“Well, I like telling old war stories,” Rhonda said.
“Hard to shut me up some times. That's all.”

Joe cleared his throat loudly. The others turned toward him, expectantly.
A conspiratorial smile crossed his face.

“Hey, Rhonda!” he said. “You didn't think we were
actually going to turn this money over to the police, did you? We just said that because
we thought you wouldn't help us otherwise. Frank and I were going
to ditch you, take the money, and split it with our friends. Isn't that
right, guys?”