The Mark on the Door (10 page)

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Authors: Franklin W. Dixon

BOOK: The Mark on the Door
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The boys zigzagged through the craggy terrain. After a grueling race, they gradually outdistanced their pursuers.
“We're losing them!” Frank shouted.
Despite their exhaustion the boys forced themselves to maintain their rapid pace. But they had traveled only a little farther when they suddenly came to a halt.
“It can't be!” Joe yelled, pointing directly ahead.
There was the clearing where they had spotted, the Indians.
The youths had run in a complete circle. Soon shouts began to come from all sides.
“We're surrounded!” Joe cried out in dismay.
CHAPTER XIII
A Charging Donkey
As THE Hardys ran toward the clearing, Joe moaned, “We're trapped!”
“Hold on!” Frank shouted. “We might have one chance—that railroad car! Maybe we can ride it out of here!”
Amid shots from their pursuers, the Hardys darted to the odd vehicle, which was anchored by two heavy chains. They quickly unfastened the car and pushed it down the slope with all the strength that they could muster. Once it had picked up momentum, the boys leaped aboard.
Bam! Bam!
Frank and Joe ducked as bullets thudded into the sides of the wooden platform. The car gained speed. Indians appeared along the sides of the track, shouting and waving their arms, but they were helpless to do anything. Soon the pursuers were left far behind.
The boys raised their heads to look about. They were traveling downhill at breakneck speed.
“Now how do we get off this thing?” Frank shouted. “We're moving too fast to jump!”
Joe pointed ahead and gasped. “Look!” Farther down the slope the track came to an abrupt end. Fifty feet from there lay a stack of rusting rails, directly astride the car's path.
“There
must
be a brake system somewhere on this!” Frank said.
The ground rushed by in a blur as the boys frantically searched for a way to stop the car. Joe stumbled to the rear and looked over the side. Spotting a long metal lever just within reach, he grabbed it and pulled upward with all his strength. The rear wheels of the car locked, throwing up a shower of sparks.
“I found it!” he exclaimed.
Frank discovered a similar lever on the right side and yanked up on it hard. The center wheels of the car locked, also producing a geyser of sparks.
Anxious moments followed as the car continued to coast down the slope, but slower and slower. Finally it came to a stop a few feet short of the track's end.
“Whewl” Joe sighed. “That was close.”
Frank mopped his brow. “If we hadn't found those brake levers, we'd have ended up in little pieces.”
The boys leaped out and trotted over to the stack of rails.
“Apparently they're still in the process of building this road,” Joe observed. “I wonder where the track will lead when it's finished.”
“That's something we'll try to figure out later,” Frank said. “Right now, we'd better get out of here. Those Indians are probably on their way!”
They set off at a brisk pace, and after about a mile, stopped to rest.
“Our camp shouldn't be too far from here,” Frank commented. He took a compass from his pocket to estimate the direction they should head. “We'd better get back before Chet starts worrying.”
When they reached their camp the Hardys found Chet propped up against a rock, whittling a stick of wood. He appeared dejected.
“I'm bored,” muttered Chet. “When are you going to let me in on some action? I'm tired of playing baby sitter to a bunch of burros,” he complained.
Joe laughed. “We want to keep all you donkeys together.”
Moving like a charging lineman, Chet dropped his whittling and tackled Joe below the knees. The blond boy hit the ground with a thud, then rose grinning.
“I guess I asked for that,” he admitted ruefully, and added, “Chet, did you ever think of playing pro football?”
The horseplay lifted Chet's spirits, and he listened eagerly as the Hardys told him about the runaway rail car. Then he opened some cans of food and they ate, seated on the ground.
“I hope Tico had luck contacting the authorities,” Joe remarked.
“Let's keep our fingers crossed,” said Frank. “Meanwhile, we'll stay here and keep an eye on the Indians.”
It was late afternoon when the Hardys crept back to the spot from where they could view the cave.
“Oh, oh! They have more guards,” Joe observed.
“Just a precaution,” Frank surmised. “Vincenzo isn't taking any chances after his men reported a couple of outsiders in the vicinity.”
“One thing is sure,” Joe added, “we're safe here. This is the last place they'd expect to find us.”
As darkness came on, the Hardys saw Tremmer emerge from the cave. He strolled casually around the edge of the clearing and sat down on a boulder.
Frank leaned close to his brother. “I'm going to crawl down there and try to speak to him.”
“But he might give you away.”
“I have a feeling he won‘t,” Frank said. “But if anything does happen to me, get back to our camp and wait for Tico to return.”
“Okay. Be careful!”
Frank crept cautiously toward where Trem mer was seated. He maneuvered himself into a position directly behind the boulder, checked to see if the guards were at a safe distance, then called out in a low voice.
“Elmer Tremmer!”
“Who—who's that?” stammered the startled bookkeeper.
“Sh—I'm a friend,” Frank assured him.
“Qué pasa?
—What is going on?” one of the guards shouted.
“Er—er—nothing! Nothing at all!” Tremmer answered, turning his head away from Frank.
The guard appeared satisfied and resumed his conversation with a companion.
“Who are you?” the bookkeeper whispered excitedly.
“My name is Frank Hardy.”
“Hardy? The Bayport detective?”
“I'm his son. My brother and I are here to help you.”
“Help me? How?”
“To escape.”
Tremmer shifted uneasily. “No! I don't want to escapel” he said in a frightened voice.
“If you're afraid to go back to the States,” Frank whispered, “don't be. The authorities only want you to testify as a witness in the stock-fraud case.”
“But Vincenzo told me I'll go to jail. I ...”
“Who is this man Vincenzo?” the young detective queried.
“He's a very dangerous man,” the bookkeeper warned. “He leads these Indians under the name Pavura. They're very superstitious and think he's some kind of god. When I first met him, he used the alias Cardillo.”
The young detective was startled. Another alias! So Cardillo, Pavura, and Vincenzo were really one! Frank pushed himself closer to the boulder.
“What is he using the Indians for, Mr. Tremmer?”
“I—I can't tell you. And I'm not going to try to escape again. If Vincenzo caught me ...” His words trailed off. He got up and walked toward the cave.
Greatly disappointed, Frank rejoined Joe.
“Any luck?” Joe whispered.
“I'm afraid not,” Frank answered, then told him about the conversation with Tremmer.
“He might go straight to Vincenzo and warn him about us,” Joe said worriedly.
“I don't think he will. My guess is that Vincenzo scared him into coming to Mexico. He probably told Tremmer he'd go to jail with the rest of them if they were caught.”
“While all the time he just wanted to get Tremmer out of the way so he couldn't testify,” Joe declared.
“Right!”
“Do you think he'll stick with the gang?”
“I've given Tremmer reason to doubt Vincenzo,” Frank said. “If he realizes he's only wanted as a witness, he might come over to our side.”
The Hardys decided to return to their camp. It was dark when they arrived.
“Funny,” Frank murmured. “I'm sure this is where we had our campsite.”
The boys exchanged puzzled glances.
“Chet!” Frank called in a subdued voice. “Chet!” No response.
“Where are you?” Joe called louder.
“This has got to be the right spot,” Frank said in alarm. He pulled a pencil flashlight from his pocket and played its beam on the ground. “Look!” He quickly bent over and picked up a small object. “This is the stick Chet was whittling!”
“But there's no sign of him or the burros and equipment!”
Joe spotted footprints in the soft dirt. Their pattern was scrambled, indicating that a struggle must have taken place.
Meanwhile, Frank made another discovery. Revealed in the bright, narrow beam of his light was a small heap of ashes. “Chet must have built a fire after we left,” he called out to his brother.
Joe felt the ashes with the palm of his hand. “Cold!” he declared. “This fire has been out at least a couple of hours.”
“That means it would still have been daylight.”
“But the smoke! The Indians must have spotted it!”
There was a hollow feeling in the pits of their stomachs. The boys knew that there was only one explanation for Chet's disappearance. He was in the hands of Vincenzol
CHAPTER XIV
A Threatening Message
“WE MUST rescue Chet—and fast!” Joe exclaimed. “No telling what Vincenzo will do to him!”
“Simmer down. Let's keep our heads,” Frank advised. “If we end up getting captured ourselves, we won't be able to help anybody.”
“Okay,” Joe said. “But we can't stay here without food, water, and equipment. I'd say our best chance is to start back to Montaraz as soon as it's light. We might even meet Tico on the way.”
The boys cut some brush to improvise beds, and fell asleep. At dawn they began the long journey to the village. At one point they crossed a wide, parched stretch of desert plain. Their thirst became unbearable.
“I don't even see a cactus plant around,” Joe said weakly. “We've got to have water.”
“Try not to think about it,” Frank advised. “Just keep moving.” They plodded on.
A few minutes later the boys spotted an abandoned vehicle partially buried in the sand.
“It must be a mirage,” Joe said.
“Mirage nothing. It's a jeep.” Frank observed, and hastened to it.
“This thing's as hot as a griddle,” Joe remarked as he touched a portion of metal exposed to the sun.
“Looks as if the driver got bogged down in the sand and had to leave it,” Frank said. “This thing must've been here for months.”
On the rear floor of the vehicle, Joe found several wrenches wrapped in a large plastic sheet.
“If only we could squeeze water out of these,” he commented, trying to force a smile. He flung the plastic aside.
“Hey! Wait a minute!” Frank commanded. “Don't throw that plastic sheet away. It might be the answer to our problem!”
Joe eyed his brother curiously. He retrieved the plastic sheet and handed it to him.
“Yes! This might just do the trick,” Frank muttered as he examined it.
“Are you sure the heat hasn't gotten to you?” Joe asked.
“I'm fine,” his brother assured him. “I just remembered an article I read some time ago in a science magazine. It described a water generator which uses a plastic sheet just like this.”
Joe's eyes widened. “Say! Now that you mention it, I remember you showing me the article. You start by digging a hole three or four feet across and about half that deep. Then you spread the plastic sheet over it and set a stone in the center. This causes the sheet to sink and form an inverted cone.”
“Exactly,” Frank replied. “It's based on the principle that even the driest soil contains some moisture. As the sun evaporates it, the water vapor condenses on the underside of the plastic sheet. The droplets then begin to trickle down to the point of the inverted cone and fall into a container.”
The boys grabbed a couple of wrenches and began scraping a hole in the soft earth. Frank removed a headlight from the jeep and broke off its stem to serve as a container. He placed it at the bottom of the hole.
“Now help me spread the sheet over it, Joe.”
When the job was finished, Joe picked up a stone and laid it in the center of the sheet, which sank down toward the container in the shape of a cone.
“Now all we have to do is wait,” Frank said.
“How long will it take?”
“According to experiments, about a quart is produced every twelve hours. But we should have enough water to quench our thirst long before that.”
The Hardys sat beside the jeep. Removing their jackets, they spread them over their heads in order to ward off the hot rays of the sun. After several hours they checked on the progress of their water generator.
“It worked like a charm,” Frank said, pointing to the clear water that had collected in the container.
Joe grinned. “There must be at least a pint there.”
Frank took the first swig. “Finest water I ever tasted,” he quipped, and handed the container to his brother.
“You're right. Great stuff!” Joe glanced at the position of the sun. “It'll be dark within a couple of hours,” he continued. “Let's try to cover a little distance by then. We'll take the water generator with us.”
The boys got underway. Soon they found them selves moving into an area where they saw increasing signs of plant life.
“I see hawthorn bushes!” Joe exclaimed. “They have those small red and yellow apples Tico told us about.”

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