Rick Brant - The Flaming Mountain Part 7

"He'll have to stay there until we find the governor and arrange for trustworthy policemen," the scientist said. "I'm certain those who have been guarding the dynamite are all right, but we'd better have the governor's word for it."

Rick agreed with the precaution.

While Esteben Balgos was being briefed on the day's happenings, Zircon and Williams arrived and had to be briefed, too. Twice, small earth temblors interrupted the conference.

"Something is happening below us," Balgos said. "I wish we knew exactly what!"

The magma was pushing up relentlessly, melting its way into the channels Williams had marked on his sketch. In one of the channels was a large pocket in which water had collected over the centuries. Perhaps there was enough water to fill a substantial pond, perhaps even a small lake. There was also room in the porous rock for expansion, because the pocket was not entirely full. The magma neared the pocket, meeting small quant.i.ties of water on its way. Each meeting resulted in a small explosion, and a temblor that was felt far above.

Then the magma's heat turned the pocket itself to steam. The steam expanded in a mighty explosion that sent great shock waves smashing through the earth.

Rick Brant's chair went over backward and he fell to a floor that was shaking like soft mud under him. He heard the crashing of gla.s.sware and the sounds of furniture falling. And he heard the ominous rumble of the building itself, splitting, cracking, falling.

"Out!" Hartson Brant yelled. "Get outside!"

Rick scrambled to hands and knees and saw that Scotty was bending to pick him up. He waved his pal away and got to his feet, fighting to keep his balance on the shaking floor. He was scared stiff, but far from paralyzed. Nor did he lose his head. He made sure the scientists were on their way before he followed them through the nearest door.

"Back!" Scotty yelled.

The group paused as a section of building cornice crashed to the ground just outside. Dust billowed. Scotty sprang through the opening and looked up.

"Okay," he called. "Come on!"

The Spindrifters poured through the doorway out onto the parking lot. They were in time to see another section of cornice break loose and fall to the ground. Hotel employees were pouring out, too, gathering in the parking lot beyond the reach of the crumbling hotel.

Rick saw a great gap appear in one wall and waited breathlessly for the wall to fall, but it held. The ground still shook under his feet, and his insides were producing the queasy symptoms of motion sickness. Then the earth steadied again, leaving only a mild temblor that soon vanished.

The group looked at each other, white-faced. The earthquake had been by far the worst yet. There was even some doubt that the hotel was still safe. Rick, seeing the manager busy counting noses to make sure all his employees were out, gasped, "Connel!"

Hartson Brant ran for the tool closet, the others behind him. The scientist reached for the key, ready to let Connel out.

The wall was tilted crazily. The door had sprung wide open.

Connel was gone!

CHAPTER XII.

THE RISING MAGMA.

THE Spindrift group held a council of war in their office-conference room. Inspection of the hotel had shown that damage was not as serious as first expected. The cornices, held only by mortar, had fallen, and the rear exterior wall had lost its brick veneer. The structural part of the wall, while cracked, was strong enough to hold up. The veneer was unsafe, however, and it was agreed that all should stay well away from the area where Connel had been imprisoned.

"We must begin another series of shots at once," Hartson Brant said. "It's apparent that the magma has moved, and rapidly. But until we get more tracings, we won't know in what direction. Meanwhile, we must find the governor!" "How?" Rick asked. "How can we find him?" Hartson Brant smiled at his son. "It seems to me that you and Scotty have acquired considerable reputations as detectives, Rick. I suggest you earn them. Find the governor for us. We will give you Honorario as an interpreter, but it will be up to you. The rest of us must operate as best we can short-handed."

"How about Connel?" Scotty demanded.

The scientist shrugged. "He's the least of my worries. Let him develop his diamond mine. My concern is with this island and the people on it. If our guess is right, Connel will be lucky to have a few days in which to work-scarcely enough to do much mining."

"Any ideas?" Rick asked.

"Yes. Talk to the governor's family, and to his personal staff. Stay away from Guevara. Once Connel tells him we know about the diamonds, he may become dangerous. Do what you can, boys. After all, this isn't a big island and the governor must be somewhere on it."

"If he's alive," Scotty added.

Hartson Brant looked at the boy and his face grew grim. "Yes," he agreed. "If he's alive."

Rick and Scotty had always relished the adventure and excitement of trying to solve a mystery. Sometimes the success or failure of a project had hung in the balance, but this one was different. The fate of an island and nearly 32,000 people depended on solving the riddle of the missing governor. Rick felt the weight of the responsibility.

The plan he and Scotty developed was simple and logical. They would start with the governor's movements on the morning of his disappearance and continue from there.

At the governor's residence they learned from his butler that Montoya had left the house promptly at eight o'clock, as he did every morning. He drove himself, in a small English car that he used for personal transportation. But, as they knew from the visit to the executive offices, he had never arrived.

The next stop was to determine his route. It wasn't difficult; there was only one main road from the outskirts of Calor into town, although there were many side streets.

With Honorario as interpreter, they began the time-consuming job of questioning householders along the route.

Honorario was personally interested in the job. He had learned from them of Connel's perfidy, and he said quietly, "Ruiz is my friend. We do not yet know if he will live, or, if he lives, if he will be a whole man again. I owe it to him to do my best in this matter. You may depend on me."

Not until they had reached the outskirts of Calor did they find what had happened. Through Honorario, an old lady who had seen it all through her window told them the story.

"A big military truck was across the road," Honorario reported. "It was keeping cars from pa.s.sing. The little car of the governor came, and it had to stop. An officer got in with the governor. The truck moved away and the governor drove off. The old woman thinks the officer was pointing a gun at the governor. She did not know it was the governor, but her words to describe him were enough."

Rick whistled. "Military? Does that mean the governor got caught by some kind of revolutionary group?"

Honorario shrugged. "Who knows? But I have heard of no revolution. The governor is popular, and the people are satisfied. But you should know, my friends, that on this island the comandante of our small military is the lieutenant governor. I think we are not dealing here with revolution, but with Senor Jaime Guevara!"

"We're stuck," Scotty said. "I suppose we could keep on asking and try to get a line on where the governor's car went, but that's pretty hopeless. Honorario, can we possibly find someone who is loyal to the governor and who knows the island?"

Honorario thought it over. "In such a case," he replied, "there is only one way to be sure. It is, you understand, a matter of family. Among San Luzians, the family is first and all else is after. So, I think we should see the nephew of the governor. He is el capitdn Ricardo Montoya, who is deputy of police for the western part of the island."

Captain Ricardo Montoya was young, capable, and alert. Honorario found him in the police headquarters in central Calor and invited him to join the boys for coffee at a nearby cafe.

Rick looked the officer over as he entered the restaurant, and he liked what he saw. Montoya was built like a middleweight fighter, and his white uniform was spotless. He was lighter in complexion than most San Luzians, but even the wisp of mustache on his upper lip couldn't conceal the firmness of his face.

He greeted them courteously, in good English. "A sus drdenes, senores. This Honorario says you wish to speak with me?"

"We place ourselves in your hands, Senor Capitdn," Rick said quietly. "Because you are the governor's nephew and a police official, we must a.s.sume that you are completely loyal to him."

The officer's brilliant dark eyes flashed. "It would be a grave insult to a.s.sume otherwise, senor. He is the brother of my father."

"Good," Rick said. "No insult was intended. I think we had better tell you the entire story, then we can discuss what must be done." He started at the beginning, with the arrival of Balgos at Spindrift, and ended with the day's events.

"You have cast much light on what has happened," the captain stated. "I am grateful. Now, senores, you must not believe I have been idle. I had already discovered how my uncle was kidnapped. It was clear that some military element was involved, but I rejected the idea of revolution. The motive puzzled me. It is puzzling no longer, thanks to you. Also, while I suspected Guevara, there was no proof. My suspicion, you understand, was based on his character."

"Have you any idea where the governor was taken?" Scotty asked.

"I have now," Montoya said grimly. "The best possibility-and about the only place we have not looked-is Casa Guevara."

The boys exchanged glances. "Then we ought to make up a party of loyal people and invade the place," Rick stated.

"No. If I know this man Guevara, any such move would mean the death of my uncle, if he still lives. We must find some other way."

"Can you find loyal people?" Rick asked.

"A few. You must understand most people do not feel as I do about Guevara. He is popular. Who knows where the loyalty of the people lies, between individuals? One cannot be certain. So, I must use only men loyal to me. There are such."

Montoya rose. "We will be allies, since we fight for the same thing, which is San Luz. Let me see what kind of plan can be made. Go back to your hotel, and I will come for you there. We will work this thing out together." He shook hands with both boys, turned, and strode from the restaurant.

Rick paid for their coffee and the boys joined Honorario, who was waiting outside in the jeep. "He's a good, tough hombre," Rick told the San Luzian. "You made a good choice."

"I am glad," Honorario said. "Someday he will be governor, like his uncle."

While the boys were in Calor, the scientists had conducted another series of shots. The tracings were spread out on the table when they returned, and the group was engrossed in checking them over.

Rick and Scotty waited, watching. They knew from the quiet voices and tense att.i.tudes that something serious had been found. Then Williams began to mark in the data on his sketch.

"This is where the explosion took place," he said. "Probably the magma hit a quant.i.ty of water as it entered the new channel. Notice that the channel is one we marked on here earlier as a probable path. So far, we're guessing right. Now, my estimate is that the magma will move fast, stopping only when it reaches this dike of solid basalt."

Hartson Brant wiped his face with his handkerchief. "It looks bad, Jeff. The magma will reach the solid layer before we could possibly get to it with a tunnel."

"What does that mean?" Rick asked.

Hobart Zircon answered him. "It means. Rick, that we no longer have time to dig a vent. It means the people of this island will be lucky if they can get away in time!"

CHAPTER XIII.

ARMED REVOLT.

DAVID RIDDLE had fired the last series of shots from Connel's stations. By unanimous consent, the last station at the volcanic pipe had been omitted. Two stations would have to do for now. All agreed it would be foolish to jeopardize a man by going near the guarded third station.

Since Riddle had the longest distance to travel, he had not arrived when the boys returned to the hotel. Now, as Zircon finished his ominous statement, the government geologist strode into the room.

"We're in trouble," he stated. "I'm only a few minutes ahead of soldiers. I came out of the trail onto the road and saw them just coming off the dirt road onto the pavement. They shouted for me to stop, but I wasn't of a mind to tangle with troops. I came as fast as I could."

"Are they coming here?" Hartson Brant asked quickly.

"They're either coming here or marching into Calor. Those are the only two places the road leads. My guess is that they're marching here."

Rick said swiftly, "Connel got to Guevara! And Guevara is going to make sure we don't spread the word!"

"Rick is probably right," Zircon snapped. "I suggest we clear out. If we're captured, we'll be unable to operate at all."

"Grab the supplies and get into the jeeps," Hartson Brant ordered. "Quickly! Rick, you and Scotty move fast. Get your stuff into the jeep, then take as much dynamite as you can. Go up the road to where you have a good view and act as lookouts. Give us as much warning as you can. We'll take the rest of the dynamite and the equipment in the other jeeps!"

Rick and Scotty dashed to their room. They threw clothes into their bags, slammed them shut without bothering to pack neatly, and hurried out into the parking lot. Rick backed the jeep up to the pump shed while Scotty ran to the door. To the policeman on duty he explained only that they were in a great hurry.

The boys took time to load six cases, plus one of the detonators and a roll of wire, then they got into the jeep and roared off up the road toward the pumice works.

"We've probably got ten minutes," Scotty estimated. "If they're marching at a normal pace, it would take them a little less than a half hour to walk from the pumice works."

Rick drove a half mile up the road to where he had a good view of several hundred yards and stopped the jeep. "We'll be able to spot them from here." He turned the jeep around, ready to run as soon as the troops came in sight. "Where do you suppose the soldiers came from?"

"Probably from a camp near San Souci," Scotty guessed. "Otherwise, they'd have come up the main road from Calor. There's probably a camp on the western sh.o.r.e somewhere."

"Wish we had some way of slowing them down," Rick mused. "We need a mortar or a few military rockets. But all we've got is some dynamite, and we can't throw that very far."

"Why do we have to throw it?" Scotty asked excitedly. "Listen. We'll put a charge by the side of the road and string wire back a way. Then we can park the jeep off the road next to the detonator. When they get within range, we'll push the plunger and run. We can time it so they won't get blown up, but they may think they're being sh.e.l.led."

"That should do it," Rick agreed. He shifted into gear and moved ahead slowly, searching for a likely spot. There was one a few yards ahead where a clump of wild banana plants would shield the jeep from view. He backed the jeep in next to the banana plants and made sure he could get out again easily, then he took the coil of wire and began unwinding it along the edge of the road. Scotty took out his scout knife and began to pry open a case of dynamite.

Rick fed wire until he reached a spot a hundred yards up the road, then took out his knife and cut through the thin stuff. He started back to help Scotty and was just in time to see the dark-haired boy with a stick of dynamite in his mouth!

Rick gasped. He started to run toward Scotty, but his pal waved him back. Then, as Rick watched, horrified, he saw Scotty take the stick out of his mouth and motion for him to come ahead.

"What are you doing?" Rick demanded. "I thought for a minute you'd lost all your b.u.t.tons and started eating dynamite."

"We didn't have crimpers," Scotty explained. "The only way I could get the cap on was to crimp it with my teeth."

Rick turned white. He gulped. No wonder Scotty looked a little pale!

"It worked," Scotty said, a little shakily. "But I don't want to do it as a regular thing."

"I should hope not!" Rick exclaimed fervently. "Give me that stick. I'll connect up. Will one be enough?"

"Plenty," Scotty said. "Get going. I'll connect up the detonator."

By the time Rick had placed the dynamite and connected the wires, Scotty was ready, the detonator in the front seat of the jeep between his legs.

"I wish we had some regular fuse," he said. "Then we could put short fuses on a few sticks, light them, and throw them."

Rick stared at him. "And crimp all the caps with your teeth? Boy, I'm glad we haven't any fuse!"

Scotty's estimate was two minutes off. It took twelve minutes for the troops to come into sight. Watching from behind the banana plants, the boys saw them hiking down the road like a bunch of tenderfeet on their first five-mile hike. It was obvious that discipline in the San Luzian army was slack. The men wore sloppy brown uniforms and a variety of hats. They carried rifles and there were bandoliers of cartridges across their chests and grenades at their belts.