The Yellow Ground
Governor Luis Montoya could not be located. Neither his family nor his staff knew his whereabouts. There was great alarm over his unexplained absence. The police were searching for the missing executive, but with no success.
Hartson Brant called a council of war and told the scientific group that his most recent phone call to Guevara had even resulted in a turndown when he asked for more dynamite. The lieutenant governor evidently was not content with refusing to help, he was going to obstruct.
"There is dynamite on Trinidad," Hartson Brant said. "Plenty of it. I made a phone call to a friend at the U. S. Air Base there, and he agreed to get it for us. Rick, you and Scotty fly over to Port of Spain right away. The information is written down here." He handed Rick a slip of paper.
"If you leave now, you can get there before dark, spend the night and come back in the morning. Bring all the dynamite you can carry, with caps and a few reels of primer cord. We'll need more wire, too. Get hopping, now."
"Yes, sir," Rick said. He and Scotty ran to their room for toothbrushes, stuffed their pockets with extra socks and underwear, and ran to the parking lot for the jeep.
The weather was fine and clear, and the flight uneventful. When they landed at the U. S. base they found that Hartson Brant's friend, Colonel Tom Markey, had arranged for a full load of dynamite, and full gas tanks for the plane. The boys spent the night at bachelor officers' quarters at the base and took off at dawn, the Sky Wagon sluggish from its load of dynamite cases.
Back at the Hot Springs Hotel, they unloaded the dynamite from the jeep and stored it under police protection in the pump house. Then they went to look for the scientists.
Hartson Brant, David Riddle, and Julius Weiss were in the conference room working over drawings. Rick saw that they were sketches of a tunnel.
The scientists welcomed them, and Rick asked, "Any progress, Dad?"
"No, Rick. The governor is still missing. We can't get help until he's found."
"Where are the others?" Scotty asked.
"Placing tiltometers on the mountain," his father told him. "The instruments were ordered by phone from Caracas right after you left and got in on the first morning plane."
Rick glanced at Scotty. He asked, "Exactly where are the others?"
"Balgos and Connel are at the north end of the mountain, above Redondo. Williams and Zircon are up above us somewhere. They started the climb behind the hot springs."
"I think we'll get a bite to eat," Rick said. "Unless you need us."
"No. There's nothing for you to do right at the moment, but Balgos wants you to take some photos from the air later this afternoon."
"Okay, Dad." Rick gestured, and Scotty followed him out.
"All's quiet," Rick told his pal. "And a quiet time is a good time to do a little investigating. Let's go to the kitchen, get a couple of sandwiches, and eat them on the way."
"To where?" Scotty asked. He grinned. "Don't tell me. To see what Connel is hiding over at his stations."
"On the button. Let's get going."
There was nothing whatever of interest at Connel's first two stations. The ground was torn up somewhat from the series of shots, but the boys could find no trace of anything unusual. They got back into the jeep, and Rick drove up the trail to the last station. He followed the path of broken vegetation Connel's jeep had made, noticing that the trail was dipping downward to a spot lower on the mountain than the other stations.
They reached a patch of crushed and yellowed growth where Connel obviously had parked his jeep. There were oil stains on some of the broken leaves.
Scotty pointed to a brown-paper cigarette stub. "Ever see Connel smoke one of those?"
Rick hadn't. "He smokes cigars. Where do you suppose that came from?"
Scotty got out of the jeep and bent over the butt. "The tip is still damp," he said. "Someone's been here very recently. We'd better keep an eye open."
Trampled vegetation showed them the path to the firing place. Moving cautiously, the boys walked down the path, eyes constantly searching for signs of movement in the heavy growth.
The clearing where Connel had placed his shots was only a short distance down the path. Rick examined it carefully, but it looked like all the others, except for one thing. The broken earth was yellow, and of a different texture than the deep jungle loam at the other stations.
Rick walked into the shattered area and picked up a piece of the yellow ground. It broke in his hands. "Funny-looking stuff," he said.
"Yes," Scotty agreed. "Take a look around while I keep a watch. I have a funny feeling we're not alone here."
There was a fairly deep crater in the middle of the area. Rick stepped into it and kicked yellow earth out of his way. He was puzzled. There was nothing visible in the area except the yellow ground, and there was nothing about that to give him a clue to Connel's determination to keep them away.
His foot dislodged a clump of earth. It rolled to the bottom of the shot crater, exposing two large crystals. Rick picked them up and rubbed the dirt off. They felt rather greasy. He didn't think they were quartz. His mind ranged over the possibilities. Probably datolite, he decided. The color was about right, and he knew datolite was found in igneous rocks of volcanic origin. He put the crystals in his pocket.
A trace of blue caught his eye and he knelt, digging with his hands. He uncovered a few more of the datolite crystals and put them in his pocket. They weren't particularly good specimens; he had some in his rock collection that were perfectly formed and clear, but at least they were something to take home.
Digging uncovered a layer of hard blue rock, heavily pockmarked and filled with the yellow ground. He saw one place where the blue actually blended in with yellow and decided that the blue and yellow were probably the same rock. The slaty blue simply turned to yellow when it was exposed to the air for a while.
There were loose pieces of blue, broken by the dynamite blasts. He picked up a couple of smaller pieces, then added a piece of yellow to his collection. He uncovered another crystal, too, a large one nearly the size of a golf ball and put that in his pocket.
Scotty was getting restless. "Let's get going," he said. "I don't like this."
Rick had seen enough, and it had told him nothing. He was just as puzzled over Connel's motive as ever. Obviously, the answer was not here—or, if it was, they couldn't see it.
"Okay," he said. "Move out."
Scotty led the way back to the jeep. Rick got into the driver's seat and started the motor. He backed and turned in the narrow space Connel's jeep had created, and finally got his wheels straight for the run back.
From somewhere behind them a voice called, "Parada!"
"Who's that yelling at us to stop?" Rick asked.
"I can't see anyone," Scotty replied. His eyes were scanning the jungle. "But I don't know anyone around here we want to talk to. I've got a hunch we should get going."
Rick felt the same. He released the clutch and the jeep moved ahead.
"Parada!" the voice yelled again, and on the echo came the clear crash of a rifleshot. A jagged star suddenly appeared on the windshield between them!
Rick reacted instinctively. He shoved the gas pedal to the floor and bent low, the skin of his back crawling with the expectation of a rifle bullet hitting it. The jeep leaped ahead and he steered as best he could. He shifted into second and the vehicle picked up speed. The rifle snapped again and he heard the sound of the slug hitting metal in the rear of the jeep. Then the trail turned and there was heavy jungle growth between them and the unseen sniper.
Not until they reached the second station, a mile away, did Rick slow down. He looked at Scotty, his face grim. "The place was guarded. What else can you make out of it?"
"Just that," Scotty agreed. "The guard must have been making a tour around the shot station. He got back just as we were taking off."
"Funny he didn't hear the jeep when we came," Rick said.
"Not very. Sound gets lost pretty fast in this heavy growth. You couldn't hear us a hundred yards away. Probably there's just the one guard, and he goes around the station in a big circle."
"I'll buy it," Rick agreed. "But why? Why guard a chunk of jungle with nothing in it but some torn up yellow ground?"
"When I find out," Scotty replied, "I'll let you know first thing."