"No!" Brad Connel exploded.
Hartson Brant and the other scientists looked at him with surprise. "Why not?" Dr. Brant asked. "It seems like a sensible suggestion, Brad."
"It is," Connel said hurriedly. "It's just that ... well, maybe I'm still too upset over that accident, but I know the terrain now, and these kids don't. They should stick to the stations where they've been operating, and I'll handle my own. It's just that I don't want any risks whatever. My own part of the mountain is a lot rougher, and they'd be carrying dynamite and caps over pretty bouncy trails. I don't like it. I think we should stick to our own stations."
The geologist obviously felt strongly about it, and Hartson Brant agreed. "Since you feel that way, Brad, we'll let things go as they are. Hobart, can the boys handle the shots?"
"Sure," Zircon stated. "As long as Rick doesn't crimp caps with his teeth. Of course if he does we'll still get a reading, but we may lose Rick."
"No danger," Rick retorted. "Besides, you wouldn't get a reading because the shot wouldn't be timed right."
Hartson Brant saw that the big scientist was joking. "If Rick feels adventurous he can kick mountain lions for sport instead. I'm told there are some on the mountain."
"Jaguars," Dr. Balgos offered. "Not your typical North American cats. These are much fiercer. They react faster to a kick—if you can get close enough to kick one."
Brad Connel laughed heartily. "The boys can lure 'em with catnip," he said.
Rick glanced at the geologist. The laugh hadn't rung true.