Rick watched the desert go by, his mind busy with the problems. As Scotty had said, if Mac and Pancho weren't in on the thefts, someone was. That someone had to get the stolen goods off the base and to a location from which it could be carried to civilization. He toyed with the idea that the stolen transistors might simply have been destroyed or hidden by the Earthman in order to hold up work at the base. That didn't seem likely.
The facts of time and distance certainly eliminated Mac and Pancho. During the shoots they were miles away. They had little or no opportunity to get close to the rockets. It was only reasonable to cross them—and all other radar-tracking teams—off the suspect list. Yet, Rick couldn't forget his initial feeling about the pair.
Scotty pointed. "Isn't that a town?"
The jeep had topped a gentle rise. Below lay a small, dry lake bed. At one edge of the dry lake, nestled in low foothills, were gray, weathered buildings. It was almost certainly Steamboat.
Scotty stopped the jeep and they surveyed the countryside with care. There was no sign of movement, no sign of a dust cloud from any other vehicle.
The sun was low in the west. In a short time it would be out of sight beyond the mountains, then darkness would close in. Rick reached into the jeep's glove compartment and found the flashlight he had stowed there. He checked it, then asked, "What are we waiting for?"
"Ideas," Scotty replied. "What say we roll right on through the town without stopping, then turn and come back through that wash at the base of the hills?"
Rick looked to where the dark-haired boy pointed. He saw the shadow of a gully that followed the foothills closely.
"Think it's necessary?" he asked.
Scotty shrugged. "Probably not. But it's better to be careful than sorry later."