The Firebird Rocket (12 page)

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Authors: Franklin W. Dixon

BOOK: The Firebird Rocket
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He led the way to the lighted window, where they could see that the Cutlers and gang members were assembled.
“Good,” Frank declared. “We can go in—”
Wham!
A window slammed over their heads and two men leaped down toward them from the darkness above. Instinctively the boys flattened themselves out against the wall. The men hurdled clear over them, hit the ground, jumped to their feet, and ran to the station wagon.
The Hardys got a good look at one man's face in the light from the window and recognized him from his photo. He was Dr. Jenson!
They could not see the other man's face, but as he jumped his hand caught the light from the room and sparkling red rays were reflected from a large ring on his finger.
“That must be Mike Moran!” Frank gasped.
CHAPTER XIV
Frank Foils the Gang
A TUMULT of furious screaming and shouting broke out in the ranch house.
“The room is empty!” Cutler yelled at the top of his voice. “They're gone—both of ‘em!”
“Catch them!” Mrs. Cutler screeched savagely. “Don't let them get away!”
“We'll head ‘em off!” Stiller shouted. “Put on the searchlight so we can see 'em!”
A moment later a beam of yellow light from a lookout post on the roof cut through the darkness. It picked up Jenson and Moran as they jumped into the station wagon. Moran started the car. The engine turned over—and died!
Shots rang out and bullets flew toward the station wagon, clanging off fenders and hub caps. One shattered the rear window as the men rushed out with Stiller in the lead. They pounded across the yard toward the fugitives.
Moran desperately turned the key in the starter again. This time the engine came to life. He shifted gears, and the vehicle moved off just as Stiller grabbed the door handle on the driver's side. He glared angrily at the two men inside. He reached for the steering wheel and struggled with Moran for control, but Moran held on with an iron grip.
Stiller was dragged for about ten yards before losing his hold and falling off. He somersaulted in the dust and landed flat on his back. Cursing furiously, he got to his feet. The gang rushed up. Those who carried guns opened fire, but the station wagon was far ahead, moving quickly toward the gate.
“They'll have to stop!” Stiller snarled. “The gate's chained!”
The criminals ran as fast as they could, while the searchlight focused on the speeding station wagon. Moran stepped on the gas and smashed into the gate, causing it to splinter under the impact. The vehicle plowed through, carrying broken boards with it, and disappeared down the road.
Frank, Joe, and Chet observed the escape after sneaking to a corner of the ranch house from which they had a view of the gate. They felt like cheering when they saw the station wagon vanish into the darkness.
“They got away!” Chet chortled.
Joe shook his head. “Those guys'll go after them in the pickup unless we act fast!” He ran to the truck, followed by Frank and Chet, leaned in, and snatched the keys from the dashboard. “That'll stop 'em!” He grinned.
“They may have another set of keys,” Frank said. “Better let the air out of this tire.” He tried to unscrew the valve cap, but it refused to budge.
Taking out his penknife, Frank gouged its point into the rubber and began carving a small slit in the tire sidewall until air leaked out with a low hissing sound.
“Look out!” Joe warned. “They're coming!”
The boys melted into the darkness and hid behind tall shrubs.
“We'll take the pickup and go after Jenson and Moran,” Stiller ordered. “Don't stand there! Get in. I'll drive!”
As his henchmen obeyed, he squeezed behind the wheel and reached for the keys. His fingers hit an empty keyhole on the dashboard.
“My keys are gone!” he exploded. “Who took 'em? Which of you guys has been fooling around this heap? Fork the key over!”
Each one denied knowing anything about the key. Finally Bruno fished his own key from his pocket and gave it to Stiller.
“No use arguing about it, boss,” he said. “They got a head start on us. We'll have to move if we want to catch up.”
Muttering to himself, Stiller turned on the ignition and the pickup took off with a roar. But by this time the leaking tire had gone completely flat. The rapidly whirling wheel bumped and clattered loudly over the rough ground, throwing the flattened tire casing halfway off the rim.
The truck lurched and jounced crazily from side to side while Stiller fought to bring it under control. One jolt broke the catch on the back gate, which dropped, and one of the men tumbled out. Finally Stiller brought the pickup to a stop.
“We've got a flat!” he fumed. “Salty, I thought you were gonna put new tires on so we could take Jenson for his ride!”
“I did, boss,” Salty said defensively. “Look for yourself if you don't believe me.”
“Don't worry. I will,” Stiller retorted. He got out along with the others. The man who had fallen joined them, rubbing his shoulder.
“I'm okay,” he said, “but those guys won't be when we nab 'em.” He waved his fist.
“If you ask me, the tire was slashed!” fumed Bruno. “I'll bet Moran did it!”
“That's right,” Stiller said. “He came out earlier to stretch his legs—or so he said. No doubt he punctured the tire while we weren't looking. He's the only one who could have. But he won't get away with it. We'll track him down.”
“What I want to know,” Salty interjected, “is 'ow Moran became a member of our group.”
Bruno shrugged. “My fault. I met him at a soccer game in Sydney and he told me he wanted a job in the Outback because the law was after him. I fell for his story.”
“You stupid jughead!” Stiller granted harshly. “We never should have listened to you.”
“What do we do now?” Cutler asked.
“Change the tire. What else?” Stiller hissed. “Get busy, you guys!”
“The jack's in the station wagon,” Bruno said sheepishly.
“What! You've got to be kidding!” Stiller screamed furiously. A shouting match followed until Salty brought it to an end. “Mates, I've got it!” he yelled.
“Got what?” Stiller demanded.
“The station wagon's low on petrol. I forgot to top ‘er up yesterday. They'll get stuck somewhere between 'ere and Alice Springs!”
Stiller was thoughtful for a moment. “That's right. And all they can do is hide in the Outback, close to the road. We can get in touch with Bartel in the morning, and—”
“We won't have any trouble finding them, boss,” Bruno added. “Don't worry about that.”
“All right. But I don't want any more slip-ups. Let's set up guards for the rest of the night. We can't be sure that these snoopy boys won't show up sooner or later! Go inside and get some more ammunition. Then position yourselves around the property. We'll do two shifts.”
The men agreed and everyone went inside. Frank pulled Joe and Chet by their jackets. “Let's get out of here, quick!”
CHAPTER XV
A Deadly Snake
THE boys raced through the darkness and wriggled through the fence. Then they ran around the rocks to the car. It appeared deserted as they approached.
“Where's Mr. Ponsley?” Chet puffed. “Do you think he got scared and ran off?”
“We'll have to stay and look for him,” Joe said. “We can't just drive away and leave him behind!”
A loud noise interrupted him.
“No need to look for Mr. Ponsley,” Frank observed. “He's here all right.”
The boys peered through the window. Ponsley was sitting in the back seat with his hands crossed on his vest. His head was bent forward and his chin touched the enormous tie he wore. His mouth was open; and with every breath he snored.
Relieved to find he was still in the car, Frank, Joe, and Chet piled into the compact, then Frank took the wheel as they moved off. He drove carefully, not daring to use his lights until they were around the rocks and well down the road.
“We're safe now,” Frank said, snapping on the headlights and stepping on the gas.
“As long as our car doesn't conk out,” Chet stated. “I'll give three cheers when we get to Alice Springs.”
“First we've got to find Jenson and Moran,” Frank reminded him.
They came to a rough part of the road and jounced up and down over rocks and deep pot-holes. Frank shifted into low gear to maneuver past the worst spots. The jolting ride brought Ponsley awake with a start. He raised his head and looked around. “Where are we?” he demanded irritably.
“On the Cutler road,” Frank replied.
Ponsley became peevish. “Well, you are driving this car as if you were riding a bronco at the rodeo.”
“Can't help it,” Frank said. “The Cutlers never built a paved highway for visitors to drive to their ranch.”
Joe turned around and addressed their companion. “Mr. Ponsley, did you notice anything after we left you in the car?”
Ponsley covered a yawn with his hand. “What do you mean?” he asked.
“The station wagon. Did it keep on going down the road past the rocks?”
“What station wagon?” Ponsley inquired. “I know nothing about a station wagon.”
Frank was incredulous. “You mean a station wagon crashed through a board fence only a few yards from where you were and you didn't hear anything?”
“I don't recall a thing between the time you left and just now, when you woke me up.”
Frank increased speed as they reached a better stretch of the road. “Unbelievable!” He chuckled.
“Why are you going so fast?” Ponsley complained.
Joe explained that they had to get safely away from the gang of crooks at the Cutler Ranch.
Ponsley became cross. “I should think we are far enough away to slow down. I don't like being in an automobile at high speeds.”
Frank turned onto the main road and increased his speed. “We have another reason for making time, Mr. Ponsley,” he declared.
“Oh, what's that?”
“We're trying to catch Dr. Jenson and Mike Moran!”
Ponsley's mouth dropped open as the meaning of the statement sank in. The boys took turns describing events at the Cutler Ranch leading up to the climax, when Jenson and Moran leaped from the window of the house and fled in the station wagon.
“How did you know the man with Jenson was Michael?” he spluttered.
“He was wearing a ring with a red stone,” Joe said. “It reflected in the light from the house.”
Ponsley became excited. “Then it must be Michael! Frank, speed up! Catch the station wagon!”
Frank kept the gas pedal flat on the floor as the car raced forward. But trouble was in store. Several miles farther on, the car suddenly stalled. Lacking proper tools and light to work by, the boys puttered over the engine a long time before discovering that the distributor cap had sprung loose.
Later, after resuming their journey, they sighted distant figures silhouetted on the skyline. Ponsley insisted that they stop and investigate. The figures turned out to be wild aborigines hunting at night. Returning wearily to the car, they continued southward to Alice Springs.
Dawn began to break. Shafts of sunlight glanced from the desert in shimmering rays. Near the Sandover River, a group of kangaroos bounded away, and a rabbit scooted across the road, seeking safety in scrub vegetation.
Then something caught Joe's eye up ahead. “The station wagon!” he exclaimed.
Frank hit the brakes and brought the car to a stop behind the vehicle they had been chasing. Rocks and gullies extended on both sides of the road.
“Salty was right,” Frank said. “They must have run out of gas.”
Ponsley got out of the car as fast as he could. “Michael, Michael!” he called out.
There was no reply. Ponsley groaned. “They're gone!”
“The keys are still here,” Joe pointed out.
Chet squeezed into the front seat, turned on the ignition, and glanced at the dashboard dials. “The gas needle's down to empty,” he confirmed.
“Then they must be somewhere near here,” Ponsley said hopefully. “But where?”
“Let's see if we can find their footprints and follow them,” Frank suggested.
The four walked around the station wagon, but the terrain was too rocky for footprints.
“It's no use,” Joe finally said. “We can't tell which way they went.”
The boys shaded their eyes with their hands and scanned the horizon. Ponsley sat down on a boulder. Not a sound broke the silence of the desert, and not a movement could be seen among the rocks.
Joe was about to say something when he looked in Ponsley's direction and stopped short. Their friend was staring down toward his left hand, which was hidden by the boulder on which he sat. He looked deathly pale, his eyes bulged with fear, and a trickle of sweat rolled down his face. He seemed to have stopped breathing.
Joe stepped slowly around to see what was wrong. He noticed an Australian brown snake, about five feet long, coiled behind the boulder! The snake's neck arched in the air. Flashing wicked fangs only inches from Ponsley's hand, the serpent swayed menacingly back and forth, hissing ferociously.
Ponsley was mesmerized by the venomous creature. He sat as if turned to stone, too terrified to move.
Cautiously, to avoid startling the snake and causing it to strike at Ponsley's hand, Joe gave a danger signal to Frank and Chet. Responding, they moved up, and were horrified when they realized that Ponsley was in danger.

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