The Desert Thieves Page 3

  “Now what?” Joe asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Frank said. “I guess we wait to see what happens. It’s getting dark, so we can follow him when he leaves.”

  “Yeah,” Joe said. “If he’s the cactus thief, he might just head to some other part of the park to steal another one.”

  “He won’t be loading a giant cactus into that little pickup,” Frank said.

  “No,” Joe said. “But maybe he’ll have a rendezvous with his accomplices. You know, I was thinking—”

  At that moment they heard someone yell angrily from inside the office. A second man shouted, and Frank and Joe exchanged a glance, recognizing the voice as Grisham’s.

  Then they heard glass shattering.

  4 A Midnight Adventure

  * * *

  “Let’s go!” Joe said, throwing open his door. Together he and Frank raced for the office. Joe reached the door first and opened it.

  Kidwell had Grish backed up against the wall, with a grip on the ranger’s shirt. The younger man’s fist was raised, ready to slug Grish. Kidwell looked around as the Hardys entered. His grip on the ranger slowly relaxed as he realized what he was doing, and after a few tense seconds he released Grish.

  “What’s going on?” Joe asked.

  The men looked away from each other, straightening their clothing. “It’s over,” Grish said. “Everybody’s okay. Mr. Kidwell and I just had a little disagreement. Right, David?” Grish let out his breath slowly and said, “Frank and Joe, why don’t you two wait outside for a moment?” He waved toward the door.

  Frank exchanged glances with Joe, then followed him outside, shutting the door behind them.

  “What do you suppose that was all about?” Joe asked.

  “Who knows?” Frank said. “It probably had to do with what happened this afternoon on the road.”

  Another shout came from inside, but before the Hardys could decide whether to interfere, the door flew open and Kidwell stomped out. He turned and shouted, “And you know what I’m talking about!” Then he marched straight to his pickup, got in, started the engine, and drove away, spinning his tires as he went.

  Inside the office, Grish was sitting at his desk. He looked up as Frank and Joe entered. “I’m not sure what made you boys show up when you did,” he said, “but I guess it was a good thing. Kidwell and I were about to go at it.” Grish smoothed back his sandy hair and wiped his brow.

  “What happened?” Frank asked.

  Grish explained that when he’d said something to Kidwell about his irresponsible driving, Kidwell had come after him.

  Joe asked whether Grish had mentioned the shovel.

  “I did bring up the shovel,” Grish said, nodding. “But as soon as I mentioned it, he blew up. And then, after you left the office, I tried again to talk to him. When I mentioned the shovel, he up and quit his job. Just like that.”

  “What did he mean when he said you knew what he was talking about?” Frank asked.

  Grish spread his hands. “I wish I knew,” he said. “That’s the puzzle. I mentioned his driving and then the shovel. And I just barely touched on that.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense,” Joe said.

  “You’re right,” Grish said. “Anyway, after all of this, I’m not feeling very sociable. I’d like a rain check on dinner, if you don’t mind.”

  “Sure thing,” Frank said. “We totally understand. Besides, the hot dogs Joe was fixing are either burned to a crisp, if Dad forgot to watch them, or else they’re ice cold.”

  “Good thing the motor home has a microwave,” Joe said. “If the wieners are cold, we can reheat ’em in the nuke box.”

  Grish smiled wryly. “Sounds delicious,” he said, “but I’ll pass.” He reminded them to come by with Fenton in the morning. “I’ll give you guys a map and instructions for finding the best hiking and climbing spots in the park,” he said.

  “I think Grish needs our help more than we thought,” Joe said as Frank drove them back to the campground. “But what are we going to do about Kidwell? It’ll be kind of tough to keep an eye on him now that he’s quit.”

  “Tough, if not impossible,” Frank said.

  As Frank pulled the car into the campsite, Joe suddenly said, “Whoa, Frank. Back up and shine the headlights over that way.” He pointed toward Professor Townsend’s truck, which was parked at the next campsite. Frank backed the car around and shone the beams toward the truck.

  “Hold it right there,” Joe said. Something shaped like a log, about two feet long and four inches thick, was lying under the truck. Joe got out and looked more closely. In the glare of the headlights, he could see that the object was actually the broken-off limb of an organ pipe. He reached under the truck and tried to grasp the limb without getting thorns in his fingers.

  “Hey! What are you doing?” A man’s voice came from the trailer parked beside the truck.

  Must be Professor Townsend, Joe thought, straightening up. “Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to bother you, but there seems to be a big piece of cactus under your truck. I was just trying to pull it out.”

  “What do you mean, a piece of cactus?” Townsend asked. He stepped out of the trailer and closed the door behind him. He was a tall, gray-haired man with stooped shoulders, and he squinted in the glare from the headlights. “Why are you interested in a piece of cactus under my truck?” He walked around to look. As soon as he realized what Joe was pointing at, he stiffened. “Young man,” he said, “I think you should mind your own business.”

  “But don’t you—”

  “I’ve made myself clear,” the professor said. “But let me repeat my advice: mind your own business.”

  The door to Townsend’s trailer opened, and a young woman peeked out. She looked about eighteen, and had long, dark hair. “Dad,” she said, “is something wrong?”

  “Everything is fine, Diane,” Townsend said. “I’ll take care of it. You stay inside.” Turning to Joe, he said, “I think you should go back to wherever you belong.”

  “I belong right next door,” Joe said. “My name is Joe Hardy, and I guess we—my dad and my brother and I—are your neighbors. Are you Professor Townsend?”

  Joe extended his hand, but Townsend did not take it. “How did you know my name?” he asked.

  “We asked someone,” Joe said, and with his brightest smile added, “We like to get to know our neighbors.”

  Frank got out of the car and strode over, leaving the engine running and the headlights on. “This is my brother, Frank,” Joe said.

  Frank extended his hand, but Townsend again ignored the gesture. “Professor, isn’t that a piece of organ pipe cactus under your truck?” Frank asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Townsend said. “As I said, I’ll take care of it, and you two can go home.”

  “How did—” Frank said, but Townsend cut him off.

  “I said go home!” Townsend exclaimed. “This is my campsite, and I’ll take care of whatever happens in it.”

  Fenton came around the corner of the Hardys’ motor home. “What’s going on here?” he asked. “What’s all the yelling about?”

  “Is this a party?” Townsend asked, his voice rising. “Who invited all you people?” To Fenton he said, “Are you with these boys?”

  “I’m their father, Fenton Hardy. What’s going on?”

  “What’s going on?” Townsend asked in a loud voice. “I have asked these young men to leave, and I would appreciate your assistance in the matter. And please turn off the lights on your vehicle. They are quite irritating.”

  Frank went to the car and shut off the lights. “No problem,” he said. “Joe, Dad, I think we should let the professor take care of the cactus.”

  Joe recognized a certain tone in Frank’s voice, and said, “Okay. Sure. Sorry to bother you, Professor.” He and Fenton walked back to their motor home while Frank pulled the car into the parking space. Then the three of them went into the motor home and shut the door behind them.

&nbs
p; “Quick,” Frank said, “turn off all the lights except at the back end.” Joe did as Frank asked. Once the lights were out, Frank peeked through a window at the front of the motor home to see what Professor Townsend would do.

  “He’s wrapping the cactus limb in a blanket,” Frank said. “Now he’s putting it in his pickup.” Frank watched as Townsend started up his truck and drove off into the night.

  “The professor was in a real hurry,” Frank said. “He wrapped up that cactus as if he’d done it a hundred times before. Then he got it out of here quick.”

  “He seems to be concealing something,” Fenton said.

  “Yes, but what?” Frank asked. “He’s supposedly an expert on the desert, and he’s got to know that it’s against the law to disturb the cacti out here. That could be why he was so upset that we spotted the limb under his pickup.”

  “It might have gotten caught under his truck somehow while he was driving around,” Joe said. “But why would somebody like him be off-roading in the desert?”

  “Maybe for his research,” Frank said. “Or maybe he’s involved with the cactus thieves. Somehow he doesn’t seem like the type to get his hands dirty transplanting big plants.”

  “No,” Joe said, “but he could be the mastermind behind the rustling. He sure did act upset when we saw that thing under his truck.”

  “Hey, we’re pretty good, aren’t we?” Frank said. “So far we’ve turned up three suspects—Kidwell, Perez, and the prof—and we haven’t even been here twelve hours.”

  “And in those twelve hours, I haven’t eaten a bite,” Fenton said, “Are you interested in salvaging those gourmet hot dogs you left on the grill, Joe?”

  “Oh, my gosh!” Joe said, jumping for the door. “I forgot the dude dogs!”

  “Hold it!” Fenton called. “They’re in the fridge. I brought them in when they were done and you still weren’t back. I rescued the beans, too.”

  After wolfing down a late dinner, Joe began to feel drowsy. The fresh desert air was making him pleasantly tired, and he climbed gratefully into his sleeping bag on his bunk. Drifting off, he could hear the sounds that Grish had promised—the high-pitched songs of the coyotes, calling from one direction and being answered from another, under the stars in the chilly night air. He smiled and fell asleep.

  He was awakened about one o’clock by a distant sound he couldn’t identify at first. Listening for a few more moments, he realized he was hearing the revving of a big engine, like that of a slow-moving truck. The sound was coming from the west, though, not from the direction of the highway.

  He got up and tapped Frank’s shoulder. “Listen,” he whispered. “What does that sound like to you?”

  Frank rubbed his eyes and listened. “Engines,” he whispered back. “Only”—he sat up—“from the wrong direction.”

  “Exactly,” Joe whispered. “The highway through the park is to the east of us. A vehicle on that highway would be moving fast, and the sound would fade away. What we’re hearing is steady, like a vehicle sitting in one place with the engine running.”

  “Like a truck running a winch,” Frank whispered.

  “Maybe,” Joe whispered, glancing over to see if their father was stirring. “It could be the cactus thieves.”

  “Let’s check it out,” Frank whispered.

  They pulled on their jeans, sweatshirts, and hiking boots, and tiptoed out the door. But as they started across the campground, Frank had an after-thought. “Let’s wake up Dad to tell him where we’re going,” he said. “We can turn on the CB radio and take the walkie-talkie from the car. Then if we get out there and actually catch the thieves in the act, we can radio back to Dad, and he can get hold of Grish.”

  “Good idea,” Joe said. They woke Fenton, explained what they were up to, and turned on the radio in the motor home. Grabbing the CB walkie-talkie from the car, they started hiking across the desert in the direction of the vehicle sounds.

  The terrain was uneven and the footing a little tricky, even in the bright moonlight. Other than the engine noise the night was quiet, so they were able to head straight for the sounds. But after a while it seemed as if they weren’t getting any closer.

  Frank stopped. “You know what?” he said. “I can’t hear the engines anymore.”

  Joe stopped to listen. “Me neither,” he said. “Maybe they shut down for a few minutes. Think we should keep going?”

  “I don’t know,” Frank said. He looked around at the moonlit desert landscape. With no city lights in the background, the stars were brilliant against the black sky. The nocturnal animals must have been scared off by the noise, Frank thought, because I don’t see or hear another living creature out here. “Maybe we should check in with Dad,” he whispered to his brother.

  “Good idea,” Joe said, “assuming he hasn’t fallen back to sleep.” Joe switched on the CB, adjusting the gain to cut down the hiss. As he was about to transmit, a man’s voice cut in on the channel.

  “You headin’ out?” the voice said.

  After a pause, a second voice said, “Roger that. The job’s done, and we got a good one. Think I’ll take the rest of the night off.”

  “Okay,” the first voice said. “Catch you at the place.”

  “Roger that,” the second voice said. “Out.”

  Joe waited a few seconds to see if there would be any more talk, then turned the radio off. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” he asked his brother.

  “You mean, maybe those were the voices of the cactus thieves?” Frank said.

  “That’s exactly what I was thinking.”

  “What channel was that?” Frank asked.

  “Channel ten,” Joe said. “Let’s remember it.”

  When they returned to the motor home a few minutes later, they filled Fenton in on their late-night hike and told him what they’d heard over the CB.

  He suggested they not jump to conclusions about whether the voices had come from the cactus thieves. “I’m sure lots of truckers go up and down the highway through the park,” he said, “or it could have been local workers heading home from their jobs. We’ll tell Grish about it tomorrow.”

  • • •

  After breakfast the next morning they drove to the head ranger’s office and let themselves in. Grish was talking to a man who looked like a real live cowboy. He was tall and wiry, and wore a broad-brimmed ten-gallon hat. Joe noticed that his face was deeply lined from years in the sun.

  Grish waved to them as he finished his conversation with the cowboy. “I’m usually here in the office until six or seven,” he said to the man, “although the sign says we close at five. We need to work together to keep those cattle of yours out of the park.”

  “You’re right,” the man said. “We’ll have to see what we can do.” He nodded to the Hardys as he walked out.

  After the man was gone, Grish said, “Good morning. I trust you all slept well?”

  “It was okay,” Fenton said. “A lot of coyote howling, just as you said.”

  “Didn’t I tell you?” Grish said. “For me it’s like a lullaby. I drop off to sleep almost as soon as I hear it. So are you ready to check out some of our scenic wonders?”

  “Not yet,” Frank said. “We need to tell you that our next-door neighbor, Professor Townsend, may have something to hide.”

  Grish grew serious. “What do you mean?”

  Frank told him about their encounter with Townsend and how the professor had gotten rid of the cactus limb.

  Grish nodded. “Hmm,” he said. “I guess I need to have a talk with him.”

  “He’s at his campsite now,” Joe said, “but I think he and his daughter are getting ready to go somewhere. They were putting some things in their truck when we left.”

  Grish stood up. “I’d better move on this, then,” he said. “I’ll have to meet with you later.”

  “No problem,” Joe said, thinking he’d tell the ranger about the previous night’s activities when he next saw him. He and Frank and Fe
nton got into the car and went back to the campground. They were waiting at the picnic table when Grish arrived. Professor Townsend, with Diane seated beside him, was backing the truck out of the parking space.

  Grish jumped out of his truck and held up a hand for Townsend to stop. Townsend rolled down his window. “What can I do for you?” he asked.

  “I have a report that a contraband desert plant was found under your truck last night,” Grish said. “What can you tell me about it?”

  Townsend fired an angry look at Frank and Joe. “I knew it!” he shouted. “Didn’t I tell you, Diane? They’re a pair of liars! And I’m going to make sure they regret it.” Townsend threw his truck into gear and sped away, showering Grish with gravel and dust.

  Grish turned his face away from the truck to avoid getting flying gravel in his eyes. The pickup disappeared from view, leaving dust in its wake. “Now, there,” he said, “is an attitude problem.”

  5 On the Trail

  * * *

  “Man, oh, man,” Joe said, looking at the cloud of dust that was all that was left of Townsend’s fleeing truck. “That guy sure is acting awfully guilty.”

  “He must have something to hide,” Frank added.

  Fenton nodded. “Why would he be so testy about that cactus?” he said. “Today he was even worse than he was last night.”

  “Don’t mind him,” Grish said. “He’s under a lot of pressure. The university is threatening to cut off his research funding if he doesn’t come up with something soon. His daughter told me he’s spent years on this project. And if the university cuts off his funding, he’ll be out of a job.”

  “So he’s feeling a lot of pressure about money,” Frank stated. “Do you suppose he could be working with Kidwell? Have you ever seen them together?”

  Grish shook his head. “I haven’t seen them consorting, but that doesn’t mean anything. This is a big park, and by now they both know their way around it. There are a thousand places they could get together without being seen.”