The Desert Thieves Page 5

  “Maybe he’s parked over there under those mesquite trees,” Perez whispered, pointing to a copse of dull green trees. “I’m pretty good at moving around in the desert unnoticed—it helps me get pictures of animals. Why don’t I go down there to see if he’s around?”

  Joe and Frank looked at each other and nodded. “Okay,” Frank said, “but stay out of sight, and come right back.”

  Perez headed back down the way they had come. While Frank and Joe were waiting, they heard another vehicle coming slowly along the road. They waited for it to pass in view of their lookout. They couldn’t see it, but it sounded as if it had come to a stop near where the Hardys had parked. After a few moments it sped up again, and when it came into view, Frank and Joe saw it was a yellow Volkswagen van, not Kidwell’s truck. Disappointed, they waited, watching for a glimpse of Perez, but he never came into view among the many rock outcroppings and bushes.

  After about fifteen minutes, Perez reappeared at the top of the hill with them. “I was right,” he said. “Kidwell is parked under those mesquite trees, and he’s sitting in his truck. He seems to be doing paperwork.”

  “Did you notice who was in that yellow van?” Joe asked.

  “What yellow van?” Perez said. “I was sneaking up on Kidwell.”

  “You’ll never make a great detective,” Joe said, “until you notice everything around you.”

  “What’s the big deal?” Perez said, his voice rising. “I said I was sneaking up—”

  “Keep it down!” Frank whispered firmly. At that moment he heard an engine start up in the distance. He saw Kidwell’s truck pull out onto the road from under the trees and drive away. The three jumped up and hurried down the hill before he could get too far ahead of them. It took them several minutes to get back to the car, and they were out of breath when they arrived.

  Joe threw open the driver’s door and then stopped. “I smell gasoline,” he said.

  Frank said, “I do, too.” At the same moment he and Joe got down on their knees and looked under the car. There was a large wet spot underneath.

  Joe reached over, touched the wet spot, and smelled his fingers. “Gas,” he said.

  Frank, easing his shoulders farther under the car, touched a rubber hose. “It’s been cut!” he cried. “Somebody cut our fuel line.”

  7 The Secret in the Footprints

  * * *

  “It’s been sliced right through,” Joe said, peering under the car at the hose Frank was pointing out. “Unless we can figure out a way to splice it or bypass the cut, we either wait for someone to come along and give us a ride or we walk.”

  “But it’s ten or fifteen miles back to the campground,” Perez said.

  “That shouldn’t be a problem for an experienced desert rat like you,” Frank said.

  “Experience hasn’t got anything to do with it,” Perez said. “We’re talking about a long walk, with no water or food.”

  Joe opened the trunk, looking for a piece of tubing he could use to splice the gas line. Finding nothing, he closed the lid. “Too bad this is a rental car,” he said. “We carry extra tubing and belts in the van at home.”

  Cupping his hand above his eyes, Frank looked up and down the road. “Who do you suppose did this?” he asked.

  Joe shook his head. “I don’t see how it could have been Kidwell if he was sitting up there in his truck,” he said. “It could have been whoever went by in the yellow van. Its driver could have stopped for a few moments.”

  “I don’t remember seeing that van around the campground,” Frank said. “Maybe it was Kidwell’s accomplices. Perez, did you notice if Kidwell was talking on the CB radio?”

  “His CB?” Perez shook his head. “He wasn’t. He was sitting there doing paperwork.”

  “Why do you ask about the CB?” Joe said.

  “It would explain how the people in the yellow van knew we were around,” Frank said. “Kidwell could have been watching for us. He might have figured out that Grish would send us out to watch him. So he could have set it up so the yellow van went by at the exact right time to sabotage our car.”

  “Yeah, but we don’t even know whether Kidwell realizes he’s a suspect,” Joe said. “One thing’s for sure, though. Whoever did this knows about the cactus thefts in the park and knows what we’re doing.”

  Joe peered under the car again. “There must be some way to bypass this slice,” he said as he scooted on his back under the car.

  “You know what?” Frank said. “This wasn’t necessary. Whoever did this—whether it was Kidwell or somebody in the yellow van—could have just left us alone and then gone ahead with their schemes when we weren’t looking. Somebody wanted us to get a message.”

  Joe slid out from under the car. “Yeah,” he said. “And the message is this: start walking or start hitchhiking. There’s no way we’re going to be able to repair the gas line without some extra tubing. Perez, you said traffic usually starts to pick up later in the morning?”

  “That’s right,” Perez said. “But I don’t know if it will actually pick up today.”

  “Well, you’re a real font of information,” Joe cracked.

  “If we start walking now,” Frank said, before Perez and Joe started going at it, “we should be back at the campground in about three hours. Before we get started, though, let’s check out the place where Kidwell was working. Maybe we can pick up some clues to what he was up to.”

  In silence they walked the half-mile distance to the grove of mesquite trees where Perez had seen Kidwell. There were fresh tire prints on the shoulder of the sandy road, exactly where Perez had said he’d seen Kidwell parked. Just beyond the mesquite trees they found the destructive trail of the cactus thieves, and the pattern there was similar to what they’d seen earlier: two sets of heavy tire tracks mutilating everything in their path, with a big hole at the end. This time the hole had been filled in, and there were scrape marks from a shovel all around it.

  Perez squatted down and flicked his finger at a small white spot.

  “What have you got, Perez?” Frank said.

  “Nothing,” Perez said. “I thought it was a cigarette butt, but it was just a little rock. Man,” he added, waving his hand at the destruction, “this is really sick. Who would do something like this?”

  “I wish I knew,” Frank said. “But it looks as though Kidwell was only doing his job while he was here.”

  Joe nodded. “Okay, then, let’s hit the trail. The road is a one-way loop. The shortest way back to the campground is against the direction of the loop. If we get a ride from someone, they’ll be coming back around this way, so we’d get back in the same amount of time if we walked. I vote for walking back.”

  Perez groaned, but Frank agreed with Joe. They started back toward the road.

  As they passed the place where Kidwell had parked, Joe veered off for a moment and said, “Go ahead. I’ll just be a second.” He poked around, looking at the ground.

  “Man, is that guy always looking for clues?” Perez said.

  “Only when he’s investigating,” Frank said. He glanced back and saw Joe walking slowly, head down. He looked up at Frank and Perez, and then down again. Then, abruptly, he started jogging briskly toward them.

  “What’s up, Joe?” Frank asked.

  “Oh, nothing,” Joe said. “I was just checking to see if Kidwell did anything around his truck.”

  “And did he?” Frank asked.

  “I . . . couldn’t tell,” Joe said.

  Frank glanced at him curiously, wondering at his hesitation. “What do you mean you couldn’t tell?” he asked.

  “I mean I couldn’t tell,” Joe said. He gave his brother a look that said he didn’t want to talk about it in front of Perez. The two brothers tried to hang back a little, but Perez slowed down to their pace as they walked along in the middle of the deserted road.

  “Are you guys sure you want to walk?” Perez said. “Someone is bound to come along and give us a ride.”

  Ne
ither Frank nor Joe answered him. They walked in silence for a while. Joe was thinking about an ice-cold lemonade, and Frank was wishing he had worn a hat to shield his head from the sun.

  “Do you hear that?” Joe asked ten minutes into their journey.

  “A truck,” Frank said.

  Perez grinned. “Enough exercise for today,” he said. “I’m for getting back to the campground and solving this case.”

  Just then a pickup came over the rise, headed their way.

  “Great,” Perez said. “We can ride in the back, and nobody will complain if you get the upholstery dirty, Joe.”

  “I wouldn’t get my hopes up,” Frank said, watching the oncoming vehicle.

  “Why not?” Perez said.

  “That’s Professor Townsend’s truck,” Joe said.

  “Oh, no,” Perez said. “Dr. Crabby.”

  “And we’re not too popular with him right now,” Joe said. He moved off the road, and Frank and Perez joined him. The truck drew closer, and Perez held up his thumb for a ride.

  Townsend, with Diane beside him, slowed down and nearly came to a stop. Then he must have realized who the three hitchhikers were. He sped up and spat out the window as he went by.

  The truck moved away, but a few moments later the red brake lights came on, and it slowed down.

  “Maybe he’s thinking it over,” Perez said.

  “Yeah, and maybe the sun is going to turn blue,” Joe said. “Probably Diane is arguing with him. If it was up to Professor Townsend, he’d let us rot out here.”

  As they watched, the backup lights came on, and the truck began to back toward them.

  “He’s changed his mind,” Frank said. “It must have been Diane’s doing.”

  When the truck came abreast of them, Townsend scowled and said, “Are you three stranded?”

  “Yes, sir, we are,” Frank said. “We—”

  “What happened to your vehicle?” Townsend demanded. “Is it broken down somewhere?”

  “Yes, sir,” Frank repeated. “As a matter of fact, it’s a mile or so up that way. It appears that someone—”

  “What’s wrong with it?” Townsend said, interrupting again.

  “Someone,” Frank began, “or rather something happened to the fuel line. We have to go back for some tubing to fix it.”

  Townsend drew a deep breath and looked ahead into the distance. “Get in the back,” he said. “All three of you. I’ve got some tubing that might be the right size, and some duct tape you can put around it if it’s too big.”

  “Yes, sir,” Frank said, waving to Joe and Perez to get into Townsend’s truck. “The car is by the side of the road. You can’t miss it. It’s the tan Toyota.”

  “I know what it looks like,” Townsend said. “Get in, though I don’t know why I should help you, after all the damage you’ve done.”

  Frank went to the back and climbed in with Joe and Perez. They sat on the floor of the truck bed as Townsend started off down the road. The truck had metal shelves built along the front and sides, and the shelves were filled with transparent plastic boxes containing tools, spare parts, and various kinds of measuring instruments.

  “Looks like a laboratory on wheels,” Joe said. “I wonder what his project is all about.”

  “Well, if we ever get on speaking terms with him, we can ask,” Frank said.

  “That might be easier said than done,” Joe said.

  “Boy,” Perez said, “isn’t that the truth! He really doesn’t like you guys, does he?”

  “Nope,” Joe said.

  “What did you do, tell him he was a suspect or something?” Perez said. “Does he know about the cactus thefts?”

  “We don’t know,” Frank said. He started to say more but felt a slight push from Joe’s foot. At the look in Joe’s eye, he shut up.

  After a few minutes the truck slowed down and pulled off onto the shoulder of the road. Diane and her father walked around to the back as the Hardys and Perez piled out.

  The professor asked, “What size tubing do you need?”

  Joe said, “I’m not sure. This is a rental car, and we don’t have any tools with us. Maybe half-inch tubing will do.”

  Townsend frowned for a moment, then said, “Don’t think I have any. I’ve got a better idea.”

  He climbed into the truck as Diane asked, “Have you guys been walking long?”

  “Not long,” Frank said. “Maybe ten or fifteen minutes.”

  “It’s a good thing this isn’t July,” she said. “It gets awfully hot out here in the summer.”

  “That’s what we heard,” Joe said. “We—”

  Townsend came out with a roll of gray duct tape and a small toolbox. “Here,” he said, handing them to Joe. “See what you can do with that.”

  Joe took the tape and the toolbox and scrambled under the car.

  “Let’s go, Diane,” Townsend said. “We’ve got work to do.”

  “Thanks a lot,” Frank said.

  “Don’t mention it,” Townsend said stiffly. “I’ll get my tools back later in the day.” He started off, then turned back. “And next time you think I’m doing something wrong, talk to me first, before you call in the rangers.”

  “I tried to, Professor,” Frank said. “You wouldn’t—”

  “Aah!” Townsend exclaimed with a wave of his hand. “Never mind.” He got into the truck, started it up, and as soon as Diane closed her door, drove off.

  “Like I said—Dr. Crabby,” Perez said. “What was he talking about—calling in the rangers?”

  “Oh,” Frank said, “last night we found—”

  “Hey, Frank!” Joe called from beneath the car. “I need you to hold something.”

  Frank bent down. Joe scooted over to him and whispered, “Don’t tell him anything. I’ll explain later.”

  Frank straightened up and looked at Perez, wondering what was bothering Joe.

  “Frank,” Joe called again, “open up the hood. I need to poke this hose up toward the carburetor.”

  Frank did as Joe asked, and before long they’d repaired the fuel line and were ready to get back on the road. As they piled into the car, with Joe at the wheel, he said, “I want to check out something at the spot where Kidwell was parked. It will just take a second.”

  He pulled the car around the bend to the grove of mesquite trees and got out, with Frank and Perez following him. “Perez, cross the road and stand over where the truck tracks start.”

  “Where the cactus thieves pulled their trucks off the road?” Perez asked.

  “Yeah,” Joe said. He watched as Perez walked across the road and down the shoulder. As soon as he was out of earshot, Joe said quietly to Frank, “Without making a big deal out of it, I want you to look at the footprints beside my right foot.” He raised his voice and called, “That’s the spot, Perez. Stand still for a second.” Joe raised his arm and pointed toward Perez, as if he were showing Frank something.

  In the meantime, Frank nodded and then glanced down at the footprints. “I see a set of prints that look as if they were made by sneakers,” Frank said.

  “Okay, Perez,” Joe called, looking into the distance at Perez. “That’s it.”

  Raymond trotted back as Joe walked Frank several feet in the direction Perez had come from.

  “So what’s up?” Perez asked, clearly puzzled as to what the Hardys were doing. “Did you figure something out? What’s happening, guys?”

  “Don’t sweat it, Perez. We’re just trying to get a better picture of things,” Joe said. “We’d better get back to the office now.” When Perez turned and headed toward the car, Joe pointed to Perez’s footprints. They were identical to the footprints Joe and Frank had just studied.

  “I get you,” Frank said. “Instead of sneaking up on Kidwell, Perez came down the hill to talk to him. He walked right across the road. Kidwell couldn’t possibly have missed him.”

  “Perez and Kidwell must be working together,” Joe said, shaking his head in disgust. “And we’re th
e ones who talked Grish into letting Kidwell’s accomplice work with us.”

  8 Two Shakes of a Snake’s Tail

  * * *

  Lost in thought, Frank and Joe got into the car. Joe took the wheel and, every now and then, cast a suspicious glance in the rearview mirror at Perez. I can’t believe Frank and I were so easily taken in, Joe thought. That weasel! He wanted to give the guy a piece of his mind, but now wasn’t the time. If Frank and Joe pretended to keep him in their confidence, maybe Perez would lead them to the rustlers.

  Perez was in a talking mood. “Man,” he said, “what a day! You guys sure do interesting things. I never had anyone cut my fuel line before. I’ll be glad when we catch up to those people in the yellow van. What a hassle they caused us.”

  As Perez chattered on, Frank focused his thoughts on this new turn of events. If Kidwell was indeed involved in the cactus thefts, and if he and Perez were working together, then Perez was keeping track of the investigation. He could even be providing evidence to steer the investigation in the wrong direction. The Hardys would have to talk this over once they returned to the campground and got rid of Perez for a while.

  “Hey!” Perez yelled. “There’s Professor Townsend’s truck. He must be doing his research somewhere around here. His research”—Perez lowered his voice—“or something else.”

  “Something else?” Joe asked. “Like what?” He pulled over and stopped behind Townsend’s pickup.

  “You know what I mean,” Perez said. “Something like the cactus thefts.”

  “Oh, well, why don’t you share with us what you know about the cactus thefts, Detective Perez?” Joe said sarcastically.

  Frank opened his door to get out, then said, “Let’s be careful how we discuss things where other people might overhear us, okay?” He glared at Joe.

  “You got it,” Perez said, getting out. “I wonder where they are.”