Goodwin Harold Leland
The Flaming Mountain: A Rick Brant Science-Adventure Story

CHAPTER XII
The Rising Magma

The Spindrift group held a council of war in their office-conference room. Inspection of the hotel had shown that damage was not as serious as first expected. The cornices, held only by mortar, had fallen, and the rear exterior wall had lost its brick veneer. The structural part of the wall, while cracked, was strong enough to hold up. The veneer was unsafe, however, and it was agreed that all should stay well away from the area where Connel had been imprisoned.

"We must begin another series of shots at once," Hartson Brant said. "It's apparent that the magma has moved, and rapidly. But until we get more tracings, we won't know in what direction. Meanwhile, we must find the governor!"

"How?" Rick asked. "How can we find him?"

Hartson Brant smiled at his son. "It seems to me that you and Scotty have acquired considerable reputations as detectives, Rick. I suggest you earn them. Find the governor for us. We will give you Honorario as an interpreter, but it will be up to you. The rest of us must operate as best we can short-handed."

"How about Connel?" Scotty demanded.

The scientist shrugged. "He's the least of my worries. Let him develop his diamond mine. My concern is with this island and the people on it. If our guess is right, Connel will be lucky to have a few days in which to work – scarcely enough to do much mining."

"Any ideas?" Rick asked.

"Yes. Talk to the governor's family, and to his personal staff. Stay away from Guevara. Once Connel tells him we know about the diamonds, he may become dangerous. Do what you can, boys. After all, this isn't a big island and the governor must be somewhere on it."

"If he's alive," Scotty added.

Hartson Brant looked at the boy and his face grew grim. "Yes," he agreed. "If he's alive."

Rick and Scotty had always relished the adventure and excitement of trying to solve a mystery. Sometimes the success or failure of a project had hung in the balance, but this one was different. The fate of an island and nearly 32,000 people depended on solving the riddle of the missing governor. Rick felt the weight of the responsibility.

The plan he and Scotty developed was simple and logical. They would start with the governor's movements on the morning of his disappearance and continue from there.

At the governor's residence they learned from his butler that Montoya had left the house promptly at eight o'clock, as he did every morning. He drove himself, in a small English car that he used for personal transportation. But, as they knew from the visit to the executive offices, he had never arrived.

The next stop was to determine his route. It wasn't difficult; there was only one main road from the outskirts of Calor into town, although there were many side streets.

With Honorario as interpreter, they began the time-consuming job of questioning householders along the route.

Honorario was personally interested in the job. He had learned from them of Connel's perfidy, and he said quietly, "Ruiz is my friend. We do not yet know if he will live, or, if he lives, if he will be a whole man again. I owe it to him to do my best in this matter. You may depend on me."

Not until they had reached the outskirts of Calor did they find what had happened. Through Honorario, an old lady who had seen it all through her window told them the story.

"A big military truck was across the road," Honorario reported. "It was keeping cars from passing. The little car of the governor came, and it had to stop. An officer got in with the governor. The truck moved away and the governor drove off. The old woman thinks the officer was pointing a gun at the governor. She did not know it was the governor, but her words to describe him were enough."

Rick whistled. "Military? Does that mean the governor got caught by some kind of revolutionary group?"

Honorario shrugged. "Who knows? But I have heard of no revolution. The governor is popular, and the people are satisfied. But you should know, my friends, that on this island the comandante of our small military is the lieutenant governor. I think we are not dealing here with revolution, but with Señor Jaime Guevara!"

"We're stuck," Scotty said. "I suppose we could keep on asking and try to get a line on where the governor's car went, but that's pretty hopeless. Honorario, can we possibly find someone who is loyal to the governor and who knows the island?"

Honorario thought it over. "In such a case," he replied, "there is only one way to be sure. It is, you understand, a matter of family. Among San Luzians, the family is first and all else is after. So, I think we should see the nephew of the governor. He is el capitán Ricardo Montoya, who is deputy of police for the western part of the island."

Captain Ricardo Montoya was young, capable, and alert. Honorario found him in the police headquarters in central Calor and invited him to join the boys for coffee at a nearby café.

Rick looked the officer over as he entered the restaurant, and he liked what he saw. Montoya was built like a middleweight fighter, and his white uniform was spotless. He was lighter in complexion than most San Luzians, but even the wisp of mustache on his upper lip couldn't conceal the firmness of his face.

He greeted them courteously, in good English. "A sus órdenes, señores. This Honorario says you wish to speak with me?"

"We place ourselves in your hands, Señor Capitán," Rick said quietly. "Because you are the governor's nephew and a police official, we must assume that you are completely loyal to him."

The officer's brilliant dark eyes flashed. "It would be a grave insult to assume otherwise, señor. He is the brother of my father."

"Good," Rick said. "No insult was intended. I think we had better tell you the entire story, then we can discuss what must be done." He started at the beginning, with the arrival of Balgos at Spindrift, and ended with the day's events.

"You have cast much light on what has happened," the captain stated. "I am grateful. Now, señores, you must not believe I have been idle. I had already discovered how my uncle was kidnaped. It was clear that some military element was involved, but I rejected the idea of revolution. The motive puzzled me. It is puzzling no longer, thanks to you. Also, while I suspected Guevara, there was no proof. My suspicion, you understand, was based on his character."

"Have you any idea where the governor was taken?" Scotty asked.

"I have now," Montoya said grimly. "The best possibility – and about the only place we have not looked – is Casa Guevara."

The boys exchanged glances. "Then we ought to make up a party of loyal people and invade the place," Rick stated.

"No. If I know this man Guevara, any such move would mean the death of my uncle, if he still lives. We must find some other way."

"Can you find loyal people?" Rick asked.

"A few. You must understand most people do not feel as I do about Guevara. He is popular. Who knows where the loyalty of the people lies, between individuals? One cannot be certain. So, I must use only men loyal to me. There are such."

Montoya rose. "We will be allies, since we fight for the same thing, which is San Luz. Let me see what kind of plan can be made. Go back to your hotel, and I will come for you there. We will work this thing out together." He shook hands with both boys, turned, and strode from the restaurant.

Rick paid for their coffee and the boys joined Honorario, who was waiting outside in the jeep. "He's a good, tough hombre," Rick told the San Luzian. "You made a good choice."

"I am glad," Honorario said. "Someday he will be governor, like his uncle."

While the boys were in Calor, the scientists had conducted another series of shots. The tracings were spread out on the table when they returned, and the group was engrossed in checking them over.

Rick and Scotty waited, watching. They knew from the quiet voices and tense attitudes that something serious had been found. Then Williams began to mark in the data on his sketch.

"This is where the explosion took place," he said. "Probably the magma hit a quantity of water as it entered the new channel. Notice that the channel is one we marked on here earlier as a probable path. So far, we're guessing right. Now, my estimate is that the magma will move fast, stopping only when it reaches this dike of solid basalt."

Hartson Brant wiped his face with his handkerchief. "It looks bad, Jeff. The magma will reach the solid layer before we could possibly get to it with a tunnel."

"What does that mean?" Rick asked.

Hobart Zircon answered him. "It means, Rick, that we no longer have time to dig a vent. It means the people of this island will be lucky if they can get away in time!"

CHAPTER XIII
Armed Revolt

David Riddle had fired the last series of shots from Connel's stations. By unanimous consent, the last station at the volcanic pipe had been omitted. Two stations would have to do for now. All agreed it would be foolish to jeopardize a man by going near the guarded third station.

Since Riddle had the longest distance to travel, he had not arrived when the boys returned to the hotel. Now, as Zircon finished his ominous statement, the government geologist strode into the room.

"We're in trouble," he stated. "I'm only a few minutes ahead of soldiers. I came out of the trail onto the road and saw them just coming off the dirt road onto the pavement. They shouted for me to stop, but I wasn't of a mind to tangle with troops. I came as fast as I could."

"Are they coming here?" Hartson Brant asked quickly.

"They're either coming here or marching into Calor. Those are the only two places the road leads. My guess is that they're marching here."

Rick said swiftly, "Connel got to Guevara! And Guevara is going to make sure we don't spread the word!"

"Rick is probably right," Zircon snapped. "I suggest we clear out. If we're captured, we'll be unable to operate at all."

"Grab the supplies and get into the jeeps," Hartson Brant ordered. "Quickly! Rick, you and Scotty move fast. Get your stuff into the jeep, then take as much dynamite as you can. Go up the road to where you have a good view and act as lookouts. Give us as much warning as you can. We'll take the rest of the dynamite and the equipment in the other jeeps!"

Rick and Scotty dashed to their room. They threw clothes into their bags, slammed them shut without bothering to pack neatly, and hurried out into the parking lot. Rick backed the jeep up to the pump shed while Scotty ran to the door. To the policeman on duty he explained only that they were in a great hurry.

The boys took time to load six cases, plus one of the detonators and a roll of wire, then they got into the jeep and roared off up the road toward the pumice works.

"We've probably got ten minutes," Scotty estimated. "If they're marching at a normal pace, it would take them a little less than a half hour to walk from the pumice works."

Rick drove a half mile up the road to where he had a good view of several hundred yards and stopped the jeep. "We'll be able to spot them from here." He turned the jeep around, ready to run as soon as the troops came in sight. "Where do you suppose the soldiers came from?"

"Probably from a camp near San Souci," Scotty guessed. "Otherwise, they'd have come up the main road from Calor. There's probably a camp on the western shore somewhere."

"Wish we had some way of slowing them down," Rick mused. "We need a mortar or a few military rockets. But all we've got is some dynamite, and we can't throw that very far."

"Why do we have to throw it?" Scotty asked excitedly. "Listen. We'll put a charge by the side of the road and string wire back a way. Then we can park the jeep off the road next to the detonator. When they get within range, we'll push the plunger and run. We can time it so they won't get blown up, but they may think they're being shelled."

"That should do it," Rick agreed. He shifted into gear and moved ahead slowly, searching for a likely spot. There was one a few yards ahead where a clump of wild banana plants would shield the jeep from view. He backed the jeep in next to the banana plants and made sure he could get out again easily, then he took the coil of wire and began unwinding it along the edge of the road. Scotty took out his scout knife and began to pry open a case of dynamite.

Rick fed wire until he reached a spot a hundred yards up the road, then took out his knife and cut through the thin stuff. He started back to help Scotty and was just in time to see the dark-haired boy with a stick of dynamite in his mouth!

Rick gasped. He started to run toward Scotty, but his pal waved him back. Then, as Rick watched, horrified, he saw Scotty take the stick out of his mouth and motion for him to come ahead.

"What are you doing?" Rick demanded. "I thought for a minute you'd lost all your buttons and started eating dynamite."

"We didn't have crimpers," Scotty explained. "The only way I could get the cap on was to crimp it with my teeth."

Rick turned white. He gulped. No wonder Scotty looked a little pale!

"It worked," Scotty said, a little shakily. "But I don't want to do it as a regular thing."

"I should hope not!" Rick exclaimed fervently. "Give me that stick. I'll connect up. Will one be enough?"

"Plenty," Scotty said. "Get going. I'll connect up the detonator."

By the time Rick had placed the dynamite and connected the wires, Scotty was ready, the detonator in the front seat of the jeep between his legs.

"I wish we had some regular fuse," he said. "Then we could put short fuses on a few sticks, light them, and throw them."

Rick stared at him. "And crimp all the caps with your teeth? Boy, I'm glad we haven't any fuse!"

Scotty's estimate was two minutes off. It took twelve minutes for the troops to come into sight. Watching from behind the banana plants, the boys saw them hiking down the road like a bunch of tenderfeet on their first five-mile hike. It was obvious that discipline in the San Luzian army was slack. The men wore sloppy brown uniforms and a variety of hats. They carried rifles and there were bandoliers of cartridges across their chests and grenades at their belts.

"Can you see?" Rick whispered.

"Fine," Scotty whispered back.

They sat in the jeep, waiting. Rick kept the motor idling, knowing that the sound would be inaudible a short distance away.

The troops reached the point the boys had selected. It was a big papaya about fifty feet beyond the dynamite. Scotty pushed the plunger. The dynamite exploded.

Rick raced the motor, then shifted into gear. Scotty cut the wires loose with one flick of his knife and Rick lurched onto the road and fled toward the hotel as fast as he could accelerate.

Through the rear-view mirror he could see the troops scatter and knew they had slowed things down for a few minutes at least. The last view he had was of one man, evidently an officer, trying to rally the troops again.

Rick rounded the turn leading to the hotel grounds and saw that the scientists were waiting in the jeeps, ready to roll. He slowed long enough to yell, "Let's go," then led the way down the road to the front of the hotel and into Calor.

The next problem was to find a place to stay. Honorario advised staying away from the big hotels on the beach and suggested a smaller but quite comfortable hostelry on the outskirts of town. Rick was pleased to see that it was located right on the water, at the point where the long San Luz beach began. But he doubted there would be time for swimming.

The Hotel Internationale was comfortable, and more than adequate. The scientists congratulated each other on being able to get rooms. Fortunately, as the manager explained, it was not yet full turista time. If they were prepared to double up, two to a room, he could accommodate them.

Rick and Scotty drew a room on the second floor. The bath was down the hall, but they didn't mind that. Hartson Brant and Hobart Zircon shared the largest room, and there was a large porch that could be used as a meeting place.

The hotel also had a basement room that the manager was glad to turn over for the equipment – at a slight fee, naturally. But he boggled when the boys appeared with cases of dynamite on their shoulder.

"Leave it to me," Honorario suggested. "I will find a place that will be safe."

Rick was glad to leave it to Honorario. He was anxious to get in touch with Montoya, to explain what had happened. The police station was not far away. He and Scotty hiked over and found the young captain alone in his office.

Montoya listened to their story, and his face became stern. "There are two possibilities," he said finally. "Either Guevara is mounting a big revolution, or he is interested only in the diamonds. If it is the diamonds, then he probably will keep the troops near the mountain, and the city may not be bothered at all."

"How can we find out?" Rick asked. "Except by waiting to see if troops show up here."

Montoya stared through the window at the tiny harbor of Calor. The boys waited while he thought it over.

Finally the captain swiveled around and faced them. "We can find out, if you will take a chance. I do not think it is much of a chance, really, but it may be. Let us think of things from Guevara's point of view. He knows that you know of these diamonds. He also knows, because he is intelligent, that you surely realize the danger of talking about them. So, what would he do with you if he caught you? Perhaps detain you for a while, but no more. He knows that harm to foreigners would bring down trouble he could not handle. We would have Venezuela, Colombia, Great Britain, and the United States in here. The first three might bring in troops on the pretext of restoring order, but actually to back up their claims to the island. The United States would bring great pressure on all three to do something."

"It makes sense," Rick agreed. "So you don't think we're in any great danger from Guevara?"

"No. If you had been at the hotel, he would have kept you there, I think. But you were not, so we must see if he is prepared to follow you. My own opinion is that he wants to be let alone to mine diamonds, while he has time. It does not take an invasion of Calor to do this."

"What do you want us to do?" Scotty asked.

"Simply take a ride to the hotel, or as far as you can go. See what the situation really is. If I, or my men, should try this it would surely mean shooting. But you are extranjeros, – foreigners. You can get away with it."

"You hope," Rick said.

Montoya's teeth flashed in the first smile they had seen on his face. "Indeed," he agreed. "I hope."

CHAPTER XIV
Night Patrol

The jeep rolled out of Calor on the highway back to the Hot Springs Hotel. Scotty drove, while Rick relaxed in the seat beside him. They had taken time for a sandwich and coffee, because they were not sure when they might eat again.

Hartson Brant and the scientists were at work on detailed analysis of the day's shots. It would take some time. When Rick told his father about the conversation with Captain Montoya, the scientist had nodded agreement. "It sounds like good sense, especially since there has been no sign of an invasion of the city. The troops could have been here before this. Go ahead, but be cautious. Always leave your escape route open."

It was good advice, and the boys intended to take it.

Scotty drove in silence for a few minutes, then said, "We're nearly at the fork in the road. Keep an eye open."

"Will do," Rick assured him. The left fork was the main, paved road to San Souci. The right fork led up to the hotel.

Scotty reached the fork and slowed.

"There!" Rick pointed.

Twenty yards up the right fork there was a barricade fence, newly made of small logs. Lounging against the fence were a half dozen soldiers.

"We could go left to San Souci, but not to the hotel," Rick said. "Now what?"

"Hold on and be ready for a quick take-off," Scotty muttered. He turned the jeep into the left fork, then shifted and backed around and up the right fork to where the soldiers waited.

One soldier, with sergeant's stripes on his sleeve, sauntered over to them. He carried a rifle, but Rick noted that he didn't hold it at the ready. The boy called, "Do you speak English, sergeant?"

"Leetle beet," the soldier replied. He smiled cordially. "What you weesh, señores?"

"Can we get to the hotel?" Scotty asked.

"No can, señor."

"Why not?" Rick asked.

"Ees … how you say? … big talk at hotel. Ees el gobernador y … and … el comandante Guevara. Also more mens. No one goes to hotel long time. Maybe when talk feenish."

"The governor and lieutenant governor are having a big conference at the hotel?" Rick asked incredulously.

"Ees so, señor."

"How long will this conference last?" Scotty asked.

The sergeant shrugged. "Quién sabe? Maybe two day, maybe two semana … how you say?.."

"Weeks," Rick supplied. "What are they talking about?"

"Ees … how you say?.. seguridad nacional. Thees ees what el comandante speaks to us."

Rick glanced at Scotty. "National security conference. Those can last a long time." He looked at the sergeant again. "We could go to San Souci, and from there to the hotel, maybe."

"Pero no, señor. That way also ees guard. Ees no way get to hotel. More good you not try, eh? Soldados at hotel, they maybe shoots."

"Now we know," Scotty said. "Nothing more to be gained here."

"Did you see the governor?" Rick asked.

"No, señor. But I saw el comandante Guevara. But eef he ees here, also el gobernador. Cómo no?"

"I guess so," Rick agreed. "Mil gracias, sergeant. Vaya con Dios. A thousand thanks. Go with God."

"Y ustedes," the sergeant returned politely. "And you, señores."

Scotty let the clutch out and the jeep moved ahead. "Now to call on Captain Montoya," he said. "Right?"

"Right," Rick agreed. "Interesting. Guevara tells the troops he and the governor are having a security conference and should not be interrupted. So guards are posted to protect the hotel. And none of the poor soldados realize that blocking the roads also keeps people away from the volcanic pipe, so Guevara and Connel can start work."

"With Guevara's own men to do the dirty work," Scotty added.

"Too true. Maybe they even have soldiers on the job. I know what else the soldiers are guarding, too. Probably without knowing it."

Scotty turned to look at him. "You thinking the same thing I am?"

"Yep. Somewhere behind that guarded perimeter is the governor. And until we get him out, we're helpless."

"Then," Scotty announced, "we'll just have to get him out."

The jeep almost flew down the road to Calor. Scotty wheeled it through the narrow streets and drew up at the police station. In a moment they were reporting to Captain Montoya.

The young officer listened, then smacked a fist into his palm. "Bueno! This is good, amigos. We will let Guevara and your Connel have the diamonds, eh? They can use the entire army to guard the mine, if they wish. I hope they do. That means we have the rest of the island in which to maneuver. I have already sent one of my most trusted men to approach the diamond pipe from the north, through Redondo. That way we will know the exact limits."

"But they've got the army," Rick objected. "Where does that leave us?"

"Free to operate in other ways," Montoya said. "The army is occupied, no? Let them stay that way."

His keen eyes examined the two critically. Rick felt a little uncomfortable at the penetrating stare. Then Montoya smiled. "I do not know you," he said flatly. "But I have certain evidence of the kind of young men you are. First, you came to this island. Why? On a mission of mercy, in answer to my uncle's call. It was unselfish, and it was also dangerous. Then, tonight, you took the chance of finding the roadblock. Also, though this may surprise you, we have heard something of the Spindrift Scientific Foundation even here on this island."

Rick was surprised. He knew the Foundation had an international reputation, but he had thought it was limited to scientists.

"So, I have some basis for what I now ask of you," Montoya added. "There is no time to collect those of my men who are completely loyal. It is because they are scattered, searching for some trace of my uncle. I do not wish to take time to wait until they report in."

"What do you want us to do?" Scotty asked.

"It is simple, and not so simple. A large party cannot invade the perimeter Guevara has established, but a very few can perhaps do it. We will be that few. We will go to Casa Guevara. And, if we are lucky, we will rescue my uncle. What do you say?"

The boys exchanged glances. Rick spoke for both of them. "We're with you."

Montoya didn't have to reply. His warm handshake said everything there was to say.

Scotty spoke up. "I've had some experience in nighttime operations. We will need dark clothes, and something to blacken our faces. We will need weapons. Not guns. If we get into a shooting scrape it will bring the whole army down on us."

"I agree." Montoya opened his desk drawer and drew out a policeman's night stick. He handed it to Scotty. "How about this?"

Scotty hefted it, grinned, and handed it to Rick. It was heavy, and perfectly balanced. Rick guessed it had been drilled and the end filled with lead. "One good thing about this," he said. "No moving parts to get out of order."

Montoya smiled. "True. We will each have one, and I will take my pistol as a last resort. Let us look at the map and memorize it. We will have to go through the jungle to reach the house, and it would be disastrous to lose our way."

"Get a compass," Scotty requested. "We can set a compass course and hit it right on the nose."

Rick looked at his pal. "Marine training?"

"Nope." Scotty grinned. "Boy Scout. But it will come in handy. I think I could take you there anyway, but we'd better have a compass to be sure."

The three bent over the map and worked out the approach to Casa Guevara. For one thing, they agreed to approach as close as possible by jeep. If they found the governor, transportation would be needed. He could not be as fast on foot as might be necessary, because of his age. Besides, they had no idea of his present physical condition.

It was dark when they rolled out of Calor, Rick driving. All three were dressed in dark clothes, and each had a night stick in his belt. Montoya's pistol was hidden in a shoulder holster.

At the officer's direction, they turned toward the airport, passed it, and headed toward the lighthouse at the extreme southern tip of the island. The road led past the light and along the southern shore, a hundred yards from the sea. Then, as they reached their first turning point, Montoya said, "Slowly. It should be about here."

After a moment he found it, a pair of ruts through the rolling farm land. Rick knew from his study of the map that it was a road on which bananas were hauled from the plantations. It cut across to the main road to San Souci. By taking this route, they would miss the check point near the hotel.

The road was bumpy but passable. Rick kept a steady speed in spite of the jouncing it gave his passengers. They could take it.

Presently there was blacktop ahead. They had reached the road to San Souci. Rick pulled a flashlight from his pocket and pointed it at the odometer, counting off the tenths of a mile as he headed toward the town. When he reached seven-tenths he stopped the jeep.

"Turnoff point," he said. "From now on, we steer our way through the boondocks. Any preferred way, Captain?"

Montoya shrugged. "There is no road, or even a path. Do what you can."

"Okay. Scotty, make sure we head due north."

"Check. Make a 90-degree turn and keep going. I'll correct you."

Rick had only one real concern, and that was that the jeep lights might be visible from the higher elevation of Casa Guevara. But it had to be risked. He thought there wasn't really much of a chance, because the thick foliage would screen them. Besides, anyone seeing the lights might assume it was soldiers making their rounds.

The ground was carpeted with fallen vegetation, but it was the dry season and the earth under the leaves was firm enough. There was little danger of the jeep bogging down, especially in four-wheel drive.

Rick picked his way through the jungle, keeping to clear spots as much as he could. Once it was necessary to butt down a huge banana plant before he could continue, but mostly it was a matter of plowing through scrub. Sometimes a palmetto leaf whipped across his face, and once a thorny bush caught painfully and drew blood.

Scotty navigated, keeping track of their direction. Now and then he spoke. "More to the right when you can. We're about a hundred yards to the left of our base line." Then, "Straighten out. We're on course again."

After what seemed to Rick an eternity of plowing through the heavy growth, Scotty said quietly, "Pick a place to turn around, then kill the lights and motor."

Rick reached a place where there was room, swung the wheels hard, backed around, and put the jeep in its own tracks facing the other way. He turned off the lights and cut the motor switch. The silence and darkness flooded in.

"Just sit still until our eyes adjust," Scotty said, very quietly. "If I've figured right, we're about a hundred yards from the dirt road, just about in front of the Guevara driveway. We'd better walk the rest of the way, in case of guards."

Rick waited until the blackness lessened. His pupils were fully dilated now, and he could see surprisingly well. There was a moon, but at the moment it was behind a cloud bank. When it emerged, he would be able to see perfectly.

"Let's go," Scotty said. "No more talking now. When I hold up my hand, stop and wait for me."

The ex-Marine took the lead, Montoya following and Rick bringing up the rear. He took the night stick from his belt and hefted it. The weight was comforting in his hand.

Scotty found his way with the ease that Rick always admired. Their steps were noiseless on the carpeted jungle floor. Presently Scotty held up his hand, and Montoya and Rick stopped, waiting. Scotty disappeared ahead of them.