2008-9-13 12:35:00
by Ted Dewey
The golden sun was peeking over the mountain. Julie had cooked a hardy breakfast for the three, and was now in the kitchen washing dishes. The men had retreated to the living room.
Last night they had returned the letter to the mailbox, then bought a few groceries and returned to the ranch. It had been an eventful day and everyone was tired. A good nights' sleep seemed to be in order.
The men were in the living room seated on the couch. The map that Julie had acquired at the sales office was spread out on the coffee table in front of them. Rodney was pointing with his finger. "Right about here is where we will find Baker's house. See that small 'x' almost at the end of the road? That is probably where he built... Sure is a long narrow strip of ground..."
Henry nodded, "I understand he has a runway for his plane. He would need a strip about that long."
"And these lots on both sides of him are still for sale. He sure doesn't have any close neighbors. I would sure like to get a peek at what he has back there."
"Me too. According to this map the 'x' is where his buildings are. We could slip down through one of those lots that border him and take a look. It isn't very far."
"Sounds like a good idea. We could have Julie drive us over there then pick us up later. That way there won't be a parked car to arouse suspicion."
Henry nodded. "Sounds good to me. Now what do you think we should take with us?"
"Being as how we don't know what we will run in to we had better take along something. What do you have here in the way of guns?"
"I've got my deer rifle, the one I took when we went over the hill. I've also got a twelve gauge, single-barrel, shot gun; and, a Winchester 22. Oh yes I almost forgot. I have my old army Colt 45!"
Rodney grinned. "Sounds like you got one for most every occasion. I don't think we should take along anything that will show. This is private property we will be on, and I think that men carrying guns would look mighty suspicious. I've got a little 32 caliber pistol that will fit in my jacket pocket. We will take it."
"I got a good hunting knife. It fits on my belt..."
Julie was standing in the open doorway. She motioned with her head. "Come on fellows. What are we waiting for?"
About fifteen minutes later the Ford came to a halt. The two men got out and headed for the bushes. The Ford took off in a cloud of dust.
The two men bent over low keeping out of sight as much as possible, pausing occasionally to take a peek at what lay ahead of them.
According to the map the road that led to the house was about fifty feet from the north border. They kept the road in sight and kept going.
A big jackrabbit startled them as he sprang from under their feet and went leaping through the brush. A covey of quail took to the air. Then suddenly the road made an abrupt turn to the right, and there right in front of them was the house.
It was a medium-sized, rustic building built of rough lumber which was stained a dark brown. The roof was a dark green. Parked in front was a black, late model, Ford sedan.
Just below the house was the runway for the black and yellow plane which was setting under a shelter at the near end of the narrow strip. Between the plane and the house was another building -- a metal shed about twenty feet square.
For a couple of minutes the two men rested on their hands and knees, looking the place over. No one was in sight. "That shed back of the house," Rodney whispered, "sure does look familiar. Does it remind you of something?"
"Just like the other one -- only bigger."
"Let's try and get closer to the darn thing. Any suggestions?"
"Let's back up a little. Then circle around."
Their progress was slow. Their hands and knees were bleeding from coming in contact with sharp rocks. Thorns from the bushes ripped their shirts and tore their flesh, but they kept going.
Minutes later Rodney whispered, "What do you think?"
"I think we should take a look."
They crawled over to the edge of the clearing and parted the bushes. One quick look and they backed away.
They had come out beyond the buildings by about fifty feet. And once again either lady luck or the Lord himself had been looking after them.
A slight wind was blowing straight in their faces, but they could see that on a long chain, apparently asleep on the doorstep, was a huge dog -- a big, black, wicked-looking Doberman Pincher:
The two men exchanged glances. Then slowly and silently turned around and crept away.
One glance was enough. The story was right there in front of them. Once again Ira Baker -- alias Frank Poletti -- had left a guard to look after his arsenal But this time it wasn't a couple of punks from skidrow who might get careless and go bird hunting."
-- End Of Chapter Twenty-Eight --
Copyright © 2008 by J.J. Dewey, All Rights Reserved