George Buddy Król

Meet a young George Król with his buddy Don Hough. They make friends with a tall, blond farmboy, whom they help save the family farm. (C) 2024 Alopex

Don, Tom and I were walking to the mall on a hot, muggy Friday afternoon as we talked about our busy summer a few years ago.

"Gains goes on trial next Monday, so we'd better be at the courthouse," Don was saying.

"Yes, at ten o'clock, and we have only a few weeks of vacation left" Tom replied.

"Worst of all, I still haven't played tennis this summer. I had wanted to learn ," I joined in.

"George, you and your tennis drives me nuts!" Tom cut in,
annoyed. "I'm still shaking from the Gains episode!"

"You're still shaking? I gained ten years running through those woods!"

At my comment, both Don and Tom broke out in smiles.

"Never mind, there's the mall," Don pointed. "Maybe we'll find something in there."

The air-conditioned atmosphere chilled us as we entered the building. I steered us straight ahead.
"I don't know about you, but I want to go into 'Gallery of Music'. Their records are only eightyeight cents."

"Go ahead, George," Don told me. "We're headed for the Bortree clothing store for new jeans."

Our bisection formed a 'y' as we agreed to meet at Bortree's in a half hour. With my mind on the latest song by my favorite group, my eye caught the strangest sight. -- or so I had thought. Nonplussed, I felt as though someone were staring at me while I scanned the immediate area. The mall had a dearth of people in the vicinity, but that wasn't unusual for a hot August afternoon. Still, I felt I had been being watched.

I slipped into the store, passing a luscious display of discount albums, and hunted for my record.


Although my suspicions did not subside, I walked into Bortree's as though nothing had been happening. In little time did I find the guys still by a jean rack near the rear of the store.

"I have what I came for, did you?" I inquired, grinning slightly and showing my package.

"Don't look now, George, but the vandals followed you here," warned Don.

They must have been close, because I could see the freckles on Tom's nose stand out. Those vandals, sworn for vindication after three years, were three years older -- and sneakier. That all explained my feeling of being observed.

If we should stay together, maybe we'd keep them away?"
Tom suggested.

"Don't worry," I ventured. "They won't try anything in the mall."

"That's what I'm afraid of," Don agreed

My foresaid came true as the vandals seemed to disappear, but that watched feeling made a fourth party with us. Finally, we left the place and started home with the sun's setting during our walk -- a sure sign that it was late summer, because it was only eight o'clock. Darkness began filling the street as we waved Tom goodbye at our corner of parting.

"What shall we do tomorrow?" I asked Don.

"Tomorrow's Saturday -- I have to work all day, and so do you if I recall correctly."

I was taken aback.
"Of course. I've forgotten!"


We'd reached our point of separation and traded farewells. Only a few more weeks and we'd find out what college life was about. I smiled at the thought. Surely, it's better than rigorous high school life -- I hope. What gets me -

A crash accompanied a barrage of moans and groans demolished my train of thought. A wan flash of the vandals and their revenge rushed through my mind as my heart pounded with my turnaround and my race toward the sounds. My feet weren't flying fast enough as my eyes caught five figures in battle. There must've been all four of them, but, wait a minute, if that be true, why is the fight on three on two?

In the dusk, I saw three vandals as I approached. One of them was biffed towards me, and I obliged by sending him back the same way he'd come. The other two, seeing my assistance, decided to vacate the area, followed by the third.

My first thought was Don. He was hobbling around until he sat on a step of a nearby porch. They had landed their punches, as I could see both of his eyes blackened, and his handsome countenance sprinkled with bruises. The remaining figure, his dorsal side toward me, was tending to Don's injuries.

"I don't know who you are...but I'm grateful," Don was saying slowly as he presented his right hand.

"Glad to help. Three against one isn't fair on any block," the guy said as he shook Don's hand.

I was within three meters now, and he was about 190 cm with blond hair spilling out of his blue baseball cap.

"What happened?" I asked concerned.

"Who are you?" the stranger whirled around showing a reddened face, a freckled nose, a dimpled chin, blue eyes, and a suspicious look. He looked as though he'd worked on a farm. I'd thought I had been looking in a mirror!

"That's alright -- he's a friend. George Król, meet -- that's strange, you didn't tell me your name."

"Chris Lucas. Glad to know you, George," his expression dissolved into something warmer as I felt a firm handshake.

"I'm Don Hough. It was those vandals -- as you probably know, George. They jumped me moments after we'd parted. You'd think that after three years, they'd forgotten me."

"We had a group like that coming on the farm; we took good care of them," Chris added. "What did you do to them to deserve such hospitality?"

After we told him the story of what seemed like history to us, his husky body shook.
"Boy, I wish I'd been there. I would've had fun."

His reaction was quite genuine, and he carried an air about him which I could not comprehend.
"Well, I have to get back home. If you guys be around the reservoir, look for the Lucas farm. I'd be glad to show you around, especially next month. We could use a few harvesters."


"That invitation hid in the back of my mind for over a month until I suggested to Don that we accept it. The heat of summer had steadily been giving way as September wore on, and we decided to hike up to the reservoir one fine Sunday and look for the Lucas farm. Pete, Paul, and Tom joined us, and we forgot the drudgery of living and enjoyed life that afternoon.

The sun had just passed the zenith, and the lack of clouds allowed green foliage one of its last triumphant shows. We just reached the reservoir when we decided to lunch. Despite the bugs, it felt good to be outdoors on such a sun-drenched day.

"Hey, guys, look," Don pointed casually to a nearby sign. It had a red background with white letters: "Lucas Farm, Private Keep Out Violators Will Be Prosecuted.
The crimson made the sign look ominous as it hung on a wire fence with barbed wire atop.

"Maybe Chris didn't mean for us to come on the property," I observed. "Maybe he just wanted us to know where it was."

"Maybe so, but there must be an entrance," Don munched through his sandwich. "When we finish lunch, I'd like to look around."


Suddenly, a gunshot rang out. I felt as though I'd been drenched with sweat while I stared at the sandwich I'd just dropped.

"Let's get out of here!" Pete suggested, looking nervously around the area.
I was surveying the area, too. But I had been too intense, because I failed to notice that Don had jumped up and had streaked toward the sound. I could only see the top of his dark hair above the bushes, when I finally sprang up also.

"Don, where are you going?" Turning to the others, I commanded, "Come on, guys, we'd better follow him!"

"But I just started eating," Tom protested, his freckles were conspicuous again.

By then, my feet were taking me in the direction of both the shot and Don. As I flung my backpack on, a glance backward revealed the guys' doing the same. Pete was already following me, his blond hair flapping in the wind of the chase.

"Don, hold up!" I shouted as I peered through the fence. Suddenly, I halted, startled. There was no fence to peer through! There was a gap about two meters in diameter, which melted wire surrounded it. It looked as though someone had basted his way into the area.

"Don!" I yelled through the gaping hole. Pete had caught up with me, and he placed his hand on my shoulder while he panted for air.
"Where did he go?" he asked.

I only looked at him and nodded toward the inside fence. In a moment, we were both swiftly circumspecting the land.

"Tom, Paul, this way," Pete yelled to the figures by the gap, and we continued in the direction of the gunshot.

"Take another step, and I'll fill you with lead!" a gruff voice growled.

I could feel a chill grab my back as I swung around toward the sound. My eyes fixed on the double barrels of a shotgun and then to its holder, a seedy-looking farmer. The wind blew at his dirty and tattered overalls while the smoke from his corncob pipe surrounded his straw hat. I reversed my gaze and met the mesmerized face of Tom, Paul, and then closer to Pete, whose aghast look froze him in his tracks.

Before I could say anything, the gunman fired, which shocked me so much I almost fell down. However, no bullet pierced my trembling body, so I looked back to the agriculturalist. His gun was still smoking. Fearfully, I wrenched my gaze back toward the guys. Tom and Paul had moved their position slightly, so perhaps it had been a warning shot...then I noticed Pete's lying prone with the wind tousling his blond hair and brown jacket.

"You shot him!" I cried, tears invading my eyes. At the moment, I could smell the presence of death.

"Pa! No! It's alright" a voice shouted. Over the hill behind the hick appeared the worried face of Chris Lucas. He was running full speed because I could see his boots raise the dust and his yellow hair fly in the wind.

"Pa, they're friends! I invited them here," he said with a panting voice. His pace was slackening as he reached the man. Chris took his shotgun easily as the man looked at me with a new attitude, for I could feel his apology.

"They picked a bad time to show up here," the voice masked what I felt.

"You must forgive Pa. We're having quite a bit of trouble here lately. Let's go into the house, and we can discuss..."

I saw Chris's eyes enlarge, and then I remembered. A quick flash, and I was racing toward Pete's motionless body. I arrived there first, brushed his hair off the right side of his forehead, and felt for a pulse.

I must have shown a visage of relief, for the concern vanished from Chris's eyes while he approached us. I picked up Pete's flabby arm and could feel a slow, but steady beat just like the one I had felt aside his forehead. I searched for injuries, but outside bruises and a welt on the back of his neck, there was no blood.

"Don't worry, son," a voice assured. I turned to see a smiling face with smoke pouring out of its mouth.
"I fired into the air to stop your other friends from escaping. He fainted only when I shot the gun."

I began shaking Pete and lightly slapping his face, but he showed no sign of revival. Maybe the rock he fell on made him a little more unconscious. Tom and Paul joined us, and they helped us carry Pete into the house, which was only over the hill, as we discovered. My mind drifted from Pete to the threat against this farm.

We set Pete on the green couch in the living room of the farmhouse. While I attempted backliving Pete, Tom took off Pete's shoes and placed them on the fur carpet.

"Does anyone have any spirits -- ammonia, or anything like it?" I requested.

Chris was walking in the room when I requested the spirits. Like a servant, he held a small vial.

"No sooner said than done," he smiled. "Mom has lots of ammonia in the kitchen. -- We make it from manure."

I circled the vail around Pete's nose only once when his throat began coughing. His visage began coming to life as those blue eyes appeared again. He looked dazed.

"Where am I?" he said bewilderedly.

"We're in the Lucas farmhouse," I answered.

"You gave us quite a scare," Chris joined in.

"Where's Don?" he asked rubbing the new welt on the back of his neck.

I could feel my facial expression change with the others. I remained speechless, though Paul spoke first.

"That's right. We were chasing Don after he raced after the source of the gunfire!'

"But wasn't that Mister Lucas?" Tom cut in.

"It couldn't have been," I deducted. "Otherwise, Don would've met up with him."

Turning to Chris, I inquired, "Just what is going on around here?"

Chris seemed a bit annoyed but answered with just "This" as he took out a small crumbled bit of paper from his plaid jacket. I took the paper, and while Pete read over my shoulder from his supine position, I read:

"This is your last warning.
Either sell the farm and leave, or you won't get anything when you leave.
By 1 November."

"This is going to take a bit of explanation," Chris anticipated my question while he sat down on the yellow armchair opposite the couch where Pete lay and I crouched. It was a signal, for the guys also found places to sit. Pete just turned his head to listen.

"About three months ago, a salesman appeared one morning at the front door. At least that's what Pa thought he was, but his idea of salesman meant that he wanted to buy the farm. It was unbelievable! He offered us $150,000 by 1 November.

"The farm has been Pa's life, and he refused. It just took a few minutes before Pa threw him out -- It was a hot confrontation."

"Did the man come back after the altercation?" I continued.

At this question, Chris became nervous.
"Do any of you guys have a cigarette?" he evaded.

I obliged by giving him one of mine, which set off a chain reaction as Paul and Tom reached for their cigarettes.

"In a way, yes," he avoided the brunt of the question as he lit and puffed. "About six weeks ago, Pa saw that same man's running away from the south fence."

White smoke streamed out of trembling lips as he spoke. His trepidation seemed so atypical to our first meeting, but I reserved judgment.

"The fence had been melted open wide enough to allow our cows to escape."

"Was that the fence we came through?" quizzed Tom during an exhale.

"No, you came through the east fence, which didn't have that hole in yesterday. But that wasn't the worst of it. Our cows have been disappearing -- We've lost ten this month.

"Pa had resorted to riding shotgun and sleeping in the barn. The first threatening note came last month on the 26th. When I saw you last August, none of these annoyances had happened, save the man's second appearance.

This threatening note came in yesterday's mail. Since the beginning of this month, we've received them more frequently."

I did some mental figuring.
"Today's the fifteenth, which gives us sixteen days." Turning to Chris, "Do you remember the dates of the notes?"

"I wrote them down somewhere," he fumbled through his plaid shirt pockets after he put the cigarette back into his mouth. Out emerged a creased yellow piece of paper.
"This was the second last note. That's when I started recording the dates. 26 September, 3 October, 7 October, 10 October, 12 October, 14 October."

My deduction system went to work.
"When did the cows disappear?"

"26 September, 3 October, 10 October -- five, five, and five, respectively."

"Isn't it strange that the notes come on the day that the cows disappear?"

"But," Chris objected. "What about the other dates?"

I looked both nonplussed and perplexed, but my confusion covered both up.
"I have no definite ideas, unless you should know something I don't."

"Well, the worst happened today -- Someone was shooting at our animals. That explains Pa's behavior today," Chris blurted out as he finished his cigarette. "It was a new threat."

I looked out at bewildered faces.
"Someone was shooting at the animals on Sunday? I suggest you report this incident to the police!"

"Wait a minute. What about Don?" Pete cut in.

I had forgotten about that dude, but before anyone could answer, Don burst into the room, his eyes wide with excitement.

"Wait till you see what I've found!" he exclaimed out of breath.

I did exactly as the others; I jumped up and followed before anyone could ask Don where he'd been. Pete was the most disadvantaged -- he had to practically throw on his shoes -- but no one brought his backpack, for we had shed them when we came in. Besides, it's easier running without them.

Don led us to the direction he'd been. Suddenly, he stopped, knelt down, and pointed to some tracks -- shoeprints. They wear only boots on this side of the field! The azure sky contrasting the colorful leaves looked prosaic toward what Don also found: three empty shotgun shells. Whoever had left here did so in a big hurry, but who wouldn't after shooting at farm animals on that farm? We followed the tracks to nothing -- They just disappeared in the meadow.

"If there be any more trouble, call Don or me after law enforcement," I whispered to Chris after we gave up on the tracking. I had anticipated Don's reaction.

The sun was dropping toward the horizon while we walked back to the farmhouse.

"It's too late to do any extension investigation," Don told Chris. "After the sheriff is here and unless something happens during the week, we'd be back next Sunday to look at this thing."

Going home, I decided to get Don's reaction.
"Why did you give up so easily?"

"Because we were being watched, possibly by the same guy who had the shotgun. Where's law enforcement? Besides, I want to find out their next move. They were very careful not leaving tracks, although the shoe size was nine, the tracks were peculiar enough to suggest they were fake. They might pull back for a while, watch what the sheriff does, then push at the last minute."

"You think they'd do that?"

"I suspect they have local law enforcement bribed. I know they'd do that.

I didn't like the tone; Don seemed certain.

Several days passed, and the incident evanesced. for the first time in almost two months, thee was no incident on Tuesday at the Lucas farm. But we had business to do the following Sunday, for the sheriff had been no help.

The sun was passed the zenith, and we had been two hours' looking for clues when Don yelled, "George, I found something!"

Turning around, I ran toward where Don was surveying. Kneeling down, I observed what looked like an energy cell, which appeared as a diode out of a radio without prongs.

"Now we know how they break in the fence," Don concluded. "The question is why?"

"I think it's about time that we check the records in the town hall," I answered.

"And we'd better get to the police lab."

We stood up and headed back for our cars, but I felt someone's observance on us. Don felt it too, for after we were out of sight, we tried to discover who was watching us. Unfortunately, without binoculars, we could not see anyone -- perhaps it had been my imagination or he had gone back into the woods.

"You go to the hall tomorrow and I the police lab," Don whispered, almost fearing someone's overhearing us. "We'll meet back here on Friday night, for it will take all week to get the information we want. They've been watching us and are likely to anticipate our next move."

I only nodded as we started our engines and left that place -- with only ten days left until November's entrance.

Don was right about our observer. By luck I had just entered the hall when I heard the secretary say that she had not seen anyone looking like Don or me. Some how we became a short, dark, green-eyed brunet about 1.70 m and a tall, chin-clefted, and freckled blond about 1.95 m vicenarians.

I briefly fell for the egoism at my description, but there was work to do. I ducked in an office as I saw that man pass the doorway. He was quite an endomorph, about 180 cm, easily 100 kg, and perplexed. I felt as though I had evened the score. He had known me and now I knew him.

I followed him out the door, and when he turned a corner, I sneaked into my car. I slowly pulled out onto the street and turned the corner where I saw him get into a beige Ford hardtop. I had just written down the license number when the car gunned out and down the street. I could have kicked myself in the behind -- He knew my car, too!

Before they had a chance to find out what we were looking for, I decided to go back to the hall. It would do no good to follow him. What would I do if I could find out where this group was quartered? Our business was the Lucas farm, and October was fading away.

The secretary gave me an incredulous stare when I returned to the hall, but my identification provided her with a wan smile. I searched through many papers on the Lucas farm: title deeds, mortgages, taxes, geological reports, but I could find nothing of value. Then, it hit me. I asked the secretary for the recent papers, ones over the last month not yet filed.

Some quick searching, and there it was! Someone had taken a geological survey of the Lucas farm late September, but the voucher was an obvious alias, a Jerome Jones -- not exactly imaginative.

I rushed how to call Don, but there was no answer. The lab might take a little time to uncover the source of the energy cell. I tried again later on that night, but still there was no answer.

In the everyday haste, I didn't call again until Wednesday, and still there was no answer. I was perplexed, but not alarmed, until two more days had passed.

I had not seen Don in school since the week before, and I was starting to feel guilty about not reporting the survey, but he had told me that we would investigate the Lucas farm that night, and I guessed that this night would be our meeting.

Of the group, only Pete was the one I told about my finding, so we would drive out to the Lucas farm after supper. First I went to Don's house in case he'd forgotten our appointment, for once again no one answered the telephone, and I was beginning to worry.

I arrived at Don's apartment, a former motel, and opened the door with the key he had given me. The reason I didn't knock was because his car was still there, but no lights were on inside. I reasoned that he had gone food shipping, or he was laundering, for both places were near enough to denecessitate a car.

When I opened the door, I reached for the light switch, but nothing happened. Nonplussed, I rushed toward where the lamp was. The quickened pace was a mistake, for I found myself on the floor with a thud.

I had slipped on something on the floor, but a shadow stumbled out the door.
"Hey!" I shouted to no avail. I was out now, but all I could manage was a funk and a stumble toward a receding car. My limp disappeared when my eyes observed two approaching circles of light. I dived into the parked cars with the small of exhaust and sweat in my head.

My ears could detect only a few screeches, which pronounced that I had avoided a truck. I lifted my aching body while I cursed that I had missed the license plate in the dark. My gaze fell on Don's car. It stood there almost calling me to come over and examine it.

I drifted over to it, examined it in the twilight, and wondered why it had been left here. I opened the door and searched for the omnipresent flashlight. Finding it, I shone it on the tires, and I felt the hood. There was no mistake -- The tires were caked with the same mud on the mountains surrounding the Lucas farm, and the engine had recently been running.

A chill dropped on my spine while a night breeze played with my hair. It had to be! I lifted the hood and saw steam rising from the engine. The engine was too hot for Don to have left it here. Therefore, that silent shadow brought it here, which means -- oh, no!

A fever gripped my head as I ran back to the room. Carefully I searched for a light, and my diligence was rewarded. Only my fears were also realized. The room had been thoroughly ransacked. Now everything fell into place.

I went to the phone and dialed the Lucases'. I sat on the bed as I heard an answer.

"Hello," Chris's voice said.

"Chris, this's George. When Pete gets there, tell him we've got trouble. Don's missing, his car's been brought back here, and his room's been thoroughly ransacked!"

"Then, that explains it!"

"Explains what?"

"Why he hasn't answered the phone. Tuesday more cows vanished. Last night, someone tried to set fire to the house. The sheriff hasn't yet responded."

"What?"
"I tried to call you, but I don't have your unlisted number and --"

"Never mind, Chris. I'll come up there in Don's car, and we'll talk things through."

His words' ringing in my ears, I slammed down the receiver, found the spare keys, turned off the light, and locked the door behind me. I didn't need the spares. The keys to the ignition were still in the engine slot.

Don's car roared as it started. I glanced at the gasoline gage -- it was nearly full. Filled with anticipation, I drove into the unknown.

Fury raced through my mind, and I had to fight to keep my driving speed down. What could they have done with Don? Gloomy possibilities invaded my pensiveness as I made the turn up the hill toward the farm. After what seemed like an hour, I reached the farmhouse. They must have seen my coming, because Pete was waiting for me by his grey sedan.

"George, we've got trouble!" he shouted as he reached the car window. It must have been important, for despite my haste, I had not had a chance to get out of the car.

Fortunately, I didn't because several bullets ricocheted off the ground nearby. I squirmed out the car door and crawled with Pete back to the house where the Lucases were arguing in the kitchen.

"Let me go with you, Pa!" Chris was saying.

"Alright, we've got plenty of shotguns downstairs in the cellar for all of you..

Lucas succumbed when he saw Pete and me enter the room.
"Maybe we four can catch them."

He ducked down the basement while I started the inquiry.
"Please, everybody, sit down and tell me what's going on."

Chris answered in a more angered than scared, "They did it again. We lost cows on Tuesday, someone threw a firebomb at the house last night. I tried calling the sheriff, but he hasn't answered the phone."

"This is very important. Did Don tell you anything about the police lab findings?"

"Is that where you were going?"

"No, I went to city hall, and guess what...someone recently took a geological survey of the property. There's oil underneath the south pasture. It's a bit difficult to get at, but one never knows when that won't be a problem. I trust you called the police about this incident."

"No, the lines are down," Pete broke in.

"Or someone cut them," I deducted.

Then I remembered Don's car had a radio in it. It was easier for me to get to it because darkness had taken over.

It took five minutes, but I had the radio operating.
"C-37 calling headquarters. C-37 calling headquarters. Come in, please," I staccatoed.

Finally I heard after a long, threatening pause, "C-37, this is headquarters."

The sound of the passenger front door's opening in the dark caused me to jump until I saw Pete's floppy mop. He was wordless.

Turning my attention from him, I automatically responded, "Headquarters, we have an attack on the Lucas farm in progress. It's location is --"

Another short, but frightening, burst of gunfire exploded across the hood. My instinctive response found me on the ground alongside the battered wain, and I cautiously rose to find no explosion from the automobile.

A peer inside revealed the receiver was still smoking, but disabled as I tried to get back on line. Pete, who had also jumped out of the car, showed a disappointed visage as he examined the detritus from his vantage point on the right side.

Wordlessly, we slipped back into the farmhouse. Chris was waiting in the kitchen.

I may have gotten through," I found myself saying. "But I couldn't give them our position outside the name of the place. I certainly hope someone there would know where the Lucas farm is."

"Isn't there anything else we can do?" Chris looked hopelessly perplexed.

"Not unless we knew where Don is," Peter answered uncomfortably.

"That's it!" I shouted, startling everyone in the house.

"Have you gone mad?" Mrs. Lucas quizzed.

I turned to Pete and Chris.
"That explains why the gas tank in Don's car was almost full. They must have grabbed him near his place this afternoon at the police lab!

"Don said he'd taken the evidence on Monday, and it must have been ready today. The perpetrators must have searched for any other evidence at his place right before I came."

Chris and Pete just looked as if they had been going to say, "Huh?"

"They knew what we looked like when I went to city hall. So, they must have been tailing Don all week until he picked up some evidence from the police lab. One of them drove to his place to seek any other evidence."

"But where did they take him?"

"That's just it. He must be at their hideout somewhere in the mountains, near the direction they're shooting at us."

"You mean we're going toward them," Pete questioned incredulously.

"Look, we don't know where he is, but I'll bet that they have him hostage to force us out to save our buddy. Furthermore, they could get closer and do almost anything they want. We don't know whether the police be coming, and we don't know how many of them are there."

I could see the determination in Chris's eyes.
"But we have no other choice, but to sit here and get shot at!" he said while grabbing the shotgun.

Leaving the Lucases to defend the house, we scurried stealthily out the back door and into a woody cover. Rifle shots continued to pelt the area with an occasional return of gunfire, but by now we were too close to the hilly source of the gunfire to be in danger. When we reached the foot of the source, we listened for any muttered words from above, but we were still out of earshot.

"Find a covered path up there," Chris whispered. We'll split here and meet back here in five minutes. Be careful; Don's probably up there."

The words seemed wasted, but the reminder did an excellent thing for my cautiousness. I was not about to risk everything in the case on a silly amount of carelessness.

Because there were three of us and only two directions, Pete went along with me while Chris searched the other way. It was a good thing, because our path diverged soon after. We had just split up when I found the extension of the woods. It was perfect for our purposes, for it dominated the whole left side of the mountain. The only exposure we would suffer would be the distance between the woods and the perpetrators on that ledge. It looked like a fifteen-meter climb, but I had little time for observation, so I crept back to our rendezvous point.

"Where's Pete?" Chris quizzed when I returned.

"That's strange. I thought he'd be here already. Anyway, I found the perfect ascent in that direction, so let's go."

"I'm glad you did. All the years I've been here, I'd never had to climb up this mountain. With the moon out, it'd be difficult for us to approach without being seen. Fortunately, I brought these pistols. Shotguns are too clumsy for mountain climbers."

His smile faded from his face as we made our way back toward the direction Pete had taken.
"Are you sure he went this way?"

My eyes strained in the moonlight at the ground where a set of footprints disappeared into oblivion.
"Wait a minute! Someone's covered the prints," I pointed to the spot.

"Yes," Chris agreed. "They have him now."

"Worse -- they know we're here. I suggest we stay together."

"Maybe Pa could help."

"No. Perhaps it's better they know. We may be able to surprise them anyway."

With these words, we began our arduous climb. Branches and leaves slapped at our faces, arms and legs, but it was slowly and surely -- and besides, it made little noise.

Warninglessly, Chris fell through the floor of roots and branches. He was wordless, but I heard the snapping and popping that had accompanied his slip. Peering down, I saw that he precariously held onto an outstretched perch with his swaying body some ten meters above the ground. I managed to grab his slipping hand and give him enough leverage to bring him back up.

For a man so close to death, Chris displayed surprising calm as we pondered what to do for a moment. Perhaps we were too preoccupied with why we were there, for I felt no fear either. The moment of limbo passed quickly, and we were back climbing up to our expecting harassers.

My frame of mind changed rapidly, for the shooting started again. Chris and I looked at each other in amazement -- maybe they did not know we were there! If so, they were helping us find them, unless they should be baiting us. Such horrors always invade my mind, for more than once I they saved me.

Finally, we reached the level, and someone was waiting for us. Chris took care of our welcome with a left hook and he fell silently into the trees below.

Peering around a wall of obsidian rock, we saw a gunman and the one I had seen at City Hall earlier that week. I motioned Chris toward the cave behind them.

We reached aground for some pebbles and arched them over to the other side. The sound worked, for the gunman motioned the other to investigate. While I slipped into the cave, Chris sneaked up behind the engrossed gunman.

Cautiously I made my way into the cave. A slight noise made me turn around as if shot.

"George, is that you?" the source mumbled.

I turned on my flashlight to reveal the whisperer, Don. He had managed to displace the gag around his mouth enough to evoke the sound. I immediately hurried over to untie his hands and feet.

"I'm certainly glad you came; They were going to kill us tonight and dump our bodies near the farmhouse. I guess you know about the oil."
I nodded to Don's deduction, and he continued.
"That explains the cell as we expected, it's a lazar beam. Worse of all, they were going to use it on the house next Tuesday night for the coup de grâce if nothing else had worked."

"I take it the sheriff is in on it. The local syndicate bribed him," I added.

"George, help," Chris shouted from outside.

Don and I only looked at each other for a moment. Because Don was loose, we simultaneously raced outside the cave. Chris had not quite disabled the gunman, for had knocked the rifle down the canyon, but not the man unconscious. He was struggling with all three of our antagonists. Don went after the one on the left and I the one on the right.

"It looks as though the fun is over," Chris concluded while wiping his bloody lip. Each of us had the pistols he had brought with him. I was about to say something when all were startled by bushes' rumbling to our left.

Out emerged Pete with his hands bound behind him and the man I had seen at City Hall, who pointed a mean-looking pistol at just above Pete's right ear. Bewilderment, then panic, took control my body.

"Nobody move, or he gets it," the man shouted. "Now drop those guns!"

My eyes met Pete's, and we tried a little telepathy. On signal, Pete swung a vicious heel at the guy's shin. While he yelled, he dropped the pistol, and Pete was within reach as he scurried our way. I could see his eyebrows rise as I ungagged him.

"They're getting away!"

"Oh. no, they aren't," Mister Lucas said.
The three men emerged from the shadows followed by a very familiar hick. Down below, we heard sirens and two police car lights cut through the darkness.

After briefing the police chief, I watched them take the terrorists away.

"There's 100,000 barrels of oil estimated underneath here?" Pa Lucas repeated my statement.

"Yes," I rejoined. I turned to Chris, "And what are you going to do with all that oil?"

A smile broke across Chris's face.
"I guess we'd buy a bigger farm!"

Glad to escape from this case in one piece, we headed back for the farmhouse to celebrate. It was the best Friday night I experienced that year.