“Want to see some emeralds?” the agent invited. (See [page 49])

BOY SCOUT EXPLORERS
AT EMERALD VALLEY

BY
DON PALMER

ILLUSTRATED

CUPPLES AND LEON COMPANY
Publishers New York

Copyright, 1955, by
CUPPLES AND LEON COMPANY
All Rights Reserved
Printed in the United States of America

CONTENTS

CHAPTER PAGE I. [Flash Message] 7 II. [Man of Mystery] 14 III. [Strange Actions] 20 IV. [A Surprise Cache] 30 V. [Heroes All!] 38 VI. [A Company Agent] 45 VII. [Toil and Trouble] 55 VIII. [Delay] 63 IX. [Off Course] 73 X. [A Banana Plantation] 80 XI. [Hitting the Trail] 89 XII. [Carlos the Bandit] 98 XIII. [The Emerald Pit] 106 XIV. [A Bribe Offer] 117 XV. [Map of A Mine] 126 XVI. [Signals] 133 XVII. [An Earth Slide] 140 XVIII. [Disaster] 150 XIX. [A Racing Stream] 161 XX. [The Missing Scouts] 169 XXI. [A Mission] 178 XXII. [Orders from Bogota] 188 XXIII. [Trailing Rhodes] 199 XXIV. [Flight] 208 XXV. [Going Home] 217

Chapter 1
FLASH MESSAGE

“Only ten more minutes, Jack, and we’ll be off duty. That gives us just time enough to get to the Scout meeting by seven o’clock. I’ll be glad to call it a night too!”

Warwick Washburn yawned as he lowered a powerful field glass through which he had scanned the sky for a glimpse of aircraft.

He and Jack Hartwell, a companion Boy Scout and Explorer, were nearing the end of a two hour trick at the Civilian Defense observation tower. Few planes had passed overhead and there had been no activity to break the monotonous vigil.

“Oh, it hasn’t been so tough,” returned Jack cheerfully. He was a lean, friendly youth, deeply tanned because he had spent practically all of his spare hours out-of-doors. “Our work is needed here as a protection against unexpected enemy attack. I’m glad to help, even if it is tedious to perch on this tower platform.”

“I’m not kicking,” said War. “Don’t get me wrong. These observation posts are necessary to cover gaps in our radar system. Only I wish more planes would pass over.”

“You’d like an enemy attack, or at least a little mystery and intrigue,” chuckled Jack. “That trip we made to Peru gave you a taste for adventure!”

“It did at that,” the other agreed. “After weeks of exciting life in the wilds, Belton City seems a bit tame.”

“Particularly this observation post?”

“Well, we’ve been reporting the movement of planes for several months now, Jack. I sure wish a little excitement would come our way again!”

“Maybe we’re looking in the wrong direction.”

Warwick stared at his friend, surprised by the remark. “The wrong direction?” he echoed. “What d’you mean?”

Jack relieved him of the field glass, focussing it on the entrance road of a nearby cemetery. The tower platform also offered an unobstructed view of the Pablo Automobile plant adjoining the burial ground.

“What do you see?” War asked as his chum remained silent. “Any ghosts moving around?”

“It’s that old automobile again,” Jack reported. “This makes four times in the last month that I’ve seen it turn into that cemetery road.”

“You’ve got that car on the brain, boy!” War scoffed, losing interest. “Forget it and stick to airplanes.”

“Okay,” Jack agreed, again training the glass on an expanse of sky. “All the same, it strikes me as queer that the car keeps coming back time after time.”

For weeks, Jack had amused fellow members of Explorers Post 21 by his constant reference to a mysterious automobile.

Not only had he called attention to it repeatedly, but he had noted down the license number, LC 1478. The car was a seven-year old model, driven by a man who wore workman’s clothes.

Jack had pointed out that the car always appeared at the cemetery entrance just at dusk or a trifle later. Furthermore, the driver nearly always parked close to the main highway, proceeding through the trees afoot.

Where he went the Scouts never had learned, for foliage blocked their view. But after ten to twenty minutes, he always reappeared and drove away.

“One of these days I’m going to check up on that fellow—” Jack began, but War interrupted.

“Listen!” he exclaimed.

A plane was passing the observation tower, high overhead. Instantly alert, the Scouts determined its altitude and type. Jack went quickly inside to send an aircraft flash message to the filter center.

His telephone contact established, he received the terse “Air Defense, go ahead!”

“Single—multi-jet—very high—” Methodically, Jack went on to complete the message, and hung up immediately after he heard the operator’s clear, “Check, thank you.”

The task completed, he rejoined Warwick on the breezy platform.

“Our relief’s coming,” War remarked, indicating two men who were walking briskly toward the observation tower. “We may as well take off for the Scout meeting.”

After the newcomers had arrived, the Scouts started at a fast pace for the Belton Methodist Church where the meeting of Explorers Post 21 was to be held.

“Step on it,” urged Jack. As crew leader, he made a point of never being tardy for a session.

“I’m practically running now,” Warwick complained, hard pressed to keep up. “What’s the rush? Anything important coming up at tonight’s meeting?”

“We want to talk over that canoe trip to Minnesota. It was postponed when our gang went to Peru instead, but this time it’s all set.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure,” War said pessimistically. “Something may come up. I’ve got one of those dark brown feelings!”

“Oh, you and your feelings!” Jack retorted with a grin.

The pair arrived at the church only three minutes late. Willie Medaugh, a tow-headed youngster of 15, and Ken Dougherty, a serious high school senior, already were in the recreation room which had been fitted up for Scout use.

“Hi!” Jack greeted his friends. “Where’s Hap?” He referred to George (Happy) Livingston, a former FBI man who directed Scout activities in Belton City.

“Not here yet,” replied Ken. “He telephoned that he’d been held up. We’re to go ahead with the meeting. He’ll be along later.”

“See what came for him,” Willie said, pointing to a thick, slightly soiled envelope which had been placed conspicuously on the table. “Mail.”

“Wonder why the letter was delivered here instead of to his office?” Jack commented.

“Because it had no street address,” Willie informed him. “It’s directed it care of the Belton Methodist Church. So the postman brought it here.”

“Get a load of that foreign stamp!” exclaimed War, fingering the envelope. “Colombia!”

“I’m going to ask Hap if I can have it after he’s finished with the letter,” announced Willie, who collected foreign stamps. “Who’d be writing him from South America?”

“Cut out the speculation, and let’s get on with the meeting,” urged Jack. “Shall we start off with the Four Freedoms ceremony? I want to run through it to be sure we have it down pat before we invite our folks to watch.”

Forgetting the letter, the other Explorers settled down to the business of the evening. Willie brought four candles and the American flag which were to be used in the ceremony.

Jack assigned Bob MacDonald, a new organization member to act as narrator. Standing behind the flag, the red-headed youth recited slowly:

“This flag represents the past, the present and the future. The stripes stand for the original thirteen colonies. The stars represent the present states. The Explorers represent the men of tomorrow.”

“That’s fine, only put more feeling into it, Jack advised. Especially that part about Explorers being the men of tomorrow.”

Bob repeated the lines to the satisfaction of the group.

“Well done!” boomed a voice from the doorway. Unobserved, Mr. Livingston had come into the meeting room. He added seriously: “Here in America, the Four Freedoms do exist, but at times we’re inclined to take them for granted.”

“America’s the best country in the world,” declared War. With a quick change of subject, he went on: “Say, Mr. Livingston, a letter came for you! From Columbia!”

The Scout leader accepted the mail, studying both the stamp and the handwriting.

“Aren’t you going to open it?” War demanded impatiently. “Maybe it’s important.”

Mr. Livingston smiled and ripped open the soiled envelope. As he unfolded the closely written pages, a small, hard, cotton-wrapped object dropped to the floor.

Jack stooped to pick it up. His fingers closed over a sizeable green stone. He stared in amazement.

“Look at this!” he exclaimed. “An emerald!”

The others studied the gem which he held up.

“A chunk of green glass,” insisted Willie.

“No, Willie,” Mr. Livingston corrected him.

“You mean it’s a real emerald?”

“Yes, Willie,” the Scout leader soberly confirmed. “This letter and the gem are from an old friend of mine. Give me a moment to scan his message, and I’ll tell you what it’s all about.”

Chapter 2
MAN OF MYSTERY

Their curiosity whetted by sight of the green stone, the Scouts eagerly waited as Mr. Livingston skimmed through the letter.

“Just as I thought,” he remarked when he had finished reading. “This is from Appleby Corning, an old college classmate, now an engineer in Colombia. The emerald is a sample from the Last Chance mine.”

“Quite a sample!” Jack commented. “Is the mine in Colombia?”

“Yes, not too far from Bogota. Appleby believes that the Last Chance can be made to produce handsomely for her American lessees. But he seems to have run into difficulties. He writes that a former manager, McClellan Rhodes, has caused him trouble. He needs help.”

“What sort of help?” inquired Willie.

“The letter is vague. Appleby just says he wants me to fly down there to look over the situation.”

“He wants you to join him in Colombia?” Willie repeated, his voice fading. “When?”

“At once, if I can. He offers to pay all expenses.”

A deep silence had fallen upon the little Explorer band. Only too well, the Scouts knew that if Mr. Livingston accepted the offer, their canoe trip to Minnesota might again be postponed.

Yet no one could deny that a plane journey to Colombia offered a thrilling prospect. Fresh in the memory of all the Explorers except Bob, was the recollection of a wonderful adventure shared with their leader in Peru.

Not many months earlier, the Scouts had been assigned to search for a missing explorer. Their mission to a lost Inca city had been a highly successful one, resulting in great honor for Post 21.

“Colombia sounds great!” exclaimed War. Half jokingly, he demanded: “When do we start?”

“That’s just it,” replied Mr. Livingston regretfully. “Appleby says nothing about the Explorers. I don’t suppose he could provide passage for the entire group.”

“I was only kidding,” War said at once. “We don’t expect to be taken along.”

“You’ll go, won’t you, Mr. Livingston?” Ken inquired politely.

“Well, I’ve given it no thought, as yet. If I could take you fellows along, I might be tempted.”

“What’s Colombia like?” Willie asked with quick interest.

“A rugged country with many unexplored areas. Bounded on the north by the Caribbean sea and Venezuela. On the east by Venezuela and Brazil; on the south by Brazil, Peru and Ecuador, and on the west by the Pacific.”

“You’ve been studying an atlas,” Jack remarked.

“Colombia always fascinated me,” the Scout leader confessed. “Bogota is the capital city. The Magdalena River traverses the entire country and provides the chief means of transportation.”

“It would be a dandy opportunity for you,” Ken said. “All expenses paid too!”

“Corning is one of my best friends, though I’ve not seen him in years. I know he wouldn’t call on me if he weren’t in a bad spot. He’s capable of handling any ordinary situation.”

“Why did he send the emerald?” War asked curiously.

“To snare my interest, I suspect. He says the mine is one of the world’s richest, but that the vein will be lost if it can’t be promptly worked.”

“What does he mean by that?” asked Willie.

“He didn’t explain. He merely instructs me to cable acceptance of his offer and take the first plane to South America.”

A silence fell. Jack busied himself putting away the record books. No one spoke of the projected trip to Minnesota. Mr. Livingston himself brought up the subject.

“I promised I’d go with you on the jaunt,” he said. “I won’t go back on that.”

“We won’t hold you to it,” Ken said instantly.

“Of course not,” added Jack. “That wouldn’t be fair. Why, a chance like this comes only once in a lifetime.”

“I’d go, if I could take you fellows with me. Say, that gives me an idea! I’ll cable Appleby Corning tomorrow and outline the situation!”

“You think he might include us in the invitation?” War asked eagerly.

“It’s possible. But as I said, I doubt Appleby would be able to finance the trip. Plane fare is no small item.”

The Scouts soberly agreed. Not many months earlier, Albert Monahan, a wealthy citizen of Belton, had paid the way of the Explorers to Peru where they successfully had traced his long-missing brother. A trip to Colombia, however, was a different matter. They could not expect Mr. Monahan or anyone else to provide passage money.

“We’ll forget it,” Jack said carelessly. “But you must seize the chance, Mr. Livingston.”

“At any rate, it will do no harm to send that cable,” the Scout leader said, smiling. “Something may turn up.”

For the remainder of the evening, the Explorers attended to routine business matters. All discussion of the proposed trip to Minnesota carefully was avoided. The Explorers knew that they might make the excursion alone or with another adult, but the prospect of having an outing without Hap left them completely cold.

Later, after the meeting had adjourned, Jack and Ken talked over the matter as they walked home together.

“Do you think Hap will accept the offer?” the latter speculated.

“If we urge him enough, he will,” Jack replied gloomily. “It’s only his conscience that’s holding him back. He figures he owes us a duty. We’ve postponed our canoe trip so many times.”

“We mustn’t stand in his way, Jack.”

“We won’t, Ken. We’ll convince him somehow that he should go. Golly! I sure wish we could make the trip with him!”

“Probably we could, if we could raise the dough.”

“Don’t be simple!” Jack replied with a short laugh. “We couldn’t earn enough for plane fares if we saved our cash for a year. This trip is immediate.”

“It’s hopeless, I guess,” Ken agreed with a shrug. “No use thinking about it.”

By this time the two Explorers were within view of the observation tower where they had spent so many hours on duty.

Instinctively, they raised their eyes to the platform. Jack waved and whistled, but in the semi-darkness of the street, the man who was in service there, did not see him.

The two went on, approaching the old cemetery road.

“There’s your friend!” Ken announced with a chuckle.

“My friend?”

“The man of mystery.” Ken jerked his thumb toward a battered car which had passed them only to pull up just inside the entranceway of the cemetery.

“Say, this makes the second time tonight that bird has been here!” Jack exclaimed, stopping short. “What brings him here so often?”

“You’ve asked that question enough times. Why don’t you learn the answer?”

“Why not?” Jack echoed, impressed by the suggestion. “We’ll never have a better chance!”

From a distance, the two Explorers had seen the driver of the car alight. Leaving the car parked just off the road, he started afoot through the dark, deserted cemetery.

“Let’s follow him,” Jack proposed. “What d’you say?”

“Okay,” agreed Ken with a grin. “We probably won’t learn anything worth while, but it may put an end to those doubts that have been percolating in your brain!”

Chapter 3
STRANGE ACTIONS

Keeping out of view, Ken and Jack followed the stranger from a discreet distance. Unaware that he was being trailed, the man walked swiftly along the lonely cemetery road.

Once as he passed a street light, the two Explorers caught a fleeting glimpse of his face. They gained an impression of an individual with a large, flat nose and square jaw.

“Ever see him before?” Jack whispered.

“Only in that car,” Ken replied. “He’s a tough looking egg. He might give us a rough time if he catches us trailing him.”

To be on the safe side, the two fell farther back. It was well that they took the precaution, for unexpectedly, the man paused and glanced back into the darkness.

Ken and Jack froze. They remained motionless, and after a moment, the stranger went on again.

“Wow! That was a close call,” Jack muttered. “We’ll have to be more careful than ever now.”

“Where’s this bird going anyhow?” Ken demanded.

His interest had heightened, for the one they followed, had left the winding cemetery road. Walking fast, he cut through the trees, avoiding the area where tombstones had been erected.

“Evidently, he doesn’t come here to visit any of the graves,” Jack observed.

To avoid losing sight of the stranger, the Explorers quickened their own pace. Suddenly, Ken placed a restraining hand on Jack’s arm. They both halted.

Ahead, only dimly visible, they could see that the one they pursued, had halted beside a wooden barrier fence.

For an instant, they thought that the man intended to climb over.

Instead, he walked along the barrier for a short distance. Then, squatting down, he began to dig in the soft earth.

“What’s he doing?” Ken muttered in astonishment.

“Looking for something that’s been buried, I’ll bet!”

As the two watched, the man suddenly ceased digging. Apparently satisfied, he replaced the thin layer of dirt he had removed, and covered the area with leaves.

Then, he started back through the woods the way he had come. Ken and Jack barely had time to secret themselves behind trees before he passed them.

“He’s going back to his car now,” Jack predicted, after the man had disappeared in the darkness. “What do you make of it, Ken?”

“He’s been here several times before. We know that. Let’s see what’s under those leaves.”

Going on to the fence, the Explorers quickly cleared a small area to locate the spot where the stranger had dug.

Jack removed a little dirt with his bare hands. “Wish I had a shovel or a spade!” he complained.

“Maybe that fellow has a pet buried here,” Ken suggested.

Jack straightened up, knocking dirt from his hands. “You would shatter the illusion!” he accused. “I was figuring on bringing up a box of gold. Enough to take us to Colombia!”

“Whatever is planted here is down deep,” Ken said. “We can’t bring it up without some tools.”

“Let’s trot home then and get ’em.”

“It’s late, Jack. Anyway, why not cut the other fellows in on the fun?”

“The Explorers?”

“Sure, why keep a good thing like this to ourselves? War in particular would get a big boot out of digging up something—even if it proves to be only a dead cat!”

“Okay,” Jack agreed reluctantly, “but maybe whatever is buried won’t be here by tomorrow. We’re taking a chance.”

“Not a very big one. We know that bird comes at night ever so often. It strikes me, he doesn’t come to dig anything up, but only to make certain it’s still here.”

“Could be,” Jack agreed. “A treasure, maybe! Or loot from a robbery!”

“In that case we should notify the police.”

“Why don’t we find out what’s here first,” Jack proposed. “As you say, it may prove to be a buried cat or nothing of importance. We’d be the laughing stock of Belton in that case.”

“It won’t do any harm to wait a day,” Ken willingly agreed. “If anything is buried here, it’s been under ground for a long while.”

“Let’s get the fellows together tomorrow,” Jack proposed. “Say, I have an idea!”

“Spill it, boy.”

“Let’s invite ’em all to a hike, and advise ’em to bring spades. Then we’ll bring ’em here, and see what’s what.”

“Sounds all right to me,” Ken nodded, replacing dirt over the area disturbed. “I’ll leave it to you to get in touch with the fellows.”

Carefully, the two Explorers removed all evidence of their digging work. Before leaving the area, they covered the ground with leaves.

When they reached the cemetery road a few minutes later, the parked car was gone.

“I’m sure glad I jotted down that driver’s license number,” Jack remarked, as he and Ken walked on toward their homes. “Who knows? It may come in handy.”

The discovery of mysterious activity in the cemetery deeply interested both Scouts. Eager to learn if anything valuable had been buried by the fence, they lost no time in contacting the other members of the Rovers unit.

However, to make the hike more alluring, they refused to pass out even a hint of what might be in store. Jack not only telephoned Warwick, Willie and Bob, but also called Mr. Livingston. The Scout leader said regretfully that he would be tied up at his office and could not accompany them on the afternoon hike.

“We’re not going far anyhow,” Jack assured him. “If anything develops, I’ll get in touch with you right away.”

By pre-arrangement, the Rovers met at the entranceway to the cemetery the following afternoon at 3:30 p.m. Ken and Jack were to have the remainder of the day and the evening to themselves, for it was not a date on which they were assigned to the observation tower.

“Why did you ask us to meet you here?” War demanded, as he joined the waiting group. Following instruction, he had brought a spade. “Want me to dig a grave or something?”

“Your own!” Jack retorted. “Everyone here? Where’s Bob?”

“Coming up the street now,” Ken reported. “Look at the size of that knapsack he’s carrying! Filled with food, I’ll warrant.”

“He probably figures we’re going on a three-day hike,” Jack chuckled.

“How far are we going?” Willie demanded curiously. “A couple of miles?”

“Oh, about a thousand yards, more or less,” Ken returned carelessly.

“A thousand yards!” Willie fairly shrieked. “You call that a hike?”

“And why did you tell us to bring spades?” War asked. “What’s up, anyhow?”

“We’re going to do a little digging,” Jack said with a grin. “Come on, let’s get at it.”

He and Ken guided the other three through the cemetery to the barrier fence adjoining the automobile plant.

“X marks the spot,” Ken chuckled, indicating the area he and Jack had investigated the previous night. “Dig, slaves!”

“What’s this all about?” Willie probed. “Why all the mystery?”

“Yeah, and what are we expected to bring up? Oil?” demanded War. “Not a spadeful will I turn over until you tell us what we’re supposed to find.”

With a laugh, Jack related the manner in which he and Ken had followed the mysterious stranger on the previous night.

“Oh, so it’s that fellow in the old car!” War scoffed. “You’ve been talking about him for a month, Jack. So finally you make something of it!”

“Jack may have been smarter than the rest of us,” Ken said soberly. “After watching that bird last night, we’re convinced something has been buried here.”

“And you want to cut us in on the hard digging?” War joked.

“That’s the general idea,” Ken grinned. “Get busy! I’ll post myself down by the road to watch for that car driver. He’s not likely to show up here at this time of day, but it’s well to be alert.”

“If you see anyone coming, whistle twice,” Jack advised.

“Okay. If you hit anything interesting, give the same signal. I want to be on hand when the chest of gold is raised.”

“Gold,” War murmured with relish. “Pieces of eight! Say, wouldn’t it be swell if we would dig up money! We could make that trip to Colombia!”

“Oh, be your age!” Jack scoffed. “If money has been buried here, just remember it belongs to someone else. Not us. Here, give me that spade.”

“Not much,” War insisted, starting to dig. “This is my pleasure.”

For ten minutes, the Explorers clustered about as their chum dug steadily. The ground was relatively soft, encouraging them to believe that it had been disturbed not many weeks earlier.

“Careful!” Jack suddenly warned War. “You’ve struck something.”

He bent down to examine the metal object which protruded. It appeared to be the handle to a kettle or other heavy container. However, it was so deeply embedded, that even with Bob’s help, he could not raise it.

“Dig some more,” he advised War. “Be careful though.”

“Ken ought to be here,” Willie remarked, gazing toward the cemetery road. “Shall I call him?”

“Go ahead,” Jack nodded. “I think we’ve hit the treasure or whatever it is.”

Willie wet his fingers and blew two shrill blasts. Promptly, an answer was received. A few minutes later, Ken came running up.

“Find anything?” he demanded breathlessly.

By this time, War had removed more dirt. “An iron kettle,” he reported, resting for a moment on his spade. “Loaded to the brim with emeralds!”

“You’ve been thinking of emeralds ever since that one came for Mr. Livingston!” Ken laughed. “What is in the kettle?”

“We don’t know yet,” War admitted. “Being nice guys, we waited for you before we peeked.”

“Let’s not wait any longer,” Jack urged impatiently. “Remember, we have no guard now, and time’s slipping by pretty fast.”

“Yeah,” agreed Willie. “The owner of this little kettle may come back. So let’s lift ’er out.”

“First, we’ll see what’s inside,” Jack insisted.

The lid of the kettle had been wired down. With the aid of a Scout knife, he was able to untwist it. As the other Explorers huddled expectantly about the hole, he slowly and ceremoniously raised the cover.

A sudden silence ensued, to be followed by a howl of disappointment.

The kettle contained several pint milk bottles filled with a colorless liquid.

“Gold! Emeralds!” Willie warbled. “Yeah!”

“Nothing but water,” War added in disgust. “All that work for nothing! Jack, you and Ken certainly were taken for a ride this time!”

Ken had bent down again to sniff at the liquid in one of the bottles. Straightening, he gazed wide-eyed at his chums.

“This stuff isn’t water,” he told them tersely. “It’s too heavy. Furthermore, it has a peculiar odor.”

“What is it, if it isn’t water?” asked War. He started to pick up one of the containers. Ken seized his arm, shoving him back.

“Hey, what’s the idea?” War demanded indignantly.

“Don’t touch that stuff!”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s nitro-glycerin! At least I think it is.”

“Nitro,” War echoed, looking scared.

“There’s enough to blow us all to Kingdom Come! We’re lucky we haven’t set it off with the careless way we’ve been digging.”

“Let’s get out of here fast!” War said, starting away.

“We can’t just go off and leave the stuff,” Jack protested. “It’s too dangerous.”

“There’s only one thing to do,” Ken advised. “Two of us will have to remain here on guard. The rest can go for the police.”

No one spoke for a moment. All the Explorers had a healthy respect for nitro-glycerin, a powerful explosive. Under certain conditions, even a slight jar would be sufficient to set it off. If the liquid still were active, there was quantity enough to destroy the nearby automobile plant.

“I’ll stay,” Jack quickly volunteered.

“I’m sticking too,” insisted Willie. “No, don’t argue. There’s no time to waste.”

“Right,” Jack grimly agreed. He turned to Ken.

“Take War and Bob and hot-foot it to the nearest telephone. Willie and I will stand guard, but we have no craving to meet the Angels. So tell those cops to step on it!”

Chapter 4
A SURPRISE CACHE

Left to themselves, Willie and Jack took up the vigil near the kettle of fluid believed to be nitro-glycerin.

“If this stuff is still active, it’s a miracle it hasn’t been set off,” Jack remarked, pacing nervously along the fence. “Why, there’s enough explosive here to blow that automobile plant to smithers.”

“Us too, Jack.”

“Sure. Nitro’s mighty tricky stuff. I hope Ken, War and Bob get those cops here in a hurry.”

Scarcely ten minutes had elapsed when Willie thought he heard a car on the nearby cemetery road. As they listened intently, it halted some distance away and the motor was switched off.

“That can’t be a police car,” Jack decided, becoming worried. “Ken would have brought the cops closer. Anyway, the fellows haven’t had time enough to get help here.”

“It might be that bird in the ancient auto coming back again.”

“Exactly what I was thinking,” Jack agreed. Scanning the nearby trees, he noticed a cluster of dense bushes which offered a fairly promising hiding place.

As he was considering the possibility of seeking refuge in an emergency, Willie suddenly exclaimed: “Jack, someone is coming this way from the road!”

“And it’s that same fellow!” Jack observed, pulling his friend toward the bushes. “Quick! He hasn’t seen us.”

The two Scouts took cover. Although the screen of foliage was a thin, unsatisfactory one, the stranger who approached, seemed too intent upon his thoughts to glance in that direction.

Jack and Willie obtained a clear view of the man. He was about forty-five years of age, short and carelessly dressed in working clothes. A billed cap was pulled low over his eyes.

“Sure he’s the same one who’s been coming here so often?” Willie whispered. “If he isn’t, we’ll have to warn him not to get near that kettle.”

“He’s the same one,” Jack answered grimly. “He’s going straight to the fence too.”

Just then, the stranger, noticing that dirt had been disturbed by the barrier, stopped short. He uttered a muffled exclamation, and then went on.

The Scouts saw him bend down to gaze at the exposed kettle, and carefully raise the lid.

“That’s his nitro!” Jack asserted. “It’s live stuff too! See how careful he is?”

The stranger turned unexpectedly, surveying the area with alert eyes. Jack and Willie remained motionless.

But the workman had noticed footprints in the soft earth near the fence. His gaze followed an indistinct shoe pattern directly to the clump of bushes.

Almost before the two realized that they had been detected, he whipped out an automatic.

“Come out o’ there!” he ordered, moving slowly forward. “With your hands up!”

Jack and Willie silently obeyed. One glimpse directly into the face of the sullen stranger convinced them that he would tolerate no delay. His dark eyes had a wild look which unnerved them more than the barrel of the automatic.

“What are you boys doing here?” the stranger demanded harshly.

“Why, n-nothing,” Willie answered.

“You dug up that kettle by the fence, stupid!”

“What if we did?” Willie retorted. “Nothing in it anyhow, except water.”

“Water!” the one with the revolver echoed. “You’re lucky to be alive!”

“Then it’s nitro?” Jack asked quietly. “Why did you bury it by the fence?”

“What should I have done with it? Carry it around in my pocket? I’d like to get rid of the stuff, but how?”

“Dump it in the creek,” suggested Willie. “There’s one running through the cemetery.”

“You are stupid!” the stranger accused. “Don’t you know nitro is heavier than water? It would sink to the bottom and form a layer.”

“Notify the police,” advised Jack. “They’ll know what to do.”

The workman glared at him. “Sure,” he said sarcastically, “they’ll know what to do all right! You kids give me a pain! You never should have come poking around here. That stuff would have been okay if you’d left it alone. Now I’m in a spot.”

“How’d you get the nitro in the first place?” Willie questioned.

The stranger did not reply. His face twisted with worry, he ordered the Scouts to start walking toward the roadway.

“Where you taking us?” Jack asked, moving as slowly as he dared.

He could sense the man’s uncertainty, and was stalling for time. If only Ken, War, Bob and the police would arrive!

“I don’t know what to do with you,” the stranger admitted. “If I let you go, you’d blab about the nitro. I’ve got to move it, but where, I don’t know.”

“Why don’t we talk this over?” Jack suggested. “Maybe we can work out something.”

“Yeah? What? I don’t trust you.” Scowling, the stranger paused as he came to a cemetery bench. He sat down, but kept his automatic trained on the two Scouts who remained standing.

“If you’re afraid to go to the police, why not let us do it for you?” Jack proposed.

The workman looked momentarily interested, but shook his head. “No soap. The nitro would be traced to me. Besides, I may have a use for that soup later on. It’s valuable stuff—too valuable to be thrown away.”

“Dangerous though,” Jack suggested, lowering his hands.

“Keep ’em up,” the stranger ordered sharply. “No tricks!”

Jack continued to talk, though he scarcely heard his own words. From the roadway he had caught the hum of a motor. A police car perhaps? If so, the officers had avoided using a siren, which would have been a dead give-away.

“What was that?” the stranger asked suspiciously.

“Car going through the cemetery,” Jack answered with a shrug. “You sure are nervous.”

“You would be too, if you’d nursemaided ten pints of nitro for six months! I can’t sleep nights for worrying about it.”

“So that’s why you’ve kept coming back here so often?” Willie inquired. He could hear a slight rustle of leaves and thought that someone must be moving afoot through the trees.

“Sure,” the man admitted. “I had to make certain the stuff was okay. It would have been too, if you kids had kept away. I could wring your necks!”

“What are you going to do with us?” Jack asked, trying desperately to hold the full attention of the stranger.

By this time, he and Willie had glimpsed Ken, War and Bob walking near the fence. The man with the revolver could not see them, for he sat with his back to the approaching Scouts.

Jack and Willie were certain a car had stopped closeby in the cemetery, but there was no sign of the police. They were worried too, lest at any moment their three chums might betray their presence. If only they would catch on to the situation!

Deliberately, Jack began to argue in a louder tone, hoping his voice would carry to the fence. To his relief, he saw Ken turn to gaze toward the bench. Quickly, he shifted his own gaze lest his intense interest alert his captor.

Moments passed. Then as Jack and Willie remained with hands raised, they heard a soft rustle of leaves. Their friends were stealing up behind the park bench!

“I’ve got to take you with me,” the stranger suddenly announced, his mind made up. “Get going! To the car!”

Jack and Willie turned as if to obey. At that moment, as their captor started to arise, the other Scouts closed in from behind.

Before the man could resist, they overturned the bench, toppling him to the ground. The automatic was discharged harmlessly into the air. Jack seized and held the man’s arm.

Overwhelmed by numbers, the stranger found himself powerless to move. Ken, Bob and Willie used the overturned bench to hold him pinned to the earth.

“Quick! Get the police!” Ken urged. “Their car is down the road. We came on ahead.”

But there was no need for anyone to seek assistance. The revolver shot had brought the police on a run. A moment later they came up to take charge of the captive. Unprotesting, he allowed them to lock handcuffs onto his wrists.

“Good work, boys!” one of the officers praised. “Do you know this guy you’ve nailed?”

The Scouts admitted that they had no idea as to his identity.

“He’s Blackie Williams, an expert safe cracker,” they were informed. “He did a long stretch at the state penitentiary. Got out about a year and a half ago.”

The prisoner was escorted to the police car. While he remained under guard, one of the officers went with the Scouts to inspect the cache of nitro-glycerin.

“This is the real stuff,” the policeman announced after a brief examination of the liquid in the kettle. “There’s enough here to blow up the cemetery.”