The Mystery of the Blazing Cliffs - M. V. Carey [27]
There was plenty of cover on the hillside, and Bob decided that he could get closer if he was careful not to make a sound.
He felt himself tremble as he started down the hill, but he forced himself to move slowly. Inch by inch he went, creeping, watching where he put his hands and how he moved his legs, careful not to disturb a pebble or cause a twig to snap.
“Old geezers!” said one of the men. The words were clear now, and Bob stopped his painful descent of the hill.
“I get a kick out of it,” said the second man. “The bigger they are, the harder they fall.”
Bob stretched out behind a clump of sage and tried not to breathe too loudly. He raised his head and looked.
“Gimme that,” said one of the men. His voice was suddenly loud.
Bob saw the smaller of the two men reach out and take a flat bottle from the other. He poured something into his tin cup.
“You don’t need all of it, Bones,” said the larger man. He grabbed the bottle and poured a drink into his own canteen cup. Then he set the bottle on the ground.
The tent flap was pushed back and Lieutenant Ferrante came out into the sunlight. He scowled at the two men.
“Okay, Al,” he said. “I thought you weren’t going to drink while we’re here. You either, Bones.”
“What’s the harm?” said Al. “There’s nothing doing.”
“We don’t need any boozed-up guys,” said Ferrante. He seized the bottle and hurled it off into the bushes.
“Hey, you didn’t need to do that!” cried Bones.
“Yes, I did,” said Ferrante. “Suppose the guy on the gate goes back and tells old man Barron you’re drinking? How would it look? You’re supposed to be soldiers in the United States Army, remember? You’re answering the call of duty when your country is in danger.”
“Just what I’ve always wanted to do,” said Bones. His voice was heavy with sarcasm.
“Save my country!”
“I know it’s hard for you—” began Ferrante.
“But it’s easy for you,” said Bones, “because you’ve got so much class! Only if you’re so smart, why do you need this end-of-the-world caper?”
“I need it for the same reason you need it,” said Ferrante, “and we’re going to do it my way or not at all. Now shape up or else beat it back to Saugus and stay there. This is a tricky operation. Don’t louse it up.”
“Why are we going to all this trouble?” demanded Bones. “We’ve got the muscle. Why don’t we just go in there and make old man Barron talk?”
“We’ve got muscle?” echoed Ferrante. “You think we’ve got enough muscle to take on fifty of Barron’s ranch hands? And he’s got an arsenal in his basement, remember? We wouldn’t just be dealing with a bunch of scared lettuce pickers.”
“Give them a small cut and they’ll change sides so fast it’ll make your head spin,” said Bones.
“No way,” said Ferrante. “I’ve talked to some of them. Met them in town, accidentally of course, in the Sundown Cafe or the penny arcade. The way they have it figured, so long as Barron keeps this ranch, they’ve got it made. They don’t want anybody to rock their canoe.”
“You think they’d fight for him?” Bones demanded.
“If you threaten what they’ve got, they’ll fight,” Ferrante declared. “My way’s the only way we’ll ever get the stuff. The old guy is beginning to buy it, so let’s keep cool. He’s no dimwit, you know, and he’s touchy as a rattlesnake in a rainstorm.”
The field telephone jangled again. Ferrante answered it.
“Anything up?” he said. His voice was flat and tense.
He listened, then said, “Okay. Let me know if there’s any change.”
He replaced the receiver and started towards the tent. “Barron’s on his regular afternoon tour of the ranch,” he told his companions. “The hands are working the fields.
They’re trying to keep everything normal. It’s going the way we figured it would.”
“Sounds to me like it isn’t going at all,” said Al.
“Did you expect Barron to act like Chicken Little?” said Ferrante. “He’s not the type.”
He went into the tent and let the flap fall shut behind him.
“The guy thinks he’s Napoleon,” said Bones. He leaned back against a rock and closed his eyes. Al didn’t answer him, and after a minute or two Bob retreated up