Suddenly he understood. He could have kicked himself for being so dumb. Why hadn’t he realized the truth earlier? Pete had even wondered why the white smoke didn’t hang about in the air. That wasn’t smoke — it was steam.
“It’s a volcano,” Jupe said in a choked voice.
Mercedes clutched his arm, pulling him to a stop. Shielding her eyes with her hand, she looked up at the mountain too.
“Yes,” she whispered. “I never knew there were any active volcanoes in the Sierra Madre. But I’ve seen them in Hawaii. And this one’s about to explode!”
“I’m into rock music in a big way,” Bob told Brit. “Really into it. But some of those stars can be a pain in the neck.”
The three of them — Bob, Brit, and Pete — were sitting around in the cave, waiting anxiously for Jupe.
The tension was so thick you could pierce it with a pickaxe. Bob and Brit chattered on as if they didn’t notice. But they wondered to themselves how long they could keep the desperate rancher under control. The man kept struggling against his bonds and yelling.
“I’m into rock too,” Brit said. “And I can’t believe you really know guys like the Survivors.”
“Sure, they hang around the office all the time.”
“But Mexican music is hot too,” Brit said. “Does your boss handle any Mexican singers?”
Bob shook his head. “Latin music is a whole other scene.”
Pete, who had heard Bob’s pop music stories until he was blue in the face, was writing a long letter to Kelly Madigan.
“Dear Kelly,” he wrote, “It’s really wild in the mountains. Right now I’m sitting in a cave with a guy who’s tied up with ropes. No, we’re not into whips and chains up here, but. ”
Pete threw down his pad and glanced at his watch. “It’s over two hours since Jupe left,” he said. He crawled to the end of the tunnel to look for him again.
Dusty wasn’t writhing around anymore. He was kneeling on the floor. Trussed up the way he was, he obviously found kneeling more comfortable than lying down.
“Hey, Brit,” Dusty called in a croaking voice. “Bring me a drink of water, will you? My throat’s so dry I can’t swallow.”
Brit and Bob exchanged questioning looks. Bob nodded.
“Sure.” Brit picked up the clay water jug and carried it over to the rancher.
From where he was sitting, Bob couldn’t see what happened next. One moment Brit was holding the jug to Dusty’s lips. Then it shattered on the floor and Brit was lying on his back. The rancher was holding the sharp point of a sheath knife against Brit’s neck.
Dusty’s hands and feet were free. The cut cord dangled from his wrists.
“You idiots.” He laughed in a wild, gloating way. “You should have had the brains to search me. I always carry a knife in my boot.”
He pressed the blade against Brit’s throat, threatening his jugular if he made a move.
“Okay, Bob,” Dusty called in the same jeering voice. “Bring me Brit’s rifle. Go on. Move it.”
Bob knew the rancher wouldn’t hesitate to cut Brit’s throat. The rifle was leaning against the wall. He picked it up and walked over to Dusty.
“Drop it there. Where I can reach it.”
Something in Dusty’s voice made Bob’s blood freeze. Dusty wasn’t just willing, he was eager to use the knife on Brit. Bob dropped the rifle.
Still holding the knife against Brit’s jugular, Dusty picked up the rifle and cocked it.
“Now go face the wall, Mr. Big Shot. And put your hands on your head.”
“No sign of Jupe. But there’s something real weird. ”
Pete had returned through the tunnel. It took a second for his eyes to adapt to the dim light. Then he saw Bob standing face to the wall with his hands locked together across his head.
“What’s going on. ” he began. Then he saw Dusty. The crazed rancher was sitting astride Brit’s chest, the threatening knife in one hand and the rifle in the other. His finger was on the trigger. The barrel was aimed at Pete.
“He faked us out,” Bob explained. “He had a knife in his boot.”
“You! Up against the wall too!” Dusty shouted at Pete.
For a wild moment Pete thought of rushing the rancher. Firing the rifle with one hand, Dusty might miss him in the half-darkness.
But there was no way Pete could reach Dusty before he sliced that gleaming blade across Brit’s throat. Pete turned and faced the wall beside Bob.
“What do we do now?” Pete whispered.
“Hang tight till Jupe gets back,” Bob whispered back.
“Hands on top of your head and shut up,” Dusty shouted at Pete. “Serve you right if I plugged you both.” He laughed viciously.
Pete did as he was told. He heard the creak of the rancher’s boots as the man got to his feet.
Dusty slipped the knife into his belt and clasped the rifle in both hands. “Now you.” He glanced down at Brit and gave him a kick in the ribs. “Get up and do what I tell you. Or you’ll lose your two new friends.”
Brit stood up. Unlike Pete and Bob, he had no training in karate. No defense against that rifle.
“Get back, Brit.”
Brit backed toward the wall where the other two guys were standing.
“Hold it. Now get this straight, Brit. I’m not going to shoot you — yet. Tell me what I want to know or the other two’ll get it in the back. Comprende, amigo?”
Brit nodded silently.
“Where’s your father?”
Brit hesitated. He saw Dusty’s finger tighten on the trigger.
“He went down to the village on the other side of the mountain.”
“When’ll he be back?”