The Third Adventure Read Free Page A

disintegrated beneath her weight, and she dropped several feet, bruising her pride almost as much as her hindquarters. Dismayed, she found herself on a narrow ledge over a sheer drop. There was no way down from here. She had to climb up and around just to continue her descent.
    Stupid!
    She had cost herself time, and there was none to waste if she was going to beat Swindle’s man to the pickup.
    She realized too late that she wasn’t going to make it. The jerk was already leaving the cover of the trees for the road. She was in an agony of guilt. She and Ben had been given Luthor less than twenty-four hours ago, and already they were losing him!
    The man limped over to the pickup — he was walking with a cane, she noted. She could see clearly from this vantage point that the Doberman’s eyes were shut, and his body was limp.
    Tranquilized
, she concluded.
Out cold.
    With effort, the man loaded the hundred-and-fifty pound dog into the backseat of the crew cab, and heaved himself in behind the wheel.
    Pitch watched helplessly as the truck started up. The most she could do was try to read and memorize the license plate so they could report it to the police. But what use could that possibly be? A judge had legally awarded Luthor to Swindle. In the eyes of the law, this wasn’t kidnapping. The real kidnapping had happened when Griffin and Savannah had smuggled Luthor to Ebony Lake in the first place. It was so unfair!
    If Pitch had had time to think about what happened next, she never would have done it. The truck jounced along the muddy road, passing directly under her perch. She dropped fifteen feet straight into the payload, bouncing catlike off the truck bed, and falling back into a pile of tires. The beating of the rain, the roar of the motor, and the groaning of old shock absorbers over rough terrain masked the sound of impact. The driver never turned his head.
    Luthor was in enemy hands, but he was not alone.

    B en felt like he was swimming upward through layer after layer of clinging fog. Even in his dazed state, he knew from bitter experience exactly what had happened to him. This was no regular sleep. This was —
    â€œBen!” Eli slapped him lightly on both cheeks. “Wake up, Ben! What happened to you? Why are you on the floor?”
    The room came into focus at last. He saw his counselor and bunkmates leaning over him in concern. His first response was to pat at his T-shirt. Nobody home.
    â€œWhere’s Ferret Face?” he demanded.
    â€œYour weasel?” asked one boy, toweling off his wet hair. “He’s just outside.”
    Ben struggled to his feet. No wonder he’d fallen asleep like that! Ferret Face was lying down on the job! He staggered to the door and threw it open. There was the little creature, languid and stuffed, still gnawing at a half-eaten steak.
    â€œOh, great!” Ben exclaimed. “When it comes down to me or your stomach, we all know where
I
stand!” He frowned. “Eli, are they serving steak in the mess hall today?”
    The counselor laughed. “Steak? At this place? Try Corn Flakes.”
    Stupid question. It was breakfast.
    It was starting to come back to him. Right before he’d conked out, he distinctly remembered smelling steak.
    Who brought steak to a summer camp at five in the morning? Someone who wanted to draw out an animal. And nobody wanted to draw out a ferret. That steak had been bait — for
Luthor
!
    His reeling mind immediately reached two terrifying conclusions: (1) Swindle’s agents had already tracked the Doberman to Camp Endless Pines, and (2) at least one of those agents had been right here in the last few hours.
    Haunted, he scanned the compound, half expecting to see an enemy crouched behind every hut and building. He looked down. There were dozens of footprints in the mud, but one set stood out — two large construction boots flanked by a neat round hole, something made by a crutch or a cane.