The Third Adventure Read Free Page B

Yesterday Griffin had told them that one of Swindle’s men had hurt his leg at the Ta-da! Showdown. It couldn’t be a coincidence.
    Ben snatched up the soggy Ferret Face and stuffed him inside his shirt. “Come on, little man. You’ve eaten enough.” He had to call Pitch. This was a full-blown crisis.
    Back inside, he found his phone lying on the floor, close to the spot where he’d napped. When he unlocked the screen, the image that appeared sent cold fingers of dread clutching at his heart. It was a picture he’d taken of the ranger station — Luthor’s new safe haven. No way had he been looking at it this morning. Someone had checked his phone. If Swindle’s man had seen this picture of Luthor at the ranger platform, then things were even worse than he’d feared.
    He dialed Pitch’s number. It went straight to voicemail. “We’ve got big trouble!” he recorded. “Call me right away!”
    A half hour went by. No call.
    He left a second message, this one practically hysterical.
    While waiting for a response, he borrowed binoculars from the supply hut and trained them on the elevated ranger station. There was no sign of Luthor. There was no sign of any life up there.
    But that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. It’s raining. Visibility’s bad. I wouldn’t see him if he was lying flat on the floor. Or maybe Pitch brought him down to go for a walk. And she isn’t picking up because her phone got rained on. What am I getting so crazy about?
    An hour went by. No sign of Luthor; no word from Pitch.
    He went to her cabin, number two. No one had seen her since breakfast.
    There was no getting away from it. He had to climb up that ranger tower to see if Luthor was there.
    He told Eli he’d be in the Arts and Crafts tent, making a wallet, and then snuck out of the compound, heading for the station. All the way, he lectured Ferret Face. “It’s, like, ninety feet straight up. And if I fall asleep on those stairs, I’m a dead man. So no goofing off. I mean it.”
    At last, he reached the base of the platform and began his ascent. As he neared the top, he called out, “Luthor? Pitch? Are you there?”
    Silence.
    With a sinking heart, he pulled himself up into the screened-in station. It was empty.
    He sat down to catch his breath, broken with despair. He’d known he was going to find this, but somehow he’d been holding out the faint hope that he was wrong, that he’d misunderstood somehow, and that everything was really fine.
    A tiny flash of yellow caught his eye. He moved to get a closer look. Embedded in a wooden post was a small feathered tranquilizer dart. And in the dust on the floor, evidence of a turbulent struggle, large canine paw prints along with construction boots and, yes, the imprint of a rubber-tipped crutch or cane. It was proof beyond a doubt that the worst-case scenario had come to pass.
    Luthor had been kidnapped.
    And Pitch? Where was Pitch?
    Back on the ground, he picked up the trail in the mud of the forest floor. Heavier footsteps, deeper. Why? Because the man had been carrying a tranquilized one-hundred-fifty-pound dog! The prints went on for a short distance to the dirt road, where they disappeared. From that point, Luthor and his captor had driven away in some kind of vehicle. Probably a small truck. The tires were wide, and dug two distinct grooves into the mud of the dirt road.
    He began to follow the tracks, while berating himself for doing such a stupid thing. The truck could have gone a hundred miles, maybe more. Was he going to walk that far? Yet, while there was a trail to follow, he couldn’t bring himself to turn back. Futile as it seemed, it was just that important. He’d always rolled his eyes at Griffin’s stubborn devotion to his plans. And here was Ben, the sensible one, doggedly pushing onward against all logic.
    It was not loyalty to Griffin that kept his wet