Trouble in the Pipeline Read Free Page B

he was sitting on a pile of packed parachutes.
    The bearded guard startled himself awake with a snuffling snort and rubbed a hamlike fist across his eyes. His head snapped up, and he focused immediately on the empty mail sacks. Jumping up with more speed and grace than most men fifty pounds lighter, he scurried nervously around the cargo bay, searching for his escaped prisoners. He got to Frank's hiding place first.
    In two moves Frank shot up and kicked out with both feet to try to knock the revolver from the goon's hand.
    But his kick was off the mark, and Frank fell, landing violently on his side. The bull of a man was on him in a flash. Frank watched as the butt end of the revolver came crashing toward him. The blow only glanced off his head, but Frank still saw red and orange circles swim across his eyes as he lay stunned for a moment.
    Joe gave a war whoop and swooped down on the man from his perch on a crate. But the hulk's reflexes were quick. He reached out and grabbed Joe's wrist, flipping him over on his back. Joe's head caught the full impact, and he was knocked unconscious.
    Dropping the gun, the guard reached out for both of Joe's wrists and dragged him over to the hatch. Boosting Joe up onto his hip, he held him tight against his body with one arm and released the lever on the hatch with the other.
    Frank watched and, in a sudden burst of understanding, knew that the goon was planning to drop Joe from the plane as soon as the hatch was fully open.
    Frank focused all his concentration, shook his head to clear it, and dove for the parachutes.
    Supporting Joe against his hip, the guard continued to struggle with the door against the wind and pressure. He had it slid halfway open. Joe would be tossed out in another few seconds.
    Frank slipped on the chute, snapped it closed, and pocketed the gun he had retrieved from the floor.
    The goon, in one final shove, had the door open.
    Frank dove for Joe just as the hulk released him into the whistling air. He caught Joe by the belt. The blast of cold had an almost instant reviving effect on Joe, and he woke up as soon as Frank snatched him. He wrenched his body around and clung to Frank's shoulders. The boys were sinking through the white puffs of cloud vapor, too insubstantial to support even a feather.
    As soon as they were free of the plane Frank yanked the rip cord on his chute and tightened his grip on Joe. The air caught the silk, and the boys felt the welcome tug that broke their free fall. They drifted slowly down to a moonlike landscape.
    Rocky hills covered with green lichen and moss stretched as far as the eye could see. Fifteen feet before touching down Joe hopped off, bent his knees, and landed in a tuck two feet from Frank. They were on a fairly gentle slope a few hundred yards from a narrow but swift little river. They had to be miles inland, from the wide expanse of water they had seen from the air.
    After gathering up his chute, Frank tucked it under a stone. Both boys scouted around for any shelter in the barren tundra. The only sounds were the constant hiss of the wind and the water as it tumbled over the rocks in the riverbed.
    Frank found a smooth, flat place at the foot of a huge rock. It was out of the wind and close to the river, so they'd have plenty to drink. Joe ran back for the parachute and, using his pocket-knife, cut it in half to make a tent. The remaining material would serve as bedding—on a mattress of moss, parachute wouldn't be a bad blanket.
    "What's for breakfast?" Joe asked once their shelter was set up. He looked at his watch. It was three o'clock in the morning, and the sky was still filled with light.
    "Well, you can have moss with water, or lichen with a few roots shredded on top," Frank joked. They stood for a moment, looking for a place to search out something to eat.
    "Look over there," Joe said, pointing upstream. "See that bunch of bushes? We've got firewood, at least."
    Frank turned to see a cluster of dead alders by the