irty feet away from
Scotty, and about ten feet closer to the jungle's edge. The guards were
still looking at the house. Rick moved, bent low, night stick firmly
clutched in his hand. He sensed that Montoya was close behind him.

He straightened up in the shadow of the tree, his eyes on Scotty. His
pulse was speeding and his breathing was short and shallow. Montoya
crouched next to him, ready to move.

Rick saw Scotty bend and pick up something. He saw Scotty wave toward
them, then saw Scotty throw something. The object crashed into the
stucco of the house high on the second floor, then it tumbled to the
ground. Scotty had thrown a rock!

The guards stiffened, thinking that the sound was the first evidence
that the house was falling. Scotty moved like a streak, and Rick charged
forward with club held high. Montoya was even faster.

The two guards, interested only in the house, never knew what hit them.
Rick eased one to the ground as his knees crumpled after Montoya's
vicious swing. Scotty had the other; he had knocked him out and caught
him before he fell.

The three left the guards and hurried to the back door. Montoya
motioned, and took over the lead. He snaked the pistol out of his
shoulder holster and held it ready.

For an instant they paused in what seemed to be a pantry, then moved
into the kitchen beyond. Rick could see a hallway leading straight to
the front door. The door was solid wood, and it was closed.

Montoya gestured with the pistol and led the way. Then, motioning the
boys back, he boldly opened the door and strode out.

The surprised front guards stared into the pistol muzzle. Montoya spoke
in crisp Spanish that Rick couldn't follow, but the meaning was amply
clear. The guards' hands shot high. Montoya stepped aside and the guards
walked into the house like lambs.

"Tie them!" Montoya snapped.

A cord from the Venetian blinds was the most convenient tie material.
Scotty cut it loose with a sweep of his scout knife and slashed it into
two pieces. While Montoya held his pistol on the guards the boys tied
their arms behind them, lashing their elbows together.

"Now," the police captain said, "let us find my uncle."

The stairs led up from the hallway. Montoya took them two at a time, the
boys close behind. At the top of the stairs, the officer called in
Spanish. There was an answer from a room on the left.

The door was locked, but the key was hanging from a hook on the wall. In
a moment