d the vehicle, crossed the fissure in the lot, and took the
road west. According to the map, the road was paved as far as the pumice
works. Beyond that it was graded dirt. If Connel had taken the dirt
road, instead of the trail to the shot stations, they should see dust.

He kept the jeep rolling at good speed as far as the pumice-works
shacks, then stopped to look for signs of a dust haze. There was none.
At the end of the blacktop, he and Scotty got out and examined the road
surface. There were signs of traffic, but none very recent so far as
they could tell. Rick drove the jeep a few hundred yards along the road,
then got out and looked again. The heavy treads of his vehicle were
clearly visible in the dust. If Connel had gone this way, he would have
left similar marks.

"He took the trail," Rick said.

Scotty nodded. "Looks like it. Do we follow?"

"We sure do. What reason would he have for going to the station without
dynamite?"

"None that I know of. Let's go."

Rick turned the jeep into the trail and sped along it as fast as the
ruts allowed. As they reached their third station with no sign of
Connel, Scotty spoke suddenly. "Suppose we find him? How do we explain
why we're following him?"

Rick considered. He rejected a casual trip as explanation. Connel
wouldn't buy it.

"We can park the jeep in the jungle," he said finally. "It will be well
hidden. Then we can go on foot. If we see him coming, we can take to the
bush. We'll be invisible a few feet away."

The jeep was driven into the area where their shots had been set off. It
was invisible from the trail. The boys left it and started hiking.

It was hard going. The heat and humidity were both high, and they were
sweating before a quarter mile was covered. The film of perspiration
seemed to attract insects, too, and before long the pests were driving
them to distraction. Rick brushed futilely at the shining swarm of gnats
around his head. "I'm not sure it's worth it," he said grimly.

"Neither am I," Scotty agreed. "But we've started. Let's keep plugging."

They reached the first of Connel's shot stations without a sign of the
geologist. It was much like their own, a small clearing with the ground
torn by the dynamite.

The second station, a mile farther on, was similar except that there
were more trees and fewer scrub palms. Rick identified one giant tree as
mahogany.

They strode up the trail, grimly determined to find the geologist. One
mor