do you think of Big Mac and Pancho?"

Rick shrugged. He knew what had prompted Scotty's question. He had the
same feeling himself. "They're friendly enough, but I think it's an act.
What I mean, is ..."

"That they haven't any real interest in being friendly, they're just
cordial for the sake of appearances," Scotty concluded.

"On the nose, pal. I get the feeling they could switch from casual
conversation to mayhem without batting an eye."

Scotty thought it over for a moment. "Mac's the driving force of the
pair, but I'd say they're equally tough. I'd guess Pancho is a
combination of Irish and Mexican, both from his looks and his name."

"Is Pancho a name? Or a nickname?"

"Nickname. Usually short for Francisco."

Rick thought back over the past few days, and their meetings with Big
Mac and Pancho. "Funny thing, Scotty. The casino is usually pretty busy,
and mostly with men from Scarlet Lake. But instead of getting acquainted
with many of them we always seem to sit near those two."

Scotty gave him a sideways glance. "What about it?"

"I think we do it instinctively," Rick went on. "Every time we walk in,
they're deep in conversation. There's a kind of atmosphere about them,
as though the talk is always very secret. None of the other men seem
like that. They're more--well, open. No secrets. Know what I mean?"

Scotty nodded. "Now that you point it out, I do."

"So I think we sort of gravitate toward them automatically. On a hunch
that we haven't even recognized, so to speak."

"Because there's more to be learned from them than from the others?"

"That's it!" Rick was glad he had finally put his feelings into words.
"We'll keep an eye on those two," he said emphatically.

On the sixth day of their stay in Las Vegas, Lomac called. The boys
hurried to the office and were told they could report to the base
personnel office at once. They were given a map showing the location of
the base. Scarlet Lake, they learned, was about two hours' drive
northwest of Las Vegas.

They packed hurriedly, checked out, and loaded the jeep. After a brief
stop for gas, they headed out Route 95. Within a few minutes they had
left Las Vegas behind and were in open desert country.

The jeep was not capable of fast travel, and nearly an hour passed
before they saw signs of civilization. It was the air force base at
Indian Springs. They stopped for a coke, and topped off the gas tank.
Rick bought a canteen and a desert water bag