RICK BRANT GOLDEN DRAGON 13

All chapters through chapter 13 are now available on this alternate site:THE QUEST OF THE GOLDEN DRAGON https://sites.google.com/site/rickbrantfanfiction/dragon

THE QUEST OF THE GOLDEN DRAGON
or The South Seas City of Death Mystery

Chapter Thirteen: CANNIBALS AND HEADHUNTERS!

"Death?"

Scotty stood there on the rocks in astonishment. Appalled, his voice hardened with sudden anger. "For taking a swim and shower? Are these guys nuts or what? They gotta be kidding!"

"Cool it," Rick hissed at him in warning tones. "These men are primitive warriors. Like from back in the Stone Age!"

Jimmy nodded, almost imperceptibly. "And headhunters too," he grunted. "Look at those skulls and shrunken heads they're carrying!"

The men stood there in their outlandish tribal regalia, looking as tough and mean as a pack of nightmare ghouls. But Scotty, unconvinced of the seriousness of the predicament, rolled his eyes at Rick and Jimmy and let out an exasperated sigh. For him, it just didn't jive.

"Aw, come on, fellas," he sighed. "This is the middle of the twentieth century!"

"Right," Jimmy gritted, impatiently. "But this is also the middle of the New Guinea jungle!"

"Scotty, don't you remember the natives on Kwangara Island?" Rick asked, keeping a wary eye on the warriors as they began to move in closer. "They were just as primitive as these guys. And not friendly at all!"

Scotty scowled, stepping back as the natives got closer. "That was a really remote island, far away from anywhere, and there wasn't a modern city like Rabaul fifty miles away!"

"Calm down, bud," Jimmy warned him in a hissing whisper. "Don't be belligerent and give them a hard time. It'll just make things worse. My grandfather was a tribesman - the king! He probably was a headhunter, too. This is New Guinea! A lot of it still primitive, far back in time...."

His words choked off as the men moved in around them, three of the warriors surrounding each of the boys. With stark commands, two of the Wambutu grabbed each boy by the arms and began to coax and pull them off the rocks toward the jungle. The boys couldn't help but resist at first, fighting back only natural, and it only angered the native men who shouted and cried out in war whoops and prodded the boys with rifle butts and spears. The two men holding Rick were so strong that their grips were hurting him, and he watched in trepidation as Scotty struggled against the efforts of the warriors who were holding him. Rick nerved himself not to fight the two muscling him along. They were big and strong and he knew it would be futile to continue to resist them.

The native men stunk of sweat and filth, and the oily paint that covered their faces and hair was strong and pungent. Their bizarre collection of primitive and modern weapons, and the smoking skulls and shrunken heads they carried finished off the wild man picture they fit so well and added to the frightening nature of the experience. Rick kept trying to tell himself that this was just some kind of mistake, a joke of sorts because the men were mad at them, but it was, in truth, so sinister that he couldn't get himself to actually believe it.

Scotty's anger subsided somewhat by the time they were being herded through the swamp and led down a path through the jungle growth that skirted the ponds. The native men chattered amongst themselves in passionate dramatic talk, as if they had just done something eventful, heroic, something far more earth-shattering than just accosting three boys who'd been swimming in a pond.

"Well, so much for the Garden of Eden," Rick gibed with angry sarcasm, letting out a long sustained breath. He forced a grin. "I doubt Adam and Eve had to worry about this!"

Scotty harrumphed. "No, just that stupid Serpent. Can't we just buy these guys off? Give them money?"

Jimmy forced a chuckle. "They don't use money. They are primitive natives. There's nothing for them to buy!"

"What about the guns?" Scotty asked. "They had to buy them from somebody."

Jimmy shrugged. "They trade for stuff, probably guns and ammo. Maybe a few other things."

Rick groaned. "Oh darn! Speaking of money, we left our wallets in the jeep. Man, I hope we can get them back. And all our stuff, too. The weapons, the ...."

"Don't talk about it," Jimmy interrupted, tossing him a warning look. "Some of these guys know a little English. The less they know about us, the better. When we get away from them, all the stuff will be waiting there for us. It should be! Hardly anybody drives by this way."

Rick clamped his mouth shut, hoping Jimmy was right. But Scotty was now getting back into his usual antsy humor and he couldn't keep quiet. "Get away? Ha! How we gonna do that? These guys probably want to put us in a pot and cook us for dinner!"

Scotty had meant it in jest, but he and Rick couldn't help notice the wide-eyed look of horror Jimmy flung at them.

"What? Are you kidding me?" Scotty glared at Jimmy in response, trying to fathom his meaning. He began to struggle with his captors again. "You mean these guys are ...?"

"Don't even say it, Scotty," Rick warned him.

" ....cannibals?" Scotty said it anyway, getting cuffed on the shoulder by the warrior on his left.

Jimmy growled in frustration as he was shoved on by strong muscular arms. "Possibly, Mr. Scott! It is possible." He shot Scotty an especially exasperated look, struggling as he was with his desire to act like he wasn't afraid. "And if they are, buster, they'll sure have a feast on all that American boy beef of yours, won't they?"

Scotty grunted, at last realizing just how serious the situation could be. So he did what he usually did in a tight spot, he forced a laugh. "You bet, Mr. Tomato! Pure Grade A American beef, both me and Rick. What a treat for these Wambutu monkeys, huh? You can provide the dark meat."

Jimmy's blue eyes looked like they could shoot darts. "It all tastes the same, buster. Skin color doesn't matter."

"Says who?" Scotty demanded, shuddering at the thought.

Now it was Jimmy's turn to laugh. "The old people. Information gets handed down through the generations, you know."

All Scotty could do was scowl back at him, horrified that this boy's ancestors had known what human flesh tastes like.

Rick shook his head, dismayed, but he couldn't help chuckling to himself as he was horsed along the trail. From panic and fear to ridiculous humor in seconds, and back again! Well, what better way to deal with what was happening? Laughter and bravado in the face of danger wasn't anything new to Scotty and him. It was all so frightening it didn't seem real, and who knew what was yet to come? He couldn't help but think of his mother at home on Spindrift Island, how horrified she'd be to know what was happening to them right now. The thought pained him mercilessly, and got his teeth gritting and his heart began to bang with anxiety. Like Scotty and Jimmy, he had to fight it with humor. The heck with these headhunter guys!

"If they do cook us, Scotty," Rick tossed out, "what do you think Mom will have to say about it?"

"Ho!" Scotty burst out in a devil-may-care tone. "These Wambutu guys don't want to mess with Mom Brant! If they don't spice us up the best they can and make one darn heck of a meal out of us, she'll really let them have it!"

The three boys' nervous energy burst its holds and they guffawed into gales of laughter, angering the warriors who shook them and yelled at them in their chop-chop syllables, trying to bully them into silence. The leader, the man who had shaken his spear at them earlier, did so again from the head of the line and shouted:

"Yu savvy me! No talktalk! Dis fellas no laikim, shut-up!"

"Puh! Even I understand that," Scotty muttered with a derisive grin, and the men holding him immediately began to knock him about and cuff his shoulders.

"Jeez! Okay! Okay!" he grunted, rolling his eyes in mock dismay. "Man, can't we even have a little fun while being led to the slaughter!"

The boys began to hear the sound of drums as soon as the roar and splash of the waterfalls fell behind them. A few minutes later, as they approached the tribesmen's village, the monotonous beating grew louder. They exchanged glances warily, and quieted down, even Scotty. They managed not to say much of anything for the next hundred yards or so lest they continue to aggravate the native men.

Rick looked ahead stoically, wondering what was in store for them. The jungle canopy was high above, the ancient trees rising up to dizzying heights and almost blocking out the blazing equatorial sun. Vines and creepers hung in profusion and the big-leafed mangrove branches arced closer down overhead along the swamp edges. The heat was intense; already the cooling comfort of the waterfall pool was forgotten.

He knew they were in malarial jungle swamps infested with deadly insects and other dangers; not the least of their worries, man-eating crocodiles. Escaping from this captivity was a must, but he knew it would be difficult and best if they could do it at night, in the dark. And that was a really big order, if it'd even be possible at all. And then getting back to the jeep in this dangerous terrain would be treacherous in the dark night jungle.

He scowled at the thought of it. He was so unnerved that he couldn't shake off his anger at this unexpected and seemingly impossible delay. They had been well on their way to Storms End. In a day or two they'd have surely been headed out to Palua Pae on a boat. They had been so close to the completion of their quest, only to be waylaid now because of the angry and aggressive Wambutu!

Yet Rick was still firm in his conviction when they soon came upon the village and the clearing could be seen ahead through the interlacing fronds and branches. They must escape! There was no alternative! They must continue on their journey to find the golden dragon that guards the treasure of the City of Death and the cavern of light below it. Where, hopefully, they would find his dad and the other two missing scientists. His lips drew together in a grim hard line. There was no room for failure in his plans!

He heard Scotty chuckle. "Hey, Junior Scientist, you're thinking too hard. It's all over your face. I can see the wheels turning in your brain!"

"Just doping things out," Rick returned, harshness in his voice. "Keep your eyes and ears open, boys. This is a situation we just gotta get out of, and as soon as we can!"

"Right," Jimmy agreed. "Not my idea of a cozy situation!"

Scotty grunted. "Tell me about it! Just a real quick hello and then a smash-up bangin' goodbye!"

Burly arms and spears parted the vines and fronds and the boys stumbled into the clearing muscled along by the warriors. The area was vast and filled with thatched huts of several different sizes and shapes, all elevated on stilts. Surrounding them along the perimeter was a multitude of totems sticking up from the ground and painted bright colors. They all had several faces piled on top of each other, grisly looking animal faces with the top ones being long-snouted crocodiles.

A big white cockatoo was sitting on top of one they passed by, fluffing its feathers. One of the warriors swatted at it with a hissing grunt and the bird screeched in fright and rose up into the air with a great squawking and beating of wings.

"The crocodile is king of the gods," Jimmy told them. "His spirit demands constant  reverence and adoration."

"I guess that bird was not welcome to perch there, huh?" Scotty asked.

"No way. You can't sit on the crocodile spirit's head. You gotta keep him happy or he will retaliate by sending one of his own to eat you!"

Rick shuddered at the thought. They began to hear voices raised in frenetic song accompanying the throbbing rhythm of the drums. Ahead were visible a couple hundred or more natives dancing about in a frenzy. As one, when the people saw the warriors hastening the boys into the village, they surged ahead and rushed toward them like a swarm of ants. Shouts and cries chorused into a tumult as the crowd surrounded the men and the boys.

Rick cringed at the site of them - men, women, and young people his age all worked up into a state of mania. They grinned and laughed and snarled and snapped at the boys, reaching out to them with arms covered with tribal tattoos and markings and laden with clanging shells and bracelets. The women wore woven grass skirts and skimpy tops, and the men wore breech cloths or ratty shorts like the warriors. Faces were painted into hideous masks and mops of hair colored in the strange bright hues, and the ubiquitous large bird feathers adorned them all.

"Why are they so riled up?" Scotty wanted to know, as the throng surged along with them toward the center of the village.

"Look, that hut in the middle!" Jimmy had to shout at them to be heard above the racket. He pointed ahead. "Those heads and carcasses there. The witch doctor has already been making magic for payback!"

Rick and Scotty struggled with their captors to see ahead. In the center of the village was a large hut, higher-stilted than the others. In front of it were a dozen or so of the crocodile totems, each one with the head of a pig stuck on it, the eyes wide and staring, tongues lolling. Hanging from rafters under the hut were the animals' carcasses, and there were small fires nearby awaiting to roast them.

"It's the payback ritual," Jimmy struggled to tell them. "The animal sacrifice, the drums. The people chew betel nut and drink kava to get zonked out, and then they dance and sing-sing and work themselves up into a ...."

His words were cut off by a whack from one of his warrior captors.

"Yu no talk-talk!" the native spat out at him. He motioned to the other warriors. "Dis fellas no laikim!"

Jimmy snarled at the man, wanting to strangle him. But he could do nothing, of course, helpless in the strong grip of the warriors.

Rick's lips were set sternly and he stared hard ahead as they were roughly escorted to the village center. The babel of the crowd was rising to the point of hysteria. The warriors stopped in front of the large center hut and the men holding the boys pulled them ahead of the crowd close up to the totems bearing the pig heads.

Rick could feel his blood stirring and his heart banging away to the throbbing of the drums, which now grew to even more maniacal cadence as did the chanting and shouting of the crazed natives. The boys could only look at each other in consternation, not knowing what in the world was going on. But a moment later they understood the reason for the heightened frenzy.

A figure emerged from the hut and the tumult rose yet another notch. Tall and very old, but still muscular and lithe, the man who stepped forward was attired even more hideously than the warriors. He wore a breech cloth of purple leaves and his body was almost completely covered with intricate tattoos and tribal markings. His face was painted as a white skull with a huge mouth filled with big square teeth. His bush of hair was a jarring rainbow of colors and his earlobes, stretched and distended down to his shoulders, were laden with decorative cuffs and piercings. Bird claws stuck out of his nostrils and facial piercings on his eyebrows and lips glittered with supernatural-looking trinkets. He was the ugliest man Rick had ever seen and he stared at the boys with an evil grin as the warrior leader spoke to him, shaking his spear triumphantly.

"That's the witch doctor, the humbug man," Jimmy grunted out to them above the din. "The warrior is telling him how they found us at the waterfalls."

A moment later the witch doctor burst out into a tirade of screeches and cries and climbed down from the hut, waving his arms wildly and gesticulating like a madman as he advanced upon the boys. The crowd and the drums roared on along with him and he stopped to gaze curiously at Rick and Scotty, then lumbered over to Jimmy. He shook his fist at the boy and his armful of bracelets jangled loudly even in the uproar as he let out a volley of angry words.

Jimmy's light brown face actually looked to be flaming red with anger. His hands were clenched fiercely at his sides as he faced the witch doctor without even a flinch. When the old man finally stopped shouting at him, Jimmy turned to Rick and Scotty.

"He said I should have known better because I am one of them. I should not have let you bathe in the sacred pool. They are sacrificing the pigs for payback because of the gold prospectors digging up their lands, for they believe all this jungle belongs to them." He grimaced and looked back at the witch doctor a moment and Rick thought he might jump the man. But then he turned back and said, "Now they will sacrifice us, too, and I will be the last to die so that I can suffer the more by watching you two being killed!"

 

Scotty simply grunted and his jaw molded into a hard line. Rick, fretted by the horror of it all, experienced a jolting sense of shock. He was appalled. How could this be happening? Would this really be the end for them, slaughtered here and eaten by these people, same as the pigs, as a sacrifice to their mythical gods, never to be seen or heard from again? But, no! It couldn't be! It just couldn't, Rick thought with quaking resolve. He spoke out in anger. "Can't you talk to him, Jimmy? Reason with him? Can't you ..... "

But there was no use continuing. His words tore off as he and Jimmy and Scotty were hustled up to the hut past the staring-eyed pig heads to the ladder leading up into it. The crowd of natives had surged back and broken into wild dance formations as the boys were prodded up the ladder by the warriors' spears. They were forced inside and two of the Wambutu came in to guard them.

The interior of the hut was dark and smokey and the boys moved into its center by the prodding of the guards. Pallets of woven fronds on the floor offered some comfort, and the boys sat down on them as the guards stationed themselves on either side of the doorway. On the wall across from the entrance was a small window overlooking the center of the village behind the hut. Below this was an altar on which two bowls of a charred scented substance burned in obvious veneration of other items on the altar, among them a shrunken human head, a bloody pig's head, and several hand wrought wooden items that appeared to be talismans of magic.

Jimmy jerked his head in that direction. "Hooka pooka," he explained. "Hocus pocus, magic, whatever you want to call it. They've obviously been at it for some time today. They get all riled up and crazy over it. Finding us was a stroke of good luck for them. They can add us to their sacrifice list!"

"They'll actually kill us?" Scotty wanted to know, still not fully believing.

Jimmy nodded gravely. "Yes!" He faced them with outthrust jaw and steel in his voice. "They firmly believe they must offer sacrifice for payback. The gods must be appeased for all transgressions, like the gold hunting and our swimming in the sacred pool. Something similar happened to an American recently, the son of a politician. He was working here with missionaries and disappeared. Signs of him were later found in a remote mountain village on the mainland. It appeared he had been sacrificed and eaten."

Rick nodded slowly. "I remember reading about that. It was a governor's son. New York, I think."

Scotty pressed clenched fists against the floor pallet and tossed back his head. "Then why do they act like headhunting and cannibalism don't exist anymore, especially someplace like this, so close to Rabaul?"

Jimmy shrugged. "Commerce, tourism probably. They don't want people to be afraid to come here. And the missionaries want the world to believe they have been successful in completely converting the people."

Rick snorted. "So what you really have are Christian natives who still chop off human heads and eat the bodies because they still actually worship the old gods too?"

"Right. Some of them," Jimmy reluctantly agreed. "And lucky us, we ran smack dab into them!"

"When will they do this?" Rick asked, cocking an ear to better here the tumult outside.

Jimmy let out a sigh and shook his head, as if to shake the problem away. "Later in the day. most probably. Right before it gets dark. They'll have a sing-sing all day and work themselves into a tizzy. Then they'll come and get us."

Scotty twisted into a position to lean on his elbow. His lips formed a slight grin. "Will they cook us in a pot?" he asked, after a moment, "or will they roast us in a pit?"

"Morbid interest, huh?" Jimmy grinned back. "Neither. First they bop you on the head to kill you. That part's easy. Then they lay the bodies out in a bed dug in the ground. Probably out back there in that fenced-off area. Looked like some kind of thatching out there, perhaps the covering for their roasting beds."

Rick pushed himself to his feet to take a look out the back. He stretched idly, as if to loosen stiff muscles, so that he wouldn't alarm the two guards who had stiffened their stances at his movement. Outside the small window above the altar he could see the large squared off area surrounded by  a bamboo-like fence. The center of the area was covered with large thatched pallets that could be moved aside by way of their long poles. The sight of it made him shudder. Was this where the natives had their beds for cooking humans?

He sat down with a thump. "So you're already dead when they cook you?" he asked Jimmy.

The boy nodded. "Yes."

Scotty laughed. "Thoughtful of them, ain't it? These bozos better feed us first! Man, I'd sure hate to die on an empty stomach!"

"If you do, Mr. Scott," Rick tossed back, "it'll be the only time since I've known you that your stomach will have actually been empty!"

Jimmy looked from one to the other with widened eyes. "You two guys are nuts. Only Americans would laugh in the face of being cooked and eaten by South Seas cannibals!"

Rick's voice hardened as he spoke. "That's because it's just not going to happen, Jimmy. There's got to be a way out of this. I don't believe for a second that this is the end for us."

Sweat glistened on Jimmy's forehead and he wiped his brow with the back of his hand. "But what can we do? We have no aces up our sleeves. Nobody knows we're here. We have no friends in the area, even if somebody did. We're all alone in this!"

"So it seems," Rick told him. "But I can't give up hope. Maybe that's what makes us different. We've been in tight spots like this before and got out of them."

Scotty nodded with an emphatic grunt. "And right at the psychological moment, too. Somehow good fortune has always trailed after us."

Jimmy looked at them in wonder. "I'm beginning to believe it! Like with that gunshot on the Mirandu last night, and how we escaped from the tong pirates. I sure hope your luck doesn't desert us now!"

Scotty rolled over onto his stomach and his voice slapped out, "The only luck we need right now is some food! Maybe they can barbecue us some of that pork we saw hanging outside." He grinned at Jimmy and Rick and winked, letting them know he wasn't afraid. "It's time to fatten the sacrificial lambs. Well, actually, in this case boys. I bet that old crocodile god doesn't like his sacrifices dying on an empty stomach!"

Scotty got his wish fulfilled about an hour later. Despite the intense heat and humidity in the hut and the wild ruckus outside of it, the three of them had fallen into uneasy slumbers stretched out on the mats.

The witch doctor climbed in and aroused the boys by dancing wildly around the hut and wailing in a dramatic sing-song manner. The old man bowed at the altar, moaning as if in a trance, and picked up one of the small vessels placed there. From this he took handfuls of tiny seeds as he continued to prance around, and tossed them at the boys as he circled them with the exaggerated dance movements.

"Nigoochee! Nigoochee! Nigoochee!" he cried out in low guttural grunts and then high screeches. "Nigoochee no laikim dis fellas! No! No! No!"

Scotty was watching him warily. "Who the heck is Nigoochee?"

"The crocodile god," Jimmy hissed.

Scotty snorted. "Well I don't like him, either!"

Rick sent him a warning glance. "Cool it! He's making magic. This guy's a nutcase, but he wholly believes in what he's doing. No telling what he might do if we anger him."

After invoking the god Nigoochee and tossing the seeds all around the boys, the witch doctor stepped back to the altar as several pretty young native girls climbed into the hut bearing trays laden with food and drink.

"Now this is more to my liking," Scotty said, sitting up in an attentive position.

Jimmy and Rick, too, sat up with smiles at the sight of the girls in their grass skirts and multi-colored bouncy hairdos.

"Here's that food you've been wanting," Rick said to Scotty with a grin.

"And pretty girls, too!" the Scott boy added. "Just what a fellow needs before he gets roasted!"

"Hey!" Rick gaped at him with feigned concern. "Behave yourself. I'll tell Barby on you when we get home!"

Scotty blinked and gulped guiltily as Jimmy asked, "Who is Barby?"

"My sister," was Rick's reply. "She's a pretty blonde a year younger than me, and she's got her eyes set on Scotty."

Jimmy let out a chuckle. "Right, Scotty. You'd better keep your mind on Barby Brant. These wild Wambutu girls would probably be a bit too much for you!"

But the tribal girls were friendly and sweet and full of smiles for the boys. They treated them as if the were special guests instead of intended sacrificial victims. They presented them with the food and drink and served them politely, talking to the boys in lilting sing-song voices in pidgin, most of which Rick and Scotty could understand. Jimmy talked to them in their own language and they gave deferential treatment to him, obviously fascinated with him because of his lighter-skinned Oriental version of their own tribal looks.

They were fed roasted pork with yams and coconut meats, coconut milk to drink and fruit juices. Rick and Scotty were surprised at how tasty the food was for such primitive fare. They ate their fill as the Wambutu girls hovered about and the witch doctor sat on the floor cross-legged by the altar, watching them with a stoney expression. When they were done, the girls whisked up the bowls and cups and bore them away on the trays, casting the boys beaming smiles as they left the hut.

Scotty harrumphed. "By the way they act, you'd think we were going to meet them again later for some cokes and dancing."

Rick couldn't help laughing. "I think they're just happy because three young healthy fellows like ourselves ought to really satisfy old Nigoochee."

Jimmy looked warily at the witch doctor who was now rising to his feet. "You shouldn't speak that name," he warned. "We offended the god by bathing in the pool. so it's like blasphemy to talk about him now. At least this old humbug man will think so."

"Hah!" Scotty leaned back, a contented smile on his face now that he had eaten.
"The real offenders here are the Wambutu themselves, not us, because they never bathe, ever, according to the smell of them!"

The witch doctor began walking around them again, slowly, muttering his mumbo jumbo, making faces at them, and waving his arms and hands along with his incantations. The ruckus outside continued on, the beat of the drums so loud now that it seemed it would burst their eardrums.

Scotty growled, "We should've taken our guns along with us to the waterfalls instead of leaving them in the jeep!"

Rick nodded, eying the witch doctor with growing impatience. "Tell me about it! If we had them now, I'd sure give this loony-toon arrangement here a nice bullet in his left big toe!"

"They would have taken the guns away from us at the waterfalls," Jimmy reminded them, lowering his voice almost to a whisper as the witch doctor now started shaking a rattling device at them.

It was a small hollowed-out coconut painted like a death mask and filled with seeds or stone that clattered as he shook it about in rhythm with the drums outside.

"That's the death rattle," Jimmy hissed. "The time is approaching!"

The boys all looked at each other with searching, questioning eyes. What was going to happen now? Would they just be bopped on the heads and that would be it? They'd be cooked and eaten by these savage natives and no one would ever know what had happened to them? Or would sudden and unexpected good fortune somehow come their way and save them from this horrific predicament?

Rick didn't know what could possibly happen to help them now. It seemed to be too late for miracles, far far too late. There was no way they could possibly escape from all these people. He wondered what the next move would be. A moment later, he found out.

The cries and beat of the drums reached a maniacal crescendo and a commotion could be heard outside the window in the village center. Rick looked to see what was going on but the witch doctor now stood in front of the altar blocking the view. The ugly humbug man pointed to the doorway as he shook the death rattle with his other hand.

"Go!" he commanded hoarsely, his feathers vibrating as his body shook. "Yu go now meetum Nigoochee!"

The boys rose slowly as the two guards came at them with spears ready to prod them if they did not follow orders. Scotty led the way grumbling, "I'd like to Nigoochee him! Right in one ear and out the other!"

Jimmy snorted and rolled his eyes. His lips pressed tightly together to suppress a laugh.

"Scotty .... shut up!"

"Right," Rick hissed. "If you make us laugh, they may cook us alive! Yughhh! I'm just not in the mood for that!"

Scotty stepped aside to let Rick lead. "Brains before brawn, chum." Then he looked at Rick with a pleading expression. "Man, think of something!"

Rick cringed with helplessness and looked away. "We'll just have to make a run for it," he muttered. "Just keep alert for the right moment."


He looked out the doorway at a sea of black faces, many of them painted in the hideous death mask images, their owners singing and shouting and dancing to the drumbeats and looking at him with greedy gleaming eyes. He let out an uneasy breath and shrugged his shoulders. Think of something? No way. His mind was a complete blank. Was there any way in heaven or hell to escape this huge crazed mob who wanted to kill them?

"Here goes," he said to himself, and climbed down the ladder to the flank of warrior guards awaiting. Three of the men immediately surrounded him as Jimmy and Scotty followed.

Rick twisted his neck to look under the hut to the village center behind it and his eyes bugged wide in horror. A stabbing pain smacked his heart almost as if a knife had been thrust into it and sliced it in half. He felt a lump form in his throat and almost choked in fright. What lay there now in the very center of the village was far worse than he ever would have imagined! The grassy pallets had been removed. But there were no cooking beds in which to roast humans. No, that would have been almost a pleasure, he thought, compared to what he saw there now.

There was a deep pit about thirty feet across, its bottom filled with water and rocks and vegetation, and it was crawling with a half dozen or so angry snarling crocodiles!

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                        

RICK BRANT RED DEATH

	THE SIGN OF THE RED DEATH A Rick Brant fanfiction mystery New Chapters Being Added Now! all current chapters available at this alternate site: https://sites.google.com/site/rickbrantfanfiction

rick brant rick brant rick brant rick brant rick brant rick brant A RICK BRANT MYSTERY ADVENTURE THE SIGN OF THE RED DEATH This is a Rick Brant adventure based on the  characters of the original Rick Brant series written by Peter Harkins and Hal Goodwin and published by Grosset &Dunlap. This story is meant to fit in between the books THE LOST CITY and SEA GOLD,  as if it had been written in the late 1940s.  In this full-length thrilling novel, Rick and Scotty travel up to Hudson Bay as guests of the Canadian Wildlife Service to test Rick's new tracking collar system on the famed Hudson Bay area polar bears. Strange events begin to plague the boys even before they leave New Jersey, and once in Canada they are shadowed at every turn by the mysterious La Mort Rouge, the inexplicable 'Red Death', resulting in an outcome so unexpected, so beyond the scope of their imaginations, that the boys must summon every last ounce of their courage and resolve to master it. This adventure takes place during the Christmas holidays in the ferocious subzero weather of the Far North. Final chapters coming .... Online now: Chapter One: THE WHITE CLAWS Chapter Two: HIGHWAY ROBBERY Chapter Three: THE BIG SNOW Chapter Four: THE RED DEATH Chapter Five: THE VOYAGE OF NO RETURN Chapter Six: THE LAND OF THE WHITE BEAR Chapter Seven: THE TOWER ON THE TUNDRA Chapter Eight: INTO THE DARKNESS Chapter Nine: WANDERERS OF THE WILDERNESS Chapter Ten: ICE FOG AND SUN-DOGS Chapter Eleven: SEARCHERS IN THE SKY Chapter Twelve: THE CAGE OF THE DEVIL BEAR Chapter Thirteen: THE STORY IN THE OLD JOURNAL - in process now! Chapter Fourteen: SECRETS OF THE RED DEATH - coming! Chapter Fifteen: THE CALL OF THE WILD - coming!

RICK BRANT RED DEATH 3

all current chapters available at this alternate site:
https://sites.google.com/site/rickbrantfanfiction



THE SIGN OF THE RED DEATH
a Rick Brant fanfiction adventure
Chapter Three: THE BIG SNOW
Rick Brant gazed out the window of the passenger plane at a world of whiteness. The seemingly endless forests of northern Minnesota were laden with snow and rolled on as far as the eye could see under a clear blue winter sky. Far ahead toward the north, however, that same sky was darkening threateningly, and Rick knew they were flying toward a severe winter storm that was battering central Manitoba.

He turned to Scotty, who was sitting next to him. "You can already see that blizzard up north. I hope we're able to land in Winnipeg before the storm hits the city."

The stewardess on the Canadian airliner had advised them earlier of the possibility of turbulent weather ahead.

Scotty shifted in his seat to peer out the window. "You can say that again. Otherwise we'll have to fly back to Minneapolis-St. Paul and wait it out there. That would really mess up our plans."

Rick nodded. "And even if we do land in Winnipeg, we probably won't be able to take the connecting flight up to The Pas. We may be stranded in the city."

Scotty grinned. "In The Peg," he laughed, reiterating the city's nickname they had learned from the stewardess. He tapped the page of the travel guide he was reading. "Winnipeg is a bona-fide big city and cultural center, plopped right in the middle of the Canadian prairies and filled with people of all nationalities from all over the world. And there's a huge French quarter across the Red River in St. Boniface, peopled largely by the Metis, descendants of the early French voyageurs

"We may get to see more of it than we planned," Rick said, as he watched the darkening northern skies. "Depending, of course, on how big this Big Snow really is."

They had also learned from the stewardess that blizzards were called Big Snows in Manitoba, and that sometimes they could last for days. The boys were fervently hoping that the storm would not impede their progress north and delay their arrival at Churchill on the Hudson Bay coast.

Early that morning, after a bouncy boat ride on the wind-whipped Atlantic from Spindrift Island to Whiteside Landing, Rick's dad and Hobart Zircon had driven them to Newark Airport. Arrangements were made to service the Piper Cub and store it in a hangar until the boys' return. They had arrived home late from the police headquarters in Newark the night before and hadn't got much sleep, up late finalizing preparations. Then, saying goodbye to Mrs. Brant, Barby, Dismal the dog, and the other scientists had not been easy. They hated to miss even a few days of the holiday season at home!

With their luggage and the tracking system equipment safely in the passenger plane's cargo hold, they had flown from Newark to Chicago without mishap, catching a snooze here and there and often squirming in their seats because of the bruises they had sustained the day before. In Chicago they had transferred to the Canadian plane which was now taking them to Winnipeg. From there, the plan was to transfer to a small plane manned by a bush pilot from the Manitoba Department of Natural Resources and fly north to The Pas, a small mining and lumber town in central Manitoba and gateway to the vast Hudson Bay north country. They would spend the night there and fly on to Churchill in the morning.

That is, if the Big Snow didn't ground them in Winnipeg or Minneapolis-St. Paul!

Scotty read aloud from the travel guide. "'St. Boniface is the largest French settlement in North America outside of the province of Quebec.' Some of the sites to see are the big St. Boniface Cathedral and the Louis Riel grave and home. He was the half-breed Metis leader who became 'The Father of Manitoba'."

"We'll have to check them out if we get stranded," Rick said. "But I sure dread the idea of being stuck in town riding out a blizzard."

It was a short while later when the boys and other passengers were informed that the plane had crossed the border into Canada and was now flying over southern Manitoba. A light snack was served, and Rick and Scotty had sandwiches and cokes. They had eaten a quick early lunch in Chicago during the turnover there.

"What's the weather situation in Winnipeg?" Rick asked the amiable young stewardess.

"The storm is quickly approaching the city," she answered in low tones. "So far it looks like we'll be able to land. However, if you have a connecting flight, forget it. All departures have been canceled."

Scotty gave a grim smile. "Just our luck. We're supposed to go further north. A pilot was flying down to pick us up from The Pas."

The girl in the crisp stylish uniform smiled. "You'll have to get used to Canada's bilingual nature. That's a French name, pronounced 'the paw', not 'the pass'." Then she shook her head. "And that pilot surely won't be able to fly down to Winnipeg from the north country. The Big Snow has been battering that part of the province for two days now. You'll have to remain in town until it's all over, or perhaps you can get a train north. That is, if the tracks are clear," she added, as she turned her attention to a fellow passenger.

Rick grumbled ominously. "I guess even the trains get bogged down in these parts."

Scotty pointed to a paragraph in the travel guide. "Severe blizzards can dump six to ten feet of snow on the Manitoba interior. We may be stranded here until New Years."

Rick punched Scotty's arm. "No way. Come hell or high water - or even ten feet of snow - nothing is going to stop us from getting back home to Spindrift Island for Christmas!"

But it was soon apparent that the airliner was meeting up with the bad weather, and the gray gloom that surrounded the plane as it descended to lower altitudes for its approach to the city sobered the boys considerably. Blusterous winds buffeted the craft and at times air pockets caused it to bounce along like a pebble skipping over water. Both Rick and Scotty were experienced fliers, in big planes and small, but they nevertheless fastened their seat belts along with the other passengers.

The stewardess quickly cleared away the snack trays and plates, then fastened herself into a seat at the front of the rocking cabin.

"Try to remain calm," she advised the others over her shoulder. "This is just turbulence we are experiencing as we come down from the higher altitudes. Landing has been cleared for us and all should go smoothly, although it certainly won't feel like it! We'll be in Winnipeg in about twenty minutes."

Scotty held onto the arms of his seat. "This is like riding out a typhoon in the Pacific!"

"You know," Rick gritted back, "I always feel a little safer in an airplane when I'm the person flying it."

Scotty raised his brows and smirked. "I am so glad you're not flying this one, buster. It's a little out of your league, don't you think?"

Rick affected an insulted look. "Humphh! If I were flying this kite, I'd take it back up over the clouds and scoot all the way up to The Pas. And I mean 'The Paw'! And I'd do it all blindfolded."

"I'll blindfold you, all right," Scotty jeered. "And gag you, too. We'd probably run out of fuel and crash-land in a muskeg swamp. We'd have to rent a dog sled and huskies and mush it up to Hudson Bay. They'd make us honorary Eskimos for all our trouble."

Rick digested this and a grin split his face. "Now that sounds like a great adventure. Heck of a lot more fun than what happened yesterday in New Jersey. Stick with me, pal, and you'll find some excitement."

"Tell me about it." Scotty stiffened as the plane took an especially hard knock. "Guess I sure learned that in the rocket launch contest and again last summer in Tibet. But do you really think anything out of the ordinary can happen here ... in Canada?"

Both boys burst out laughing.

"I think everything out of the ordinary can happen to us, anywhere," Rick chuckled.

Then, suddenly, he let out, "Whoa -oa -oa -oa!"

The airplane was falling straight down at an incredible speed while still maintaining its horizontal position. Several of the passengers shouted and screamed. Then, just as suddenly, there was a terrific impact, as if the plane had hit solid ground. There were more cries and shouts and a loud "Yikes!" from Scotty.

But the plane continued on its bumpy way as if nothing had happened.

The stewardess turned back to the passengers. "That was just a rough air pocket, everybody. Don't worry, everything is all right. We'll soon be home at The Peg."

She was right. A few minutes later the descending airliner shot out of the clouds into a whiter but even more interminable gloom of thick falling snow. Rick could vaguely make out some lights ahead, the big city of the Canadian plains in the thrall of the Big Snow.

"Definitely not ideal landing conditions," he muttered.

"But a whole lot better than going back to Minnesota," Scotty put in, as the plane steeped and headed down to Stevenson Airport.

The boys held on grimly, hoping for a safe landing, and when the wheels touched down smoothly on the tarmac cheers of exultation erupted from the passengers.

Rick and Scotty let out a few war whoops of their own.

"Now that's what I call delivering the goods," Rick sighed in satisfaction.

Scotty eagerly agreed. "This pilot sure knows how to earn his paycheck!"

As the plane taxied slowly to a halt, Rick looked out the window, trying to penetrate the darkness of the heavy blowing snow. But there was nothing to be seen except shadows. The stewardess unstrapped herself and, after a few encouraging words to the passengers, went to the forward cabin to confer with the pilot. When she returned a few minutes later, the passengers were unfastening their seat belts and getting together their carry-on bags.

"The airport is closed because of the storm and all flights are canceled," she told them. "Thank goodness we were able to land, but all further incoming planes have been rerouted. Of course, there are still people inside to help you, and you can check with the ticket clerks if you had connecting flights. They'll tell you when to call for updates on flight schedules. A bus will be available to transport you to the downtown hotels so you do not have to remain stranded at the airport. The storm is a severe one, but it may blow over and move east into Ontario by tomorrow noon."

Rick's brows twisted in consternation. "Looks like we'll have to hole up in town. What will we do about our equipment?"

"We'll have to store it here at the airport until we make further plans," Scotty figured. "We may have to take a train up to The Pas. Let's check inside. The Department of Natural Resources may have left us a message."

They stood to file out with the other passengers, but as the door was opened onto the portable staircase that had been rolled into place, gusts of wind and snow blew wildly into the cabin.

The stewardess grinned sheepishly. "You'll all feel much better when you are safely back at home or downtown in one of the hotels. You are all excellent fliers! And those of you who are visitors, I welcome you to wonderful Winnipeg. Unfortunately, you won't be able to see much of her until the snow stops!"

Once inside the airport building, the boys brushed snow off their caps and coats, then lined up with some of the other passengers at the ticket counters. They didn't have to wait long. The various problems of the travelers were attended to with great efficiency, and soon Rick was asking one of the clerks if a message had been left for him about his connecting flight.

"Yes, indeed," the man responded, flipping through some memos on the counter. "Here it is, to Mr. Rick Brant from the Manitoba Department of Natural Resources at The Pas. The pilot, of course, could not fly down to meet you today. There was so much snow up north that they will not be able to lift off until later tomorrow at the earliest. They suggest you try the CNR to see if any trains are running up to The Pas."

The clerk placed the memo on the counter top and jotted a phone number on it. "Here is their number. But I doubt that any trains will be going north. They'll have to clear the tracks through the lake country and up to central province where several feet of snow fell. But they do it efficiently and you'll probably be able to get a train by tomorrow noon if Winnipeg itself doesn't get totally buried."

"Thanks," Rick said. "I'll give them a call. We're transporting some equipment with us. What can we do about it until we know our next move?"

"Just let me have your cargo receipt number and we'll hold the equipment until we hear from you. If you do get a train out, we can deliver your cargo to the CNR station for you."

"Hey, that's great," Scotty beamed, as Rick took out the cargo ticket from his wallet and handed it to the clerk. "Sure makes the inconvenience a lot easier."

"I'm beginning to like Canada a whole lot already," he added a minute later as he and Rick made their way to the luggage pick-up area. "The people here seem to know exactly what to do in an emergency like this."

"Big Snows are pretty common here," Rick suggested. "Guess they've had a lot of experience."

The boys picked up their traveling bags and headed to a bank of phone booths where Rick called the Canadian National Railroad office.

"All trains north of Dauphin are canceled until track clearance is completed in the wake of the storm," he was told by the voice on the wire. "Please call back in the morning. By then we may know at what time through trains to The Pas will be departing again."

Rick hung up and related the news to Scotty. "Looks like we have to spend the night in town. We may as well take the bus downtown and get a hotel room."

Scotty nodded in resignation, but then his eyes lit up. "And how about dinner in St. Boniface? I could sure go for some of that fancy French cuisine."

"Great idea. That is, if we can get over there. Who knows? The whole town may shut down as this blizzard sets in."

But if Rick expected Winnipeg to roll up and go to sleep because of the storm, he was pleasantly surprised to be proven wrong. There was an unexpected amount of traffic on Ellice Avenue as the airport bus made its way downtown on the busy Saturday afternoon. There were hundreds of bundled-up pedestrians hurrying up and down the sidewalks, heads bent against the ruthless wind and blowing snow.

"Brave souls, aren't they?" Rick murmured, watching the residents go about their business despite the severe weather conditions.

Scotty furrowed his brows. "It might not keep me and you inside, but a blizzard like this at home in New Jersey would shut down the whole state."

A woman sitting in front of them laughed hardily and turned to look at the boys. "Americans! How nice to see you, boys. I live in Miami, where it never snows at all. This storm is terrifying me!"

Rick recognized her from the airliner and the line at the ticket counter in the airport. "Hello there. What brings you all the way up here from Florida at this time of year?"

"I'm visiting my aunt in Swan River for Christmas. I haven't seen her since I was a little girl. I just telephoned her from the airport and she said they had four feet of snow overnight. Just imagine! I hope to take the train up there tomorrow. By then I'll probably need a sedative!"

"We'll be on the first train north, too," Scotty told her. "All the way up to The Pas."

"That's another hundred miles past Swan River," the woman said. "You boys are certainly headed for the wilds."

Rick nodded. "You can say that again. From The Pas we're going to Churchill on Hudson Bay."

"Churchill? My gosh! Watch out for the polar bears. My aunt sent me a postcard from there a few years ago. She wrote that those big white bears come right into town."

Rick smiled to himself. It was those big white bears that had brought him and Scotty up to this frigid part of the world in the first place, and he was looking forward to trying out The Barby Bear Tracker on them. He hoped they'd be able to reach their destination without too much further delay and soon be able to commence the experiments.

The woman introduced herself to the boys as Mrs. Jane Fisher, a widow who had lost her husband in the war. She was surprised to learn that Scotty had served in the Pacific.

"You certainly don't look old enough, young man," she said to him, "but thank you for the sacrifice you have made for our country. And thank God you made it back home in one piece. I get very blue at holiday time without my husband around, so this year I've come to spend it with my aunt. I was born here in Winnipeg and lived in the North End until I was five years old. Then my folks moved to Florida and we became U.S. citizens. I vaguely remember the cold and snow and I probably lived through a couple of these Big Snows. But this is the first time I've been back to Manitoba since my childhood."

The bus had now reached the downtown area and shadowy shapes of big civic buildings, hotels, and department stores came into view. Traffic snarled and stacked up as they approached the corners of Portage and Main, the city center, and Mrs. Fisher told them that the famous corners were popularly billed as 'the windiest spot in North America'.

"And here I thought Chicago was the windy city," Scotty scoffed.

The friendly woman's eyes twinkled. "Try walking around Portage and Main on a windy day and you'll change your mind about that - so they say."

The boys did indeed have to hold onto their caps as they stepped off the bus into winds that stormed the corners with the power of freight trains. Rick lugged their bags and Scotty aided Mrs. Fisher as they hurried into the Royal Alexandra Hotel.

"Whew!" Scotty brushed snow off his coat sleeves in the elegant lobby of the Edwardian-era hotel, now gaily festooned with Christmas decorations. He grinned at Mrs. Fisher.

"How many Winnipeggers get blown away every year?" he asked in jest.

The woman responded snappily. "No one really knows for sure because they are never seen again. They blow all the way over to western Ontario and get lost in the bush!"

Rooms were secured at the front desk and the boys politely declined Mrs. Fisher's invitation to join her for dinner in the hotel dining room.

"Scotty wants to go to St. Boniface," Rick explained, "to sample the French cuisine. He's quite a connoisseur of fine foods."

"Well, good luck getting there, boys. Normally you could hike right over the bridge, but in this weather you might get blown off. Don't miss the cathedral on Tache Avenue. That's one thing I do remember from my childhood. It's lovely."

They took the elevator up to their rooms and made plans to meet with Mrs. Fisher and some of the other stranded travelers in the lobby later in the evening. Rick and Scotty's room was comfortably furnished in the old-world tradition and its windows looked out onto Main Street, the Red River, and St. Boniface beyond. But in the gloom of the blizzard hardly a thing could be seen except the dim shapes of buildings across the way.

"Who was Alexandra?" Rick asked, pulling some items out of his bag. "The woman they named this hotel after? Does it say anything about her in the travel guide?"

Scotty plopped down on one of the beds and stretched out his long frame as he paged through the booklet. "The hotel is listed in here, but it doesn't give any historical information. Hmmm, could it be one of those Russian princesses from the early part of the century - the Romanovs?"

Rick's brows knit in thought. "Queen Victoria had daughters. Maybe one of them was Alexandra. It's more likely they'd name a hotel in Canada after an English princess than a Russian one."

"Let's wager a bet on it," Scotty suggested.  "When we go out to eat, we can ask the clerk in the lobby who Alexandra was."

"Speaking of dinner," Rick said, with a forceful clearing of his throat. "You'd better get those two hundred pounds of yours off that bed and back on your feet. It may take us a while to get over to St. Boniface, and I can feel my stomach grumbling already."

Scotty grinned at the ceiling. "Mine always grumbles, day and night, day in and day out. The darn thing never seems to get enough. Only problem is, it feels great to be laying down like this. I'm still sore from yesterday and sitting cramped up in airplanes all day sure didn't help."

Rick snapped his suitcase shut. "Suit yourself. I'll go eat French food by myself."

Scotty was back on his feet in a flash. "I guess I can endure a few aches and pains in the pursuit of the perfect meal!"

The boys freshened up, pulled on their heavy coats, caps, and gloves, then hurried back down to the lobby. Scotty walked over to check out the elaborately decorated Christmas tree set before a bank of windows looking out to Main Street while Rick went up to the front desk to ask about the Alexandra of the hotel's name. When he joined Scotty a minute later by the heavily adorned tree, his face wore a chagrined expression.

"We were both wrong," he almost whispered. "But don't tell Mrs. Spencer, our history teacher. She'd bop us both. We should've known."

"What? Who was she?"

"She was Princess Alexandra of Denmark and she married Edward VII, Queen Victoria's son who was the King of England during the first decade of this century."

Scotty pondered a moment, rubbing his chin. "Oh sure, the Edwardian era."

"Right. She was King Edward's queen consort, a queen by marriage only, but always a princess. We should've remembered. We studied all that British lineage earlier in the school year."

Scotty smiled tolerantly. "Come on, boy genius. We can't remember everything about every royal we study. Besides, it's just not as interesting as electronics and science, which are far more important anyway. At least you guessed English. I was way off with Russian."

Rick's face brightened. "Right. My guess was closest to the correct answer. Does that mean I win the bet?"

"Sure, and the winner gets to pay for dinner."

Rick laughed and pounded Scotty's shoulder. "Yah, right. Since when does the winner pay? Let's get a move on, pal. The Big Snow awaits our return into its midst."

It seemed that the relentless wild gusts of wind roaring down Main Street would surely blow the boys down, or perhaps up and away, but they were lucky enough to hail a taxi within a couple of minutes after foraging out into the storm.

"St. Boniface," Rick told the driver. "The cathedral. We'd like to see that first."

The man frowned as he pulled away from the curb. "Sightseeing in this weather, eh?"

"You bet," Scotty replied. "We're from the States and will probably never get another chance to visit Winnipeg." He twitched his nostrils in anticipation. "And I can smell that delectable French food way on this side of the river."

The taxi driver chuckled. "Spoken like a true tourist. Try La Petite Maison on Provencher Boulevard. It's right around the corner from the cathedral. M'sieur LaPierre has quite a reputation with the American diners."

The car turned onto the Water Street bridge that crossed the Red River to the city of St. Boniface. The boys peered out the windows but could see only vague impressions of the frozen winding waterway that had played such an important part in the settling and development of western Canada. Soon they were driving through St. Boniface on Provencher Boulevard, and the taxi made a quick right turn onto Tache Avenue and pulled up in front of the famous cathedral.

The driver smirked, raising his brows. "Are you sure you fellas want to get out here?"

Rick looked at the wind-driven snow outside the car and shrugged his shoulders. "Yep, we're on our way up to Churchill, so we'd better be able to handle this."

"It'll be good experience for Hudson Bay," the driver agreed as Scotty paid him the fare. "But in weather like this, tourists usually aren't running around out and about."

Scotty let out a loud guffaw after he and Rick had stepped out of the taxi and slammed the doors behind them. "Oot and aboot!" he hooted, mimicking the cabby's accent. "Did you know, Mr. Brant, that tourists in Winnipeg usually are not running around oot and aboot in weather like this?"

Grinning, Rick slapped Scotty on the back. "Relax, Max. That's just Canadian for 'out and about'. Which, if we had any sense, we wouldn't be! Just imagine, we had the nerve to complain yesterday when we were tied up in the cold by the river in New Jersey. That was nothing compared to this crazy weather."

Scotty pulled on his thick gloves. "Right. But today we are not tied up, and we're properly dressed for the cold. Hey, look at that awesome cathedral. No wonder it's a famous tourist attraction."

The boys trudged across the snow-covered lawns leading up to the huge twin-towered cathedral that soared far up into the sky. Between the bell towers was a triple-arched entryway, above which loomed an enormous round stained-glass window that glowed ever-so-slightly in the almost impenetrable gloom. Under the entrance arches were spruce and pine trees festooned with rows of colorful lights, in their midst a life-sized manger scene with the newborn infant, Mary and Joseph, the three Wise Men, and all the attentive stable animals.

Rick was impressed far more than he would have expected, moved by the eerie atmosphere and soaring architecture. "It almost beats St. Patrick's Cathedral in New York, don't you think?"

"Pretty close," Scotty agreed. "I'll bet the interior is beautiful, too. According to the travel guide, this is the fourth St. Boniface Cathedral. The original was just a log building, and it was the first church in western Canada and the Red River settlements."

Rick saw that Scotty was almost totally covered with snow. "You look like a big snowman," he laughed. "Let's see if we can go inside for a moment or two and get out of this storm."

The boys hurried under the center arch, past the pungent evergreens and manger, and pulled open the massive front doors which swooshed closed behind them from the force of the wind as they entered the vestibule. Suddenly, all was quiet, as the thick old walls shut out the roar of the Big Snow.

"Wow," Scotty whispered, spinning around. "This place sure is swell."

Beautiful cut and scored stone and thick rich timbers formed the vestibule which was lined by statues of the saints in both directions leading to the bell towers. A mellow glow from banks of flickering votive candles lit the way and the solemn hush of silence sent chills up the boys' spines as they brushed snow from their caps and coats.

Ahead, through elaborately carved open doors, could be seen the nave of the enormous church. A center aisle, lined by rows of pews on either side, led, underneath a towering and vaulted ceiling, up to a raised sanctuary and altar. It was flanked by statues of angels and saints and dimly lit by dancing candles and stained-glass windows. Christmas evergreens, adorned with twinkling lights and banked high with brilliant crimson poinsettia plants, clustered the sanctuary.

"Gosh," Rick breathed. "Mom and Barby would sure love to see this place."

Scotty pulled off his cap. "It's wonderful. Makes you feel kind of humble."

Rick pulled off his cap, too. But he couldn't help the chuckle that escaped his lips. "And to make you feel humble," he whispered, "it's really got to be mind-boggling."

Scotty smiled at the remark, but he didn't respond as he stepped forward tentatively, feeling somewhat breathless. Rick followed, a hand on his chest in awe. There was the sweet smell of incense in the air and, mixed with the heady scents of the candles and evergreens, it seemed to the boys that they had truly stepped into another world, far away and far apart from the one they had left outside in the snow.

Then, suddenly, the miracle of silence within the awesome cathedral was shattered by an angry shout and the click-clack of heels on the old stone floor!

Rick and Scotty spun to their left, in the direction of the startling sounds. Two figures rushed through the archway in the base of the bell tower on that end and hurried down the vestibule in the heat of an argument. Rick felt himself almost pulled off his feet as Scotty dragged him into the shadows behind a large statue of the Virgin Mary cradling the prostrate crucified Jesus in her arms.

"But, mon Pere, you cannot .... sacre! You cannot allow this to continue!"

The angry words were spoken by a boy their own age, dressed in a fur cap and a red and black checked mackinaw. His accent was heavily French and there was unmistakable outrage in his pleading tones.

He was addressing a priest, middle-aged and bearded, and wearing flowing monk-like robes. He was walking quickly in front of the boy, obviously not wanting to hear what the young fellow had to say.

"Arret! Arret!" he spat back to the boy. "You must stop this interference into matters that are not of your concern, Pierre! You do not understand that about which you speak. You are just a boy, interfering in the world of men. I pray that you drop this matter!"

"Mon Dieu!" the boy exclaimed, grabbing the priest by the arm as they both rushed on. "You have involved my uncle in this. He could lose everything he has worked so hard for all his life. It can harm me, too. I will be disgraced at the English Academy. It is wrong, Father Jacques. It is wrong!"

The priest shrugged off the boy's hand and stopped before the big front doors. He pushed one open and gusts of wind and snow shot in, billowing his robes and causing the candles in the vestibule to flicker wildly.

He pointed out the door. "Go, Pierre! Sortir! And do not come back unless you wish to attend Mass and pray. I will not speak to you of this matter again!"

The candlelight illumined the boy's face as Rick and Scotty cringed back against the wall in the shadows. His expression was so intense that they could feel his deep emotion across the space that separated them.

Fury overtook him and he shouted at the priest. "Grace a Dieu! I will not remain silent and allow my uncle and myself to come to ruin. I will stop you, mon Pere. This cannot be! I will not allow us to be destroyed by ... by ... La Mort Rouge!"

And with that, he stormed angrily out into the blizzard and the priest hurriedly pulled the door shut, muttering to himself as he brushed flakes of snow from his robes. He turned, poker-faced and angry, staring straight ahead, and strode quickly through the doors into the nave of the cathedral. His quick footsteps echoed in the empty church as he hurried down the aisle toward the altar.

Rick pushed himself away from the wall, his heart pounding. He could have touched the priest as he had rushed by.

He whispered to Scotty, "Jeez, what do you think that was all about?"

Frowning, Scotty blew out a tense breath. "La Mort Rouge! The Red Death. The smallpox plague. Barby spoke of it last night, remember?"

"Yes, but the disease itself is all but eradicated from this part of the world now."

"But she said the people up this way can still be superstitious about it and its legends."

Rick nodded slowly. "Obviously. But this has to be something different. Something big, and bad. That boy is really scared it can harm him and his uncle."

He gaped around at the vestibule in the flickering candlelight, with its life-like statues frozen in pious, dramatic poses. He looked at the Virgin Mary's face and saw the pain in her eyes, and he shuddered. Something was wrong, very wrong. In this place of good and beauty, they had witnessed something that could pertain only to bad and evil.

"Scotty!" Rick hissed. "We've got to help that boy. Let's hurry out and catch up to him. We can't let his life be ruined by this La Mort Rouge - whatever the heck it might be!"

RICK BRANT RED DEATH 2

all current chapters available at this alternate site:
https://sites.google.com/site/rickbrantfanfiction

 THE SIGN OF THE RED DEATH
Rick Brant fanfiction adventure

Chapter Two: HIGHWAY ROBBERY

Rick suddenly found himself sprawled out on the cold hard ground several yards from the banged-up coupe, which had stalled and jerked to a standstill near the riverbank. His head was spinning, spots danced in front of his eyes, and he gaped around in bewilderment.  He heard a groan and turned to see Scotty struggling to sit up just a few feet away, a hand to his cheek and a trickle of blood rolling down from his nose.

"Scotty, you okay?"

Scotty opened his mouth to speak but his words were squelched by the slamming of the doors of the big sedan that had been chasing them. It had stopped not ten feet away. Three men jumped out, all of them wearing dark overcoats and wide-brimmed hats pulled down low. One of them, the driver, immediately leveled a gun at the boys.

"Alright, you eggs, stay where you are!" There was venom in his tones and his eyes held a mean glint. "We'd hate to have to hurt you any more than you already are."

Rick scowled, twisting up painfully into a sitting position, and he and Scotty exchanged feverish glances. What had they gotten themselves into now? Scotty nodded slightly, letting Rick know he was okay. Then Rick placed his hands flat on the ground to steady himself. The wind had been knocked out of him and he found himself sucking in huge gulps of air.

"Shake a leg," the gunman grunted to his accomplices. "See what kind of goods are in that coupe."

Rick blinked in confusion a couple times before he could comprehend that he and Scotty were being robbed. He watched as the other two men began to ransack the wrecked car, stiffening when he saw them pull the shopping bags out of the back seat.

"Hey, those are Christmas gifts!" he exploded.

The man with the gun laughed harshly and leered at the boys, showing rows of chipped uneven teeth. "Expensive gifts, too, I'll betcha. Parking your car at the Plaza is a dead giveaway that you got plenty of cash money to spend."

"So you did follow us from the hotel," Scotty spat angrily. "What made you think you'd be able to stop us?"

The thug chuckled in grim conceit. He pointed his gun at the rear end of the rental car. "That was duck soup, chum. Jersey plates, car rental decal on the back window. That spells 'Newark Airport' to me. And there sure are some nice lonely roads out this-a-way."

The other two thieves had opened the trunk of the coupe. Finding nothing of value within, they slammed it shut and carried the shopping bags over to the sedan.

"Guess this is it, boss," one of them said. "There's some nice stuff in these bags. Not a bad haul."

With a low snicker, he and the other man placed the shopping bags into the back seat of the big black car.

Rick clenched his fists in anger, staring in speechless amazement at the robbers. He and Scotty had spent a lot of money on the gifts, especially the bear claw necklace for Barby, which he knew they'd never be able to replace. And they wouldn't have another chance to go Christmas shopping! They were leaving for Canada in the morning.

Scotty had pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket and was dabbing at the blood dripping from his nose. He looked at the men with contempt. "How'd you know we'd been shopping?" he demanded.

The leader of the highway robbers lowered his gun a few inches and spoke with a condescending disdain. "Don't know much about a stake-out, do you? We saw you get out of the taxi and go in the hotel carrying those bags with Fifth Avenue store names on 'em. So we just sat and waited for you to pull out of the garage."

One of the other men snorted, then his voice rang out with humor. "Tell 'em about it! This is our busy time of year, ain't it?. Cripes, we work twelve hours a day or more during the Christmas season!"

He let out a loud guffaw and the other two thugs joined in for a hearty laugh. Then the 'boss' with the gun said, "Get the ropes and tie these boys to the bumpers of that coupe. We don't want 'em running out to the pike and getting the cops on our trail."

Several lengths of rope were retrieved from the sedan's trunk and Rick and Scotty were forced to get up on their feet and walk over to the rental car. Rick's head was reeling and he ached all over, and he knew that Scotty probably didn't feel any better. The last thing they needed now was to be tied up to the car in the cold and the falling snow!

His eyes spat daggers at the three men as he was forced to sit down on the ground next to the coupe's back bumper. "Are you guys crazy? We'll freeze to death out here!"

"We won't gag you," the boss jeered in his hard-as-nails tones. "We'll give you a break. After all, you made this heist easy for us by pulling off the road and driving back here. If you holler loud enough, someone'll hear you, sooner or later."

Rick's wrists were securely bound to the heavy metal bumper with the stout ropes. Scotty was then shoved to the front of the coupe, almost on the water's edge. They pushed him down to the ground and tied his wrists to the front bumper. Rick could see only Scotty's legs because of the opened passenger door.

When the men were done, they turned away and tossed back a couple taunting goodbyes as they strode to the sedan. Then they climbed into the big car and, moments later, its engine roared to life. The car backed up and turned around, then shot forward down the dirt road. Rick and Scotty were left alone in the falling snow, bound to the bumpers of the damaged rental car.

For a minute or two there was complete silence. Then Rick's voice rang out, "Jeez! What do you make of it, Scotty? I've heard of highway robbery, but who'd think crooks would follow you all the way out here from Fifth Avenue?"

"I don't get it," Scotty retorted angrily. "If they watched us get out of the taxi and go into the hotel, how would they know we parked our car in the garage and would be coming back out? We could have been registered guests and staying overnight, for all they'd know."

"Good point." Rick tugged aimlessly at the ropes binding his wrists. "Maybe they saw us pull in earlier? They may just play a waiting game, watching to see who goes in to park, goes shopping, then comes back out in their car."

Scotty grunted. "Could be. It was sure worth their trouble, anyway. We spent several hundred dollars on those gifts. Did you happen to get their license plate number? I didn't even think of looking."

Rick puzzled a moment, then rolled his eyes in chagrin. "I didn't think of it either. Everything happened so fast and my head feels like I got a concussion. Guess I'm not thinking clearly."

"That makes two of us." Rick could hear the slow burn of anger in Scotty's voice. "This is bad news. We wrecked this sharp-looking coupe and lost all our Christmas gifts!"

A sudden thought tugged painfully at Rick. "And the extra bear tracker collar in the shopping bag, too!"

Scotty groaned in response. "Right! I forgot all about it. And now we're both half-knocked out from being thrown from the car, and tied up in this desolate spot where no one will ever find us. We may as well be on the moon!"

"And even if we do get out of here," Rick added, "we won't be able to fly the Cub home. It'd be too late by the time we get to the airport." He looked up at the bleak sky and grimaced. "It'll be dark in a couple hours and we'll never get back on the road by then."

Rick's yellow Piper Cub was not equipped for night flying, nor was he experienced at it. It appeared that they were trapped in this miserable lonely spot with no hope in sight.

Then Scotty suddenly let out a wild hoot. "Wait a minute! The bear tracker! You're wearing the tracker collar on your arm. Barby will know where we are!"

A grin crossed Rick's face and a tide of relief washed over him as he once again became aware of the snug coil of the collar around his arm. He started to laugh. "Man, it totally slipped my mind!"

Then both boys were laughing heartily as relief and hope made the dire situation they were in seem suddenly not so perilous.

Rick breathed out a happy sigh. "Whew! Barby is probably right now wondering why we've stopped along the river."

Scotty hooted again. "Yeah, just a quick stop to do some fishing."

"If it gets any colder," Rick snapped back, "it'll be ice fishing."

"If the river freezes, that's okay," Scotty went on.. "Just so it doesn't rise. A few more feet and I'll be in it!"

"Don't worry. We'll be all right." The flame of hope now sparked in Rick's eyes. "Barby will know that something's wrong. There's no way we'd stop out here. She knows we have to fly home before dark." He flexed the bicep of his arm to feel the snugness of the collar again, feeling like a goose for having forgotten about it. "Barby will tell Dad we've mysteriously stopped. He'll call the police and we'll be rescued...."

"Hopefully before we turn into icicles," Scotty cut in with a grim chuckle.

Rick looked up to the gloomy sky again with its increasingly thickening snowflakes fluttering down. He was grateful that it wasn't particularly windy. That would have made the cold feel much colder and the ordeal of being bound to the car by the riverbank even more threatening.

"Try to move around," he suggested. "Can you stand up? I think I can. I'm not quite so dizzy anymore."

Fortunately, Rick's wrists were tied to the bumper in front of him and not behind his back. Leaning against the bumper and trunk, he pushed himself to his feet. But it cost him some effort. He was breathing hard and felt dizzy again in the stooped-over position.

"Ho!" he gasped, leaning heavily against the back of the car. "I feel like I just took on Notre Dame's entire defensive line."

There was a series of grunts and groans from Scotty. Then, "Confound it! I'm up on my knees but now my head's spinning. This'll drive me batty!"

"I'm on my feet," Rick told him, "but not too steady. Maybe I can cut these ropes on the bumpers' edges if I can get some slack."

"Good idea. And I'm going to shout. I'll put this booming voice of mine to good use."

Rick smiled as Scotty started yelling, "Help! Help! Help!"

"They ought to hear you all the way back home on Spindrift Island," Rick laughed.

"That's the idea. And somebody has got to be around here somewhere. At least I hope so. And I intend to make them hear me!"

Scotty continued his shouting and Rick kept on pulling and tugging at the ropes. He groaned in exasperation, wishing this awful ordeal was over and done with, and that he and Scotty were back home - safe, sound, and warm.

"Hey there, Mr. Scott," he called out. "I guess this is good practice for being outdoors up at Hudson Bay."

"Yah, right," he heard Scotty jeer back. "Only problem is, we're dressed for Christmas shopping on Fifth Avenue, not for polar bear tracking in the subarctic."

"So right you are," Rick agreed, shivering in the leather bomber jacket he wore for flying the Cub. "Brrr! So right you are........"

They would be staying at Fort Churchill up in Manitoba, a Canadian military base near the town of Churchill and the shores of Hudson Bay. Rick knew that the military would outfit them in all the latest cold weather gear worn by the soldiers for their maneuvers. They'd probably be as warm in the subzero northern cold as they would be basking in the sun on a south Florida beach. Certainly much warmer than they were right here and now!

Time passed slowly as the boys struggled with their bonds and tried to warm up by jiggling around the best they could. Rick was just beginning to get a little slack in the rope that bound his left wrist when he realized that Scotty had stopped shouting for help.

"Hey, did you fall asleep?" he asked.

"No, sir! It's too cold to sleep. I'm just resting my voice. There's no one around to hear me anyway. Heck, I may as well sing."

"Please don't," Rick shot back with affected fright. "Lest you forget, I'm here. I'd hear every miserable note of it."

Scotty noisily cleared his throat. "Good. Talk about a captive audience!"

With that, he burst into song, a warbling rendition of The White Cliffs of Dover that rang out over the wetlands like a gorilla's mating call. Rick cringed, but he couldn't help laughing. The lovely ballad that had been a victory call to millions during the war was never intended to be delivered in that manner.

"You sound worse than Bob Hope and Martha Raye, together," he called out.

Scotty ended the verse he'd been warbling. "Humphh! In that case, buster, you'll now have to endure my down-home-hillbilly version of G. I. Jive."

"Oh no," Rick groaned, as Scotty segued into a bouncy country rendition of the popular swing tune about the woes of military camp. But he smiled in satisfaction as he looked around at the desolate riverside landscape. Scotty always had a way of bringing some humor into a stressful and dangerous situation. He hoped, however, that he wouldn't have to listen to all of Scotty's favorite songs that he had learned in the Marines. Somebody had better come to rescue them, and soon!

But time dragged on, and Scotty sang on and on, as the sky began to darken and the snow fell harder. Rick's fingers, even though gloved, were numb from the cold, and he felt completely exhausted and aching all over. He'd given up trying to loosen the ropes after having little luck at it, and was now sitting on the ground again, shivering and listening to Scotty's grating vocals.

It was too late now to fly the Cub home. It was already dark. It seemed like they had been there for hours and hours. Was help never going to arrive?

"Come on, Barby, " Rick muttered to himself. "Come on! You've just got to have  figured out by now that we've stopped!"

Several minutes later as Scotty was just revving up an especially hoarse and boisterous Chattanooga Choo Choo, Rick suddenly heard the wailing of a siren in the distance.

"Yippee!" he cried, pushing himself back up to his feet. "Scotty! It's a siren. Out there on the pike!"

Scotty abruptly stopped singing. The wailing siren was loud and clear. "It's the police! Coming for us! They can throw me in jail, for all I care. Just so the heat is on!"

Both boys began to yell at the top of their lungs as the blaring siren drew closer and closer. The whining wail seemed to hover in a spot, then move on, at times diminishing as it moved further away, but then it would come back in their direction again, growing louder.

"They're searching," Rick said. "Must be other roads along this way that lead into the woods. Hey, it sounds like they made a turn and are coming down the dirt road toward us!"

The siren was indeed closing in on them. Soon they saw the bright beams of headlights twisting and turning through the darkness of the woods. Rick stiffened and his nerves began to tingle. Then he and Scotty were shouting again, their voices hoarse and strained but filled with exultation.

"Over here!"

"This way!"

"Ho! Here we are!"

The car with the blaring siren shot out from the trees and brush and its headlights fixed directly on the damaged coupe with the boys bound to it on either end. Rick blinked and averted his eyes to avoid the sudden bright glare as the vehicle, a Newark police car, pulled up to a skidding halt a few feet away. The front doors flew open and two burly police officers jumped out. For a moment they were stunned and stood there gaping in surprise at the boys. Then they sprang forward, quick concern flashing in their eyes.

"What goes on here?" snapped the officer who had been driving. "What happened to you fellows?"

"Highway robbery," Rick was quick to answer. "We were Christmas shopping in Manhattan. Three crooks trailed us all the way out here in a big sedan. We headed down this road to get away, but it sure was a mistake."

"You bet it was," Scotty broke in. "They followed us and shot out a back tire. It set us into a spin and we side-swiped that tree and were thrown from the car."

"Then they stole our Christmas gifts," Rick added in disgusted tones, "and tied us up to the bumpers. Right out here in the cold and snow."

"No good so-and-so's!" The driver of the patrol car  growled as he pulled out a pocket knife and hurried over to Scotty. "Stealing from shoppers increases every year at holiday time, but it's usually confined to Manhattan and downtown Newark."

"Right," the other policeman agreed, as he too pulled a knife from his belt and approached Rick. "This is a first, out here by the river. You boys could have frozen to death. Good thing we got that call from Whiteside."

"Whiteside?" Rick exclaimed, as the man began cutting the ropes around his wrists.

"Yes indeed, young man. Our station got a call from Captain Douglas at the Whiteside police barracks about twenty minutes ago. Said to look for two boys stalled along the river, right in this very area. Something about a radio tracking experiment gone wrong."

"It sure did go wrong," Scotty growled, as he was helped up to his feet. "We never expected highway robbery to be thrown into the equation."

Rick was cut free and helped up onto his wobbly legs. He had to lean against the car for a few moments before he could take a step forward.

"Better get inside the cruiser, boys," they were urged. "You've been out in this cold far too long."

Walking felt like something they'd have to learn all over again as the policemen helped the boys over to the patrol car and into the back seat.

"Do you need anything from your coupe?" asked one of the men.

Rick leaned back wearily against the cushions. "No. It's a rental car from Newark Airport. The thieves took everything that belonged to us."

"Then just sit back and relax," the driver said, as the doors slammed. "We'll get you to headquarters in a jiffy. Your folks are coming there to meet you. In from some island, I think."

"Spindrift Island," Rick said, as the warmth from the car's heater overwhelmed him. He felt like he could float away into pleasant oblivion.

The other officer turned the heater up a notch. "Isn't that the location of the famous scientific laboratories?"

"Right," Scotty answered, sprawled out on the back seat. "Rick and his family live there. His dad runs the laboratories. I work for them and live there, too." He guffawed loudly and slapped his knee, adding, "Oh, lucky me!"

Rick elbowed him in the ribs as the cruiser sped back to the pike. "Lucky you is right. Look at the adventure you just had. Which you certainly wouldn't have had if you didn't pal around with me!"

Scotty rolled his eyes heavenward. "Oh sure. Chased by crooks, thrown from a car, tied up all afternoon in the winter cold. What a great ball! Next time I pick a friend, I'll make sure he's the son of a librarian, not a famous scientist."

The policemen chuckled at the boys' friendly banter as the patrol car pulled off the dirt road and roared on down the pike toward Newark, which could now be seen twinkling with lights in the distance.

Scotty leaned closer to Rick. "Barby came through," he whispered. "Just like we figured she would. Not only is the tracking system a success, but it already saved our lives!"

Rick grunted in agreement, feeling himself begin to slip away. Scotty was right, the system was a success. Their rescue in the wetlands proved it. But something kept nagging at his mind as the warmth inside the cruiser enveloped him. Something just didn't seem right. But whatever it was, he just couldn't think straight enough to put a finger on it. Then his lids drooped and complete exhaustion overtook him.

************

 

"Wake up, Rick. Don't think these Newark police are going to let you sleep the night away. They want a complete report from us about the accident and robbery."

Rick opened his eyes to see Scotty looking down at him. He was standing outside the police car holding out his hand, waiting for Rick to join him.

"And they have a doctor here at the station to check us out. 'Attaboy, rise and shine."

Like in a dream he didn't want to awaken from, Rick reached out to Scotty and let his friend pull him out of the back seat. There was a dull throb in his head and it seemed that every bone and muscle in his body was aching.

He grimaced and forced a laugh. "I hope that doctor has some strong pain pills. I think I'm going to need a few."

Glaring lights lit up the yard in back of the police station and cast weird shadows on the patrol cars and other vehicles parked in the lot. Through the falling snow, the skyscrapers of downtown Newark could be seen looming over the rooftop ahead, their windows bright with light for late office workers and cleaning crews. Rick groaned in dismay as he and Scotty fell into step behind the two policemen who led them to the back entrance.

"What's wrong?" Scotty asked.

"The Cub. We'll have to leave it at the airport for now."

"May as well just keep it there until we get back from Canada," Scotty suggested. "It'll only be a week or so. The mechanics can give it a once over."

"Good idea," Rick agreed. "Dad and Hobart can drive us to the airport in the morning and we'll arrange to store the Cub in a hangar."

Hobart Zircon was a famous scientist who lived with the Brants and worked at the Spindrift Laboratories. He was a big booming man who was afraid of nothing and nobody, and he had accompanied the boys on the expedition to Tibet earlier in the year.

"Don't you wish Hobart was coming with us to Hudson Bay?" Scotty asked, as he and Rick entered the building.

"It'd sure be great to have him join us," Rick agreed. "I know I'd feel better having him along. But we should be okay on our own. What could possibly happen in Canada?"

"There they are!"

"The boys!"

"Rick!"

"Scotty!"

Familiar voices rang out in exclamation from down the corridor, and the boys looked ahead to see Mr. and Mrs. Brant and Barby hurrying toward them. Following close behind were Hobart Zircon and Jerry Webster, their friend who was a reporter for the Whiteside Morning Record.

In a moment the group had reached their side and there was pandemonium for several minutes as shouts and cries of greeting were heaped upon them. Every hug and handshake and slap on the back made both Rick and Scotty wince in pain because of their bruises and sore muscles and bones.

"Hold it, already!" Rick laughed in the confusion, as he hugged Barby happily. "We're okay. Really! Just banged up a little."

"I had a bloody nose, but it's all right now," said Scotty, as Barby pulled away from Rick to hug him in turn. "That was good going, Barby. We knew you'd wonder what was wrong and call the police."

Barby looked up to him with wide round eyes, and then gaped over to Rick. "But what happened? All of a sudden you stopped, and then didn't budge. By the river outside of Newark, of all places. After a while I knew something had to be wrong!"

"Yes, Rick," Mrs. Brant worriedly put in. "Tell us what happened."

"We were stalked all the way from Fifth Avenue and robbed," Rick explained, as the two police officers patiently waited for them. He told the others about the stake-out and resulting attack in the wetlands by the lonely pike.

"My gosh!" Mrs. Brant declared, wringing her hands. "That's awful. Who would think something like that could happen nowadays?"

"I'd sure like to get my hands on those birds," Hobart Zircon growled, raising a big fist. "Shoot at my friends and tie them up in the cold?  No way! They better hope they don't run into me."

Hartson Brant shook his head in dismay, but there was a glimmer of pride in his eyes as he looked at Rick and Scotty. "At least you boys didn't get hurt seriously. You could've broken some bones in that car crash, or worse. But have no fear, the police will round up those second-rate thieves."

"You bet they will," barked Jerry Webster, who was jotting down notes on his ever-present pad. "I'll write this up for the morning paper with full details. Everyone in North Jersey will be wise to those thugs and on the lookout for them. If they have any brains, they'll stay in Manhattan after this!"

Rick suddenly snapped his fingers. "There was an extra bear tracker collar in one of those shopping bags. The thieves might activate it!"

Barby nodded eagerly in understanding, her blonde ponytail bobbing. "I'll keep the receiving unit on day and night in case they do. I'll be able to get their coordinates and send the law right to their doorstep." She stopped to chuckle. "Well, maybe not that precise, but at least to their neighborhood."

"And hopefully get all our Christmas gifts back," Scotty interjected. "We bought some really neat stuff. Expensive, too. And a very special gift for you, Barby - well, it's one-of-a-kind. It can't be replaced."

"Don't you fret," she returned, eyes sparkling. "People are curious. Those men will surely activate the collar. And I'll track them down!"

"And now we had better let the doctor check you boys out, and make a police report about the incident," advised Rick's distinguished-looking and famous dad, nodding in the direction of the waiting policemen. "Then we can return home to Spindrift Island. You are flying to Manitoba tomorrow and still have plenty of preparations to make."

As they walked down the hall to the headquarters main office, Rick asked Barby if she had come across any information about black polar bears while doing her research.

She looked at him oddly. "Funny you should ask that, Rick. Yes, there is the legend of Nanook noir, the spirit bear, or sometimes called the devil bear. It's an old Eskimo legend. The aboriginal people of the far north have all kinds of spooky superstitions. Then add to that the beliefs of the old French fur trappers and voyageurs, the Cree and Chippewayan Indians, and the resulting half-breeds called the Metis - and you have a whole encyclopedia-full of north country scary stories." Barby shuddered. "One I found really fascinating was the legend of La Mort Rouge."

"La Mort Rouge?" repeated Scotty. "What's that?"

"The Red Death." Barby's eyes widened. "That's what they called the smallpox plagues that ravaged Europe and North America in the latter decades of the last century. It brought horrible death to thousands in Canada's far north, and to this day many of the people remain fearful of it and superstitious. They say that off in remote far-flung places you can still see the sign of the Red Death - a red cloth flag hung from the doorway of an old abandoned cabin in which someone had died from the disease."

Scotty looked at her in wonderment for a moment. Then, with a grin, he faked a nervous shudder. He reached over and clapped Rick on the shoulder.

"Wow! We may have to think twice about this trip," he declared. "Black polar bears and the Red Death! What in the world are we getting ourselves into, old chum?"