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The shot was still ringing in his ears but still, he heard a pitiful whine and scrambling paws. “Boy . . . here, boy.”
The heeler was at his side in an instant, unhurt, just scared and shaking, brown eyes bulging. But no blood. Bronco checked with his flashlight, running the beam over the dog’s mottled coat. “You idiot,” Bronco muttered, but gave the shivering animal a quick scratch behind his ears. “I coulda killed . . . oh, hell . . .” There was no time for this. Now there had been two shots fired. No telling who might’ve heard them. One could have been dismissed, but two? Nope. No way. He had to work fast. To the dog, he whispered, “You stay. You hear me? Don’t move a muscle.”
Fender whined, his tail tucked between his legs, his body trembling.
Shit!
Bronco couldn’t worry about it. He had less time than ever. He had to find the release for the door. And fast.
He swept the light over the beams, searching for electrical wires that would lead him to a switch for the small brick portal, even though, if that were the case, if the catch on the door was electrically controlled, he was screwed. The power to the house had been shut off long ago.
Think, Bronco, think. This has to be simple. Something you’re missing! What had Gramps said? Something about a combination?
He returned to the door, crouched beside it, ran the flashlight’s beam over the dirty bricks once more.
From the corner of his eye he saw the dog nosing around again, but ignored him. Right now he had to concentrate. Crouching low, Bronco took a step backward, ran the flashlight over the door again and . . . he saw it. A chip on one of the lower bricks that was slightly different from the others. Smoother. A long shot, but he knelt in the muck, placed his finger in the small divot and waited for a click.
Nothing.
Yet . . . then he spied another, similar notch on the brick above. He touched it. Again, zilch.
Get in.
Get out.
Fender crept up to him. Curious. Nosing around.
Bronco ignored the dog and tried several times to open the latch. But nothing happened.
This had to be it. Right?
The dog whined, the hackles on the back of his neck bristling, but Bronco was deep in concentration before he noticed the third notch on a brick that abutted the other two.
Tentatively, sweat dripping from his nose, he placed a finger on the notch. Still nothing. Damn. Maybe he was way off base with this.
Fender, muscles tense, let out a low growl.
“Hush!” Bronco muttered. He couldn’t be bothered with the dog right now. He rocked back on his heels holding the beam steady on the small door. No more notches. Just the three in those abutting bricks. That had to mean something. Had to. He chewed on his lip. What if he touched all three impressions at once? What were the chances?
Again the dog let out a warning growl, but Bronco paid no attention.
He leaned forward, placed his fingertips into the holes one at a time. Nothing budged. He tried again, this time touching all of the indentations simultaneously.
Over the low rumble of Fender’s warning growl, he heard a soft, but distinct click.
His heart hammered. He licked his lips. But nothing moved. “Damn.” This had to be it. Nervously, knowing he was on the brink, he tried again, then on inspiration, pushed on the rough bricks, rather than waiting for the door to magically open.
It gave!
Scraping loudly as he shoved on it, the door slid slowly inward. The scents of dust and dry rot sifted out.
He was in!
Bronco could have shouted for joy.
All the years of waiting!
As Bronco leaned forward, shining his light into the dry space beyond, the stupid mutt gave out an eerie whine. “Shut up,” Bronco said, leaning forward. He peered into the dark, tight cavern, sweeping the beam of his flashlight over the interior, expecting to find a cache of unimaginable treasure.
