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The truck was traveling without headlights. Only the sound of the engine and the crunch of wheels on the rough dirt road warned the boys to get out of the way. They melted into the shadows, calming their nervous horses as they waited for the rig to pass.
Fifty yards down the road, the truck stopped, its engine idling. The driver climbed out and walked to the roadside. The boys could see him in silhouette as he relieved himself in the weeds that grew along the ditch bank.
“Where do you think he’s going?” Buck asked quietly.
“And what do you think he’s got in that truck?” Joseph wondered out loud.
“Hey, let’s follow him and find out,” Cully said.
By now the truck had started to move again. The boys mounted and followed at a distance. The rig’s speed had slowed to a crawl, as if the driver might be watching for something.
The truck passed the turnoff to the Dollarhide Ranch and kept going. A shiver passed through Joseph as he realized where it was headed. There was only one large property between here and the end of the road—the Hollister Ranch where his grandmother lived with her whip and her monster dogs.
“Maybe we should go back,” he said. “Remember what happened last time we came out here?”
“You’re not turning chicken on us, are you?” Buck teased.
“We’ll be careful. Come on,” Cully said.
Joseph stayed with his friends. They didn’t know the truth, he reminded himself. And he would never tell them.
The truck was nearing the ranch gate. Joseph could see a glowing lantern, hung as a signal, perhaps, from one of the gateposts. Slowing further, the truck swung left and rolled through the open gate.
The boys had halted their horses in the road, a dozen yards back from the gate. Joseph’s danger senses raised the hair on the back of his neck. “This is far enough,” he whispered. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Hell, no.” Buck had dismounted and was tethering his horse to a clump of saplings. “You can stay here if you want, but I want to see what’s under that canvas. This is a real adventure.”
“Don’t be a scaredy cat, Joseph,” Cully said. “Come on.”
The challenge was too much for Joseph’s pride. He left his horse and followed his friends along the outside of the fence as far as the open gate. Hidden by shrubbery, they peered through, into the yard.
A second lantern flared in the darkness, lighting the way to the barn. As the lantern moved, guiding the truck as the driver turned the rig around and backed up to the open barn doors, Joseph glimpsed the man holding it. He was of medium height with broad shoulders, his features shadowed by the fedora hat he wore. His dress and manner suggested an air of authority. Maybe he worked for the old woman—as a foreman or boss of some kind.
At least there was no sign of the old woman or the dogs.
As the man vanished from view, along with the lantern, the truck stopped. Still visible in the moonlight, the driver, a swarthy fellow in work clothes, opened the door, jumped to the ground, and trotted around to the back of the rig.
In the instant before he disappeared, the light caught something that chilled Joseph’s blood. Tucked into the driver’s belt was a deadly-looking pistol.
Joseph was staring after the two men when Buck nudged him. His friends were on the move. Pulling him along with them, they rounded the gatepost and crept through the shadows into the yard.
Keeping low and close to the bushes, they could see the two men untying the ropes that held the canvas over the load. From somewhere beyond the house, Joseph’s ears caught the barking and baying of the dreaded dogs. He froze. But after a few seconds he realized that the barks weren’t coming any closer. The dogs were probably penned or chained. He forgot about them as the canvas fell away to reveal stacks of wooden boxes, all of a size for a man to carry. Some of the boxes were plain. Others were embellished with a black stamp, like a brand. The two men began unloading them from the flatbed and carrying them into the barn.
“Hot diggity!” Buck muttered under his breath. “I know what that is! It’s booze! Hauled down from Canada, I’ll bet. There must be fifty thousand dollars’ worth on that truck. Maybe a hundred.”
“How do you know so much about it? ” Joseph asked in a whisper.
“I listen to the cowboys talk. It’s against the law to have booze these days. But folks are bringing it into the country or brewing homemade hootch in stills—and the ones that don’t get caught are getting as rich as kings.”
“Well, we won’t be getting rich,” Joseph said. “You saw that gun. If we get caught, we could end up dead. Come on. Let’s get out of here.”
“If I could get my hands on just one box, I could make a bundle,” Buck said.
“That’s crazy,” Cully hissed. “Joseph’s right. Those men could kill us. Let’s go.”
Joseph was about to lead the other boys back through the gate when he became aware of a sudden silence.
The dogs were no longer barking.
