He kept the jeep rolling at good speed as far as the pumice-works shacks, then stopped to look for signs of a dust haze. There was none. At the end of the blacktop, he and Scotty got out and examined the road surface. There were signs of traffic, but none very recent so far as they could tell. Rick drove the jeep a few hundred yards along the road, then got out and looked again. The heavy treads of his vehicle were clearly visible in the dust. If Connel had gone this way, he would have left similar marks. "He took the trail," Rick said. Scotty nodded. "Looks like it. Do we follow?" "We sure do. What reason would he have for going to the station without dynamite?" "None that I know of. Let's go." Rick turned the jeep into the trail and sped along it as fast as the ruts allowed. As they reached their third station with no sign of Connel, Scotty spoke suddenly. "Suppose we find him? How do we explain why we're following him?" Rick considered. He rejected a casual trip as explanation. Connel wouldn't buy it. "We can park the jeep in the jungle," he said finally. "It will be well hidden. Then we can go on foot. If we see him coming, we can take to the bush. We'll be invisible a few feet away." The jeep was driven into the area where their shots had been set off. It was invisible from the trail. The boys left it and started hiking. It was hard going. The heat and humidity were both high, and they were sweating before a quarter mile was covered. The film of perspiration seemed to attract insects, too, and before long the pests were driving them to distraction. Rick brushed futilely at the shining swarm of gnats around his head. "I'm not sure it's worth it," he said grimly. "Neither am I," Scotty agreed. "But we've started. Let's keep plugging." They reached the first of Connel's shot stations without a sign of the geologist. It was much like their own, a small clearing with the ground torn by the dynamite. The second station, a mile farther on, was similar except that there were more trees and fewer scrub palms. Rick identified one giant tree as mahogany. They strode up the trail, grimly determined to find the geologist. One more station remained ahead. Rick doubted that he had gone farther than that. He wiped his streaming face and squinted his eyes to protect them from the whining gnats. They swarmed around but didn't seem to sting or bite. He was grateful for that much. Suddenly Scotty let out a warning gasp. The dark-haired boy threw himself sideways, on top of Rick, and the two of them crashed to the ground. "Roll away," Scotty said urgently. "Back! Hurry!" The ground opened up a few feet away. Rick felt a giant hand pick him up, shake him, then slam him into a palmetto. Bruised and dazed, he grabbed the palmetto for support and lacerated his hands on the rough covering. He slid to the ground, consciousness slipping from him.