The Firebird Rocket by Franklin W. Dixon Page B

wagon. Noting that the keys were in both, he reflected, “These guys must really feel safe. Wouldn’t it be something if the crooks’ cars were stolen!”
    Chet circled the house around the right side. He tried the dark lower windows only to find that they would not move. Then he stepped back for a view of the upper windows, which were inaccessible from the ground. “Not even a corner drain-pipe to climb,” he thought, disappointed.
    Moving on, he met Joe sneaking toward him. Consulting in whispers, they decided to join Frank at the fence.
    â€œIf we can get Jenson out,” Frank reported, “we’d better make a run for it down the road. Otherwise we could get lost in the desert.”
    â€œWe may not be able to get him out,” Chet said. “The ranch is buttoned up.”
    â€œI think the cellar door is our best bet,” Joe stated. “Maybe we can spring the lock while they’re all in the front room.”
    Frank nodded. “And then we’ll have to jump the guy guarding Jenson before he can alert the gang. Let’s hope it works!”
    The three crept stealthily back to the house, edged around to the cellar door, and tried to wedge it open. Suddenly an uncanny scream made their hair stand on end!
    â€œWhat’s that?” Chet gasped.
    A cat raced past, pursued by another. Noisily they vanished into the bushes and the boys breathed in relief.
    â€œWow!” Frank whispered. “They nearly gave me heart failure!”
    The boys started to work on the cellar door once again. Joe took out a small set of pocket tools he carried for such emergencies, slipped the end of a tiny chisel between the edge of the door and the jamb, and levered skillfully until the spring of the lock snapped back. Elated, he began to lift the door.
    A sound came from the rear of the ranch house, and Joe immediately eased the cellar door down into place again. The boys sprang up, pressed themselves flat against the wall, and froze as the back door opened.
    Cutler came out on the patio. He held a flashlight in his hand and played it over the yard from the fence to the house. Foot by foot the light advanced across the ground to the cellar door. The boys stood stock-still, not daring to move a muscle! Now the beam shone inches from Chet’s shoes, moving toward him!
    At the last moment it wavered to one side because Mrs. Cutler emerged from the house and joined her husband on the patio. “What was that screeching sound?” she demanded.
    â€œThat’s what I’m trying to find out,” Cutler replied. He flipped the beam from the ground to the bushes, barely missing Chet’s belt buckle.
    Suddenly two pairs of eyes gleamed through the bushes and one of the cats began to growl.
    â€œOnly a couple of cats,” Cutler informed his wife. “Nothing to worry about.” He snapped the flashlight off and they went back inside.
    Chet let out a sigh of relief. “Boy, that was a close call. I thought we were goners for sure!”

    â€œWhat was that screeching sound?” Mrs. Cutler demanded.
    â€œIf he’d aimed that flashlight a little higher,” Joe whispered back, “he could have taken our pictures.”
    â€œThere’s no time to lose,” Frank warned. “Let’s make sure they’re all in the front room. If one of them is prowling around, we’re in trouble.”
    He led the way to the lighted window, where they could see that the Cutlers and gang members were assembled.
    â€œGood,” Frank declared. “We can go in—”
    Wham! A window slammed over their heads and two men leaped down toward them from the darkness above. Instinctively the boys flattened themselves out against the wall. The men hurdled clear over them, hit the ground, jumped to their feet, and ran to the station wagon.
    The Hardys got a good look at one man’s face in the light from the window and recognized him from his photo. He was