Old Bones (8 page)

“In a horse barn out at the back,” Casey told her. “Tell you all about it later. We have to find a phone.”

“I heard them talking on one,” said Mandy, as they went from room to room.

“Must have been a cell,” said Casey, “there's no phone here.”

“We have to find a way to tell Dad,” said Mandy. “Wonder how near the next farm is?”

“We sure didn't see another house along this road,” said Casey. “Let's go past the gate, and back to the road where our bikes are. I don't think you're up to riding back to town, but we have to alert the museum somehow.”
All that boring effort sitting watching people come into the museum
, he was thinking,
all for nothing
.

They'd barely reached the gate when, from far to the north, they heard a droning and saw a small plane low above the horizon.

“I'll bet that's the crop duster,” said Casey, pulling Mandy back toward the house. “It usually makes several passes. Get three sheets.” In the pantry, Casey pulled out four wine bottles; Mandy followed him out to the road with a load of sheets.

“We'll make an S.O.S.,” yelled Casey, grabbing a sheet from Mandy.

In minutes, they'd spread the three sheets side-by-side along the road, weighing down the corners with field stones. Casey cracked off the top of two wine bottles with a rock and handed one to Mandy.

“Print a huge ‘S' on that end sheet; I'll do this one.” Together they poured an “O” in wine on the middle sheet and waved frantically as the slow plane flew over them and went on.

“He didn't see it,” said Casey.

“Guess not.” Mandy looked totally discouraged. Then she yelled, “Hey, wait! He's turning around!”

“Move, Mandy!” shouted Casey. “He's landing right on the road.”

The small biplane came barrelling toward them and stopped in a huge cloud of dust about ten metres away. At first, they couldn't even see the plane through the cloud of dust it kicked up, but as the engine slowed to a halt they saw ahead of them a shiny yellow, single-engine biplane. Its shape looked old-fashioned but the plane itself looked new. Casey had seen pictures of a similar plane in his father's photo album of his early days as a young Mountie up north.

By the time Casey and Mandy reached the plane, the pilot, wearing a beat-up leather jacket, had climbed down and was pulling off an ancient leather helmet and old-fashioned flying goggles. Hacking and wheezing from the dust, he began fanning his face with a brilliant white scarf. Casey couldn't decide which was older, the man or the plane.

“He can't be for real,” Mandy said under her breath, “but I'm sure glad he's here, ghost or not.”

“Times like this,” the man said, his cough turning to a laugh that seemed to let the sun shine through the dusty air, “I could almost be persuaded to get me one of them glass bubble things for over the cockpit.” The laugh stopped as quickly as it had started and the pilot stood in front of Casey and Mandy, hands on his hips and a stern look on his face.

“You two had better have a good reason for that S.O.S.,” he said. “That's a sacred sign, to be used only in real emergencies. They call me Mad Dog, and I don't take kindly to being made a fool of.”

“We're Mandy and Casey,” said Casey, “and we have a very good reason for signalling you. We desperately need your help, Mad Dog,” Casey went on. “Here's why.” He gave Mad Dog a point-by-point summary of what had gone on and what was about to happen.

“I've lived a long time, done some far-fetched things, and heard a lot of wild stories,” Mad Dog said, shaking his head, “but what you've told me is one of the wildest tales I've ever heard.”

“But it's true, Mad Dog, honestly,” Casey said earnestly. “Every word of it is true, and we need your cellphone to call the museum.”

“Don't have one,” Mad Dog told him, “but this is your lucky day.” He climbed up and reached in the plane for his radio.

“I'll get hold of the local RCMP and tell them what's going down,” he said. “If I know that Mountie crew, they'll be on the situation in minutes.” He pressed a button and tried the mic. Nothing. He pressed it again and tried the mic. Nothing.

“Gol'darn thing!” He threw the radio back in the plane. “Looks like your luck has started waning. I've been meaning to get that blasted thing fixed.”

“What'll we do now?” asked Mandy.

Casey turned to the pilot. “Can you take us back to Drumheller?”

Mad Dog thought for a minute, his eyes fixed on a point somewhere in space.

“I have enough gas,” he said, “but I don't have enough space. Not for both of you. You can see this Jackaroo's now a two-seater, with that tank sitting where two other seats used to be.”

“You go, Casey,” Mandy said. “You know better what the men look like and you'll be more use. I feel rotten. I'll stay here. There's a bed in the house I can lie down on. I'll rest till I'm rescued.”

“At least you'll be more comfortable than you were in Horsethief Canyon,” Casey said.

“Right,” Mandy agreed.

“Listen,” Mad Dog said, “if that car left a half hour ago, they'll get to the museum before we can, what with my having to land at my strip way out of town.”

“Couldn't you track down their car before they get to town?” Casey asked. “I'm pretty sure I could spot it.”

“Now, that's an idea.” A big smile lit Mad Dog's grizzled face. “If there's one thing I'm good at, it's finding something and buzzing it. We'll find them, then we'll figure out what to do about it.”

“I'll hoist you up to the right-hand seat, Casey. Goodbye Mandy.”

Mandy walked as far as she could from the road as Mad Dog gunned the engine. Clouds of dust billowed up. By the time the dust cleared, the plane was well on its way. Mandy waved. The end of a white scarf flowing out of the cockpit waved back.

“So, your name's Casey.” Mad Dog pointed for Casey to put on a pair of earphones and a microphone and adjusted his own set. “Casey what?”

“Templeton,” Casey said.

“Again?” asked Mad Dog.

“Templeton,” Casey spelled it out. “T-E-M-P-L-E-T-O-N.”

“Thought that's what you said.” Casey felt Mad Dog staring at him and looked over into his eyes.

“Any chance you're related to Constable Colin Templeton, RCMP?” asked Mad Dog. The engine sound was just a dull roar.

“My dad's Chief Superintendent Colin Templeton, RCMP, retired,” Casey answered.

“He ever serve up north?” Mad Dog asked.

“Yeah,” Casey said, “when he was first in the force he was stationed at Fort Smith and Fort Resolution.”

“Well, I'll be darned.” Mad Dog was smiling. “Gotta be the same guy.”

They were flying quite high and Mad Dog said, “Casey, I'm going to try something with the radio, you take the controls.”

“Me?” said Casey. “I don't know anything about flying.”

“Just grab the controls and keep her steady,” said Mad Dog. “I'll take over if anything goes wrong.”

Casey couldn't believe it. He was actually flying a plane. The wind pulled hard at his hair and the sun almost blinded him, but here he was, actually flying a plane. It was so easy.

“Tilt her a little to the left,” Mad Dog called out. “Not so much!
Not so much!
” Mad Dog grabbed the controls; as he did, the radio crashed to the floor. “Okay, Casey, take her again.”

I never want to land,
Casey was thinking.
This is so great.

“Well” — Mad Dog sounded frustrated — “the stupid radio's shot for sure. I'll take over now. Our only hope is to get a bead on that car.”

He swooped down and was flying so low Casey was sure he was going to hit telephone lines.

“You know, you look like old Colin,” said Mad Dog, “and that report you made to me in point form? Exactly like how he made reports.”

Mad Dog was silent for a while then continued, “You say he's retired now? Don't see how he could ever retire. He was such an eager beaver. What's he do? Play golf and sit around watching TV?”

“No,” said Casey. They were above a secondary road now; the only car on it was a shiny green RV. “Dad's mayor of Richford and he's on a federal commission dealing with hate problems. He doesn't have time for just sitting, let alone golf — says it takes too long.”

“You ever hear him talk about me?” Mad Dog asked Casey.

“Not by the name Mad Dog,” said Casey.

“How about Harry Thirst?” asked Mad Dog.

“I've heard that name, and I've seen a picture of Dad and someone that might be you in front of an old plane.”

“I know that picture.” Mad Dog was smiling. “That was my ‘Kaydet' — that's what they used to call the Boeing-Stearman PT 17s. Had her converted to a crop-duster a long time ago. Flew that Kaydet 'til I bought this one a couple of years ago — only Tiger Moth Jackaroo in Canada, all the rest are in South America and Australia. It's multipurpose, this here Jackaroo — got a crop-dusting tank up front and these two seats so I can give flying lessons and take people up for rides.”

He grinned. “I used to get in your dad's hair with that old Kaydet. But there was one day he and I brought medicine to a dying Dene. Just like Wop May and Vic Horner had done about fifty years before. We were friends that day.”

“So that
is
you in the picture with him?” Casey asked.

“Yeah. Like I said, we were good friends that day.”

They flew in silence for a while. Casey could see the juncture of the secondary road and the highway. On the highway, Casey spotted what he was sure was the car.

“Mad Dog,” he shouted. “That beige job just ahead. I think that's it.”

“We've gotta be perfectly sure,” Mad Dog shouted. “I'll go right down beside it and you take a look in the window.”

Casey couldn't believe a plane could get that low; he could see tiny cracks in the concrete.

“It's them! It's them!” he shouted. An arm with a gun at the end of it came out the car window and fired: twice. One bullet tore into the top right wing of the plane, just missing Casey. Mad Dog pulled up the nose of the plane and made a slow circle above the car. He passed the radio up to Casey.

“Casey,” he shouted. “I'm going down again, right over the car. When I don't see any other cars on the road, I'll pass over the car real low to shake up the driver, and when I shout, you drop the radio on the road in the path of the car. They're bound to swerve and maybe even leave the road. Don't drop it till I shout. When I say ‘Now!' let 'er rip.”

The car under them was swinging from side to side on the four-lane stretch of highway; Mad Dog was following a little behind. Casey could see another car, a van, approaching the thieves' car from the opposite direction. Mad Dog'd have to wait till it passed. He chose his moment, lifted the left wing so Casey would have a clear view, swooped over the car, and shouted “NOW!”

Already leaning out, Casey dropped the radio in front of the car. The radio smashed into a million pieces and the car just rolled over it.

“Oops!” Mad Dog shouted as he upped the nose of the plane and let the car get ahead again.

“Got anything else I can try?” Casey shouted.

“Grab that flare down there,” Mad Dog pointed behind his seat. “I'm not sure what'll happen if it's dropped, but if it goes off, it'll sure distract them.”

When Mad Dog signalled, Casey dropped the flare. It didn't go off; it didn't break up; it just rolled harmlessly to the side of the road. Mad Dog tilted the plane up again.

“Are we out of options?” Casey looked over at Mad Dog and was surprised to see him smiling.

“Not quite,” he said, reaching for a metal cylinder, “this here's a fire extinguisher. Unscrew the cap and when I fly low over the car again, spray it on the windshield.”

Casey readied himself, and when Mad Dog was in position pressed the spray nozzle. Thick white foam flew back all over him, missing his face by a hair.

“Aim lower,” Mad Dog shouted, getting into position again.

This time, Casey, with Mad Dog flying sidewise, and just over the car, leaned as far down as he could, and pressed the button again. The thick white foam covered the windshield, and the car swerved into the ditch. Casey looked back. The car was nosed into a large wooden sign.

“All right!” Mad Dog yelled gleefully as he turned the plane south, gunned the motor, and headed toward Drumheller. “That'll put 'em out of action for now.”

Casey could feel the plane picking up speed.

“I'll be at my airstrip in a few minutes,” Mad Dog said. “My van's at the end of the runway and we'll be back at Mountie headquarters in about ten minutes.”

“Awesome,” muttered Casey as they streaked toward Drumheller. “Awesome.”

Of all the people Casey didn't expect to see as he and Mad Dog rushed into Drumheller RCMP headquarters, his father topped the list. But there he was with Dr. Norman and a group of officers.

“Where's Mandy?” said Dr. Norman as Casey walked in, “and where have the two of you been?”

“Mandy's okay, Dr. Norman. I …” Casey began.

“Casey,” his dad interrupted. “What are you doing with that man?”

“Hold everything,” said Mad Dog with an authority Casey wouldn't have expected, “until you hear what Casey has to say. He has major news and he's just been through a very traumatic experience.”

“Okay, Casey,” said Dr. Norman.

This is a real test,
thought Casey.
Where'll I start?

“Okay. Point One. Like I said, Dr. Norman, Mandy is okay, but her throat hurts again. She's resting in a house east of town; I can take you there later.”
I hope I can take you there later,
he thought.

“Later? Why not right now?”

“Point Two,” said Casey. “By absolute chance, Mandy and I came upon the two I've been watching for — the ones I heard talking about robbing the Tyrrell. They were dressed as women, and I'd actually seen them earlier in the day. We heard them saying that tonight is the night for the robbery.”

“As you all know, tonight's the Tyrrell's big Donors' Reception,” interrupted Dr. Norman. “Honoured guests from all over Canada and the U.S. — the whole world — are invited. It's a black-tie affair, by invitation only, and the invitations will be checked against a list. Can't see how anybody could crash it, but steps have to be taken in case. Every Tyrrell security guard will be on duty; we've even hired a few extras.”

“Point Three,” Casey continued.

“Never mind the darn points,” said his father, “get on with it!”

Casey looked at this dad in surprise and plunged in.

“We started back to find a phone when the two men who'd gone into the house came after us and forced us to leave our bikes and get in their car. They said we were spying on them and that they couldn't take a chance letting us go because we'd seen them dressed as women, and we might have heard what they'd been saying. Which, of course, we had. Anyway, like I said, they forced us into their car, a beige four-door, and took us back to their place. They locked Mandy in the house and me to a horse shed at the back.”

“Take a breath, Casey,” said Dr. Norman. “I have to call Mandy's mother; she's frantic with worry.”

“Here, Casey.” Casey drained the glass of water his dad handed him and, as soon as Dr. Norman was back, he went on. “There was no phone at the place. Mandy and I started out to get our bikes and ride to find a phone when we heard an airplane motor. I figured it was a crop-duster, and Mandy and I printed a big S.O.S. on three sheets with red wine. Mad Dog landed on the road, and when he heard what was up, he tried to radio you folks here; but his radio wasn't working, so he and I flew up to try to spot the car before it got into town. Mandy went to lie down at the bad guys' hangout.”

“And?” three voices spoke as one.

“And when we found what I thought was the car, Mad Dog flew down so I could check through the window.…”

“Through the car window?” Staff Sergeant Striker asked in amazement.

“Well, yes.” Casey sounded as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“I'm not surprised,” his father said, shaking his head.

“Well,” Casey went on, “the driver fired some shots at us so Mad Dog tilted up the plane's nose, circled, came in low, and gave me the radio to drop in front of their car.”

“I watched; there were no other cars near,” Mad Dog said defensively.

“I'll bet you did,” muttered Chief Superintendent Templeton.

“The radio smashed to pieces, a flare I dropped rolled away, but the fire extinguisher foam I sprayed on the windshield caught the driver off guard and he swerved into the ditch.” Casey beamed with pride. “He crashed right into a billboard. Once we were sure they weren't going anywhere, we flew to Mad Dog's airstrip and came directly here.”

“How about the men?” Casey's father asked. “Were either of them hurt?”

“Well, we couldn't stop to see, of course,” Casey said. “But you'd better have an ambulance go out with you, just in case.”

He turned to Mad Dog. “How far out of town are they?”

“Well, they were already on the four-lane, and that begins about ten kilometres from the city limits,” Mad Dog said.

There was silence for a minute as the group absorbed what they'd heard. Then Staff Sergeant Striker said, “Burnster and Harley, over to the Tyrrell. Opel, call up an ambulance and alert the hospital. Jackson, two cars outside, now. Slater and Jeffries, head out east with Jackson. Chief Superintendent, will you come out in my car with Casey and … Mad Dog?”

To Casey's relief, his father said, “No thanks. I'll go with Dr. Norman. You'll be taking your own car, Bill?”

“Yes,” Dr. Norman said. “We'll follow the others out.”

In the back seat of Striker's police car Mad Dog said, “Your father wasn't exactly happy to see me, Casey, was he?”

“Well, no,” Casey agreed, “but he didn't come in this car to protect me from you or anything like that.”

No,” Mad Dog considered. “No, he didn't, did he?” After a couple of minutes, he said, “We should be there, Striker.”

“Yep,” said the staff sergeant, “I see the other police car and the ambulance. Thank heavens we'll have daylight for long enough to assess the situation.” He made a U-turn and pulled up behind the ambulance.

“Are the men badly hurt?” Casey asked Constable Jackson, who was standing by the overturned beige car.

“Who knows,” Jackson replied. “There's nobody in the car or anywhere around here.”

“They must have been okay enough to get out and hitch a ride,” said Striker, picking up his telephone. “Harley? The two men have abandoned their car. Could be on their way in to the Tyrrell. Jackson, Slater, and Jeffries are on their way there.”

Dr. Norman had pulled up across the highway and he and Casey's father were walking toward the wreck.

“They've gone, Chief Superintendent,” the staff sergeant said. “Jackson, Slater, and Jeffries are heading back to the Tyrrell in case the perps got a ride and are going to follow through on their plan. If they did get picked up, they'll likely have stolen the car by now. We'll be on the lookout for the driver. Could be they've stashed him somewhere.”

“Casey, were they dressed like women when you last saw them?” his father asked.

“No, Dad,” Casey said. “They'd changed into men's clothes. But I didn't see any of the women's clothes they'd been wearing when I was looking for Mandy, or the wigs, so they could have taken them in the car.”

The staff sergeant was on the phone again. “They could be dressed as women, Harley.”

“If they put on those ladies' things, you'll have trouble spotting them,” Casey said, leaning into the window of the staff sergeant's car. “Unless they talk, you'd swear they're women.”

Into the phone, the staff sergeant said, “We'll be bringing along an eyewitness to the Tyrrell, but we have to go back to headquarters first.” Putting his cellphone in his pocket, he asked, “Will you and Casey come back to headquarters with me, Chief Superintendent? I'd like your input on how we can best use Casey.”

“Of course.” Casey's father got into the front seat as Casey got into the back.

“Mad Dog,” the staff sergeant said, “can you find the house where Mandy Norman is?”

“Sure,” said Mad Dog. “It's right beside Grindley's field where I was dusting.”

“Okay, you take Dr. Norman there, and the ambulance will follow in case Mandy needs to be taken to the hospital. All right, Dr. Norman?”

But Dr. Norman was already crossing the highway.