ata into
some kind of prediction. Rick and Scotty, tired after an exhausting day,
had gone to bed while the light still burned in Hartson Brant's room.

Scotty awoke as Rick's feet hit the floor. "I'm getting used to these
little earthquakes," he said. "Don't know if I'll be able to sleep on
steady ground after this."

"The ground is going to get unsteadier," Rick reminded. "Until--boom!"

"I'm not forgetting," Scotty said grimly. "Let's get dressed and eat.
I'm famished."

"It's ham and eggs for me," Rick told him. "If I had to watch milk slosh
around in a cereal bowl I'd get seasick."

The boys dressed rapidly and hurried down to the hotel coffee shop. They
were just in time. Ricardo Montoya walked in just as they were seated.

The officer joined them. Rick noted that his face was drawn and tired,
and thought Montoya had probably been up a good part of the night.
"How's the evacuation going?" Rick asked.

Montoya shook his head. "Poorly. My uncle's radio broadcast continued
all night and through the morning hours. A few families have come to the
harbor, and the stevedores are organized now to get them aboard ship. A
few fishing boats have come, with fishermen's families, but there is no
big exodus."

"Don't they realize the danger?" Scotty exclaimed.

"Perhaps. You must understand my people. They have lived with
earthquakes all their lives. Not so often, perhaps, but these temblors
are not unusual. What is there to be excited about? Who believes El
Viejo will explode? It never has, so it never will."

Rick thought it over. "Maybe not enough are hearing the broadcasts."

"That is possible. I have put volunteers to work going from house to
house, asking people to turn on their radios to hear the governor, and
also to explain the urgency. But it will take a long time, even in
Calor."

"If we only had the troops," Rick said thoughtfully. "Trained manpower
is what's needed for a job like this."

"True. And I think if my uncle could only talk to the troops they would
believe him. But he cannot reach them. Guevara's peons would never let
him by."

The hotel loud-speaker system drowned out his last words as a soft
feminine voice paged someone in Spanish.

"If only the troops could listen to the radio," Rick commented. "Perhaps
they'd believe him and turn on Guevara."

"Perhaps. But soldiers cannot afford radios, and they are away from
their barracks now. There is no way for my uncle's voice to reach them."