Mystery at Devil's Paw (13 page)

“Guess we're too late.” Ted Sewell sighed.

“Maybe not,” Joe said hopefully. “There's another one over there, among the trees. The door hasn't even been opened. Let's take a look.”

The boys hurried over to inspect it, and found that the door gave easily to the first blow from a rifle butt. Inside, the dirt floor was untouched, and on it was a wooden chest, similar to the first,
falling to pieces with age. A few streaks of blue and red paint still clung to its rotting surface.

“Hurry! Open it!” Ted blurted out.

Frank whipped out his knife. As he inserted the blade under the lid, the others watched breathlessly, wondering what they would find inside.

T
HE
lid of the old chest creaked as Frank pried it open. Then Joe let out a whistle of awe.

“Jumpin' fishhooks! Will you look at that!”

The chest was heaped with jade necklaces, copper arm bands, delicate ivory figures carved from walrus tusks, and Oriental bowls fashioned of hammered metal. The boys' eyes bulged as Frank scooped out piece after piece and held it up for inspection.

“I'll bet this stuff's worth a fortune!” Ted gasped.

“Museums would probably pay plenty for it,” Frank agreed.

“Look!” Joe seized one of the jade trinkets. “It's the same bird that was carved on the piece we found in the knapsack.”

“I guess that clinches our deduction about the
treasure,” Frank said, after carrying the piece out into the daylight so he could examine it more carefully. He added wryly, “We started out on this case as sleuths. But what with that dinosaur bone you spotted, Joe, and the ancient treasure, this seems to be turning into a scientific expedition!”

Fenton Hardy had often impressed on his two sons their responsibility for safeguarding any valuables which turned up during a case. Remembering this, Joe asked, “Frank, what are we going to do with this stuff? We can't just leave it here.”

“I agree,” Frank said. “If we do, it may be stolen before the authorities can pick it up.”

“Why not take the chest with us?” Ted asked.

“We might be robbed,” Joe objected. “There's too much danger of a brush with the gang.”

“Besides,” Frank pointed out, “I doubt if we have the right to carry such treasure out of British Columbia, even if we planned to turn it over to the Canadian authorities later.”

After discussing the problem from every angle, the boys decided to bury the chest somewhere away from the grave houses. Then, at the earliest possible opportunity, they would notify the Canadian Mounted Police of their find.

Both Joe and Frank still were concerned about the code message they had intercepted in the singing wilderness. In case any of the gang might be spying on them, they insisted on combing the
trees and brush around the burial ground. Even Fleetfoot's keen eyes, however, failed to detect any trace of an enemy.

Satisfied that no one but themselves had seen the treasure, Frank chose a tall cedar as a marker for their cache.

“This should be easy to find again,” he said. “It's much taller than any of the other trees around here.”

“Okay,” said Ted. “Let's get the chest.”

Joe and Fleetfoot, meanwhile, had started back to the canoes to fetch a camp spade and some oilskin. When they returned, the boys dug a hole alongside the cedar, wrapped the chest in oilskin, and after burying it, carefully replaced the earth. This they covered with brush.

Before leaving, Ted suggested that they make a final search of the area to be certain there was no grave house which they might have overlooked.

“Good idea,” Joe said eagerly. “We might find more treasure.”

Fanning out on both sides of the creek bed, the boys forced their way through the heavy thickets and peered among the dense groves of evergreens. A low call from Joe brought the others hurrying to his side. He was standing near a spot where the forest thinned out into an area of swampy land.

“Look!” He pointed to the ground. In the soft earth was a clear trail of footprints made by several men. Two sets of prints showed the same
circle-and-star heelmarks which the Hardys had seen before.

“The gang's been here all right,” Frank said in a low voice.

Not far away was a trampled area which looked to the young sleuths as if it might have been the scene of a meeting. From this spot, most of the prints led back toward the river. One set of prints, however, headed off in a different direction.

“Let's follow this set,” Frank suggested.

The boys proceeded cautiously, alert for any danger. Beyond the swamp area, the wilderness thickened again, with tangled underbrush pressing so close on every side that walking single file became necessary.

Taking the lead, Joe pushed on through the dense thickets. Behind him came Fleetfoot, then Ted and Frank.

Presently the forest thinned out somewhat, and Joe halted in surprise. Just ahead, partly screened by the trees, stood a cabin.

Apparently the noise of crashing through the underbrush had been heard by the occupants, for the cabin door suddenly opened and a man burst out, pointing a rifle in their direction.

He had on the striped trousers and boots of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, but instead of the regulation brown tunic, he wore a checkered sports shirt.

“Halt!” the man shouted. “Don't move!”

“Halt!” the man shouted.

Just then a second man appeared in the cabin doorway. He was tall, bearded, and haggard looking. A chain was trailing from one of his ankles.

“Dad!” Ted gasped. “That other guy's no Mountie—he's a phony!”

In his excitement Ted would have rushed forward, in spite of the uniformed man's leveled rifle. Joe, however, grabbed his arm and held him back.

In a low whisper he called to Frank, who was still concealed from the view of the rifleman. “Sneak up behind him, Frank!”

Without another word, the older Hardy dropped on his hands and knees, worked his way back to denser cover, and made a circle of the cabin. He approached it from the rear as the gunman barked:

“Okay, you boy heroes! Move forward with your hands high!”

By this time Frank was peering around the corner of the cabin. Joe walked slowly, giving his brother time to act.

“Come on, there!” the man cried angrily. “I haven't got all day!”

Frank, meanwhile, tiptoed up behind him, hardly daring to breathe, lest he give himself away. Joe, Ted, and Fleetfoot looked on tensely as they approached, hands in the air.

Frank was now directly behind the phony Mountie!

“Ha-ha,” the thug jeered. “The boss said I might get company. Now step—Ugh!”

The words were choked off as Frank crooked one arm around the man's windpipe, and snatched the rifle away with the other. The man whirled and fought like a wildcat, but Frank wrestled him to the ground. Joe and Fleetfoot, rushing forward, quickly helped to subdue him.

“All right! On your feet!” Frank snapped, stepping back and covering the prisoner with his own rifle. Muttering, the man obeyed.

Ted, meanwhile, was having a joyful reunion with his father. “I can hardly believe it's you, son!” Mr. Sewell said huskily as he and Ted hugged each other. “This is too good to be true!”

“It
is
true, Dad! And we'll soon have that chain off!”

Frank ordered the impostor to surrender the key to Joe, who quickly unlocked the shackle from around Mr. Sewell's ankle. The wildlife expert then told his story. He had discovered the same singing wilderness which the boys had come across the previous day.

“I couldn't figure out who was broadcasting,” Mr. Sewell related, “but I decided to report the matter to Juneau. Before I could do so, several men jumped me from behind. They brought me upriver in a boat, and then marched me inland to this cabin. I've been chained up here ever since.”

Frank wanted to ask if Mr. Sewell had heard the gang mention anything about the lost rocket, but decided against it. “No sense letting our prisoner in on what we know,” he thought. Turning to Fleetfoot, he directed, “Take this fellow away from the cabin and keep him covered, will you?” The Indian nodded, borrowed Ted's rifle, and herded the captive out of earshot.

Then Frank turned back to Mr. Sewell. “We believe this gang may be led by foreigners, but that phony Mountie speaks like an American. Any idea who he is?”

Mr. Sewell shook his head. “I don't even know his name. The other men called him ‘Watchdog.' However, from his accent, I'd say he comes from Chicago!”

The Hardys gave Mr. Sewell a quick summary of the whole case to date, including their finding of the Indian treasure at the burial ground. The woodsman was astounded, but could offer no solution to the mystery.

“The men who captured me were careful not to say anything which might give me a clue,” he explained. “However, I once overheard them mention the word ‘totem.'”

“Meaning what, do you suppose?” Joe asked. “A totem pole?”

“Probably so. Perhaps they're using one as a landmark.”

“It may mark the spot where they've cached
the loot from the Indian grave houses,” Frank conjectured.

“It's possible,” Joe agreed.

“We'd better get out of here before someone comes back and sees us,” Ted urged. “Dad, do you think you'll be able to walk for a while?”

Mr. Sewell nodded. “I have no choice. Rusty muscles or not. But listen, let's take some food. There's canned meat in the cabin, also bread and fruit.”

Ted's father had been fed little more than scraps during his captivity, and was obviously in need of nourishment. The boys, too, were growing very hungry and took whatever they could stuff into their pockets.

Then they started back toward the river with their prisoner. Once during the trek Watchdog tried to escape, but the boys quickly forced him back on the trail.

Mr. Sewell began to ache badly after a while. Even though he tried not to show it, Ted knew his father was weak and barely able to make it.

“Let's stop over there and eat,” he suggested. “It will give Dad a chance to recuperate a little.” He pointed to a secluded spot on the side of a rock.

They sat down, covered from view by shrubs and trees, and quickly distributed the food.

Ted produced a can opener. “I found this in one of the cabinets,” he said.

“Sure comes in handy,” Frank said with a grin, and opened a can of ham.

“This is the best meal I ever had,” Mr. Sewell said. “I'm starting to feel better already.”

Soon they were finished and on their way again. Suddenly a shrill birdcall shattered the silence of the forest.

“Hey! What was that?” Joe exclaimed as he and the others turned around, scanning the branches of the nearby trees.

Mr. Sewell was particularly puzzled. “I've never heard a birdcall like that!” he declared. “I wonder—”

His words broke off at a shout of dismay by Frank. “The prisoner! He's gone!”

T
HE
boys glanced about in consternation. Watchdog had vanished as suddenly as the strange birdcall had stopped!

Frank was now red-faced with anger. “After him!” he exclaimed.

“But which direction did he take?” Ted asked. “He was so quiet we don't know where he is. And it's easy to hide here in the woods.”

“We'll split up! Let's go!”

Frank and Fleetfoot disappeared into the bushes on the right, while Joe and Ted searched the area on the left side. Discouraged after their ten-minute futile search, the four boys joined Ted's father who had waited on the trail.

“I just remembered that Watchdog is a ventriloquist,” he told them. “He used to practice at the cabin to pass away the time. He projected that birdcall, and while we were gawking around, he sneaked off!”

Suddenly Fleetfoot pointed. “There are his footprints. I'll find him now!”

The youth started off at a quick lope, Frank and Joe following at his heels. Ted and his father hurried along behind them. The searchers moved quietly, every sense alert.

Soon the Indian boy stopped and raised his right hand. The searchers came to a halt. Fleetfoot beckoned them forward and pointed to a massive rock formation which loomed up on one side of a creek bed. At the foot of it was a black, gaping hole, obviously the entrance to a cave.

“How are we going to flush him?” Ted wanted to know.

Frank was worried that the cave might have an exit as well. “I'll scout around back of those rocks to see if there's a way out.”

He had gone only three feet when a hoarse cry emitted from the opening in the rocks!

The weird cry issued forth again. Frank and Joe screwed up their courage and advanced closer to the black hole.

All at once the head and shoulders of a man appeared. Crawling on all fours, he scrambled out of the cave like a beaten animal.