Mystery at Devil's Paw (2 page)

“Oh, Aunty,” Joe said. “Alaska isn't all ice and
snow. A few days ago it was eighty degrees in Juneau.”

“Seems incredible,” Mr. Hardy agreed, “but it's true. The Alaskan Panhandle has weather much like Washington or Oregon, with plenty of rain.”

“Then you'll both get wet and die of pneumonia!” Aunt Gertrude went on.

The boys suppressed a smile as the conversation about the state continued. Only the far north was frigid, Joe recalled from his social studies. He knew that Alaska was an Aleut Indian name meaning “Great Land.”

“We can't leave Tony stranded,” Frank pleaded. He showed his father the telegram.

Fenton Hardy scanned the message, reflected a moment, then passed it to his wife. “What do you think, Laura?”

Mrs. Hardy, a slim, pretty woman, read the telegram with a slight frown. “It sounds rather dangerous.”

“Of course it's dangerous!” Aunt Gertrude read the telegram over Mrs. Hardy's shoulder. “Alaska is full of man-killing bears and treacherous glaciers,” she warned. “And besides, I heard a rumor on a newscast last week. A United States rocket was programmed to crash-land in the White Sands Missile Range near El Paso after going up 400,000 feet. Instead, it misfired and dropped in Alaska.”

“But what's that got to do with our helping Tony?” Frank asked.

“It could happen again!” Miss Hardy retorted in a peppery tone.

“Boy, that would make our trip even more exciting!” Joe said, his eyes twinkling mischievously.

Aunt Gertrude sighed deeply. “Won't you boys ever take my advice?” she fumed.

After a moment's thought, Mrs. Hardy said, “I'll leave the decision to your father.”

The detective smiled as Frank asked eagerly, “Could we take your plane, Dad?”

Under the direction of Jack Wayne, Mr. Hardy's pilot, both Frank and Joe had become experts at piloting their father's six-place, single-engine craft.

“I'm afraid not, son,” Mr. Hardy replied. “I need it myself. Jack is flying me to Miami to wind up an investigation.” Mr. Hardy looked at his sons quizzically. “It will cost quite a bit to fly to Alaska on the regular airlines.”

“We've thought of that, Dad,” Frank said. “Joe and I have saved several hundred dollars from odd jobs. We were putting it aside for an outboard motor.”

“But Tony comes first!” Joe added stoutly.

The detective was impressed by his sons' loyalty to their friend, and said so. “All right, you have
the go-ahead from me, boys. I'll chip in a few more dollars if you need it!”

“Great, Dad!” Frank pumped his father's hand, while Joe, seized with enthusiasm, waltzed his mother around until she protested that she was getting dizzy.

Jubilant, the boys telephoned Chet Morton. Chet, a stocky, good-natured boy, was the Hardys' friend and classmate at Bayport High.

“I'll ask my folks if I can go along, too,” their pal replied after hearing the news.

“Well, make it snappy,” Frank urged. “We'll have to get plane reservations right away.”

Chet promised to let them know his parents' decision as soon as possible and hung up.

Twenty minutes later his noisy jalopy chugged up in front of the Hardys' pleasant, tree-shaded home. The boys ran out to greet him.

“Can you come on the trip?” Frank asked.

Chet looked worried. “It's okay with my folks, but—well, I'm not sure I ought to go.”

“Why not?” Joe demanded. “If Tony's in trouble, you want to help him, don't you?”

“Yes, but that's just it—the
danger
,” Chet replied nervously. “How do I know we won't get plugged by gold thieves or someone? Last time I took a trip with you fellows, I got tossed in an underground dungeon!”

Chet was referring to their recent adventure in
Puerto Rico, where the Hardy boys had tracked down an international ring of lawbreakers in a case called
The Ghost at Skeleton Rock.

“Stop worrying.” Frank chuckled. “Think of the salmon fishing in Alaska! Can't you visualize a nice plump Chinook salmon sizzling on the fire?”

“Mm, boy!” Chet immediately perked up. “Well, okay. We can't let Tony down!”

“That's the spirit,” said Joe. “Let's phone for plane reservations!”

The three hurried inside and stood by while Frank dialed the airport ticket office. “Line's busy,” he announced impatiently.

After trying for several minutes without success to contact the airport, the Hardys decided to drive there.

“We can take my jalopy,” Chet said. “It'll get us out there in a jiffy!”

“In one piece?” Frank asked, winking at Joe.

“Hop aboard!” Chet commanded.

When the trio had squeezed in, he threw the car into gear and started off with a roar.

Soon they were rolling along the highway toward the airport. When they reached the flight terminal, Frank asked the clerk at the ticket counter for three reservations to Juneau, Alaska.

“How soon do you want to leave?” the clerk inquired.

“Tomorrow morning.”

The clerk shook his head. “Sorry, but we're booked solid for the next two days as far as Chicago. That's where you'll make flight connections.”

The boys looked at each other in dismay.

“Will you put us on your list for tomorrow's flight in case there are any cancellations?” Frank asked.

“Certainly. But you'll have to be standing by at flight time. Of course I can't guarantee accommodations.”

Frank nodded and gave their names and addresses. Then the boys turned to leave.

“If we can't get space in the next twenty-four hours, let's hop a train or bus,” Joe suggested.

Frank and Chet both agreed to this. As they walked away from the counter, Joe gave his brother a slight nudge.

“What's up?” Frank asked quietly.

“Take a look at that man next to the water cooler. He's been listening to everything we said.”

The stranger, dark-haired and with piercing eyes, seemed to realize that the boys were talking about him. Hastily he walked away and strode out the front door of the terminal.

“Who is he?” asked Chet.

“Search me,” Joe replied. “Maybe he was just nosy, but he might have had a reason for eavesdropping on us.”

They hurried out of the building and looked
around, but the man had disappeared. The trio climbed into the jalopy and headed back toward Bayport, with Chet clinging to the wheel like a racing driver.

“Give it more gas or we'll be arrested for holding up traffic,” Joe teased.

Glancing at his rear-view mirror, Chet remarked, “That truck in back of us certainly is highballing.”

Frank and Joe turned to look. The driver of a large black vehicle was far exceeding the speed limit.

“Give that cowboy plenty of room to pass,” Frank said.

“Right.” Chet drove closer to the side of the road, only inches from the edge of a ditch which separated the highway from a strip of wooded land.

As the truck drew up behind him, he gave the signal to pass. Suddenly he looked to his left and exclaimed, “Hey, stop crowding me!”

“Look out there!” Joe cried. The truck's cab was so high that he could not see the driver.

The next instant the side of the truck brushed Chet's jalopy. With a sickening scraping sound and the shriek of rubber against pavement, the boy's car tumbled into the ditch, coming to rest on its side. Seconds later, dazed from the accident, the Hardys crawled clear of the jalopy. The truck was out of sight.

Chet's car tumbled into the ditch!

“Oh, oh, my head,” Joe groaned as he struggled to collect his wits. Chet was stunned and did not move.

The Hardys eased their friend gently from the car. While they were trying to revive him, several passing motorists stopped to offer assistance.

“I'll call the police,” a woman promised. “There's a gas station not far from here.”

In a matter of minutes, a State Police car arrived at the scene and two officers got out. Chet was just regaining consciousness.

“Need an ambulance?” one of the troopers asked.

“N-no, I'm okay,” Chet said woozily. “But I sure feel sore all over!”

Frank and Joe reported the accident to the officers. “That guy must have a grudge against us. He deliberately forced us into the ditch!” Joe said hotly.

“It's possible,” one of the troopers commented. “Did you have a chance to get his license number?”

“No, sir. It all happened too fast,” Frank replied glumly, but he gave a complete description of the vehicle.

The troopers made a sketch of the scene of the accident and talked to several of the witnesses, writing down their names and addresses. When they had all the information they needed, one of them said to Chet, “A wrecker will be here soon
to tow your car in for repairs.” He wrote down the name of the garage and handed it to Chet.

“Meanwhile,” he went on, “we'd better take you to a hospital.”

Even though the boys protested that they felt fine, the officers dropped them off at Bayport Hospital, where a doctor examined them. After bandaging a cut on Chet's head, he suggested that the Hardys' friend rest in bed until fully recovered.

Frank and Joe, miraculously, had only minor bruises.

Chet was driven to the Morton farm. Then Frank and Joe accompanied the officers to Bayport Police Headquarters. After hearing their story, Chief Collig, an old friend of the Hardys, asked:

“Any idea who might be responsible?”

Frank shook his head. “Not unless someone is trying to keep us from going to Alaska.” He explained about Tony Prito's telegram and the eavesdropper at the airport.

“Well,” said Chief Collig, “our prowl cars and the State Police will keep looking for that truck.”

When they arrived home, the Hardys told their father what had happened. Mr. Hardy looked grave. “I'm afraid this proves that you're up against a nasty enemy,” he commented. “Better not mention the attack to your mother or Aunt Gertrude.”

Frank and Joe went to bed that night sobered by the thought that they were tackling a dangerous case. And what about Tony? Was he still safe or had he, too, met with some kind of “accident”?

The next morning Frank and Joe were heartened by a telephone call from Chet Morton, who said that he had recovered completely and would meet them at the airport.

After eating breakfast and packing their clothes, the boys said good-by to their family and drove off in their convertible.

“If we get on the plane,” Frank said, “we'll leave the car in the parking lot until our return.”

While taking their luggage out of the trunk, they saw Chet pull into the lot. Apparently his jalopy, though scratched and dented, was still roadworthy. Beside him sat two pretty girls.

“Hey! Iola and Callie!” Joe shouted.

“We came to see you off,” said Chet's dark-haired sister, Iola Morton.

“I was hoping you might,” Joe admitted with a grin.

“Ditto!” Frank said, smiling at his own favorite date, Callie Shaw.

“Don't get lost in that Alaskan wilderness,” warned Callie, an attractive blonde with sparkling brown eyes.

“We'll try not to. Sure you're feeling okay, Chet?”

“Fit as a fiddle!”

The boys checked in at the ticket counter, then said good-by to the girls who left in Chet's car to keep a tennis date.

At ten o'clock the boys lined up at the outside gate as the Chicago-bound plane landed and taxied up to the airport building.

“Hey, look!” Joe whispered to his companions. “There's that man again!”

The stranger who had eavesdropped the day before was pacing nervously up and down, apparently unaware of the Hardys. As he strode past, Frank pointed to his footprint on a piece of paper lying on the ground. The heelmark showed a circle with a star in it.

Moments later, the loading ramp was wheeled up to the big airliner and the passengers streamed aboard. A voice over the public-address system began paging the Hardys, so the boys hurried back to check at the ticket counter.

“Two empty seats,” the airline clerk told them.

The Hardys and Chet stared at one another in a quandary. If they accepted the seats, one of the trio would have to be left behind.

As they pondered, the suspicious stranger rushed angrily to the counter. “Now wait a minute!” he challenged. “Those seats were paid for by friends of mine. You have no right to assign them to someone else!”

“Oh, yes, we do,” the clerk retorted. “If your
friends aren't on hand for the flight, they can ask for refunds later.” Turning back to the boys, he added, “How about it?”

“B-b-but there's three of us!” Chet stuttered.

“You'll have to make up your minds,” the clerk said. “I can't wait any longer.”

W
HILE
the stranger stood by, sulking, Frank said, “Look, there are other ways to get to Chicago.”