Mystery at Devil's Paw (4 page)

“Frank! Joe!” he called.

In response came a series of frantic whimpering noises. The eerie sounds sent a chill down Chet's spine. He jumped to his feet and ran back to the guard's shed.

“Someone's trapped under the dock!” he cried out.

“You must be imagining things, sonny.”

“Oh, no, I'm not!” Chet insisted. After a brief argument, he talked the guard into launching a small dory. Still grumbling, the man rowed out along the pier while Chet aimed a flashlight among the wooden pilings.

Presently he gasped. “Frank! Joe! There they are!” By now the water was up to the boys' chests.

The guard's eyes popped. “I don't believe it!”

After jockeying the boat into position, he
whipped out his jackknife and went to work on the ropes. Chet helped him. Finally they freed the two youths and hauled them aboard.

Both Frank and Joe were numb with cold. Their teeth were chattering so hard that at first neither could speak.

The guard rowed ashore quickly and hustled the Hardys into his shed, where Chet wrapped them in blankets. The guard heated some milk on his potbellied stove. As Frank and Joe gulped the nourishing liquid, their strength slowly returned.

“What happened?” Chet asked when they were able to talk.

Frank told how the whiskered old boatman had lured them into an ambush. “I didn't get much of a look at the men who grabbed us, but I'd say they were slender and about medium height.”

“Right,” Joe added. “That's all I could make out, too. Their faces were masked.”

“That old feller was lyin',” the guard declared. “No one asked me if you two lads were lookin' fer a boat to rent.”

“He may have trailed us and overheard our conversation,” Frank said. “Or maybe it was just a shrewd guess.”

If the man
had
been guessing about their need for a boat, Joe reflected, this might mean he knew the Hardys were going to the Kooniak River.

“Want me to call the police?” the guard asked.

The young detectives shook their heads. “We'll let it go till morning,” Frank replied. “The police probably couldn't do much tonight, and we both need a good rest.”

Early the next day the boys breakfasted at the hotel, then went to Juneau Police Headquarters. The sergeant who took their report was a former Seattle policeman, who knew Fenton Hardy by reputation.

“I'll send a man down to the docks with you,” he said. “Maybe he can help you spot that boatman.”

A short, heavy-set detective, named Phil Grant, made a tour of the dock and seaplane base with the three boys. Grant, who was well acquainted around the waterfront, asked numerous people if they knew anyone who fitted the description of the boatman. No one recalled such a person.

“I'm beginning to think those whiskers and the cap were just a disguise,” Frank commented.

Detective Grant shook his head doubtfully. “If so, we haven't much to go on, but I'll let you know if we turn up any clues.”

“Thanks. We'll do the same,” Frank told him.

Chet looked around nervously after the detective walked away. “Do you suppose those crooks are still trailing us?” he asked.

“Don't get jumpy.” Joe chuckled. “I doubt if they'd try anything in broad daylight. Seriously, Frank, what do you think their game is?”

His brother shrugged. “Too early to answer that question. We'll know more after we've talked to Tony. But I'd say those guys who attacked us are part of a well-organized gang trying to scare us off this case.”

Chet shuddered. “Well, they're doing a good job so far as I'm concerned.”

“For a guy who's scared you're doing a great detective job, Chet,” Frank remarked.

“You saved our lives,” Joe reminded the stocky youth.

The gratitude and praise gave Chet courage. “Okay, fellows,” he said. “Let's find Ted Sewell this time.”

Again the three boys strolled out on the dock, inhaling gusts of the briny northern air. The harbor was bustling with activity.

Joe pointed to a motorboat slicing straight toward them. At the wheel was a husky blond youth about sixteen years old. “I wonder if that's the fellow we're looking for.”

Frank called to him as he drew alongside the dock. “Are you Ted Sewell?”

“That's right,” the boy replied. “You must be Frank and Joe Hardy and Chet Morton. Tony sent me to get you.”

The three watched as the blond youth made his boat fast and scrambled up the ladder. They liked his friendly, open face.

“Sorry I didn't meet you yesterday,” Ted apologized.
“Motor trouble.” He pulled a note from his pocket and handed it to Frank. It was in Tony Prito's handwriting and read:

“Okay,” said Frank, folding up the letter. “How soon can we leave?”

“Soon as you fellows are ready,” Ted replied.

“We'll need some camping gear,” Joe pointed out.

“Maybe Ted can come along and show us a place to buy our outfits,” Frank suggested.

“Sure. Be glad to,” Ted said.

“How about grub?” Chet put in anxiously. “Will Tony have enough for all of us?”

Ted grinned. “Don't worry! You'll eat fine!”

An hour later, after loading their new pup tent and sleeping bags into the boat, the boys shoved off from Juneau. Ted steered down the Gastineau Channel between mountainous Douglas Island and the mainland, then southward along the coast.

“Nice boat you've got here,” Frank remarked.

“It's part of Tony's outfit,” the boy explained.
“I've just been using it these past few mornings to come to Juneau. Most of the time I scoot around in a little outboard.”

“Doing what?” Joe asked.

“Beachcombing.” The youth grinned. “I cruise around the beaches looking for old propellers, boat fittings, or scrap metal. Doesn't sound like much, but I earn quite a bit selling the stuff.”

“Sounds like a great outdoor life,” Frank said. “How's Tony getting along?”

Ted's face clouded. “He likes his work fine, but he's plenty worried. He's been having trouble on his job and—Well, you'd better wait and get the whole story from Tony. I hear he sent for you fellows because you're good at solving mysteries.”

“We've worked on quite a few cases,” Frank admitted.

“Then I wish you'd solve a mystery for me,” Ted said seriously. “My father has disappeared.”

“D
ISAPPEARED
!” Frank repeated, shocked.

“Yes,” Ted said.

“Tell us what happened,” Joe urged.

“Dad was working for the Fish and Wildlife Service, just like Tony,” Ted began. “About two weeks ago he left Juneau on a survey trip into the wilderness to check on upstream feeding conditions for the salmon. He was due back in five or six days but he never returned.”

“Was a search made?” Chet asked.

“Sure. The Service sent out a helicopter, also a ground party with an Indian guide, but they couldn't find any trace of him.”

Ted bit his lip and tried to keep his voice from breaking. “They're afraid Dad may have been mauled by a bear or—or met with some other accident.”

“We're sorry, Ted,” Joe murmured gravely.

“Maybe,” Frank added, “we can turn up a clue to your dad while we're helping Tony.”

“Thanks, fellows.”

The boys cruised along in silence for a while, past thick, mysterious forests of evergreen. The offshore waters were dotted with islands and the rugged coastline was notched by inlets and streams flowing out of the wilderness.

“These must be pretty tricky waters for a ship to navigate,” Joe remarked.

Ted Sewell nodded. “There've been a lot of wrecks along the Inside Passage to Alaska. I'll show you one of them.”

As they passed Admiralty Island, Ted pointed out a rotting, salt-bleached hulk sticking out of the water. “That was a schooner named the
Islander
,” he told the boys. “It was wrecked years ago while carrying Klondike gold miners back to the States.”

“What happened to the passengers?” Frank asked.

“They jumped overboard. Most of them were so weighted down with their bags of gold that they sank right to the bottom.”

“I hope their ghosts don't haunt this neck of the woods!” Chet said.

Friendly banter continued until almost noon, when they reached the mouth of the Kooniak River. Flanked by dense timber on both banks, its ice-cold waters flowed clear as crystal.

“The Kooniak runs down from the northeast,” Ted told his companions. “The headwaters are somewhere up in Canada.” He turned the boat into the river and steered toward a small island about a quarter of a mile upstream. Ahead, they could see a plume of smoke rising from a campfire near a sturdy tent.

As they drew closer, a dark-haired boy rushed out and ran to the shore. He wore a T-shirt, dungarees, and leather jacket.

“There's Tony!” Joe shouted.

“Hi, fellows!” Tony called, waving his arms.

“I'm glad that he's all right,” Frank said quietly as the trio waved back.

Ted brought the boat up to a small wooden dock which extended a few yards out into the water. One by one, they clambered out to shake hands happily with Tony.

“Welcome to Alaska!” Tony said, chuckling. “The forty-ninth state! Twice as big as Texas and—”

“Ten times as dangerous!” Chet cut in.

“It won't be for long,” Tony went on. “Not with you fellows here to figure things out!”

“What's been going on?” Frank asked.

“Tell you about it later. Let's eat first. I figured Ted would be back about this time, so lunch is on the fire.”

“Mm! That's for me!” Chet said, sniffing the appetizing aroma of pork and beans.

Ted offered to set the rustic pine table while Tony showed his friends around the camp.

“Not that there's much to show,” Tony said. “You can walk around this whole island in half an hour.”

The young stream guard led the way toward the upper end of the island. Aside from a few clumps of trees and underbrush, it was barren of cover, permitting a good view in all directions.

“That's one reason I'm stationed here rather than on shore,” Tony explained. “This location enables me to keep a better lookout for poachers who might try entering the river.”

“What's the other reason?” Joe asked.

“Bears. There are quite a few of them over on the mainland, but they never bother me here.”

“Then I'm staying put on this island!” Chet declared firmly.

“Funny name, the Kooniak River,” Frank mused. “What does it mean?”

“Search me,” Tony replied. “It's an Indian name, I guess, but I haven't learned their lingo yet—except
cheechako.
”

“What's that?” Joe inquired.

“What you fellows are.” Tony chuckled. “Newcomers, or tenderfeet. That's what the old-time sourdoughs used to call all the greenhorns who came up here during the gold rush.”

By this time, they had reached a point facing directly upstream. Here the river formed a sparkling
six-foot waterfall. The swift-flowing stream filled the air with spray as it plunged over the rocks.

“The salmon jump those falls on their way upstream to spawn,” Tony said with a gesture. “I'll show you tonight.”

“Why wait?” Joe put in eagerly. “Can't we see them now?”

Tony shook his head. “When humans are around, the salmon travel upstream after dark.”

When the boys returned to camp, the meal was ready. Ted ladled out platefuls of beans, and everyone ate with a keen appetite. After a dessert of canned fruit and cookies, they leaned back with sighs of satisfaction.

“Now, Tony,” Joe said, “give us the story of the goings-on here.”

“Okay. The trouble started right after I arrived,” Tony began. “A fishing boat put in at the mouth of the river, and the crew tried to bribe me to leave my post.”

“Then what?” Chet asked, raising his eyebrows.

“I told them to scram,” Tony said disgustedly. “If I'd left this spot unguarded, those crooks would have seined all the fish out of the river. And it's my job to see that they don't! This is protected water.”

“Did you report the incident?” Frank inquired.

“Sure,” Tony replied. “I sent word to the authorities in Juneau and a couple of special agents
came here. They staked out undercover and kept watch for three days, but nothing happened. Then, the very night after they left, someone took some potshots at me while I was sleeping. You can see the bullet holes in my tent.” He pointed to rents in the khaki covering.

“Wow!” Chet exclaimed. “You must be up against a dangerous bunch!”

“You're telling me!” said Tony. “Seems to me that ordinary fish poachers wouldn't risk a murder. The way I figured, something big must be going on and someone's awfully anxious to get me away from here. That's why I decided to send for you.”

Frank and Joe mulled over this information while Ted prepared to leave in his own small outboard motorboat. The others accompanied him down to the dock and unloaded the pup tent and sleeping bags from Tony's boat.

Ted shook hands all around before shoving off. “Nice meeting you fellows,” he said earnestly. “If you get a chance, I hope you can solve the mystery of my father's disappearance.”

“We'll try,” Frank promised.

Later, after the pup tent had been erected and the sleeping bags stowed, the Hardys told Tony about their own adventures since receiving his telegram.

“I think you're right, Tony,” Joe concluded. “There's a gang behind all this, and they're after
something bigger than salmon. If that spy Stransky is mixed up in it, they must be a foreign group.”