Authors: Franklin W. Dixon

The Ghost at Skeleton Rock (15 page)

BOOK: The Ghost at Skeleton Rock

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Jack was waiting to greet them there at the dock. “Man, am I glad to see you two!” he exclaimed.

“Not half as glad as we were to see
you!”
Joe quipped as they shook hands. “Did you know it was Frank and me stranded on the water?”

“No. I saw that the boat was not moving and decided to take a closer look. What happened?”

Frank described their visit to Calypso Island and his suspicions about Hamilton. Jack flushed with anger. “The skunk!” he cried out. But a moment later he said, “I just had another thought. Maybe one of those natives who hates Hamilton put the hole in his boat.”

“That's right,” Joe agreed. “It seems as if every time we suspect that man there's a sound reason to excuse him.”

But Frank was not so charitable. “I'm sure Hamilton was in that first plane which wouldn't give us any help. Well, Jack, what's the news from Dad? Where is he now?”

Jack's face became grave. “I'm worried about him,” he replied. “After we took off from here, I flew your father to Centro, Tropicale. He said that if he didn't show up at the airport by twelve o'clock last night, I should go get you boys and try to find him. Well, he didn't show up!”

The news sent a shock of alarm through the boys. Centro was the spot where they had tangled in the gunfight between police and rebels! Could the gang have sought revenge on their father?

“We ought to fly to Tropicale as soon as possible,” Joe urged.

“And we must get help to Chet,” Frank reminded him. “Let's stop at a doctor's on the way to the airport and talk to him.”

A taxi driver they consulted took them to the office of Dr. Roberto Cortez, just a few blocks from the waterfront. After hearing their story, the physician reassured the boys.

“From the symptoms you describe, I am sure that your friend will be no worse. If he had been given a harsh poison, he would have been in great pain last evening. But I'll write you a prescription which should ease the young man's difficulties.”

Greatly relieved, the boys thanked Dr. Cortez and hurried off to the nearest drugstore. While waiting for the prescription to be filled, they discussed what to do.

“We can fly to Calypso Island, give Chet the medicine, and make arrangements for the rented boat to be returned to its owner. Then all of us can go on to Tropicale,” Frank suggested.

“Good idea,” Joe agreed.

When they reached the airport, Jack Wayne refueled the Hardy plane for take-off. But as he started to warm up the engine, it gave a sputter and died. The pilot could not restart it.

Wearily Jack climbed out and went to work on the defective engine. “Plugs aren't firing,” he announced after a brief inspection.

Impatient and worried, the Hardys stood by while Jack traced the trouble to a faulty magneto. Then came another long delay while he went off to hunt for a replacement.

It was late afternoon before the ship was finally ready for take-off. To the Hardys' relief, the engine purred smoothly as the plane soared off toward Calypso Island.

“What about Hamilton?” Joe asked Frank. “You suppose he'll give us any trouble?”

Frank shrugged. “No telling. I have a feeling that man is very slick.”

Both boys took brief turns at the controls, and Toe brought the plane down on Hamilton's airstrip for a perfect landing.

The estate owner came out to greet them. “Welcome back!” He smiled. “I see you found a faster method for the return trip.”

“We had to,” Frank said curtly, introducing Jack. “Your boat sank.”

“What!” Hamilton appeared genuinely shocked when the boys told him about the hole in the speedboat's hull.

“Sabotage!” he stormed. “Those confounded Carib Indians must have done it!”

For several minutes he ranted angrily against the natives. The sportsman seemed so genuinely upset that Joe glanced at Frank as if to say, “Maybe Hamilton is innocent after all.”

“How's Chet?” Frank asked, interrupting the sportsman. “We brought him some medicine.”

“I guess he won't need it,” Hamilton replied with a cheery grin. “In fact, he and Tony were feeling so much better, they decided to go off and do a little spying on the Indians.”

“Why?” Frank asked.

“Professional jealousy, I'd guess.” Hamilton chuckled. “Your chubby friend figured the two of them might solve a mystery about the natives before you boys got back. Well, let's go up to the house and get some supper.”

The Hardys were puzzled and uncertain what to do. Could they trust the estate owner's story and fly on to Tropicale? But, talking it over privately at the villa, they decided it was too risky to leave until they knew for certain that their friends were safe.

After a tasty supper, Frank asked, “Mr. Hamilton, don't you think Chet and Tony should be back by this time?”

“Perhaps so, but I shouldn't worry about them.”

Frank and Joe could not accept Hamilton's suggestion. They had to find out where their friends were. Excusing themselves, they set out with Jack Wayne for the southern end of the island.

They made a point of avoiding the open beach as they pushed their way through the palm groves and underbrush. It was dark now, but the rising moon shed enough light for them to see where they were going.

Soon the boys sighted the glimmering windows of a cluster of native shacks. Natives were milling about outside, jabbering excitedly.

“Something's up,” Jack observed. “I wonder if Chet and Tony are being held prisoner.”

As the pilot started forward, Frank grabbed his arm to stop him. “Joe and I have had one set-to with these Indians,” he whispered. “Let's keep out of sight. We promised them we'd leave the island for good today.”

Staying in the shadows, the three circled the village. Suddenly Joe caught sight of Fernando. By hissing, he managed to attract the youth's attention.

“Why have you come back?” Fernando exclaimed worriedly as he joined them. “You are in terrible danger here if my people find you!”

“We'll go quickly if you'll help us,” Frank promised. “We only came back to find our two friends.”

“Your two friends?” The boy looked puzzled.

Frank and Joe explained that their friends had come to call on the Indians. Fernando denied that he or his people had seen them.

The Hardys had fresh cause for worry! Where were Chet and Tony? Was Hamilton making up the story of their whereabouts?

Before leaving, Joe asked one more question. “Tell me, Fernando, why did your people get so angry when I asked about Skeleton Rock?”

The young Carib shuddered. “It is a terrible place,
amigo!
It is at the other end of the island, but do not go there! Sometimes at night the ghost of an old cacique rises up to devour men's souls!”

The words were hardly out of Fernando's mouth when he turned pale with fright. “Look! Look!” he quavered, pointing northward. “He is there now!”

As the others turned, a fantastic sight met their eyes. Looming above the distant treetops was the huge figure of an ancient Carib chieftain. The specter glowed with a weird white radiance.

“Jumping cacti!” gasped Jack Wayne.

“So that's what Chet saw last night!” added Joe. “No wonder he couldn't sleep!”

The whole village seethed with turmoil as the natives wailed and quaked in alarm.

“What do you make of it?” Jack asked.

“I believe that ghost is a plant by the gang to keep these natives in subjection,” Frank replied.

“Yes,” Joe agreed, “and it might have been put into action right now to scare
us
away.”

“I feel sure,” said Frank, “that Hamilton is involved in this and in Chet and Tony's disappearance. Come on! I think we'd better radio a message for help from our plane to the authorities in Puerto Rico.”

As they reached the airstrip, the three crept toward the plane under cover of darkness. Joe warmed up the radio and started beaming a message to San Juan. Finally the harbor police replied.

“Calling from Calypso Island!” Joe spoke urgently into the mike. “This is an emergency. Two boysâ”

Joe got no further. A gunshot cracked in the distance. Then two more rang out as a horde of armed men rushed toward the airstrip from the villa. Though still out of effective range, they were shooting wildly at the plane. One bullet pinged off a rock near the craft.

“Hamilton's leading them!” yelled Frank, recognizing the man at the head of the gang. “Get going, Jack!”

The pilot grimly went to work. The starter whined, but nothing else happened.

“Mixture control is jammed!” he groaned. Jumping up, he dashed aft for the tool kit.

Frank grabbed the controls and managed to free the mixture control before Jack returned. With a roar, the engine thundered into action!

As the plane taxied down the strip, another volley of shots ripped the night air. A moment later they were aloft and gaining altitude.

“Wow!” Joe relaxed weakly in his seat and wiped the perspiration from his forehead. “If the police heard the shooting, they ought to get here pronto!” Nevertheless, he continued to send out a call for help.

Soaring over the northern end of the island, Frank looked for the cacique's ghost, but the figure had disappeared.

A moment later Joe pointed down toward the beach. “Look!” he exclaimed. “There's Skeleton Rock!”

Below, in the moonlight, a curious formation was visible in the coral reef. A portion of the rocky shore line protruded above the water in the shape of a crude skeleton. Even the arms and legs were clearly defined.

“Weird!” said Jack. “Enough to make a fellow feel creepy. Now what do we do?”

“What Beppo tells you to,
amigos!”
came a sneering voice from the rear of the cabin.

The Hardys and Jack whirled in dismay. A blond figure had just emerged from the luggage compartment, clutching a pistol. It was the youth who resembled Joe!

“Turn back and land on Calypso!” he ordered.

CHAPTER XX

The Ghost's Secret

As FRANK hesitated, the blond youth came a step closer. His finger curled menacingly around the trigger of his gun.

“Do as I say,” he snapped, “or you'll be sorry!”

Jack, who was occupying a rear seat, made a lunge for Beppo's weaponâbut not in time. Swinging his heavy automatic, the gunman caught Jack on the side of the head with a vicious blow. Jack groaned and slumped unconscious!

Joe started toward Jack, but Beppo motioned him to sit beside Frank.

“Now turn this plane around,” the gunman ordered Frank, “before you two get the same treatment!”

Frank suddenly realized he was now on his own, with a gun at his back and no flight instructor to guide him! Determinedly he banked the plane and executed a neat turn.

As they winged back toward Hamilton's villa, a daring plan occurred to the young pilot. He nudged Joe, to alert him that he would need help.

Suddenly Frank shoved the wheel forward! The plunging dive threw the gunman off-balance. As he lurched backward, Joe grabbed the gun.

“Don't move!” barked Joe.

When the craft leveled off, Frank set the automatic pilot. Joe pulled some rope from a locker, and in moments the two boys had the gunman tightly bound.

“No wonder this guy looks like me, Frank. His features have been changed with make-up putty!”

Joe now came forward and Frank whispered, “This time I'm going to imitate our prisoner.”

As they neared the landing field, Frank turned up the two-way radio, “Calling Hamilton!” Frank rasped, disguising his voice to sound like that of the prisoner. “All okay.”

The receiver crackled in reply. “Good work, Beppo! Now we have the whole Hardy gang at Skeleton Rock. We can strike at once!”

The brothers were stunned. So the smugglers had their fatherâand also Chet and Tony!

Frank gripped the controls, his brain working at top speed. How could they free Mr. Hardy and their friends? Stalling for time to find an answer to the dilemma, he swooped low over the field, then banked and circled.

Again the radio crackled. “Don't fool around, Beppo! Hurry up and land them!”

“Now what?” gasped Joe in a low voice.

Uncertain of his next move, Frank climbed for altitude and circled once more. The engine began to sputter, and with a final cough, died. Then the plane began bucking and plunging as it suddenly ran into severe turbulence.

Wildly Frank worked with the controls. What to do now? If they landed on the strip, they would both be captured. Hoping against hope that they would not lose altitude too rapidly, Frank glided for the northern end of the island.

“Maybe we can make the beach!” Joe cried.

With luck they could, Frank thought, as he eased the wheel forward. Both boys froze as the plane nosed downward in a normal glide.

At the tip of the island, a broad strip of wet sand lay exposed by the low tide. With a great jolt the plane hit the beach, plowed forward, and upended as its nose wheel gouged into the sand and collapsed. The craft was only a few yards from Skeleton Rock!

“Frank, you're a whiz!” Joe said shakily.

Frank smiled wanly, then said, “I hope the crack-up didn't make Jack worse.”

At once they gently lifted the pilot's limp body out on the beach. There was an ugly bruise on Jack's right temple. Frank chafed his wrists and bathed his face with water. Jack stirred slightly.

“How is he?” Joe asked anxiously.

“Breathing okay. He should revive completely in a little while.”

BOOK: The Ghost at Skeleton Rock

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