Read The Mystery of Cabin Island Online
Authors: Franklin W. Dixon
The Mystery of Cabin Island (6 page)
Joe carried enough wood into the cabin to stoke both the living-room fireplace and the cookstove. Soon the cabin began to warm up and Joe and Chet removed their heavy parkas.
Chet lighted the oil lamp which stood on the kitchen table and unpacked enough of the food for several meals. “I'll leave the rest in the cartons,” he said, and set them on the bottom shelf in the cabinet.
Meanwhile, Frank and Biff had decided to separate in order to scout the whole area more quickly. Each was to search half the island, then meet the other boy at the boathouse.
“Watch out for white things!” Biff warned jokingly.
“You mean like snowballs?” Frank returned with a grin. “Seriously, Chet may not have imagined that spookâso don't take any chances, Biff. If you spot anything suspicious, give a blast on that police whistle.”
“Wilco!”
The two boys started off in different directions. Frank trudged through the crusted snow, playing his flashlight beam ahead of him among the pines and underbrush. The wind had picked up, its icy chill stinging his face to a raw numbness.
As Frank plodded on through the dusk, he stopped to listen as each new sound caught his ear. Once he was sure he had heard someone cough and hurried in its direction. Nobody was in sight. But just then, an owl flew past, and Frank jumped back startled.
“I'm getting as jittery as Chet,” Frank berated himself. He squared his shoulders and went on, beaming his light.
Half an hour later the two searchers met at the boathouse. “Any luck, Biff?”
“None, Frank. Cabin Island evidently has visitors only in the daytime. How about you?”
“I didn't find a clue, but Iâ” Frank stopped speaking as an object on the ground caught his attention. He bent over to pick it up.
“Wow!” said Biff. “A model of an iceboat.”
“And expertly carved,” Frank remarked, examining the intricately made model.
“Do you think Tad or Ike or Hanleigh lost this?” Biff asked. “Or could it belong to Mr. Jefferson?”
Frank examined the little boat, then declared, “It probably belongs to some very recent visitor to the island. The wood doesn't look as though it has been exposed to the elements very long. In fact, it seems to be newly carved.”
“Anyway, it's a beauty,” Biff commented. “Why don't you take it along and put in on the cabin mantel?”
It was fully dark by the time Frank and Biff reached the cabin and reported that they had found no one on the island.
“Well, I'm willing to forget the ghost, now that we're about to eat,” Chet called from the kitchen.
“How long before chow's ready?” Frank asked. “The wind has started to blow pretty hard. I'd like to take the
Sea
Gull around to the boathouse.”
Sea
Gull around to the boathouse.”
“You have time,” Chet replied. “But hurry.”
Frank showed Joe and Chet the iceboat model, then set it on the mantel before stepping outside and hurrying to the shore. Quickly he jumped into the iceboat and trimmed the sail. The instant the brake was released, the craft glided off like a phantom and in a short time Frank reached the boathouse. It was unlocked and empty. The boy stored the boat inside, then tramped back to the cabin.
There he found Joe and Biff staring at the massive stone chimney. “We're trying to figure out what interested Hanleigh,” Joe remarked.
“Beats me,” Biff added.
Chet interrupted from the kitchen. “Chow time!” he called, and ushered his buddies to the table on which stood bowls of steaming beef stew. There was plenty of milk and a big basket of warm, crusty bread.
“Delicious!” exclaimed Biff after tasting the stew. “I'll bet that ghost was just hungry and hoping for an invitation!”
“It's an old family recipe,” Chet boasted.
“You mean an old family can opener?” Joe rejoined. “I saw all those cans you brought!”
“I had to add special spices, though, and salt and pepper,” Chet said defensively. “That's what makes it taste so good.”
When the meal was finished, Biff was elected dishwasher. “Scrub hard and you'll develop your boxing biceps,” Chet teased. Frank volunteered to help, and soon the kitchen was in order.
The wind was howling louder now, but the interior of the cabin was snug. The boys sat in front of the briskly burning logs in the fireplace and listened to the creaking of low branches against the cabin.
“I wish we could learn what Hanleigh hopes to gain by coming to this place,” Joe mused, “or by purchasing it.”
“One thing I'm convinced of,” said Frank. “He wasn't studying the fireplace just for its artistic look.”
“He's certainly nervy with other people's property,” Biff remarked.
Frank nodded. “I keep wondering if it was he who ransacked the Jefferson home.”
“Again, the question is why?” Joe said.
“I'd think you guys would be more worried about that ghost I saw pussyfooting around here,” Chet spoke up plaintively.
“What's more important,” said Frank, “is that we don't forget the mystery we're supposed to solve, to find Johnny Jefferson. Joe and I believe he's hiding in this area.”
Joe added, “I've a hunch this mystery will be solved near Bayport. Johnny is bound to run out of money, and if he looks for a job, somebody will become suspicious because he's so young.”
“Besides,” Frank said, “if we stick to our theory that Johnny is searching for the stolen medals, we can be pretty sure he hasn't given up. Not if he's as keen on sleuthing as his grandfather says he is. As far as we know, no one has located Mr. Jefferson's collection or the servant suspected of stealing it.”
Biff looked puzzled. “I'm glad we're going to stay. But what's this talk about stolen medals and a suspected servant? You've been holding out on us.”
“Yes, explain!” Chet gave the Hardys a sideways look. “I have a feeling that once again you two have taken me along to a double-header mystery!”
The brothers related the story of the missing rosewood box and the priceless collection of honorary medals. As Joe told of the suspect, and of Johnny Jefferson's desire to be a detective, the storm suddenly grew in violence. Snow hissed against the windows and the sashes rattled ominously.
Then, in the distance, the boys heard a muffled crash.
“A big tree must have gone down!” Joe exclaimed.
Frank looked at the fire. “Let's each bring in an armload of logs before we go to bed. This is going to be a long, cold night.”
The four donned their parkas and took flashlights. Pushing hard, they managed to open the back door and hurried to the woodshed. Abruptly the boys stopped and listened intently. Through the darkness and the wind-driven sleet and snow came a faint cry.
“Help!”
CHAPTER VIII
The Mysterious Messenger
STARTLED, the boys stood motionless in the swirling snow, scarcely able to believe that someone was crying for help on that dark, ice-locked island.
Then the faint sound came again above the tearing wind. “Help!”
“Where's it coming from?” Biff asked anxiously.
“Hard to tell,” Frank replied. “Let's fan out and make a search. Hurry!”
Each boy started off in a different direction. When the pleading cry was repeated, Joe shouted as loudly as he could, “Fellows! This way! Down by the shore!”
He kept following the call for help, trudging through the blowing snow which stung his face. The flashlight's beam did not penetrate the dense whiteness, and Joe could barely see a step ahead. Frequently he tripped over roots and nearly went sprawling.
Joe was becoming uncertain of his direction. Perhaps his ears had played tricks on him!
The young sleuth stood still until he heard the desperate voice again. “Help!”
“This way!” shouted Joe, moving forward, certain that the cries were coming from somewhere near the boathouse.
Who could the person be? What was he doing on Cabin Island? How could anyone have crossed the ice in the violent storm? Joe beamed his light about in hopes that the other boys would find him.
All at once he realized that the surface had become level and slippery beneath his feet. “I must have stepped onto the ice,” Joe thought, and made his way back to land. Where was the stricken person? He must be close by!
A groan came suddenly from Joe's left. Moving the flashlight in a slow arc, he called out, “Hello? Where are you?”
There was another moan, which trailed off weakly. As the youth moved toward the sound, his foot struck something soft. Joe dropped to his knees and flashed the light downward. The beam revealed a stranger, barely conscious, his legs pinned beneath the limb of a fallen pine tree.
The man had gone face downward and his right cheek was crunched into the snow. Joe scrutinized him, but could not place the man from what he could see of his features.
“Frank! BIS! Chet!” Joe called out again. “Here, by the boathouse!”
Meanwhile, Joe attempted to free the victim, but all his strength could not budge the heavy branch. To lift it, the whole tree would have to be levered.
“I'll just have to wait for the others,” Joe realized, panting. He crouched alongside the man, trying to shield him from the biting wind and the snow.
At last Joe saw the dim glow of flashlights moving down the slope. “Over here!” he called. “Hurry!”
“Joe!” came Frank's voice above the wind. “I can see your beam now! We're coming!”
Biff and Chet were close behind Frank, and the three soon reached Joe and the stranger.
“Who is he?” Chet puffed excitedly.
“I never saw him before,” Joe replied. “See if you fellows can hoist this branch a bit so I can pull his leg free.”
While Joe continued to shelter the man, the others laboriously managed to raise the tree limb.
“Okayâthat'll do it!” Joe said, easing the victim free. “Now let's get him to the cabin pronto.”
As gently as possible, the Hardy boys lifted the stranger and started up the slopeâJoe supporting the man's head and shoulders, while Frank carried his legs. Chet and Biff went on ahead to light the way and forge a trail through the drifting, deepening snow.
Inside the cabin, Frank and Joe placed the limp form on the sofa. “The poor fellow may be in shock from exposure and pain,” Frank declared. “Chet, bring some blankets. Noâdon't prop him up, Biff! Keep his head low.”
“Shall we try to take off his jacket?” Joe asked.
“No,” said Frank. We don't want to move him too much. I'll just loosen the jacket.“
Frank did so and also pulled off the man's boots and cap. The stranger's hair was bristly and carrot-colored. His round face was blanched, but its rough, weather-beaten features, thickly peppered with freckles, gave him the look of an outdoorsman.
The boys covered their patient with blankets and took turns rubbing his hands and feet to stimulate the circulation. “He's mighty pale!” Chet whispered fearfully.
“What do you suppose he's doing out here on a night like this?” Biff asked.
“We'll have to wait until he's able to tell us,” Joe replied, and added, “I wish we knew if there are any bones broken.”
“We can't get him to Bayport until this storm lets up,” Frank said ruefully.
Presently the man began to stir and attempted to mumble something. “Take it easy. You're all right,” Joe said soothingly.
As gently as possible, the Hardys lifted the stranger
The victim began to make weak, convulsive motions, and his mouth twitched. Finally he gasped, “MessageâHardys!”
Frank and Joe exchanged glances of astonishment. Why had the man spoken their name?”
The stranger, with a painful effort, articulated, “Must bringâmessageâtoâHardy boys!” Utterly exhausted, he lapsed into unconsciousness.
“A message!” gulped Chet. “From whom?”
Frank shook his head. “I've never seen this man before.”
“We'd better learn about the message,” Joe declared. “It must be urgent!”
The Hardys gently explored the victim's pockets, but found nothing. “We'll have to wait until he can tell us,” Frank finally conceded.
“Trying to speak may have been too much for him,” Joe said with concern. The man's breathing had become irregular, and his pallor had increased.
“His hands feel so cold!” Chet murmured.
“It's probably from shock and exposure,” Frank told him. “We'll just have to keep him quiet and warm until we can get him to a doctor.”
The stranger soon began to mumble again, but what he said was unintelligible. The boys kept an anxious vigil for an hour. At last the man gave a sigh and began to breathe more deeply and regularly. A little color returned to his face.
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