The Stone Idol (13 page)

Just then, a voice sounded behind them. Whirling around, they went into a defensive stance and prepared to meet another attack by the bird man. Instead, a friendly Easter Islander was walking toward them. On his shirt, he wore an official-looking badge.

“He must be the policeman the governor promised to send after us,” Joe said.

The man said something in his native dialect, ending with, “Santana?”

“Do you know about Santana?” Joe asked eagerly.

The man nodded. He pointed to the shore, gestured to the Hardys to go with him, and walked off.

“Maybe the
Inca Chief
arrived, or they found the wreck offshore,” Frank surmised. “Let's see where he's taking us.”

They followed the Easter Islander from Orongo to the cliff below. A narrow trail enabled them to reach the bottom where surf pounded over massive rocks. An outrigger canoe, with a spear and hand net inside, was drawn up to the shore.

“He's a fisherman,” Joe said. “They probably don't even have full-time cops around here.”

The man pointed to the island of Motunui across the water.

“Is Santana there?” Frank asked.

The man nodded. Pushing the canoe off the rocks into the surf, he climbed aboard and gestured to the Hardys to join him.

When they got in, he handed them a couple of paddles and took one himself. He sat up front and gave the boys a lead as the three dug their paddles into the water and started the canoe toward Motunui.

The small craft pitched up and down in the waves, maintaining its balance by means of the outrigger on one side, which stablized it and prevented it from turning over. The Hardys had experience with most types of boats, and had no trouble keeping up with the fisherman. The going got easier as they reached the placid water beyond the surf.

They crossed about a mile of open ocean before arriving at Motunui. Frank and Joe were preparing to jump out and help drag the canoe onto the beach, but the Easter Islander shook his head and pointed to a smaller island on the right. They turned in that direction, entered the surf of the little patch of land, and beached the canoe.

Curious, the Hardys followed their guide inland.

“Joe, be ready for anything,” Frank warned. “Santana plays rough. He sure did with us in the Andes.”

“I know. But I hope he's already in the hands of the police.”

The man led them to a stone chapel, which had broken windows and grass growing around its foundation. The door hung crazily on one hinge.

“This place hasn't been used for years,” Frank muttered.

“Where's Santana?” he asked their guide apprehensively.

The native pointed to an inscription on the stone above the doorway. The Hardys looked at it and read the words
Santa Ana.

“Oh, no!” Joe groaned.

Frank grinned in spite of his disappointment. “He must have heard us talking about Santana when he walked up to us and figured this is what we wanted to see. Santa Ana and Santana do sound alike. ”

Suddenly a noise that seemed like a footstep came from within the building.

“Someone's in there!” Joe cried.

He and Frank rushed toward the door. As they reached it, a man with the head of a bird plunged between the boys, ran around the corner, and vanished!

The Hardys ran after the bird man. Rounding the abandoned chapel, they saw him dashing for the beach, where a reed boat was drawn up. Quickly they closed the gap and had almost overtaken him when he suddenly turned and tripped Joe.

The boy fell heavily to the ground, but Frank reached out and put a headlock on the fugitive. They struggled violently for a moment, then the man wrenched loose from his disguise. Frank was left holding the bird headdress and the man shoved him into the sand. Then the man jumped into the reed boat and paddled away furiously.

Frank got to his feet as Joe ran up to him. “Outwitted again,” he muttered angrily. “There he goes, and all we have are his stupid feathers!”

“Did you recognize him?” Joe asked.

Frank nodded. “He's Pedro Morena, Santana's pilot!”

“That means the
Inca Chief
didn't crash after all!” Joe cried out. “Let's see if we can catch up with Morena in the canoe!”

The boys ran back to their guide, who still stood near the chapel, an expression of fear on his face.

Frank used a sort of sign language to explain that they wanted to pursue the fugitive, but the man shook his head. He pointed to the headdress in Frank's hand and waved his hand to indicate his refusal.

“He's afraid of the bird man,” Frank interpreted. He was proven right when the Easter Islander would not let them into the boat with the bird man's feathers. Finally Frank put the headdress on the chapel steps and their guide reluctantly indicated he would take them back to Easter Island.

When they passed Motunui, Joe spotted something gleaming in the sunlight beyond the crest of a small hill. “Hey, Frank,” he said and pointed. “I wonder what that is.”

Frank shielded his eyes with his hand. “Let's check it out.”

They signaled their guide to paddle ashore, then strode to the top of the hill and looked down on the other side. A small plane was parked at the end of a level plain below, and on its side were the words
Inca Chief!

“So this is where Morena and Santana landed,” Frank cried out. “They maintained radio silence and came down secretly on this deserted island. Easy enough for a small plane.”

“It zipped right past the radar,” Joe added. “They fooled the guy in the control tower when the blip went off the screen. We'll have to get back to Hanga Roa and tell the authorities.”

“First let's give the
Inca Chief
the once over and drain the fuel tank in case Morena comes back to fly out after we leave. ”

The Hardys advanced cautiously toward the plane. When they got close enough, they saw through a window that it was empty. Pulling the door open, they got in and searched the interior.

Joe opened a leather case he found on the floor. “This is what Santana took out of the locker in Punta Arenas,” he declared. “If the idol was ever in here, it sure isn't now. As a matter of fact, it isn't anywhere in the plane,” he added after an exhaustive search of the cabin.

Finding the key still in the lock, Frank turned on the motor, which erupted into action for a moment and then died.

“Now I know why Morena left the key,” the boy commented. “The fuel tank's empty. He must have just made it here. A few minutes more and both of them would have landed in the ocean.”

Joe nodded. “But one thing puzzles me.”

“What's that?”

“What was Morena doing on the island next door with that goofy birdman outfit?”

“I think I have the answer to that,” Frank replied. “He was on the island for some reason of his own, and saw us approaching. Apparently he had his disguise with him, so he quickly put it on and tried his scaring act to frighten us away from the area and protect the hiding place of his plane.”

The Hardys got out and scouted around the island, which was less than half a mile across in each direction. The lack of trees gave them a clear view, and they quickly realized that they and their guide were the only people on it.

“Let's make tracks for Hanga Roa,” Frank suggested. “We don't have to leave a guard on the
Inca Chief.
It's not going anywhere.”

They climbed back into the outrigger canoe and crossed over to Easter Island. After paying the fisherman with a handful of Chilean coins, they went directly to the governor's residence, where they were shown into his study.

“I am glad to see you safe and sound,” he said with a smile. “Did my man find you?”

“He did,” Joe replied. “He also helped us indirectly to find the
Inca Chief!”

“What!” the governor was dumbfounded. “Our search was futile and we finally gave up looking for the plane!”

“The pilot landed on Motunui,” Frank explained. “We almost caught him, but he escaped.”

“What about Julio Santana?” the governor asked.

“He must be around here somewhere,” Frank said. “But we have no idea where.”

“There was also another passenger on board when they left Punta Arenas,” Joe put in. “I don't know whether he was dropped off along the coast or whether he came here.”

“Well, your investigation has been a success so far,” the governor declared. “I will have the
Inca Chief
brought to the airfield and held there. And I will order a search for Morena and Santana and their passenger. I talked to the leading citizens of Easter Island. They are sure none of the natives stole the idol. That Scandinavian collector must have taken it himself!”

The Hardys promised to help the police in looking for the suspect, and then returned to the Hanga Roa Hotel.

“How about some chow?” Joe suggested. “We haven't had anything all day.”

“Good thinking. Let's see what the chef can rustle up for us.”

When they went and asked the man in charge of the kitchen, he smiled. “I see you are Americans,” he said. “Perhaps you would like hamburgers? Most Americans do.”

“Great!” Frank said. “And soda, if you have it.”

“We have that, too. Every week we get supplies from Santiago.”

Minutes later, Frank and Joe were on their way to their rooms. They sat down on their beds, placed their hamburgers and soda on the night table in between, and plunged into their meal with gusto.

After a while, Frank said, “What do you suppose Santana's up to? He's got the stone idol, but what's he doing with it? And why did he sneak into Easter Island like this?”

“He may have sold the stone idol,” Joe pointed out. “We don't know for sure that he brought it here. On the other hand, he might be in cahoots with Iko Hiva. The wizard wants the idol back, and as long as Santana is willing to give it to him, Iko Hiva in turn might help our friend to get away from us.”

Frank took a sip from his glass. “Santana can't hide for long on Easter Island. It's too small. And he can't get away either without his plane. By now, he must know we spotted Morena.”

Joe munched his last bite of hamburger. “What about that passenger they had on the plane?” he asked. “Could he have anything to do with the stone sculpture?”

Frank shrugged. “I have no idea. I couldn't see his features at all. Perhaps he's another relative of Santana's.”

“What'll we do next?”

“Let's walk around town and see if we can pick up a clue as to where Santana and Morena are hiding out,” Frank suggested.

The young detectives scoured the area all afternoon, but found it difficult to communicate with the natives. And there was no sign of the two men anywhere.

In the morning, as they were coming out of the dining room after breakfast, they saw Iko Hiva sitting in the lobby.

“I have been waiting for you,” the wizard declared. “I have something important to tell you.”

“What is it?” Frank asked.

“The stone idol is back!”

“What!” The Hardys were thunderstruck.

“The guardian once more stands on the altar in the sacred cave!” Iko Hiva went on. “I went in this morning to replace the candles and there it was. I hope you will come with me and see for yourselves.”

“Of course,” Joe agreed. “We've chased that sculpture a long way, and we don't want to leave without seeing it where it belongs.”

“Good. A friend of mine has brought a car. He will drive us.” Iko Hiva led the way outside, where he introduced the boys to another Easter Islander, who was at the wheel of a jeep. The newcomer did not speak English, but, with a friendly smile, he waved for the Hardys to climb into the back of the jeep.

When they arrived at the cliff, a crowd was gathered near the rope ladder. Two men were climbing up.

“The idol sure is popular,” Joe commented.

Iko Hiva nodded. “The people are relieved to know it is back. They came down here as soon as I announced its return. Well, nobody is using the rope ladder now. I suggest you go into the sacred cave.”

“Joe, what about your vow to stay away from caves?” Frank teased.

Joe grinned. “I've got the
aku-aku
on my side this time. That's good enough for me. I'll even show you the way, Frank.”

Descending the ladder, the boys reached the entrance to the sacred cave. They crawled through the tunnel in the darkness until they saw the light at the opposite end. At last, they reached the opening guarded by the circle of stone knives.