The Viking Symbol Mystery (3 page)

“The slacks are from Quebec,” Joe said, looking puzzled. “Do you think Kelly is from Canada?”

“He could be,” Frank answered, greatly excited. “Between the ruined aerial and this evidence I'd certainly say Kelly has something to do with Dad's case up there!”

The discussion was suddenly interrupted by a piercing
zoing-g-g
as a rifle bullet whined past them into the dump pile!

“Down!” cried Frank. Both boys dived to their stomachs behind a dusty mound of ashes. They lay still, their hearts pounding. Who could be shooting at them?

After a few minutes Frank cautiously raised his head. Coming across the edge of the dump toward them was a man carrying a rifle. A fat brown beagle trotted behind him.

The Hardys leaped to their feet, and Joe started forward, his face flushed with anger. Frank grabbed his brother's arm. “Just a minute, Joe. I don't think the man was shooting at us deliberately.”

The man now was running toward the brothers. “D-did I hit anybody?” he quavered. “I was shooting rats and—and I didn't see you two—honest!”

Frank and Joe relaxed somewhat. “No,” Frank said tersely, “you didn't hit us. But you'd better be more careful after this when you're aiming a gun.”

The relieved rifleman stuttered an apology as the Hardys picked up the slacks and jacket and hurried off to their car.

“Let's go to the hospital right after lunch,” Joe urged as they drove away, “and see Kelly's reaction to this clothing!”

After a quick lunch, the boys asked Aunt Gertrude to go with them to identify Kelly, and headed for the hospital. When they arrived, it was too early for regular visiting hours, but the nurse, knowing of the Hardys, led the way to Kelly's first-floor room. The door was closed.

As they neared it, Frank said, “Hold the clothes behind you, Joe. I'll try to catch him off guard first with some questions!”

Joe nodded and turned the knob, pushing the the door open. The boys and their aunt stared aghast.
The hospital room was empty!
The nurse wheeled and hurried down the hall to get help.

Frank pointed wordlessly to the open window and the brothers darted toward it.

“There goes Kelly with someone!” exclaimed Frank.

He pointed to a thin man in a long overcoat, pulled-down hat, and loafers hurrying across the lawn with a red-haired companion. They were heading toward a waiting green car. Kelly opened the door and both men quickly got in.

“Come on, Joe! We must catch them!” Frank urged as he swung himself out the window.

JOE jumped out the hospital window and joined Frank who by now was sprinting across the grassy lawn after the escaped patient. They were too late to capture Kelly. The getaway car was already roaring off down the tree-lined street.

“Let's chase them!” Frank cried out.

He ran up the block to the boys' convertible and jumped behind the wheel. Joe hopped in beside him. Frank turned on the ignition, swung the yellow car out from the curb, and raced after the speeding sedan. It turned a corner.

For a while the brothers were afraid the car had eluded them, but suddenly they spotted it a few blocks ahead. “Let's hope we don't get any red lights,” Frank murmured.

The chase continued through Bayport and onto the main highway out of town. Frank pressed the accelerator to the floor. Soon they were out in the open country. The green sedan was still in sight.

“We're in luck!” Joe exclaimed, pointing to the left.

A long freight train was rumbling down the railroad tracks which crossed the road just ahead. The crossing gates were starting to lower.

“Now we'll catch Kelly and find out what's going on,” Frank gloated.

The green sedan was almost at the crossing. Putting on an extra burst of speed, the car raced across the tracks. It avoided the gates by inches. Seconds later, the train roared by.

“We've missed our chance,” Frank groaned as he braked to a stop.

“The freight's at least eighty cars long!” Joe grumbled over the noise of the wheels and the shrill sound of the train's whistle.

The brothers shifted impatiently in the front seat of their car while they watched the boxcars go by—
clickety-clack, clickety-clack.
Finally the caboose passed them and the gates were raised.

Frank started the car again, and drove across the tracks. As they expected, the green sedan was nowhere in sight.

“Those guys have a big lead on us now,” Joe said. “But let's follow, anyway.”

About five miles farther on, Frank brought his car to a halt. “It's no use, Joe,” he said quietly, and turned the convertible back toward Bayport.

“They could have turned off onto any of these side roads.”

“I wonder who Kelly's pal is?” asked Joe. “Kelly must have got word to him somehow.”

“The redheaded man could have come to the hospital and roamed around until he found Kelly,” Frank suggested.

“Kelly's leaving that way sure makes him suspect,” Joe remarked.

The boys had almost reached the railroad tracks when Joe, glancing out his window, exclaimed, “Stop! There's the green sedan!” He pointed to a tree-shaded culvert running at right angles to the road.

Instantly Frank came to a halt. The boys leaped from the convertible and ran across the macadam road for a better look. The car was well hidden by the bushes and trees.

A quick glance told the Hardys that the sedan was empty. “Kelly and his friend must have jumped onto the train,” Frank commented, as he wrote down the car's license number. “If only we could stop the train!”

“Why not?” asked Joe. “Chief Collig can arrange that!”

The boys ran back to their car and drove on quickly until they reached a gasoline station, where Frank called the police chief.

“Here's news for you, Frank,” said Chief Collig. “That sedan was stolen this morning.”

The chief said he would call ahead to the stationmaster at the next stop—ten miles ahead—to have the freight train delayed until the Hardys could search it. “Good luck!” the official said.

With Joe taking a turn at the wheel, the yellow convertible sped along a narrow dirt road which was a shortcut to the next station.

“It's here!” Frank cried out.

The freight train was slowing to a halt at the small platform. It took the Hardys only a moment to explain to the stationmaster and the train conductor what they wanted.

“No use looking in the locked cars,” the conductor said, “but there are some empties.”

Led by the two men, the brothers hurried down the tracks, searching the open, empty cars. There were half a dozen of them, but none contained the suspects.

“Guess you're out of luck, fellows,” said the conductor, who was about to wave the engineer on.

“Wait!” Joe called, as he ran around the caboose to check the other side of the freight train. A door of one of the supposedly closed cars was open.

Frank followed and both boys climbed inside. At one end of the sawdust-covered floor was a huge pile of empty grain sacks. The brothers ran forward eagerly, hoping to find their quarry hidden behind them. But neither Kelly nor his accomplice was there. Disappointed, Frank went to the boxcar door and hopped down. Joe walked over, slowly shaking his head in perplexity.

Suddenly Frank called, “Jump, Joe! Jump!”

At that same instant the train gave a forward lurch ahead. Joe hurled himself toward the opening and leaped out just as the heavy sliding door slammed shut.

“Wow!” Frank watched the train slowly gather speed. “Guess the conductor didn't hear you. The weight of that door could kill someone!”

“And I was nearly the one!” Joe said wryly.

The boys walked back to their car and started for Bayport. Each was thinking, “Was Kelly ever on the freight. If so, when did he get off? Or did he flee in some other direction after abandoning the stolen sedan?”

When the boys reached home, Frank called police headquarters and reported their failure to find Kelly to Chief Collig.

Next, they gave their father a full account of the fugitive's disappearance, and the discovery of the clothes from Toronto and Quebec.

Mr. Hardy immediately wired the Edmonton police a description of the fugitive and stressed the possibility that the man might be wearing a bandage on his head.

Then the detective turned to the boys and smiled. “Which makes you all the more eager to start for Canada, I'll bet!”

“Right, Dad!” Frank said, grinning.

“May we leave tomorrow morning?” Joe asked excitedly.

“Sorry, son,” said Mr. Hardy. “You'll need the next few days to get ready.”

“That
long?” Frank looked dismayed.

His father's eyes twinkled. “Yes. You see, boys, your pilot's licenses are for land planes—and you're going to require seaplane ratings for this trip. I want you to know how to handle a float plane, if the necessity arises.”

“We already know how to fly,” Frank protested.

Mr. Hardy smiled. “And skillfully, too. But take-offs and landings are a bit different with a seaplane, since you're dealing with a variable runway—water—which may be rough.”

“When do we start?” Joe asked.

“Jack Wayne said he could begin your training tomorrow,” Mr. Hardy replied. “You're to meet him at the field.”

Jack was a private pilot whom the detective often used on long trips in the Hardy plane. He had taught Frank and Joe to fly.

“Oh—oh,” came the voice of Aunt Gertrude from the doorway. “More trouble. Now you're talking about landing on the water. It sounds very dangerous!”

“How about a ride while we try it?” Joe teased.

“No, thank you. I prefer cooking. I came to tell you dinner's ready.”

After the meal of juicy, tender roast beef, buttered baked potatoes, fresh asparagus, and chocolate cake, the boys excused themselves to study the Canadian map in their atlas. Just as they turned to the proper page, a rattle of metal and a short
beep
from the street made the boys smile. “Chet's jalopy,” Joe said.

A minute later their chubby friend walked into the living room. “Hi, fellows!”

“You look worried,” Frank said. “What's up?”

Chet shook his head. “I'd love to go to Canada with you, but I think I'll change my mind.”

“What!” the brothers chorused. “Why?”

Their chunky friend rolled his eyes dramatically. “I've been reading up on rune stones, and boy oh boy, are they unlucky!”

“Unlucky?” Joe echoed.

“Yes, sir,” said Chet. “And the Horkel stone, which is the the most evil of them all”—he paused for emphasis—“was found right near where you're going!”

“AN evil stone!” Joe broke into a wide grin. “You don't really
believe
all those superstitious legends, do you, Chet?” he asked.

“Well—I'm not sure—but I don't believe in taking chances.”

“You can say that again,” Joe teased.

“Tell us about this Horkel stone,” Frank encouraged Chet. “It sounds interesting.”

“Yes, I'd like to hear the story, too,” said Mr. Hardy, who had just walked into the room.

Chet's worried look disappeared, and, obviously enjoying himself, he began. “Well, I asked Miss Shannon at the library for some information, and she lent me a terrific book about the Vikings and their rune tablets. The word ‘rune,' by the way,” Chet added importantly, “meant ‘secret' in the Anglo-Saxon language.”

“How about the Horkel stone?” Joe questioned.

“Oh, that one was named after a Danish Viking called Horkel who settled in Greenland with the expedition of Lief the Lucky.” Chet warmed to his story. “The stone had been cursed centuries before by a Saxon priest when one of Horkel's ancestors stole it from him. Its evil history was so well known that Lief made Horkel and his followers go in a different ship, and even settle farther up the fiord than any of the other families.

“Then”—Chet's voice grew louder with enthusiasm—“ Lief and his men left Greenland, but they didn't take Horkel's group along. Nobody ever saw the stone again.”

“But—” Joe tried to break in.

“Until,” Chet continued, “a few years ago an Indian found a tablet bearing strange characters near the base of Alexandra Falls, on Hay River, up in the Northwest Territories. The characters were thought to be runic, and they were translated. There's been a lot of disagreement over whether or not the stone is authentic, but one thing's sure—it has brought terrible misfortune to all people who owned it.”

“Like what?” Joe demanded, half fascinated, half skeptical.

“Like mysterious deaths, and fires, and accidents,” Chet answered, his eyes wide with excitement.

“That's a strange story, all right,” put in Mr. Hardy, leaning forward in his chair. “Even without jinxed stones, that area is dangerous.”

“What do you mean, Dad?” Frank asked.

“Just south of Great Slave Lake is the famous Wood Buffalo National Park,” said the detective, “where the world's largest buffalo herd lives in refuge, protected by the Canadian government. The wood buffalo is a savage, treacherous animal, ready at all times to charge like a mad bull. It's an enormous beast—black and shaggy. The park is also the home of the arctic fox, the arctic wolf, and sometimes the dangerous northern plains grizzly bear. It's beautiful country, but untamed!”