The Alaskan Adventure (7 page)

From the darkness David's voice called, “Joe? Frank?”

“Over here, David,” Joe called back.

When David joined them, the Hardys quickly explained what they had found—and
not
found—inside the shed. David muttered a string of words in Athabascan. Joe didn't understand a single one, but he was sure they weren't compliments.

“We found the tracks of a sledge,” Frank told him, and held the lantern near the marks.

To Joe's surprise, David got down on his hands and knees and put his face close to the tracks and felt the snow. When he stood up, he said, “This
was Uncle Peter's sledge. And the theft was just after sunset.”

“How can you tell?” Frank asked.

“From the way the snow looks and feels on the bottom and sides of the track,” David told him. “Let's find out where the thief went.”

As Joe had suspected, the trail led into the woods. They hadn't followed it more than fifty yards when David held up a hand and said, “Wait—there's something in the bushes on the left.”

Frank held the lantern up at arm's length. Joe narrowed his eyes and stared in the direction David had indicated, but he couldn't make out anything more than a dark shape.

David laughed aloud. “It's our moose meat!” he said. “The thief must have dropped it here. We'll have dinner after all!”

They carried the frozen carcass back to the shed. While Joe and Frank sawed off a roast-size piece for dinner, David went back to follow the trail of the thief. A few minutes later he returned with the news that the thief had pulled the sledge around to the front of the cabin and left it there.

“I told Joe I thought the thief wasn't after the meat at all,” Frank said as they walked back to the cabin.

David nodded. “What he wanted was to cause trouble for us. First he set our cabin on fire, then he threw the log through the window, then he doctored the fruit that made Uncle Peter sick, and now this. Somebody must hate us very much.”

Joe was tempted to say that the incidents could have occurred for business reasons, not personal ones. He kept quiet. A business motive would probably upset David even more than the thought of having a personal enemy.

•  •  •

The next morning, while David was taking care of his huskies, Frank and Joe went into town to pursue their investigation. The first person they ran across was Curt Stone.

“Hi, boys,” Curt said when he saw them. “How are you enjoying your stay?”

“Fine,” Frank said. “Say, can we ask you about that basket of fruit?”

“Ask away,” Curt replied. “What basket of fruit?”

“The one you sent to Peter and Mona yesterday,” Joe told him.

“Nope, not me,” Curt said easily. “Though, now you mention it, I
should
do something to show my sympathy, with all the trouble they're having. I heard someone tried to steal their meat
cache last night. Terrible, the things that happen.”

“How did you hear about that?” Frank asked.

Curt shrugged. “I told you. News travels fast in a little place like this,” he said. “But what's this about a basket of fruit?”

“Peter and Mona got a basket of fresh fruit yesterday, with your card in it,” Frank explained. He studied Curt's face, which didn't change, then went on. “Peter got sick after eating one of the apples.”

Curt gave him a hard look. “I don't like what you're hinting at,” he said. “I didn't send any fruit to anyone yesterday.”

“What about your card?” Joe asked.

“Half the population of Glitter must have my business card by now,” Curt retorted. “That's what I print them up for—to give out to people.”

Before either of the Hardys could think of a comeback to this, Curt added, “You boys will have to excuse me. I've got matters to attend to that are a lot more important than your wild accusations.”

He walked away.

After a moment Frank said, “
Somebody
sent that basket of fruit.”

“We know who delivered it,” Joe pointed out. “Somebody who has a grudge against David. Maybe it carries over to David's relatives.”

“Let's see what Jake has to say about it,” Frank suggested. “And while we're there, I'd like to use Jake's two-way radio to put in a call to Dad. He can look into the ThemeLife company for us.”

“Great idea!” Joe said.

Fenton Hardy, Frank and Joe's father, had retired years before from the New York City police department to become a leading private investigator.

When Frank told Jake what they wanted, he led them to the back room and radioed Fairbanks. A minute later the link to Bayport went through. Jake handed the telephone receiver to Frank.

Frank took it and waited with his palm over the microphone.

Jake got the hint. “I'll give you some privacy,” he said, and left the room.

Frank and Joe took turns telling their father about Glitter and their dogsledding adventures on the Yukon River. They didn't mention the fire or the other strange incidents. Anyone with a short wave set could be listening in on their call.

At the end of the call Frank said, “Oh, and there's a big campaign here by a company called ThemeLife to set up a theme park in the area. We'd sure like to know more about the company. It sounds very interesting—very. You don't know anything about it, do you? ThemeLife?”

“Why, no,” Mr. Hardy replied. “But if you fellows think it's interesting, I'm sure it is. Maybe I'll ask around about it. I'm sure your mom and Aunt Gertrude would like to say hello, but they're out shopping. Can you arrange to be at this number one hour from now?”

Frank gave a sigh of relief. His father had understood. “No problem, Dad,” he said. “We'll make a point of it.”

After Frank hung up, he said softly to Joe, “He'll look into it and call back in an hour. We'd better wait before we ask Jake about the fruit.”

“Until after we've heard from Dad, you mean?” Joe replied. “Right—or else something might go wrong with Jake's radio.”

Frank and Joe spent the next forty-five minutes trying to find Gregg. Several people said they had seen him that morning, but Frank and Joe never managed to catch up to him. They'd have to question him later. It was time to go back to Jake's store for the call from their father.

Frank took the call, which lasted less than a minute, during which he wrote down what he was hearing. When he got off, he showed Joe his notes, which read, “Sound reputation but desperate financial situation. Success of new projects crucial to company survival.”

“I think we're onto something here,” Frank said in an undertone.

“ ‘Survival,' ” Joe quoted. “That's a pretty powerful motive to do whatever it takes to swing the vote your way. Even if it means trying to poison your opponents.”

Frank glanced at the open doorway, then murmured, “Curt says he never sent that basket.”

“He would, wouldn't he?” Joe responded. “Let's find out what Jake can tell us about it.”

They went into the main room. Jake was behind the polished oak counter, making a pyramid of condensed milk cans. He looked up and said, “Your call go through all right, boys?”

“Yes, thanks,” Frank replied. “Oh, Jake? Did you send a basket of fruit to Peter yesterday?”

The storekeeper shook his head. “Nope. Curt Stone sent it. All I did was ask Gregg to carry it over. Why?”

“That's funny,” Joe said. “We saw Curt earlier, and he said he didn't know anything about that fruit.”

Jake's face reddened. “He sent it, all right. I found it right here on my counter, with his card and a note saying to send it to Peter.”

Frank asked, “Do you mean that you didn't speak to him about it, just found the note?” Jake nodded. “Do you still have it?”

“Nope,” Jake said. “Say, what is this? Is Curt up to something? If he is, I bet Lucky's in it, too, up to his neck.”

“The prospector?” Joe asked. “Why?”

Jake looked down at the counter. “I'm no tattletale,” he said, with a little smile. “But yesterday when I glanced out my window, I saw Curt passing Lucky a wad of bills. He looked as if he didn't want anybody to see it, either. The way I figure it, Lucky must be doing something to earn that money. Am I right?”

Frank and Joe thanked Jake for his help and left the store. Once on the street Frank said, “We'd better have a talk with Lucky.”

They stopped by the cabin to get directions, then hiked into the hills behind town. Lucky's mining operation was a twenty-minute walk from Glitter, on a dirt road that looked like a relic from Gold Rush days.

Frank was first to spot the weathered shack beside a frozen stream. “Hello, Lucky?” he called.

No answer. He walked nearer and called again.

From behind him he heard a faint footstep. He started to turn, but an arm caught him around the throat and started to tighten, cutting off his breath.

Joe was out back, trying to figure out a complicated piece of old machinery he'd spotted. He heard a strangled shout and looked up and recognized Lucky's dirty green parka and faded red cap. Lucky had his arm in a choke hold around Frank's neck.

Not for long. As Joe rushed to help his brother, Frank got grips on Lucky's wrist and elbow, then made a sudden leap to the side. An instant later he had a hammerlock on his astonished attacker.

“Let go, you're hurting me!” Lucky protested. “I'm an old man!”

“You should have thought of that before you jumped me,” Frank retorted. He released
Lucky's arm and took two quick steps backward, ready to meet any further attack.

Lucky scowled and rubbed the muscle of his upper arm. “You were spying on me, that's what,” he said. “I can't stand spies.”

“We just wanted to talk to you,” Joe said. “We didn't mean to scare you.” The instant he said it, he realized that he had used the wrong word.

“Scare me!” Lucky said. “You think you scared me?
Nobody
scares me!”

“No, no,” Joe said hastily. “What I meant to say is that we didn't mean to surprise you.”

Lucky spat on the ground. “You didn't surprise me neither,” he growled. “You don't creep up on Lucky Moeller. I saw you coming. I heard you coming. I even
smelled
you coming!”

“Well,” Frank said. “Now that we're here, can we talk?”

Lucky peered at them from under his bushy eyebrows. “What about?” he asked, suspicious.

“We were wondering what you think about the ThemeLife plan,” Joe said. “How do you think people in Glitter ought to vote?”

Lucky's face brightened. “You boys doing a survey? Well, I think everybody ought to vote yes. Why wouldn't they?”

“What do you think is good about the ThemeLife plan?” asked Frank.

Lucky's head bobbed up and down as he said, “The money, that's what. The money! All those tourists coming to town with their pockets stuffed with money. Hundreds of them, thousands of them. And they'll all come out here to tour my mine. It'll be the biggest attraction around—the Gold Rush days live again. In a year or two I'll make enough to retire to Florida.”

Lucky reached deep into his pants pocket and brought out a clenched fist. Stretching it out toward Joe and Frank, he said, “See this?”

They looked down at his rough, dirty hand. “What?” Frank asked.

Lucky opened his hand. A gold nugget the size of a bean gleamed in the weak sunlight.

“Wow!” Joe exclaimed.

Lucky smiled, revealing the stub of a front tooth.

“You found that here?” Frank asked.

“Sure I did,” Lucky replied. He turned and walked quickly toward the frozen creek, talking a mile a minute as he went. Frank and Joe had to hurry to stay up with him.

“I found this one thirty years ago,” he said, holding up the fist with the gold nugget. “Found it in the creek. This creek's evil and cunning, but I'm smarter than it is. For thousands of years now, it's been washing gold out of the hillsides and carrying it down by here. It means to dump it in
the Yukon, so it's lost forever. But as soon as it gets this far,
I
take it and I keep it!”

“Do you pan for it?” Frank asked him.

Joe remembered seeing pictures of gold miners, squatting beside streams with large, shallow pans in their hands. They'd fill the pans with gravel and creek water, then slowly swirl the sand and water out. Gold was heavier than rock, so it would sink to the bottom of the pan.

“Panning? Panning's for fools,” Lucky said scornfully. “I run a placer mine.”

He pointed toward a long wooden trough that ran from farther up the creek to just next to his shack. “See that? Come summer, I dig up the gravel from the streambed and put it in there. The water washes it down the chute, and the gold drops into the box because it's so heavy. Then I go and collect the dust and specks and nuggets, and stash them away.”

“Do you find a lot of gold that way?” Joe asked.

“I'm not saying,” Lucky replied, giving them a shrewd look. “But I'll tell you one thing. You want gold these days, you don't go looking for it in the hills. You got to work too hard for it that way. The real gold is in tourists' pockets.”

Frank laughed. “You sound like you ought to be on the payroll of the ThemeLife Company,” he said.

“They haven't asked me,” Lucky replied.

Joe broke in to say, “Haven't they? We heard that you were working for Curt Stone. Somebody saw him giving you a lot of money.”

Lucky spun around to face him, his fists clenched. “Who said that?” he demanded.

“Jake Ferguson,” Joe told him.

“Jake lies like a dog!” Lucky shouted, swinging his arms around like a windmill. “There's bad blood between us, and it's all his doing. From the day he figured out that I'm not going to let him cheat me the way he does everyone else, he's been after me. As for Curt Stone, he never gave me anything but the time of day, and that's flat.”