Read The Sign of the Crooked Arrow Online
Authors: Franklin W. Dixon
The Sign of the Crooked Arrow (6 page)
“Yep,” Frank answered, his pulse quickening.
“Got anything to show?”
“Crooked arrow!” Joe said, hoping that might be a password.
“Good enough for me,” was the reply.
With that the man gave the boys two cigarettes, for which they paid ten dollars. The shopkeeper leaned close to the boys.
“Tell Jenk those are my last two,” he whispered. “Have him send Arrow Charlie around with a new lot next time he or his pals come East.”
Frank and Joe looked as casual as they could, though their pulses were racing.
“Arrow Charlie?” said Frank. “Oh, sure. Say, did he get that name from selling Arrows, or is he handy with a bow?”
The man smirked. “You ought to know!” he said conclusively.
That was enough for the Hardys. They hurried to their car, where Sam was already waiting. He had had no luck. Frank showed him the two Arrows triumphantly, then they sped back toward the city to report the Green Point tobacconist and turn over the cigarettes for analysis.
As they rode down the road that ran past the Morton farm, they saw Chet on the porch. When they tooted their horn, the stout boy waved frantically. Frank jammed on the brakes and Chet puffed up to them, a worried look on his face.
“Your mother phoned here a few minutes ago trying to get hold of you!” he panted.
“What's wrong?” Joe asked.
“Is Dad worse?” Frank gasped.
“I don't know,” Chet replied. “All she said was to come to the hospital and hurry!”
CHAPTER VII
Another Puzzle
“THANKS,” Frank said. “We'll drive right over. I'll call you if anything is wrong.”
He was off in a flash. The car's speedometer hovered at the legal limit as Frank and Joe raced to Bayport Hospital.
To their surprise, they found their father sitting up in his room. He greeted them cheerfully.
“Hello, boys,” he called out. “Hope I didn't alarm you by asking you to come quickly.”
“To be honest, you did,” Frank panted. “It certainly is good to see you so chipper, though.”
Joe went to the far side of his father's bed. “Gosh, you look like yourself again. Doesn't he, Mother?”
Mrs. Hardy smiled in agreement. She was pouring water for one of the many bouquets her husband had received.
“The reason I called you,” Mr. Hardy said, “is this.” He held up an air-mail letter. “It's from Cousin Ruth. Some mysterious happenings at the ranch have her worried. Seems some of her best cowhands have disappeared, one by one, without a trace.”
“Has she notified the local authorities?” Joe asked.
“Yes. But she has had no luck so far,” his father replied. “She wants me to come immediately. Since I can't, I'd like you to fly out in my place. Take Chet, too, if he wants to go.”
“We'll leave as soon as possible,” Frank assured him. “There's only one thingâJoe and I just got a hot lead on the crooked arrow mystery. We'd sure like to follow it up.”
“I'll put Sam Radley on your new lead,” Mr. Hardy said. “Besides, I hope to be out of here soon, so I can work with him. Now tell me what you've learned.”
Frank reported their experience with the Green Point tobacco dealer and his mention of Arrow Charlie.
“It sounds to us as if he's the main distributor,” Frank said. “And obviously he comes East once in a while.”
Mr. Hardy looked thoughtful. “I wonder where he is now.”
“Have the police been able to get any information from Jenk?” Frank asked.
Mr. Hardy shook his head. “The prisoner isn't talking.”
“Come on, Frank,” Joe put in. “We'd better go see about those plane reservations for the trip to Cousin Ruth's.”
Before leaving the hospital, Frank telephoned Chet about the proposed Western trip. Their pal eagerly accepted the invitation.
The boys had a hasty lunch at a coffee shop, and then drove to the Bayport Air Terminal. Striding up to the ticket office, Frank and Joe approached one of the clerks.
“We'd like three reservations to Albuquerque as soon as we can get them,” Frank said.
The clerk examined his schedule. “Sorry,” he said. “Everything's booked for a week.”
“A week!” groaned Joe. “How about a plane to another point and a transfer?”
The clerk shook his head. “The schedule West is full.”
“All right,” Frank sighed. “Put us on the list for cancellations.” He gave the man their names, address, and telephone number.
“We'll get in touch with you as soon as something comes up,” the clerk told him.
Frank and Joe got into their car and started for home. As Frank breezed along, Joe suggested:
“Let's drop by Chet's and ask him to get ready. No telling when we may be leaving!”
“Right.”
When they slowed down on the road fronting the Morton farm, a strange sight greeted their eyes. In a pasture among a herd of cows rode a cowboy on a chestnut mare.
“Yahoo!” Joe laughed. “It's Chet!”
The boys stopped and got out.
“Hi, pardner!” called Frank. “Where'd you get that rig?”
“Bought it, of course,” puffed Chet.
He leaned over in the saddle and looked down at the Hardys. “I'm practicing for our Western trip. Just watch this, fellows!”
Chet swung a rope over his head, then tossed it at a Holstein grazing complacently nearby. The rope snaked through the air and landed over an old tree stump.
“Bull's-eye!” Joe wisecracked.
“That was only the first try,” Chet retorted. “Watch this one.”
He looped the rope again. It glided through the air and landed neatly over the cow's head.
“How 'bout that!” he cried triumphantly.
Chet, apparently wishing to impress his audience, yanked the rope as he had seen professionals do. With a toss of her head, the animal gave a loud, frightened bellow, then started to run.
Chet had been gazing at Frank and Joe hoping to elicit a word of praise, and was not watching the cow. Suddenly, with a jerk, she pulled him from the horse.
With a thud, somewhat cushioned by his ample weight, the boy landed in a clump of grass. The Hardys roared with laughter.
“Do it again,” Joe teased.
He leaned over to help Chet to his feet. As he did so, the cow, tired of the whole annoyance, butted Joe squarely in the rear.
“Oomph!” he grunted as he sprawled in the pasture. The annoyed cow ambled away. Chet enjoyed a few good horselaughs.
“A fine bunch of cowboys you are!” Frank bellowed.
Joe got up and brushed himself off, then looked over at Chet. “Be thankful that wasn't a bull,” he said ruefully.
The conversation turned to the boys' latest news. Frank explained the reason for their trip.
“Be ready to fly out West the minute we call you,” Joe told Chet. “Dad wants us to start as soon as we can get reservations.”
Chet beamed. “Hey, that's swell!”
“And remember, old boy, there's a weight limit on luggage,” Frank reminded him.
Chet sighed heavily. “Why, my saddle and boots and duffel bag andâ”
“And
you,”
Joe teased, “all add up to about five hundred pounds!”
you,”
Joe teased, “all add up to about five hundred pounds!”
“No fooling,” Frank said, “you can't take all this stuff with you.”
“I guess you're right,” Chet agreed sadly.
“Don't worry.” Joe said. “I'm sure they'll have gear for us out at the ranch.”
“Boy,” Chet exclaimed, “I'd better try to earn some quick money for the trip ! I could have helped the farmer down the road build the foundation for his new barn. But there's not time enough!”
“Hop to it,” Joe said with a grin. “Do as much as you can.” Then he and Frank said good-by and drove off.
Chet did not like to work. But he had no choice. With a sigh that could have been heard all the way to Bayport, he trudged down the road to carry stones for the farmer.
He came home that evening exhausted from the rugged work. The next morning he rose early, put away a man-sized breakfast, and hurried back to his job.
A big truck had dumped a huge pile of stones at the side of the road. It was Chet's chore to haul them in a wheelbarrow to the site of the new foundation. About midday, as he was working alone and figuring on how soon he could get off for a lunchbreak, a strange man approached him.
“Hi,” Chet called out, eager for an excuse to rest.
“Looks like you're workin' mighty hard,” said the man. He had broad shoulders, a large nose, and bushy black eyebrows.
“Sure am,” Chet agreed. “It's tough work, especially when the sun's so hot.”
“Well,” the stranger replied, “a boy should help his father.”
“I'm not doing this for my father,” Chet said, leaning against a fence post.
“Oh, no?” asked the man in surprise. “You're just working here?”
“There's a good reason,” Chet said as a smile wreathed his round face. “I've got to make some money in a hurry.”
“In a hurry?” the man repeated.
“Yes.” Chet threw out his chest proudly. “I'm leaving any minute. Goin' out West.”
“Is that a fact?” the stranger remarked. “What part of the West?”
Chet was so enthusiastic about his trip that he told the man about the mysterious disappearances at Ruth Hardy's ranch, and how the Hardy boys were taking their father's place to investigate.
A twisted smile, unnoticed by Chet, came to the man's lips as he urged him to go on with his story. When he had finished, the man tugged at the brim of his hat. Then, without another word, he hurried down the road.
“Funny kind of duck,” Chet said to himself.
As he watched, the stranger walked under a low-hanging tree by the side of the road. An instant later Chet heard the roar of a motor and saw a car pull into the road. It sped toward Bayport.
Pondering the man's peculiar actions, Chet sat down to eat his lunch. Suddenly he let out a howl of dismay.
“Oh no,” he thought. “I wonder if I told that guy too much!”
He loped home to call his friends.
Meanwhile, the Hardy house was as busy as rodeo day in a prairie town. The airline office had telephoned offering three cancellations to El Paso the following morning. From there the boys would have to charter a plane for the two-hour trip north to Crowhead. After leaving the message with Mrs. Morton, Frank and Joe excitedly began gathering up the things they would need.
During all this time the telephone had been ringing continually. Many friends of the Hardys inquired about the detective's condition. Finally a call came through from Chet.
“Boy, I've been trying to get you guys for an hour!” he complained. “Mother gave me your message about the plane. That's swell. But listen, I think I've pulled a huge boner.”
He apologetically told about his talk with the stranger, and described him.
“Wow!” Frank exclaimed. “He sounds like that bushy-browed man who came to Slow Mo's and tried to take the abandoned car!”
“I shouldn't have opened my big mouth,” Chet said.
After hanging up, Frank turned to Joe and told him the story. “That guy is keeping tabs on us,” he added. “I don't like it.”
The boys had just returned to their packing when the telephone rang again. Aunt Gertrude answered.
“Boys!” she called. “Come here!”
Frank and Joe bounded down the stairs and found her holding a paper.
“A telegram from Ruth,” she said, passing her notes over to Frank. He read it aloud:
“âAll is well. No urgency to come to Crowhead. Ruth.'”
CHAPTER VIII
Followed
FRANK and Joe stared at each other in surprise.
“Oh boy!” Joe exclaimed. “Just when we're all ready to go!”
“I wonder what happened,” Frank mused. “Seems like things sure straightened out in a hurry.”
“Nothing of the sort,” Aunt Gertrude declared emphatically. “I'll bet someone forced her to send this wire!”
“Aunt Gertrude,” Joe said with a grin, “you're getting to be more and more like a detective!”
“There's one way to find out for sure,” Frank put in. “And that is to telephone Crowhead!” He waited for his aunt's approval, then dialed long-distance. Soon he was connected with the ranch in New Mexico.
“Hello. Cousin Ruth? ... This is Frank Hardy. Are you all right?”
“Yes, Frank. How are you? And when is your father coming out here?”
“Didn't you just send him a wire saying everything is okay now?”
“Certainly not. The sooner he gets here the better!”
“I'm afraid Dad won't be able to make it, but Joe and I and a friend will arrive sometime tomorrow afternoon,” Frank told her. “Dad's ill. We'll tell you all about it when we see you,” he added quickly to forestall any questions. Then he said good-by and hung up.
When he told his brother and aunt what Ruth Hardy had said, Joe exclaimed, “She must have an enemy who faked the telegram!”
“Or else the call to our house was phony,” Frank suggested. “Let's check the telegraph office.”
“Good idea,” agreed Joe.
A call to the local wire service proved Frank's surmise to be correct. No telegram had been received from Ruth Hardy.
“Chet's stranger!” Joe cried. “He must have phoned the fake message!”
“Obviously. But why would anyone connected with the Arrow case want to keep us here?” Frank shook his head in puzzlement.
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