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Authors: Franklin W. Dixon

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BOOK: The Sting of the Scorpion
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Iola giggled. “Go and ask him.”
The Hardys tramped around the barn and into the wooded grove behind it. They found their roly-poly chum in T-shirt and gym pants, holding on to a rope tied to the branch of a tall tree and swinging.
At the sight of the brothers, Chet dropped to the ground. He was sweating profusely, but his moon face was wreathed in smiles.
“Hi, guys. Meet Jungle Man!” he thumped his barrel chest and gave vent to an errie bellow that shook the leaves on the trees.
“What in the world are you up to?” Joe asked.
“Wait till I tell you. Boy, have I got a great idea!”
“I'll bet.”
“No, really! That setup at Wild World, it's really a form of show biz, right? I mean, the animal displays, and the amusement rides to help attract crowds. Pop Carter himself used to run a circus.”
Frank shrugged. “I suppose you could call it a form of show biz. So what?”
“So I have an act that'll top everything!” their chubby chum announced.
“Chet Morton as Jungle Man?” Joe stared. “Are you kidding?”
“No. Let me give you a sneak preview!”
Chet spat on his palms, which were red and blistered. “I ought to rub some chalk on my hands first, but never mind.”
He grabbed the dangling rope, took a few steps backward, then launched himself with a running jump. As he swung back and forth like a pendulum, he pumped with his chunky legs to increase the arc of his swing.
Finally he was far enough out to touch a tree behind him with his feet. Using its trunk to give himself a fresh push, Chet swung high in the air, aiming for the branch of another tree some distance away.
Unfortunately, the branch was too slender to support his weight, or perhaps it was already cracked from too much use. Whatever the reason, it suddenly gave way, just as he managed to land on it precariously.
With a loud report, the branch broke off. Chet yelled in fright as he plunged to the ground.
Luckily Frank and Joe had dashed to his aid as soon as they saw the bough start to bend, so they were able to break his fall. But Chet was badly shaken by his mishap. “I think I need some nerve tonic!” he gulped.
“I think you're right, pal.” Joe chuckled, and the boys went into the house.
Over ice-cold glasses of cola, the Hardys told their friend of their plan to spy out a possible enemy move on Rocky Isle. Chet tended to get the jitters whenever their mystery cases became too exciting, but could always be depended on in a tight spot.
“Okay,” he agreed. “But let's play it careful, huh, and not go asking for trouble.”
“We won't,” Frank promised. “Anyway, it can't be any more dangerous than your jungle-man act.”
Shortly after eight o'clock that night, equipped with sleeping bags and camping gear, the four boys shoved off from a dock in Bayport Harbor aboard Tony Prito's boat, the
Napoli.
A cool evening breeze had set in across the bay, carrying a bracing salt tang toward the shore.
“Should be great sleeping tonight,” said Tony as he steered a course across the dark, moon-dappled water, kicking up plumes of spray.
“I just hope we
get
some sleep!” Chet remarked nervously.
Frank grinned. “We'll take turns standing watch. I wish it weren't so bright. But maybe it's just as well. At least we won't have to use our flashlights much to find our way around.”
“Hey!” Joe exclaimed softly. “Speaking of flashlights, take a look over there!”
He pointed toward the brightly lighted amusement park area of Wild World, which could be seen overlooking the waterfront just north of town. A green light was flashing on and off from the revolving Ferris wheel.
“Somebody's signaling!” Chet Morton gasped.
CHAPTER VII
Cave Camp
 
 
 
 
TONY slowed the
Napoli
so they could watch the flashes.
“They're signals all right,” Frank agreed, “but not in Morse code.”
The same thought was going through everyone's head. Were the signals in any way connected with their secret scouting expedition to Rocky Isle?
“I don't like this,” Chet gulped. “Maybe someone spotted us leaving the dock!”
“That's not likely,” Joe argued. “Why would they watch Tony's boat? But I'll bet it has something to do with the gang.”
Frank nodded thoughtfully. “I agree. If you'll notice, the flashes only occur around the top half of the wheel's turn, so the signals could probably be seen by someone on the island.”
“Especially by someone on the north shore,” Joe added, thinking of the code message.
“Want to turn back?” Tony asked in a disappointed voice.
“Not unless you fellows do,” Frank said.
“Not me!” Tony declared with an air of suppressed excitement.
The Hardys glanced at Chet, who hesitated a moment, then shrugged cheerfully. “Oh, well, we've come this far. May as well see what's out there.”
“Good,” Frank said. “But from now on we'd better watch our step and be extra careful.”
The green light flashes had ceased while they were talking. The boys continued their cruise to Rocky Isle, with only the sound of the boat engine and the slap of water against the hull to accompany their passage. As they neared the island, Tony shut off the motor and they made the final leg of the trip with muffled oars.
On Frank's suggestion, they beached the boat on the southwestern shore and covered it with brush and driftwood.
Rocky Isle was a popular picnic and swimming spot by day. The boys had briefly used a Chinese junk to operate a ferry service between there and Bayport. After dark the regular ferry service ceased, and the lighthouse was now automated, which left the island in desolate loneliness during the night hours. Even the park guard's cottage was dark.
“Let's leave our stuff here and scout the north shore before we settle down for the night,” Frank said, after they had lugged their camping gear halfway across the island.
“Suits me,” said Chet, who was beginning to puff a bit.
The boys hiked the rest of the way with their hands free except for flashlights, and cautiously probed the northern portion of the tiny island. The terrain was rocky and vegetation sparse, affording few places for cover.
The horseshoe-shaped cove was fringed by a sandy beach, which in turn was overlooked by flat-topped cliffs, barren except for weedy clumps of dune grass and here and there a gnarled, stunted tree. There was no sign of any other human in the area.
“We must have beaten the gang over here,” Tony observed, “if they're coming at all.”
“Sure looks that way,” Joe agreed. “Let's bring our gear and lie down.”
They unrolled their sleeping bags in the tall grass on the bluff overlooking Horseshoe Cove. A few boulders and a nearby tree gave them a certain amount of cover, and from this vantage point they could see anything happening on the beach below.
“We'll stand two-hour watches, okay?” Frank plucked several weed stalks, broke off the tops, and clutched four uneven pieces in his fist with the ends sticking out. “Draw straws for turns,” he proposed. “Shortest stands the first watch, second shortest takes the second, and so on. Okay?”
Joe drew the first two-hour sentry assignment, and Tony the next, followed by Chet. Frank, who was left holding the longest straw, would stand the last watch, by the end of which time, the boys figured it would be daylight.
In the peaceful night air, with the sound of surf in their ears and the occasional distant mewing of seagulls, the three boys soon fell asleep. Joe was left to study the stars and keep his eyes and ears trained for any suspicious comings or goings. The lighthouse beam swept intermittently out to sea.
Some time later, Frank awoke in the darkness. He had heard a faint noise somewhere in the distance. Cautiously he squirmed upright out of his sleeping bag and looked around him.
Chet, who was guard at the time, was slumped against a rock. A low, sawing noise issued from his open mouth!
“Oh, no!” Frank muttered to himself. He wormed his way through the tall grass toward the edge of the cliff and scanned the shore, where a fresh shock awaited him.
On the beach, not far from a point just below his own position, he could make out the figures of three men!
Frank wriggled back toward his own group and shook their sleeping sentry.
“Chet, wake up!” he hissed, then immediately clapped a hand over the boy's mouth before he could utter a startled outcry.
“Wh-wh-whassa matter?” Chet managed to say in a muffled voice between Frank's fingers.
“You fell asleep at the switch, that's what,” Frank whispered in his ear, “and now three of the gang are down on the beach.”
With the utmost caution, the pair woke up their two companions, and Frank, Joe, and Tony hastily pulled on their sneakers. Then, as silently as Indians, the boys wriggled toward the edge of the bluff. The three men appeared to be digging in the sand.
“What are they up to?” Joe whispered in his brother's ear.
“Search me.”
Tony wormed his way closer to the brink of the cliff for a better look. In doing so, he dislodged a few fragments of gravel, which skittered down the steep slope! Instantly the three men on the beach jerked to attention. One swung a flashlight beam in the boys' direction.
“Someone's up there!” he shouted.
Frank realized that he and his pals might be in a tight spot if the men were armed. Thinking fast, he called out, “There they are, sergeant!”
Joe immediately clued in and exclaimed loudly, “I'll go get the rest of the men!”
Their ruse worked even better than they had dared hope. The crooks appeared to panic.
“It's the law!” one of them cried. “Let's get out of here!”
All three broke into a run down the beach.
“What do we d-do now?” Chet stammered, excited.
“Go after them!” Frank blurted. “Maybe we can scare them into surrender, or at least get a good look at them!”
The boys slid and scrambled down the steep slope and took off in hot pursuit, though the sand slowed their pace. The crooks were already out of sight in the darkness.
The shoreline curved sharply beyond the cove. As the boys rounded the arc of the horseshoe and continued along the jagged beach, they could see no sign of their quarry. Finally they halted to look around.
“Where did they go?” Tony asked, puzzled.
“They probably went up the hill to cut across the island,” Frank conjectured. “The slope isn't that steep here. It wouldn't take them long to reach higher ground. I imagine they beached their boat a safe distance away, just as we did.”
The four boys clambered back up the hillside for a better view. The moon drifted out from behind a veil of clouds, but despite the increased brightness, they could see no one.
Joe snapped his fingers. “Wait a second. I'll bet I know where they've gone!”
“Where?” Chet panted.
“That cave you discovered when we solved the Chinese Junk mystery!”
Frank was less hopeful, but agreed the cave might be worth looking at in the absence of any better leads. It was located on the north side of the island, not far from their present position. The boys walked toward it through the moonlit darkness.
To reach the entrance, they had to climb several yards below the brow of the cliff. Here Frank called a momentary halt before entering. They strained their ears for the slightest sound from within but could hear nothing.
“Okay, come on!” Frank led the way, keeping his fingers over the lens of the flashlight so as to provide just enough illumination to see where they were going, without glaringly advertising their approach.
Even in the dim glow of his flash beam, the interior of the cavern looked awesome. Because of water seepage, it was a “living cave” with glittering icicles that thickened into stalactites and stalagmites as the boys probed deeper into the bedrock of the island.
Finally the passageway widened into a huge chamber with a vast, greenish scum-laden pool that gave off faint ripples as water bubbled up from below. Frank shone his flashlight around more boldly now, convinced there was no one hiding in the cave.
“What's that?” Joe exclaimed, snapping on his own beam to brighten their view of a spot that Frank's light had just swept over.
There were unmistakable signs that someone had recently been camping there!
Excited, the boys skirted the small underground lake and hurried toward the far wall of the chamber. Besides a camp cot and a beat-up, greasy-looking pillow with uncovered striped ticking, there were several cartons of canned food along with eating utensils, bottled beverages, a kerosene lantern, and a supply of candles and matches. Accumulated trash from a number of meals lay nearby.
“Whoever the guy is, or was, he must have been here for more than a few days,” said Tony. “He left plenty of empties.”
Frank picked up a book from the cot. Its title was
Elephant Lore.
“Joe, look at this!” he exclaimed. “The guy's been reading about elephants!”
The Hardys traded startled glances, each remembering what Pop Carter had told them about his recent difficulties with Sinbad.
“And that's not all,” Frank added suddenly as he leafed through the book. “What do you make of these?” He pulled out two snapshots that had been stuck between the pages.
“Jumpin' catfish!” Joe gasped. “They're pictures of
us!
”
BOOK: The Sting of the Scorpion
11.98Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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