“Looks as if we’re stumped,” he said ten minutes later when the boys found no evidence of a large flat rock.
Frank, who had squatted down near him and was staring in the direction of the main stream, suddenly gave a shout.
“There it is, fellows!”
He ran toward a little mound of silt and moss that they had overlooked in their search. Digging excitedly for a few seconds, and scraping away the incrustation of many years, he exposed a huge, flat rock to the light.
“And now to find out where the chief’s teepee stood,” Joe said.
“It’s beyond me,” Chet commented, and wearily sat down on the rock.
“Paleface boy want to know where old chief’s teepee stood?” a voice behind him said.
Chet jumped in surprise and whirled to look at an elderly Indian wearing a leather shirt and leggings.
“Hello, Long Heart,” Ted greeted the old man.
The boys had seen him around the village, dressed in the outmoded costume of the Ramapans. Ted introduced him as the oldest member of the tribe.
“He’s always telling us stories of the old days,” Ted said, smiling.
“We do want to know where the old chief’s teepee stood,” Frank said. “Can you help us?”
“My memory not so good—for I am many moons old,” Long Heart answered. “But maybe remember where teepee of great brave stood.”
With that, he started walking back and forth, muttering to himself. Finally he stopped two hundred feet from the ceremonial rock.
“Here,” he said with finality. “Here teepee of chief. Why paleface want know this?” he asked Ted suspiciously.
After the boy told him the palefaces were trying to find the lost deed in order to save the tribe’s land, the old brave’s eyes lighted up.
“Me help,” he said simply. “You build teepee with pole fifteen feet long. Me come tonight at rise of moon.” Saying no more, he turned his back and went toward the village.
“How do you build a Ramapan teepee?” Chet asked. “Is it any different from the ones we made at camp?”
“Probably not.” Ted grinned. “I guess you palefaces learned how from us Indians.”
Nevertheless, he instructed them as they began their work. They cut down six saplings fifteen feet long and tied them together three feet from the top. Then they raised the poles and spread the legs to form a firm base, pressing them into the ground.
The next step was to lash short, flexible saplings horizontally across the slanting poles. After that, they fastened sections of birch and hemlock bark over them with tough vines and trailing roots. Short poles were used to cover the bark to keep it from curling.
Finally they cut a smoke hole at the top and another for an entrance. The boys stood back proudly to view their work.
“Pretty swell,” Chet remarked. “Now if that old moon’ll just come out, we’ll find that deed for your dad in no time, Ted,” he boasted.
“I suppose it’s expecting too much to keep this operation a secret from our enemies,” Frank remarked. “But let’s come here separately tonight and watch for any spies.”
“Agreed,” they all said.
Just before sunset the Hardys, Chet, Ted, and Chief Whitestone, going by separate routes, arrived at the old ceremonial rock. They found Long Heart waiting impassively for them.
“The weather’s holding up,” Frank said to Joe.
Slowly the sun sank below the horizon. Then a few minutes later the hunter’s moon of the legend shone from behind some clouds. Eagerly six pairs of eyes followed the clouds until they blew away.
Suddenly Joe whispered excitedly, “There it is —the crisscross shadow!”
It was true. The poles atop the teepee made crisscrossed shadows on the moonlit ground.
“Let’s dig!” Ted cried, grasping one of the shovels they had brought along.
With grim determination the group sank their spades into the earth and started working.
Would they uncover the missing papers and the jeweled dagger? each one wondered, the silent chief most of all.
The mound of earth beside the hole swiftly grew higher as the pit widened and deepened under the eager labors of the treasure hunters.
Finally Frank paused and leaned on his shovel. “Whew!” he said. “It may be cold by the thermometer, but I’m sure hot.”
“Me too,” Chet puffed. “This digging is getting harder the farther down we go.” He stood in a wide hole up to his knees.
“It’s very rocky in this country,” Chief Whitestone remarked.
After a rest, the four plunged their spades into the hard-packed earth with renewed vigor. The bright hunter’s moon cast an eerie light over the scene, with stalwart Long Heart standing guard.
Joe, regretting that he was not in condition to help the others, stationed himself in the shadow of the teepee, keeping alert for any intruder—accidental or planned.
Suddenly he tensed. He strained his ears to catch a sound over the hard breathing of his friends and the soft thuds the earth made as it was shoveled from the pit. The sound came again.
“A twig being stepped on in the woods,” Joe told himself. “I’d better have a look!”
Quietly he slipped among the trees from which the mysterious crackling had come. Joe peered through the maze of moonlight and shadows. Ahead he thought he could detect a man moving silently among the trees!
He tried to follow the ghostly figure. But it kept eluding him and finally disappeared. Wondering who it could have been, Joe retraced his steps to the clearing where the others were still working.
“Find anything yet?” Joe called out.
Chief Whitestone tossed his shovel aside and clambered out of the hole. The others followed.
“Not a thing!” he replied to Joe.
“We’re getting no place here,” Frank said. “I guess it’s useless to dig any more. There are certainly no buried papers in this spot.”
“Looks as if you’re right,” Ted agreed. “I guess we had the wrong spot for the teepee, or the wrong crisscross shadow.”
In the moonlight the disappointment on everyone’s face was easily seen.
“Buck up, fellows,” Joe said encouragingly. “Maybe after a good night’s sleep we can figure out where we failed to interpret the clue in the legend correctly.”
“Right you are, Joe,” the chief said. “Let’s return home. We’ll all have hot drinks, then go straight to bed.”
As the others gathered up their tools, Joe took Frank aside. Swiftly he told him of the incident in the woods, and his suspicions that the group had been spied upon by a prowler.
“No use worrying the others about it,” he said. “Listen! Let’s stay overnight in the teepee and keep watch for intruders.”
“Great idea,” Frank agreed. “The teepee’s weathertight, and we’ll bring some blankets.”
Chief Whitestone and Ted protested strongly when they heard the plan, but the Hardys insisted.
As the others trooped slowly out of the clearing back to the village, Frank glanced at the moon. “Look!” he pointed. “Clouds up there. Bad weather ahead.”
“Let’s hurry and get things ready for the night,” Joe suggested. “We’ll need a fire.”
Quickly they gathered dead pine limbs and brush and in a short while had a small, cheerful fire blazing inside the teepee. Chet returned with several blankets, then said good night.
As the boys finished adjusting the bark door, Joe held out his hand. “Snow,” he said. “Well, I’ll take the first watch. You get some sleep.”
In a few moments Frank’s regular breathing indicated he was asleep. Bundling warmly, Joe took up his guard duty. The early snow began falling more thickly. After a couple of hours, he woke his brother.
“How’s the weather?” Frank asked.
“Snowing pretty hard. Nothing stirring out there. But keep your eyes open,” he warned.
During Frank’s watch the snow gradually turned to fine rain, but by the time he changed watches, it had sto
pped.
“Starting to turn mighty cold out there,” he said as Joe took up his post.
Morning finally came. The temperature was way down, and when the dawn broke, the clearing and the woods were covered with a dazzling glaze of ice.
There was a rustling at the bark door to the teepee and Ted poked his head through the opening.
“Good morning, fellows. Anything happen during the night?”
“Not a thing,” Frank replied.
But Joe was staring intently at a man who was emerging stealthily from the underbrush. As the stranger reached the clearing, Joe cried out in startled recognition:
“That’s my attacker!”
With a leap, he charged the mysterious fellow and tripped him.
“Good going!” Frank cried.
In a moment Ted pinned his hands behind his back, and the man was their prisoner.
“You’re the guy who whacked me—Smirkis!” Joe said accusingly.
“All right, I’m Smirkis. But I never whacked any of you,” the man protested.
“No? Well, your fingerprints were on the stick. What’s more, I saw you sneaking around while we were digging last night!”
“No, I didn’t spy on you.” Smirkis shook his head vigorously, but he had paled at Joe’s mention of the fingerprints.
“You’d better come with us to police headquarters,” Frank said.
“Wait a minute!” Smirkis cried out anxiously. “I’ll make a deal with you.”
“What kind of deal?” Joe asked.
“If you’ll let me go, I’ll give you some vital information. How about it?” he whined.
The boys looked at one another questioningly. It was attractive bait that Smirkis was offering. His vital information might lead to the solution of the mystery!
Joe and Frank moved out of the man’s hearing to talk it over. “I don’t trust him,” Joe whispered.
Frank nodded. “Let’s try to trick him.”
He turned to Smirkis. “I know what you’re going to tell us. That the men who want to buy this property hired you to get rid of us!”
“How’d you know that?” Smirkis gasped.
No sooner had he uttered the words than a strange voice behind them cried, “Shut up!”
Frank and Joe wheeled around to face three masked men, poised to attack!
CHAPTER XIV
A Rough Trip
As the Hardys leaped at their attackers, one of the masked men side-stepped them to clamp a hand over Ted’s mouth as he started to give the Ramapan war cry for help. Locked in a fierce struggle, Joe and Frank hurled their opponents to the ground. The boys fought with every bit of strength they could muster, but the odds were against them.
“Okay, tie ‘em up and blindfold ’em,” ordered one of the men, who seemed to be the leader.
The arms of the young detectives and their Indian friend were tightly bound and their eyes covered with kerchiefs.
“All set?” the same voice asked. “Let’s go! You know the plan, men.”
Frank and Joe were roughly grasped by the shoulders and pushed.
“Start walking,” the leader ordered.
As they trudged off, the Hardys heard sounds heading in another direction.
“They’re separating us from Ted,” Joe whispered to Frank.
“Keep quiet!” the leader commanded.
“You won’t be so anxious to stick your noses in other people’s business when we get through with you,” one of the men sneered.
“You can’t win, anyway,” the leader said. “In a short while the Indians will be gone!”
“You’re trying to bluff us,” Frank spoke up boldly.
“Bluffing, you say? Just wait and see. This land’s going to change hands, and you can’t stop it!”
After a long silence, one of the men said, “What about Smirkis? He talks too much!”
“The boss’ll take care of him after he does that job for us.”
So Smirkis was the one who had taken Ted away!
Presently the boys were halted. Then hands lifted them up and lowered them into a canoe.
“Okay,” the leader said. “Let’s shove off.”
After a silent trip of an hour or so the bottom of the canoe scraped against sand, and in a moment the boys were jerked to their feet and dragged across the ground. Next, they were lifted into a vehicle with its engine running. They started off over a rough road.
“Start walking!” the leader ordered
Joe and Frank were ravenous, not having eaten for many hours, but the men made no offer of food. The car rumbled on for what seemed an eternity.
“We must be a long way from the Ramapans by now!” Frank thought. “Where are we going?”
Almost an hour later the car stopped. The prisoners were hauled out. The wind was blowing in gusts as if a storm were brewing.
“What next?” the Hardys thought, then heard a plane’s motor being tuned up. They were hoisted into the craft and it took off.
Judging by the way they were being jounced in the air, Frank and Joe realized that they had been stowed in the tail section.
It was a rough trip, with no chance for them to try to loosen their bonds. The plane rose and fell with dizzying speed as it was buffeted by the wind. The drumming of hail indicated that the storm was becoming more violent, and the swift changes of pressure on their eardrums were sickening.
When the plane finally landed, the prisoners were gagged. Then they were carried out, thrown into a car, and driven a distance. After a while the car halted and the boys were pushed up a flight of stairs.
“Okay,” the leader ordered curtly, “cover your own faces and then take off their blindfolds.”
The Hardys blinked as the light, though dim, struck their eyes. Peering around, they found themselves in a gloomy, shabbily furnished room. Their masked captors surrounded them menacingly.
Suddenly the young detectives caught sight of a transparent curtain near one end of the room. A figure was seated behind it, half turned toward them.
The boys gasped. “Dad!” they cried out, shocked by what they saw.
Mr. Hardy looked badly mauled and mistreated. His clothes were mussed and dirt-streaked. His head hung in an attitude of complete defeat!
The masked leader addressed the boys. “You’ve been wondering about your father. Now you know. Mr. Hardy, your sons are here. Speak to them.”
“Boys,” he said, without moving, “you can’t beat these men. Give up!”
Astonished, Frank and Joe tried to break loose and rush to him. But quickly the strong hands of their captors reached out and halted them. They were whisked into an adjoining room and flung violently onto the floor.
Their blindfolds were replaced and tape was fastened over their lips in place of the gags.
“That ought to hold you,” the leader snarled as they struggled in vain, “until you go on your next trip.”
The boys wondered what he meant, and an explanation was immediately forthcoming.
“We’ll be back to put you on a freighter,” he went on, “and when it reaches its destination, you won’t be in a position to bother anybody!”
The door slammed and footfalls told the Hardys that the men had gone. After waiting to make sure that a guard had not been posted, they struggled with their bonds, grunting and panting behind their sealed lips. But their captors had done their work well. The ropes would not budge an inch! Exhausted, they sprawled on the floor.
Suddenly Frank got an idea. “It might work,” he told himself hopefully.
Crawling over to Joe, he raised himself erect, using his brother’s body as a prop. Slipping his bound wrists over the doorknob, he wriggled his hands round and round.
Finally one of the bonds loosened, then another. Frank twisted his hands violently. The ropes slipped. He was free!
Quickly he ripped off the blindfold and the adhesive tape, then released his brother.
“Thank goodness!” Joe whispered. “Now to break out of here!”
Rubbing their chafed wrists, the boys surveyed the dingy little room. The only exit was the door. When it refused to open, Joe said:
“Come on. Let’s crash it!”
Rearing back, they heaved against the door. Once, twice, then a loud splintering noise and the door gave way.
Crashing into the other room, they looked for their father. But he as well as the men had vanished!
“They’ve taken Dad with them!” Joe cried.
“Come on,” Frank urged. “Let’s get out of here. We have work to do to save him!”
The boys dashed down the stairs and into the street. They gazed around them.
“This place looks familiar,” Frank said, then added excitedly as he saw a store sign, “We’re in Southport!”
“Let’s get to the police fast, Frank,” Joe urged, “before those men get too far away with Dad!”
“Hold on a minute!” Frank exclaimed, a strange look coming over his face. “There’s something mighty queer about this whole deal. Before we see the police, I suggest that we get in touch with Mother and with Sam Radley.”
“You suspect something?” Joe asked.
“I sure do!”
CHAPTER XV
The Hideout
“THAT wasn’t Dad at all,” Frank told Joe.
“What!”
“Bet you anything! He’d have given us some sign.”
“But it was his voice,” Joe protested.
“That’s the only part which puzzles me,” Frank confessed. “Before we go to the police, let’s check with Sam Radley and find out whether he’s heard from Mr. Bryant.”
“Good idea. But how about some food?”
“You find a taxi and I’ll grab some sandwiches.”
“With what?” Joe asked.
Frank realized ruefully that they did not have any money and knew no one in town but the police.
“I guess we’ll have to go to them after all and borrow some money.”
They walked to headquarters and told their story. The captain said he would investigate the place at once. By the time the boys had washed, combed their hair, and brushed their clothes, the officers had returned. They reported that they could find no trace of the kidnappers.
“I’m sure they won’t return,” the captain commented, adding that Breck and York had not been seen in Southport.
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