“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:
“‘All 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.
“It doesn’t make sense,” Joe agreed. “You’d think the thieves would be glad to get us out of town.”
Later that afternoon Frank and Joe, accompanied by their aunt, went to the hospital to say good-by to their father. Mr. Hardy was in good spirits, especially since the doctor had told him he could go home within a few days.
“Keep your eyes and ears open,” he advised his sons, “and look for the unusual. I’m sure you’ll be able to clear up Ruth’s troubles.”
“We’ll do our best, Dad,” Frank reassured him.
“Don’t take any unnecessary risks,” the detective went on. “And keep me posted on what’s happening.”
When the Hardys, their mother, and Aunt Gertrude reached the airport early the next morning, Chet was already there, sporting a grin and a ten-gallon hat. After good-bys had been said, the three boys boarded the plane.
The big jet taxied out to the runway and soon soared into the sky. Bayport became a mere speck in the distance, finally disappearing on the horizon.
After a smooth flight the craft set down at El Paso, Texas. The boys alighted and went at once to look around for a charter flight to Crowhead. When Frank entered the main terminal a lanky blond stranger approached him.
“You looking for a charter flight?” he asked.
“Yes,” Frank replied. “How did you know?”
“Heard you fellows talking when you got off the plane,” the man answered. He looked pleased. “A friend of mine has a nifty ship,” he went on. “He’ll take you wherever you want to go. And very reasonable.”
The stranger’s eagerness aroused Frank’s suspicions. “I have something to attend to first,” he said. “I’ll talk to you later if we want to hire your friend.”
When Frank told Chet and his brother about the man’s offer, they agreed they had better be wary of him.
“He may have followed us from Bayport!” Chet exclaimed.
“Maybe he’s mixed up with the phony telegram!” Joe declared.
“Let’s look around to see what else is for hire,” Frank suggested.
“Not me,” Chet put in. “That snack on the plane wasn’t enough. I’m going to the restaurant here for some chow.”
He went into the airport cafeteria while Frank and Joe strolled off to find a charter flight. About fifteen minutes later Chet had finished a stack of blueberry pancakes when he happened to glance out the window alongside him.
What he saw almost made him choke. There stood the man with the bushy eyebrows to whom he had mentioned the Western trip back on the farm in Bayport! Talking to him was a lanky blond fellow.
“He must be the guy Frank described before,” Chet thought. “I’ve got to tell the Hardys!”
At that moment the Bayport man turned, his eyes meeting Chet’s for a split second.
“I don’t think he recognized me,” Chet told himself and got up.
The men moved on, disappearing around a corner. Chet paid his check and hurried to find Frank and Joe.
They were in front of a hangar, talking to a robust-looking pilot who stood beside a two-engine silver plane. Quickly Chet motioned them aside and told them about the two suspicious strangers.
Frank frowned. “There’s no doubt we’ve been followed.” Then he turned to the pilot. “Mr. Stratton, I’d like you to meet our friend Chet Morton.”
Chet shook hands with the man as Joe said, “Mr. Stratton’s a former Air Force pilot. He’s agreed to take us all to Crowhead Ranch.”
“Terrific!” cried Chet, beaming.
“Welcome aboard,” the pilot said affably. “And please—my nickname’s Winger. I’ll just gas up and check her out, then we’ll be ready. Meet you back here in twenty minutes.”
During the waiting interval, Frank suggested they check up on Winger, just to be sure they could trust him. A talk with airport officials indicated that the pilot had been flying out of El Paso for years, and was entirely reliable.
“Guess I’m getting too suspicious,” Frank admitted, grinning. “But with spies following us—”
“Better safe than sorry, eh?” Joe finished.
At the end of the allotted time, Winger reappeared, directed his passengers to board the plane, and helped with their luggage. Then, taxiing to the end of the runway, he turned, waited for clearance from the tower, headed into the wind and took off smoothly.
“These small planes are great,” Joe said enthusiastically.
“Just as safe as the big jets,” Frank said confidently.
Chet wished he could agree. He was holding on tightly to the sides of his seat, gazing at the ground below.
“Take your eyes off the scenery,” Frank advised, “and look at the clouds!”
Chet turned. Looking backward, he suddenly motioned to the boys excitedly.
“Hey!” he yelled. “I think a plane’s following us!”
The pilot turned and agreed. He slowed his roaring engines.
“We’ll let him catch up so we can take a closer look. Maybe it’s a friend of mine having some fun.”
The tailing plane also relaxed its pace, keeping slightly above them.
Frank told Winger just enough of the mystery they were trying to solve to interest him in helping them.
“I’m sure that plane is following us for no good reason,” he said.
“Want to change about?” Winger asked.
“What do you mean?”
“I’ll get in back of that guy and tail him,” Winger said. Then he added, “How’s your stomach?”
Frank smiled and Joe answered, “Okay with us. How about you, Chet?”
The boy groaned. The pancakes felt like lead under his belt, but he had no choice but to give the go-ahead sign.
“Get set!” the pilot shouted.
Suddenly the plane shot upward with such velocity that the boys felt as if they were being pressed into their seats by an invisible hand.
In a breath-taking swoop, the craft was upside down at the top of a tight inside loop. Then it dived down directly in back of their mysterious pursuers !
CHAPTER IX
Forced Landing
TAKEN by surprise, the pilot of the mystery plane tried to shake off Winger’s ship. He banked first to the right, then to the left. But the former Air Force man stuck to his quarry.
“Atta boy!” Joe cried gleefully, admiring their pilot’s deft maneuvering.
Chet did not say a word. His eyes stared straight ahead as if glued to a specter.
Finally the kibitzing plane, after zooming in vain to get away from Winger’s craft, headed back toward El Paso. Winger followed. The pursued ship headed directly for the airport and descended.
Winger remained aloft for a few minutes. He had to wait for landing permission from the tower. The boys watched as their quarry landed. But suddenly they gasped. The craft had hardly touched down on the runway when it made a daring take-off!
“Follow him!” Joe cried out.
“I can’t,” the pilot replied. He had just received orders to come in. “Against regulations to go up without checking in,” he added.
“But that fellow didn’t,” Joe said.
“I know. Let’s see what the airport people know about him.”
Chet remained in the plane, while Winger and the Hardys went to the terminal. They found a group of angry officials discussing the mysterious plane which had broken the rules of the field. It had come in without a signal and taken off without reporting.
No one had been close enough to see its registration number. It had swooped in and out too quickly.
Frank related the story of their experience. They could offer little to identify the plane, except that it was a white two-engine craft and appeared to be carrying two men. The officials promised to do what they could to trace the lawbreakers.
“Well, let’s start all over again,” Winger proposed as they walked back to their craft.
“I hope Chet hasn’t run off.” Joe grinned. “I don’t think he and his pancakes liked your little stunt, Winger.”
But Chet was in the seat where they had left him.
“How do you feel?” Winger asked him.
Chet bobbed his head up and down, saying nothing.
A few minutes later they were in the air again. Here and there dense woodlands dotted the hills and cattle country. Once in a while a picturesque ranch house came into view below.
“According to your directions, we should be headed straight for Crowhead,” Winger said an hour later. “Ever been there before by air?”
“No,” Frank replied. “But we have a good idea of the layout.”
“Well, when you recognize anything, give a shout.”
Frank and Joe alertly watched the terrain beneath them. Presently the plane droned over a strand of ponderosa pines.
Frank, glancing from the right side of the craft, suddenly reached out and grabbed Joe’s arm.
“Hey, look at that!”
“What is it?” Winger queried, while Joe and Chet jumped up and looked out Frank’s window.
“There among the trees,” Frank pointed.
“I see it!” Joe exclaimed. “It’s a giant arrow cut out of the woods!”
“A crooked arrow!” Chet observed.
Winger was puzzled. “What on earth could that mean?” he asked. He banked to go back and look at the strange sight again.
“It looks,” said Frank, “as if the timber has been cut purposely in the form of a bent arrow. Let’s circle around to see if we can spot anything else.”
“Okay with me,” the pilot agreed.
Winger flew in ever-widening circles. But the dense woodland yielded no signs of habitation and no further markers.
Finally the pilot came back again to the crooked arrow. Frank nudged Joe, who bent his head closer to his brother.
“Do you see where the arrow points?” he whispered excitedly.
“Right toward Crowhead Ranch!” Joe replied. The two exchanged significant glances.
“I wonder what it all means,” Joe said, puzzled.
“You’ve got me,” Frank remarked with concern. “But this, together with the phony telegram, seems to prove there is a connection between this area and the gang of thieves. We’ll have to find out what it is, and pronto!”
“I wish we could see if anybody’s down there,” Joe said. “It might be a hideout for the gang!”
“No chance of landing among these trees,” Frank declared.
As the pilot headed away from the arrow, Joe noticed a cleared spot beyond the arrow’s head. He was about to bring it to Winger’s attention when suddenly the airplane’s engines began to sputter. Winger looked back at the boys, his forehead wrinkled with concern.
“It’s a giant arrow!” Joe exclaimed
“I may have to take her down!” he called grimly.
“Crowhead’s not far from here,” Frank said.
“There’s a field to our left,” Joe put in. “Maybe we could land there if we have to.”
Winger tried frantically to get the proper response from the engines, but they contin
ued to wheeze and cough.
“Down we go!” he yelled.
The wind whined against the plane’s surface as the craft, under Winger’s steady hand, made for the clearing. Chet closed his eyes in terror, but the Hardys, fascinated by the pilot’s skill, watched every move.
The plane banked, its wings brushing the treetops. At last it settled down in the field without mishap.
“Whew!” Chet cried out. “That was too close for comfort!”
“Sure was,” Winger agreed. “I just hope we can get out of here again.”
They all jumped from the plane. Frank, who was a good mechanic, offered to help examine the engines for the trouble spot.
Before he went to work, he said to Chet and Joe, “How about you two taking a look around to see if you can find out anything about that arrow?”
“Okay,” Joe said, ready for adventure.
Chet stared at the unknown, and to him, hostile surroundings. He felt no great desire to move one foot.
“A walk will do you good,” Joe urged.
Chet remained where he was. “I knew it,” he complained. “I come out West for a good time, and the next thing I know I’m in a gangsters’ hideout!”
“That shouldn’t bother you. How about that judo you learned?” Joe needled him. “You could throw a couple of gunmen right over your shoulder.”
“Gunmen?” Chet’s eyebrows shot up. “That settles it. I’ll help on the engine. You and Frank go.”
It took quite a bit of persuasion on the Hardys part before Chet finally set off with Joe. Cautiously they advanced among the trees, but there was no sign of human habitation.
It was evident, however, that someone had been there recently because the land in the crooked arrow area had been stripped of all new growth so that the arrow sign could be plainly seen from the air.
“This spot must be here to mark that clearing we used as an airstrip,” Joe concluded. “Probably for members of the crooked arrow gang. That may have been their white plane following us!”
The boys hunted for clues to the criminals’ identity but found nothing. Finally they returned to the plane. Winger and Frank had located the trouble. There was water in one of the fuel tanks.
The Sign of the Crooked Arrow Page 5
