The Mystery of the Black Rhino

by Franklin W. Dixon

  “Poachers. They’ve killed one of the cheetahs!” Robert said. “Don’t they care that there are only a few left in the wild?”

  “I doubt if the man in the lead cares about much of anything,” Frank said.

  Robert looked at him. “Do you know him?”

  Joe explained their connection to Jackson. “We had a hunch he was going to do something like this,” he said.

  “We can’t let them get away. We have to stop them,” Robert said. “Are you boys up to a detour?”

  “You can count on us!” Frank said.

  “We’d like nothing better than to put an end to what that creep’s up to,” Joe added.

  8 Escape!

  * * *

  Once they were out from behind the yellow acacia trees, Robert and the Hardy boys had no cover. But luck was with them as they made their way down the ravine—they weren’t spotted and no one slipped. They finally made it to the floor, where they took cover behind the seasonal long grass.

  “Those guys up ahead are not the only enemy,” Robert whispered to them as they crouched behind the long grass. “Remember that the big feral cats often use this grass for cover while they stalk their prey.”

  “We won’t forget,” Joe assured him.

  Slowly they started toward the three men. Now sheets of heavy rain masked their movements through the grass. As they got closer, they could hear voices—but Frank soon realized that they weren’t speaking English.

  “Do you understand them?” Joe whispered to Robert.

  Robert nodded. “They’re speaking Swahili.”

  “I knew I should have brought my Swahili phrase book,” Frank said.

  Robert grinned at him. “Well, it’s not exactly tourist Swahili,” he said. “Some of those words probably aren’t in most dictionaries.”

  “What are they saying?” Frank asked.

  Robert cupped his ears and tilted his head so it would be aimed in the direction of the voices. “They’re saying that this cat will bring them a lot of money,” he said.

  Frank could tell by the sound of the voices that they were getting closer. He could hardly wait to see the expression on Jackson’s face.

  “What’s the plan, Robert?” Frank asked.

  Robert opened his safari jacket and took out a gun. “This is the only language that most poachers understand,” he said. “When we get close enough, we’ll try to take them by surprise. If we’re lucky, they’ll drop the cheetah and walk ahead of us until we reach Cheetah Gate.”

  Joe didn’t want to admit that this plan sounded kind of weak to him. Robert was the expert in matters relating to poachers in Africa, so Joe wasn’t going to suggest an alternative. Still, he knew, it would be best to be on guard for anything that could happen.

  The Hardy boys and Robert were now just a few feet behind the three men. Through the tall grass the boys could see two of the men continue to chatter away in Swahili. The magnificent cheetah swung lazily back and forth on the wooden pole that the men were carrying on their shoulders.

  What a waste! Frank thought. He visualized the cheetah racing through the bush after its prey. It would have been a wonderful sight to behold.

  Suddenly Robert stopped. “I think it’s time we take them,” he whispered. “They’ve started to turn south, which will take them out of the park. That’s probably where their cohorts are waiting for them.”

  “We’re ready,” the Hardy boys said.

  “Let’s go!” Robert whispered.

  With Robert in the lead, his gun aimed at the men, the three of them raced through the tall grass.

  When they were right behind the last man, Robert raised his pistol in the air and fired.

  The two startled Africans dropped the pole with the cheetah and ran off into the bush.

  Jackson turned and blinked in disbelief. He had a bloody panga—a large knife—in his hand. He waved it angrily at the two fleeing men and yelled something in Swahili. The men ignored him and within seconds had disappeared into the bush.

  “They probably won’t stop until they’re in Tanzania,” Robert said under his breath. He kept walking toward the man, his gun pointed straight at him.

  Suddenly Jackson threw his knife toward Robert. Before Robert could react, the panga sliced into his side, causing him to drop the gun.

  In seconds Jackson was almost upon them.

  With one glance at each other, the Hardy boys had already decided what they had to do. Joe grabbed the panga, which had fallen to the ground, and Frank grabbed Robert’s gun.

  Robert now had a large rock in his hands. He shouted, “Get the cheetah! Take it to Cheetah Gate!” right before Jackson slammed into his body. Jackson fell to the ground and looked like he was out cold.

  Joe grabbed one end of the pole, and Frank grabbed the other. They started running.

  Adrenaline carried them the first hundred yards. When they finally looked back, they saw Robert trying to get up. When Robert saw them looking, he motioned for them to go on.

  “I hate to leave him here,” Frank said. “I know that panga cut him.”

  “He just wants to make sure the poachers don’t get this cheetah,” Joe said. “Even though it’s dead, they won’t have the satisfaction of selling the skin to some unscrupulous buyer.”

  The Hardy boys started up the slope of the ravine. When they reached the top, they again stopped to look down to the forest floor. Robert was moving slowly, bent over and holding his side. He had made some progress in their direction. Behind him, Jackson was still on the ground, also moving slowly.

  “Change of plans,” Frank said. “I say we wait for Robert.”

  “Yeah. It just occurred to me that once we reach the top of the ravine, I’ll have no idea of where to go,” Joe said.

  When Robert was almost to the top of the ravine, he saw the Hardy boys waiting for him. Initially he was clearly angry, but his anger soon dissipated, and a smile appeared on his face.

  “I’m beginning to believe everything I read about you in the newspaper this morning,” Robert said. “You two really are special.”

  The Hardy boys grinned and helped Robert the rest of the way to the top.

  Jackson was now standing unsteadily, looking around. He finally spotted the Hardys and Robert standing at the top of the ravine. He shook his fist angrily, and started toward them. After a few steps he fell to the ground, but he was up in seconds and making his way slowly toward them. It was almost like a scene out of a horror movie.

  “We need to get started, Robert. Jackson is headed in our direction,” Frank said. “He’s not going to give up.”

  “If I had had a better angle, I could have gotten in a harder blow with that rock,” Robert said, “and that guy would have been out cold longer.”

  Robert insisted that he could manage to walk on his own now that he was on flatter land, so Frank and Joe gave him his gun and the panga. The three of them then headed in the direction of Cheetah Gate.

  “If we keep the river in sight, we should reach Cheetah Gate in a few hours,” Robert told them.

  They were able to cover more distance than the Hardy boys had thought they could. Robert seemed to be able to walk faster with every few feet—but from time to time, he’d stop to rest, and would tell Frank and Joe that they should go on ahead.

  They had just skirted around a fringe of yellow acacias when they literally ran into four men carrying pangas.

  Frank and Joe recognized two of the men immediately. They were the ones who had been carrying the cheetah. They hadn’t run away out of fear, and they were definitely not in Tanzania. They had gone to fetch some of their fellow poachers to take back the cheetah.

  “Drop the pole and run, boys!” Robert cried. “Get to Cheetah Gate and send the police back!”

  Without hesitating, the Hardy boys did as Robert commanded them. They knew they were no match for four men with sharp knives.

  They started running through the tall grass, but one of the poachers was coming after them—with h
is panga raised.

  Without the burden of the cheetah on the pole, the boys could run faster. The idea of leaving such a magnificent animal and Robert at the mercy of the poachers disturbed them—but if they could reach Cheetah Gate in time, they might be able to save Robert. These men knew that the Hardy boys could identify them. That might count for something.

  Soon they were on a rise, and down below, Frank could see the river. It was overflowing, lapping at the edges of the road. All of a sudden they saw one of the tourist minibuses. It had stopped so some of the passengers could look at something in the water. Crocodiles, Frank thought.

  “Joe! Look!” Frank shouted without breaking stride. “I say we head for that bus!”

  Joe looked over his shoulder. The man with the panga raised was still coming after them. “Good idea,” he said. He knew from watching the Summer Olympic Games on television that many Kenyans were long-distance runners, practicing daily by running across the savannah and the hills and mountains in their country. He doubted if this poacher would ever be a member of Kenya’s Olympic team, but that still didn’t mean that he couldn’t run as fast and as far as they could.

  Below them Frank could see that the tourists had begun to reboard the bus.

  “Hey! Wait for us!” Frank shouted. “We need a ride to Cheetah Gate!”

  One lone passenger was still taking photographs of something in the water. Joe hoped he wanted to take plenty of pictures.

  Just then the bus driver honked the horn. The passenger looked up, held up one finger—probably to indicate that he had one more frame—and looked back toward the river.

  Thank you! Thank you! Frank thought.

  Unfortunately the passenger snapped only one more picture before boarding the bus.

  “Wait! Wait!” Joe shouted. “You can’t leave!”

  The man with the panga was gaining on them, but seemed to be moving more cautiously now. Frank was sure he was thinking that if he could get rid of the Hardys without getting too close to the passengers on the bus, there would be no one who could identify him to the Kenyan authorities. What the poacher didn’t realize, though, was that the Hardy boys could run extremely fast.

  The road into the park was flooded by the river, and the driver of the bus was trying to find some dry-enough ground to turn around on. The Hardy boys thought they might make it to the road in time to catch the bus after all.

  With a tremendous burst of speed, they covered the last part of the distance between them and the bus in record time.

  “I wish Coach could see us now,” Joe shouted to Frank.

  “I wish I had a stopwatch,” Frank said. “I think we just broke a world record.”

  By the time the Hardys got to the road, the bus driver had succeeded in turning around, and was just starting to gain some speed. He had to slam on the brakes to keep from hitting the boys.

  Frank and Joe started banging on the door, startling both the driver and the passengers. For a minute it looked like the driver wasn’t going to open the door, but he did finally. As they climbed aboard, Joe looked through one of the bus windows. He saw the poacher standing on the rise the boys had just come from, about a hundred yards away. Joe could only wonder what was going through the poacher’s mind.

  “What’s the meaning of this?” the driver was demanding of Frank. “You can’t pick up one of these buses on a whim.”

  Frank quickly explained that they needed to contact the police at Cheetah Gate because poachers had killed one of the cheetahs and were holding their driver hostage.

  That was all the explanation the driver needed. “Take a seat,” he said. “I’ll radio this information ahead to Cheetah Gate and then get us there as fast as possible.”

  Frank and Joe headed for two empty seats at the back of the bus and sank into the plush seats. The passengers were giving them friendly—but puzzled—looks.

  “What do you think the poachers will do to Robert?” Joe whispered. “You don’t think they’ll kill him?”

  “It could happen, Joe,” Frank said. “He can identify them.”

  “So can we, Frank,” Joe said. “And Jackson knows where to find us.”

  9 A Death in the Hospital

  * * *

  By the time the tourist minibus arrived at Cheetah Gate, the Kenya National Police helicopter had located Robert Namanga and rescued him. He was in a very bad state, having been severely beaten, but he was still able to talk.

  “He’s been taken to Nairobi Hospital, on Argwings Kodhek Road,” Frank and Joe were told. “From what the pilot could tell, you two young men saved his life.”

  “How?” Joe asked.

  “Well, evidently the poacher who was chasing you ran back to tell his accomplices what had happened,” the guard said. “They knew the bus driver would radio Cheetah Gate and that a police helicopter would be dispatched shortly. They stopped beating Namanga and fled into the bush.”

  “Robert must have known what he was doing when he told us to run,” Frank whispered to Joe.

  Joe nodded. “Now I don’t feel so bad about leaving him. If we hadn’t, then none of us would be alive.”

  Frank and Joe rode the tourist minibus back into Nairobi. Several passengers in the tour were also staying at the New Stanley Hotel.

  When the boys got to their room, Mr. Hardy was there. He was talking on the telephone to Mrs. Hardy. The boys took turns saying hello, gave brief—and censored—versions of their trip so far, then returned the phone to their father.

  When Mr. Hardy finally hung up, Frank told him all about their day. “Jackson has to be stopped, Dad! Now Joe and I can prove that he trades illegal wild animal skins and other parts.”

  Mr. Hardy shook his head in dismay. “I talked to several policemen at the conference today,” he said. “Poaching is a big problem all over the continent.”

  “We can give the Kenyan police a description of Jackson, Dad,” Joe suggested. “That should make it easy for them to find him.”

  “Perhaps,” Fenton Hardy said. “But from what I’m hearing, not everyone in the country thinks what the poachers are doing is bad.”

  The Hardy boys looked surprised.

  “What do you mean, Dad?” Frank asked.

  “Look at our own country, boys. It was once covered with wild game, too, but now there’s very little,” Mr. Hardy said. “When people move in, they expect to have land to build houses on and to farm. They don’t want to coexist with wild animals.”

  “The difference now is that hunting protected wild animals is illegal,” Frank countered. “Back then, it wasn’t. We’ve learned a lot about how important it is for people to save the environment, and wild animals are part of the environment.”

  After a brief pause, Mr. Hardy nodded. “I agree,” he said. “I’ll set up a meeting tomorrow with Ian Malindi at Government House.” He sniffed the air. “But right now I think you two need a shower to wash off some of the Nairobi National Park,” he added with a grin.

  Frank and Joe completely agreed with that.

  • • •

  The next morning Mr. Hardy called Dr. Malindi. He agreed to meet the Hardys for lunch to talk about the poaching incident the boys had witnessed the day before.

  Mr. Hardy had his breakfast sent up to the room so he could put the finishing touches on his morning speech.

  Frank and Joe took their time getting out of bed.

  After Mr. Hardy had left for the conference, the Hardy boys got up, dressed, had breakfast in the Thorn Tree Café, and then roamed around the hotel, watching the guests coming and going and absorbing the excitement of Nairobi.

  “I’m sore,” Joe groaned.

  “Me, too,” Frank agreed. “What happened to a restful vacation?”

  Mr. Hardy arrived back at the hotel just before noon. “The midmorning session ran a little late. It seems the news of your adventure yesterday has made the Nairobi newspapers,” he explained. “We had quite a lively discussion about the future of wild animals in Africa. I’ll fill y
ou in on the way to lunch.”

  A black limousine met the Hardys in front of the hotel and drove them to the Ministry of the Interior at Government House. On the way, Mr. Hardy told his sons about some of the issues that were raised earlier that morning.

  When the Hardys reached the ministry, they found that Dr. Malindi was waiting for them in his outer office.

  “Welcome, Fenton,” Dr. Malindi said. “It’s so good to see you again.”

  “It’s good to see you, too, Ian,” Mr. Hardy said. “Let me introduce my sons, Frank and Joe.”

  Dr. Malindi shook hands with the Hardy boys. “I feel as though I know you,” he said. “You’ve only been here a couple of days, and already I can’t turn on the television or pick up a newspaper without seeing your faces.”

  Frank and Joe found themselves blushing.

  “The people of Kenya thank you,” Dr. Malindi said.

  “Well, we were just in the right place at the right time,” Frank said.

  “Twice,” Joe said.

  “I think you’re being too modest,” Dr. Malindi said. “Come.” He motioned for them to follow him into his office. “I’ve had a light lunch sent in for us. I hope you’ll enjoy it.”

  The four of them sat on comfortable couches in the corner of the large office, and dove into the meal of cold meats, cheeses, and fruit.

  “I’ve read the accounts in the newspapers about the poaching incident, but I always like to hear things firsthand, if I can,” Dr. Malindi said. “If you wouldn’t mind telling me your version of the story, I’d appreciate it.”

  Joe recounted the events that had taken place from the time they met Robert Namanga in front of the New Stanley Hotel until the time they returned in the tourist minibus. Occasionally Frank would supply a detail that Joe had forgotten.

  When the Hardy boys finished, Dr. Malindi said, “We’ve known for some time that someone outside Kenya was directing the major poaching operations, but this is the first time we’ve been able to get this full a description of a suspect.”