The Sting of the Scorpion

by Franklin W. Dixon

  “They must have heard you broadcast the message,” Joe deduced. “Where were you calling from?”

  “The parking lot on the other side of the entrance you pulled into. Right after Phil spotted you, we used the CB radio in Tony Prito’s pickup truck.”

  “Did you notice anyone eavesdropping?”

  Biff looked at Phil and Chet. All three thought for a moment, then shook their heads.

  “I guess not,” Biff concluded. “But that doesn’t prove much. There were people all around us, hopping in and out of cars. We were getting such a bang out of fooling you, we probably wouldn’t have noticed, anyway.”

  “Where’s Tony?” Frank inquired.

  “He had to help his dad on some construction work.” Biff explained that he and the others had come to Wild World to apply for jobs as park attendants in response to an ad in the Sunday paper. Although Tony .had to leave as soon as they filled out their forms and were interviewed, Chet, Biff, and Phil had decided to stick around and enjoy the rides in the park’s amusement area. “How about you guys?” he asked. “Did you come to apply, too?”

  “Nope.” Joe grinned, teasing. “We came to check out an X-mark on a map.”

  Their chums’ curiosity was immediately aroused. When the Hardys showed them the mysterious folder that had arrived in the mail, their three friends insisted on coming with them to inspect the hollow tree.

  Although Wild World was surrounded by a high chain-link fence, the animal park proper was also partitioned off from the amusement area. To reach the spot indicated on the map, the Hardys’ car would have to take its place in the line of vehicles cruising slowly along the road that wound through the animal range. A sign above the gateway warned spectators not to leave their cars.

  “That X-mark better not be a gag,” Chet grumbled as they paid their admission fare through the car window to an attendant with a coin changer on his belt. “This ride’s costing us money.”

  “Don’t worry. You’ll get your money’s worth just seeing the animals,” Joe said.

  “You bet!” Phil piped up enthusiastically. “I went through with my whole family a couple of weeks ago. It’s almost like a trip through an African game preserve!”

  His words were borne out as they passed in close view of grazing giraffes, ostriches, and gazelles. The sights were impressive. Many spectators pulled off the road to photograph the animals, and Joe wished he had brought his camera.

  One ostrich gulped a peanut Biff tossed out the window. The creature seemed to take a fancy to him and raced alongside the car, keeping up easily with long loping strides of its knobby legs.

  “Careful. I think it’s fallen for you!” Frank joked. “Either that or it’s hungry.”

  Biff hastily pulled back from the window. “Better get my head in before it gives me a peck on the cheek!”

  “Serve you right for wasting good peanuts,” said Chet, munching. He and Biff had each bought a bagful outside the gate, and the chubby youth was busily cracking the shells and popping goobers into his mouth.

  “Boy, all you need’s a good monkey suit, and you’d make a great addition to this park,” Phil wisecracked.

  “Listen, I haven’t had a thing to eat since breakfast,” Chet said defensively.

  Joe glanced back from the front seat. “When was that, an hour ago?”

  “Hey, we’re coming to lion country!” Biff exclaimed, peering ahead over the Hardy boys’ shoulders.

  This area was enclosed by a fence of its own, and visitors were advised to keep their windows up. Frank, at the wheel, followed the cars ahead. Half a dozen or more of the big cats could be seen, including two males with flowing dark manes, several females, and at least one cub.

  One male was fast asleep with his legs in the air, snoring audibly.

  “Now that’s what I call a real snooze!” Chet said enviously.

  Frank grinned. “You should know.”

  He braked to a stop at the gate booth as they were leaving the lion enclosure.

  “Can I help you?” said a black youth on duty in the booth. Pinned to the pocket of his green park attendant’s uniform was a badge showing his name, Leroy Mitchell.

  Frank took out the folder with the X-mark. “We’re searching for a certain tree.”

  The youth glanced at the diagram, then looked up with an expression of puzzled interest. “Where’d you get this?”

  “It came in the mail,” Frank replied and showed him the envelope.

  Leroy Mitchell’s eyes widened. “Man alive! Don’t tell me you’re one of those dudes?”

  “Which dudes?”

  “The ones who solve all the mysteries—the sons of that famous detective.”

  “You guessed it. That’s us,” Frank said. “I’m Frank, and this is my brother Joe.”

  Leroy broke out in a friendly grin as he shook hands with the boys. “Wait till I tell everyone about meeting you two!”

  “How about the tree,” Frank asked, glancing around. “If I read this map right, it must be near here.”

  The black boy studied the diagram for a few moments. “Yeah, it’s got to be that big old hollow oak.” He pointed to a tree about a hundred yards off, on the right side of the road leading away from lion country.

  “Okay if we get out and take a closer look at it?”

  “Sure. I guess so. Nothing dangerous around there. But watch your step.”

  “Thanks, Leroy.”

  “Any time. Nice meeting you guys.”

  Frank drove near the hollow oak, then pulled to the side of the road. He and Joe got out.

  “The rest of you had better wait in the car,” Frank suggested.

  Biff nodded. “Sure.” He and his two friends in the back seat watched as the Hardy boys approached the oak.

  “What do you think?” Joe asked his brother.

  “Maybe there’s something hidden in it.” Frank stuck his arm in the hollow trunk.

  “Anything there?” Joe asked eagerly.

  “Yes, it feels like an envelope.” Frank picked it up and withdrew his arm. As his hand came out, clutching the white object, Joe turned pale.

  “Watch out!” the younger Hardy boy yelled. “Look what’s on it!”

  CHAPTER III

  A Trumpeting Tusker

  CLINGING to the envelope was a brown creature, several inches long. It had two crablike front claws, eight legs, and a tail ending in a stinger.

  “A scorpion!” Frank gasped, his eyes widening in horrified disgust. The small animal’s tail was curving forward over its back, ready to sting him in the hand. Frank dropped the envelope as if it were red hot!

  The same question occurred to both boys.

  “Is this what Dad was trying to warn us about?” Joe wondered out loud, still a trifle breathless.

  Frank shrugged and ran his fingers through his hair. “Maybe, though I don’t see how he could have known I’d stick my hand in this hollow tree.”

  “He might have known someone would use a scorpion sooner or later to harm us.”

  “Could be.”

  The loud sound of a put-putting motor caught the Hardys’ attention. Turning, they saw a park guard speeding toward them on a trail bike. He had a visored uniform cap on his head and a holstered weapon on his hip.

  Red-faced with annoyance, the burly officer braked his bike and swaggered up to growl at the Hardys. “What are you two kids doing out of your car?”

  Joe started to explain, but Frank cut him short. “We got permission from one of the attendants.”

  “What attendant?” the guard demanded, as if he thought Frank were lying.

  “Leroy Mitchell in the gate booth at lion country.”

  The guard turned to look in the direction Frank indicated. Leroy, evidently noticing that the Hardy Boys were in trouble, left his post and hurried toward them. Two or three passing cars slowed or halted so their occupants could see what was going on.

  The guard started to bluster at the Hardys again as Leroy reached the scene.r />
  “Take it easy,” the black youth said to the officer. “I told them it would be all right to get out of their car just this once. They wanted to take a look at the tree.”

  “Don’t you know it’s against regulations for visitors to leave their cars?”

  “Sure, but they only wanted to get out for a couple of minutes. And there’s nothing dangerous around here.”

  The only animals in sight were a pair of mild-eyed gazelles, grazing and paying not the slightest attention to human goings-on.

  “It’s still against regulations,” the officer said roughly.

  “Okay. If I’ve done wrong, report me,” Leroy said. “Don’t hassle these guys.”

  The guard grunted and told the Hardys to go back to their car. “And from now on,” he warned, “obey the park rules!”

  Joe pointed to the brown creature crawling on the grass near the envelope. “If you’re so anxious to protect visitors, better get rid of this scorpion before it stings someone.”

  The guard was taken aback and seemed reluctant to touch the odd creepy-crawler. Leroy grinned and brought an empty milk carton from his booth to scoop up the scorpion for safe disposal.

  Frank retrieved the envelope, and after thanking the black youth, he and Joe rejoined their buddies in the car.

  “What was that all about?” Biff asked.

  Joe filled him and the others in as Frank peered inside the envelope. It contained a card bearing a seemingly senseless jumble of letters.

  “Some kind of code,” the elder Hardy boy declared and passed the card to his brother. “Guess we’ll have to try cracking it later.”

  Joe studied the letters while Frank started the car and turned back onto the road.

  “I wonder if the same party planted both this code message and the scorpion?” Joe mused.

  “Good question,” Phil agreed.

  “There’s another,” Chet put in. “Would a scorpion sting kill you?”

  “It would certainly hurt,” Frank said, “and I think the venom of some species can be fatal. Matter of fact I intend to read up on scorpions in the encyclopedia when I get home.”

  “Likewise,” said Joe.

  “You really think someone planted that scorpion, and tried to set you guys up?” Phil inquired.

  Frank shrugged. “I doubt that it got there on its own.”

  On either side of the road roamed zebras and several kinds of antelope, which the boys identified from the park folder as gnus, elands, and hartebeests.

  Ahead, they were coming to a fenced-in elephant pen. Because the animals were big enough and strong enough to overturn a car, visitors were not allowed to enter their compound and could only drive past the fence, a few yards from the road.

  Nevertheless, spectators were able to get an excellent view. Three of the huge beasts were drinking at a shallow creek that flowed through the enclosure. One was wading in the stream and scooping up water, then flipping its trunk backward for a do-it-yourself shower.

  “I wouldn’t mind cooling off like that,” Chet observed enviously, fanning his chubby-cheeked face with the now-empty peanut bag.

  “Why don’t you get in there and join ’em?” Biff joked. “You’d look right at home—you’re built along the same lines!”

  “Don’t knock it.” Frank grinned. “That kind of beef makes a good football lineman.”

  Visitors’ cars had slowed to a halt and everyone seemed to be enjoying the spectacle. In a foreign-made station wagon just ahead, a bearded man with a camera was waving and shouting to attract the elephant’s attention, then hastily snapping pictures. Checking the rearview mirror, Frank noticed two men in sport shirts sitting in a blue car. They were wise-cracking loudly and chucking popcorn out the window at the elephants.

  Suddenly one big tusker bellowed, taking everyone by surprise. The animal waved its upraised trunk to and fro as if sniffing the air, then charged toward the road, trumpeting loudly! When it reached the fence, the huge creature reared up on its hind legs, as if ready to batter down any obstruction!

  “Oh, no!” Phil gasped. “Is that elephant powerful enough to break out?”

  “Sure looks like it,” Joe said, “if he gets worked up sufficiently.”

  The tusker’s bellows of rage seemed loud enough to be heard all over the park. A guard speeded to the scene and summoned a trainer by walkie-talkie.

  Presently a four-wheel-drive wagon appeared inside the compound. Evidently it had entered from the opposite side. It drove right across the creek and stopped about fifteen feet away from the angry elephant. The khaki-clad driver got out.

  He began talking to the tusker in a coaxing, soothing voice and offered some tidbits on his outstretched hand. Gradually the enraged beast calmed down.

  Chet glanced out the window. “Oh-oh,” he muttered. “Here comes more trouble.”

  The guard who had scolded them earlier for inspecting the oak tree was striding toward their car. “Don’t you guys ever learn!” he bawled at them angrily.

  “What have we done now?” Joe demanded.

  “I warned you once about obeying park rules! Now you’re stirring up the elephants.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Frank said, refusing to be bullied. “We were just sitting here, watching them.”

  “Yeah? And I suppose that big one got peeved because he didn’t like somebody’s face.”

  “Don’t look at us,” Frank said evenly.

  “Don’t get smart with me, kid!” the burly park guard stormed. “I’m going to teach you a lesson!”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means you’re all coming with me to the office. If I’ve got anything to say about it, this is a case for the police!”

  He ordered the Hardys to follow him in their car while he escorted them across the grounds to a neat frame bungalow outside the fence. Here he made all five boys get out and took them into a room furnished with a desk and several file cabinets.

  An elderly man with a tanned, weather-beaten complexion and white mustache listened calmly to the guard’s ranting. Then he got up from his desk and shook hands with each of the boys.

  “My name’s Carter, fellows. Pop Carter, most people call me. I own Wild World. Glad you could come and see our animals today.”

  After the boys had introduced themselves, Mr. Carter added, “Is what the guard here says correct?”

  “No, sir, it isn’t,” Frank replied. “It’s true one of the elephants got worked up—”

  The park owner nodded. “I know. I’ve already had a call from the trainer.”

  “But we didn’t goad him in any way,” Frank went on. “We were watching like the other spectators. If your guard was going to pick out anyone, why not the two men in the car behind us? They were acting like wise guys and tossing popcorn toward the elephant pen.”

  “Not only them,” Joe put in. “There was a black-bearded guy with a camera ahead of us, who kept waving and shouting at the elephants in a foreign language. He was trying to get them to face his way, I guess, so he could snap their pictures. Maybe that irritated them.”

  A strange expression appeared on the park owner’s face. He glanced at the burly guard, who burst out, “They’re trying to talk their way out! I think you should make an example of these smart alecks.”

  “All right, that’ll do for now. I’ll handle this,” Pop Carter said calmly.

  The guard left the office, red-faced and muttering. A moment later they heard his trail bike go put-putting off with a loud roar of exhaust.

  Pop Carter grinned apologetically. “Sorry about that. He means well, but he has off days now and then. Got family problems, I guess.”

  The kindly old park owner tried to refund the boys’ admission fares, but they refused his offer, having enjoyed their view of the animals despite the unpleasant episode.

  “Mind answering a question?” Joe murmured hesitantly.

  “I’ll try, son,” Pop replied. “Shoot.”

  “Why did yo
u look so concerned when I mentioned the bearded foreigner?”

  Mr. Carter eyed Joe in surprise and slowly filled his pipe. “You’re quite a detective, my boy.” Mention of the word detective seemed to strike him suddenly, causing him to do a double-take. “Wait a minute. You and your brother wouldn’t be the sons of Fenton Hardy, by any chance?”

  “We are, sir,” Frank nodded. “Do you know Dad?”

  “Met him once in Florida, when I was wintering there with the circus. Fine man. And I hear you two take after him.”

  Joe grinned. “Let’s say we enjoy unraveling mysteries—or trying to.”

  Pop Carter seemed to make up his mind as he lit his pipe. “All right, here’s one for you.” He explained that the elephant, Sinbad, who had become enraged, was normally a peaceful, good-tempered animal and had only gone berserk once in the past. This had occurred when Pop was running a small circus and had hired a new trainer—a bearded Pakistani named Kassim Bey.

  “Taking him on was one of the worst mistakes I ever made,” Pop said, shaking his head reflectively. “Mind you, I’ve known other Pakistanis who were excellent with animals. But Kassim was just plain mean—he mistreated Sinbad and drove him crazy. I fired the no-good fellow as soon as I found out what had happened.”

  Kassim had reacted vindictively, cursing both Carter and Sinbad and vowing revenge.

  “Said he was going to call down a Djinn or evil spirit to haunt us,” Pop went on. “I paid no attention, of course, and Sinbad was a good elephant from then on. Behaved docilely at all times, up until a week or so ago, that is.”

  “Then what happened?” Frank asked.

  “One night he started acting up again, trumpeting like all get-out. I live here, you see, and I could hear him, so I jumped out of bed and went to see what was wrong.”

  “What did you find?” Joe asked the elderly man.

  “Nothing. Couldn’t make out a thing, except —well, a dark shape soaring up and away through the trees.”

  “You don’t mean one of those evil spirits that Kassim called down?” Frank inquired, half joking.

  Pop Carter shrugged and looked at the Hardys with a sheepish grin. “I still don’t know what to make of it. Maybe you two can solve the mystery.”