The Viking Symbol Mystery

by Franklin W. Dixon

  “Check with the police and try to locate the man who found the rune stone,” the detective suggested, when he learned that the Englishman had not regained consciousness.

  Frank said good-by and returned to Chet and Joe. When Joe heard that his father was home, he immediately hurried to the nurse and asked her for a description of Mr. Baker-Jones’s caller. Her meager description could fit Fenton Hardy or hundreds of other men.

  “No clue there,” he reported to the boys.

  Discussing their next move, the trio started toward the elevator.

  “I suppose the best place to get details of the attack on Baker-Jones is at police headquarters,” Frank said. “Let’s go check.”

  The boys were talking excitedly as they rounded the corner of the brightly lighted hall. They collided head on with a huge brawny figure.

  “Bon tonnerre!” he exclaimed in a deep booming voice. “What’s this?”

  The speaker was a powerful-looking man, well over six feet tall. His strong-featured face was covered by a thick, black beard, and he wore a red-and-black checkered wool shirt, dark pants, and heavy laced boots.

  Joe staggered backward from the impact, bumping against the wall. The stranger reached out a huge hand, grasped Joe by the arm, and steadied him on his feet.

  “Bon tonnerre!” he shouted again.

  CHAPTER VI

  Canadian Giant

  THE fingers holding Joe were like a steel vise.

  “So-o sorry,” he apologized, staring up at the bearded man with whom he had collided. To his relief, Joe felt the powerful fingers relax their grip.

  “Carefully, here!” boomed the stranger in a strong French-Canadian accent. “You should always look where you’re going—especially in a hospital!”

  “We realize that, sir,” Frank spoke up. “But we were hurrying to get to the police station.”

  “Ah, the police,” the big man said. His eyes narrowed. “You were here to see Monsieur Baker-Jones, yes?”

  The three boys said yes. Joe recovered his breath as the big man studied the visitors for a moment. His eyes were piercing, black, and shaded by thick brows.

  “You’re Pierre Caron!” Frank exclaimed suddenly.

  The man stepped back warily, as he answered, “Oui, I am Pierre Caron, but I am called ‘Caribou.’ ” He cocked his head and asked curiously, “Who are you?”

  Frank introduced himself, Joe, and Chet, then explained the reason why they had come to see Baker-Jones.

  “Does he speak now?” Caribou asked abruptly.

  “No,” Joe answered him. “The nurse said he’s still in a coma.”

  “Bon tonnerre!” the fur trapper exploded. “That is not good.” He added that he had been given special permission by Baker-Jones’s doctor to visit the patient briefly every day. “But he never change,” the woodsman added sadly. “I hoped today he would be better.”

  Frank told Caribou that they would like to hear his account of the assault by the rune stone thieves.

  “We will talk while we eat,” Caribou said. He smiled broadly. “Come! Let us go!”

  The powerful giant marched ahead to the elevator, which took them to the lobby. He pushed open the heavy front door and went on without breaking stride.

  The three boys had to trot to keep up with Caribou, and they were still a few yards behind when he stopped at a crowded restaurant. As the trapper strode toward a table, three burly men shouted greetings to him from across the room. He grinned and waved to them vigorously.

  “My friends from the north,” he said to the boys.

  The big French-Canadian ordered a meal of steak, potatoes, and gravy for all. “First we eat,” he said, when Joe started to ask questions.

  The Hardys and Chet grinned at one another. Instinctively they liked this excitable, forthright man of the woods.

  After they had finished the hearty meal, Caribou leaned back in his chair and relaxed. Frank quickly explained his father’s connection with the rune stone case and asked Pierre Caron for details of the robbery.

  “Monsieur Baker-Jones asked me to come to his hotel room,” Caribou began. “I went and gave him the stone. He handed me two thousand dollars—in new one-hundred-dollar bills. I signed a paper saying he had paid me. Then—bon tonnerre!-two men rushed into the room.” The trapper stopped to drink some hot coffee.

  “What did they look like?” Chet asked.

  Caribou wiped his beard with a red handkerchief and pushed his chair back from the table again. In his excitement he began to speak in his native patois.

  “I could not see faces. Both wear rubber face masks. One man was very thin. He was wearing checkered jacket—black and white. Other man wear dark city clothes.”

  The boys were excited. “Then what?” Joe urged him.

  “Thin man’s pal never speak. He waved gun,” Caribou continued, “and force me to corner of room. Bon tonnerre!” His voice grew angry. “The thin man want the stone. When Monsieur Baker-Jones say no, he hit him on the head with a gun!”

  The woodsman told the boys that the Englishman had collapsed. As Caribou had bent over him to help, the two gunmen had fled with the rune stone and the two thousand dollars.

  The Hardys exchanged quick glances. Frank voiced their thought aloud. “The thin fellow could be a man we know as John Kelly!” The brothers told Caribou the story.

  “He is a slippery eel!” growled the trapper. “You think he come back here?”

  “I wouldn’t doubt it,” Frank replied. “We aim to find him, anyway!”

  “Where did you find the rune stone?” Joe asked Caribou.

  The boys listened intently to his story. “I run my trapline between Fort Smith and Great Slave Lake,” he began. “Two, three weeks ago I made trip to the north end of the lake. I find the stone on the beach and—”

  Suddenly the burly giant broke off. He sprang up from his chair violently, knocking over the table. Dishes and glasses flew in all directions, shattering on the floor as Caribou dashed to the front door.

  “Come on!” Frank urged, leaping up.

  The three boys dashed outside. When they reached Caribou he was standing on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant, his fists clenched and his cheeks flushed with anger.

  “Bon tonnerre!” he boomed in rage. “Sacrebleu!”

  “What happened?” Joe asked. “Did you spot one of the thieves?”

  “No. But I saw Dulac,” Caribou said, still looking up and down the street. “The weasel! He robs my traps. If I catch him—bon tonnerre!that will be his unlucky day!”

  As they all walked back into the restaurant to pay their bill and settle for the broken dishes, Caribou explained that Abner Dulac also was a trapper. He had been stealing from Caribou’s traps up north for a long time. Caribou once had given him a thrashing, but the big woodsman had never been able to catch him with any evidence.

  “What’s Dulac doing in Edmonton?” Frank asked.

  “I don’t know,” Caribou replied. “Probably he sell my pelts—or maybe he here to get even with me for that beating!” The giant shook his head disgustedly, then shrugged. “I forget him for now,” he said, and asked the boys, “Where you think to look for the men who robbed Monsieur Baker-Jones and me?”

  The Hardys said they thought perhaps the thieves would have traveled north to hide out with their loot.

  Caribou pounded his fist into the palm of his hand. “Then I will be your guide,” he offered. “I will help trap the robbers!”

  “That would be great,” Joe said with a grin. “We’ll need a guide in that country.”

  “I’ll say!” Chet declared thankfully.

  “Our next move is to find out what the police here can tell us about the missing rune stone,” Frank said. “Come on!”

  Caribou led the way, stalking along the side-walks as though he were still in the wilderness. At the ultramodern police headquarters the Hardys were directed to the office of Inspector Knight. He had no new information for them, however. The Edmonton
police, working with the Mounties, had traced all the leads they had on the missing rune stone and stolen cash, but so far without success.

  “The last we heard,” said the inspector, “was that a man with a gauze patch on his head had been seen in McMurray up the Athabasca River. But he disappeared before we could question him.”

  “Kelly again, I’ll bet!” Joe exclaimed.

  Quickly the Hardvs revealed to the inspector their encounter with the suspect in Bavport, and their hunch he might have returned to the Northwest Territories.

  “He mav still be wearing a bandage on his head,” Frank said.

  The official was keenly interested. “I’ll have the fellow’s description broadcast again.”

  Frank also reported that a man purporting to be Fenton Hardv had wanted to see Mr. Baker-Jones in the hospital. The officer made a note of this and wished the sleuths good luck.

  Caribou accompanied the boys to their hotel. When they walked into the lobby, the desk clerk stopped them.

  “Are you Frank and Joe Hardy?” he asked the brothers.

  “Yes.”

  The clerk reached behind him into one of the guest mailboxes.

  “Here’s a telephone message for you,” he said, handing Frank an envelope.

  “What could it be?” Chet asked, peering over Frank’s shoulder as he took out the note.

  “It’s from home!” Frank exclaimed, as he read the note aloud: “ ‘Phone immediately. Plans changed.”’

  CHAPTER VII

  White Water

  THE Hardys stared at the message in concern. “I hope there’s nothing wrong at home,” Joe said, looking worried.

  The boys and Caribou hurried upstairs to the hotel room, and Frank called Bayport. Mr. Hardy answered the phone. After reassuring his son that everyone was fine, he explained, “I had a coded message from Sam Radley after your phone call. He received a report yesterday that an unidentified man bought ten drums of aviation fuel and two drums of oil at the Hudson’s Bay Company store in Fort Smith.”

  “That’s on the Slave River,” Frank said. “It runs north into Great Slave Lake.”

  “Right,” his father replied. “The man had the fuel delivered to a raft on the river, and Sam thinks he might be the one who stole the small float plane at Yellowknife.” The detective paused.

  “Biff, Tony, and Sam are busy on another lead, so I’d like you boys to track down this one. If you get up there fast,” he continued, “you might be able to pick up the trail and find the hideout of the thieves around Great Slave Lake.”

  “We’ll leave pronto, Dad,” Frank said eagerly. “We planned to go there, anyway—on our own case. Caribou Caron is with us, and he has offered to be our guide.”

  “That’s fine,” said Mr. Hardy. “Have you seen the Edmonton police?”

  “Yes,” Frank replied, “but they’ve had no success on the rune stone mystery. They had a report of a thin man with a gauze patch on his head at McMurray, but lost him there. Sounds as if he’s the man who got away from us in Bayport.”

  “That settles it. The sooner you and Caron get started for Fort Smith, the better!” the detective said. “Good luck!”

  When Frank relayed Mr. Hardy’s news to the others, Caribou slapped Joe so hard on the back the boy winced. “Bon tonnerre!” the giant cried. “This is the right kind of adventure for trapper. I have been in the city too long.”

  Frank suggested that before leaving, he and Joe return to the hospital and show the staff a picture of their father and warn about the man posing as Fenton Hardy.

  “In the meantime, Chet,” Frank continued, “you get plane reservations to Fort Smith on the first flight out. We’ll meet you back at the hotel.”

  Caribou said that he would do an errand. “I must buy new boots for the trip.”

  When the Hardys arrived at the hospital, they quickly found the nurse in charge of the second floor and Frank showed her the snapshot of his father. “This is the real Fenton Hardy,” he said politely. “The man who wanted to visit Mr. Baker-Jones was an impostor.”

  “Impostor!” the nurse exclaimed in alarm. “Why, I never suspected—oh dear!”

  “Luckily no harm was done,” Frank assured her. “But please tell everyone that Fenton Hardy will not call on Mr. Baker-Jones.”

  The nurse promised to warn the rest of the staff. Their next stop was at Edmonton police headquarters, where they found Inspector Knight at his desk.

  “We’ve just talked to our father,” Frank explained. “Our plans have changed. We’re flying to Fort Smith. We’ll contact you if anything breaks there. And would you let us know if the impostor shows up again?”

  Inspector Knight assured the boys that if the man was spotted, he would get in touch with them through the Hudson’s Bay Company at Fort Smith.

  The Hardys thanked him and hurried back to the hotel.

  “Reservations all set,” Chet reported. “Nothing for today. Take-off’s at ten tomorrow. I’ve told Caribou, and he’ll meet us here.”

  The next morning the four set off for the airport. Their plane left on schedule. Minutes after they were airborne, Joe nudged Chet and pointed to the ground.

  “Look!” he said excitedly. “We’re already over wilderness.”

  The landscape below was barren and the prairie looked desolate. What few trees there were appeared as dark patches on the brown earth.

  After short stopovers at McMurray and Uranium City, the plane touched down at Fort Smith. This was familiar territory to Caribou and he took charge immediately.

  “Only two cabs here,” he said, directing the boys to an old-model car. After their bags were put in the luggage compartment, the four climbed in. “We go to the company store first,” Caron directed the driver.

  Presently they pulled up in front of a well-built wooden structure near the edge of town. A large sign over the entrance said: Hudson’s Bay Company.

  “What do you know!” Chet said, as they pushed open the door. “It looks like a department store in Bayport.”

  The large interior was filled with tables displaying brightly colored, heavy woolen clothing. A variety of rifles and leather goods hung on the walls. There were only a few other people in the store, and Caribou Caron led the way straight to a counter in the back.

  “There’s the factor,” the trapper said.

  “The what?” Chet asked.

  Caribou explained that the factor was the man who ran the store for the Hudson’s Bay Company. The trapper strode over to a husky man, whom he introduced to the boys as Bill Stone. They all shook hands.

  Frank asked, “Do you remember a man who bought ten drums of aviation gas and two drums of oil the other day?”

  “Sure, I remember him,” the man said. “He gave me new hundred-dollar bills.”

  “Bon tonnerre!” Caribou shouted. “Monsieur Baker-Jones paid me for the rune stone in new hundred-dollar bills. That man who buy fuel and oil is the bandit who robbed us!”

  “It does look like it,” Frank said slowly, “though it could be coincidence. Don’t forget, there must be some other new hundred-dollar bills around.”

  “Oui, I know!” Caribou was excited. “But I feel this is our man—one of the thieves.”

  “Did he give his name?” Joe asked Bill Stone.

  Before the store manager had a chance to answer, something whizzed past Frank’s head. Thunk! A steel knife blade embedded itself in the wall behind him. It hung there, quivering.

  “Yowee!” Frank gasped, jumping back. The knife had almost grazed his hair.

  “Bon tonnerre!” yelled Caribou, whirling around.

  The French-Canadian had instinctively crouched like a panther about to attack. He was ready for action, and his eyes flickered as he glanced in all directions.

  There was no one in sight!

  The shock of the attack over, there was a mad dash to the open door. Outside, the boys and the French-Canadian scanned the street. The few passers-by looked harmless enough, and none could recall
seeing a fleeing man.

  “A clean getaway,” Joe said glumly.

  “Sacrebleu!” Caribou exploded.

  “That sure was no accident,” Frank said grimly, regaining his usual calm. “We must really have hit the trail of something big.”

  The group walked back into the store, where Mr. Stone stood looking out the window. “Did you find the knife thrower?” he asked worriedly.

  “No!” Caribou boomed. “But we will!”

  “Maybe it was the person who bought the aviation fuel,” Chet guessed.

  “It could have been,” Frank agreed. He put the knife into his pocket, then asked the manager, “What is the name of the fuel customer?”

  “He told me he was Jesse Keating,” Stone answered.

  “An alias, probably,” said Frank, after hearing a description of the purchaser. “I’ll bet he was Kelly.”

  “Did he say where he was going?” Joe asked.

  “Yes. To tow the fuel down Slave River on a raft to a lumber camp.”

  “Lumber camp?” Caribou raised his eyebrows. “There is no lumber camp between here and Great Slave Lake.”

  “Say, that’s right, Caribou!” said the manager, scratching his head. “Wonder where he was heading?”

  “I have a hunch maybe he was taking the gas to a hideout where he’ll fuel that stolen float plane,” Frank said thoughtfully. “Now we have to figure out where the hideout is. Have you a map we could look at, Mr. Stone?”

  “Sure,” the gray-haired man replied. “Here’s a good one. Keep it!”

  The boys crowded around the detailed map of the area. “This is where we are,” Caribou pointed out. “And this is the Wood Buffalo Park.”

  “That would be a great place for a hideout,” Joe said. “Is it open to everyone, Caribou?”

  “Yes, but you must have a permit,” the trapper answered. “The office is down the street.”

  “Let’s see who else has applied for a permit recently,” Frank suggested. “Maybe Keating is taking cover in the park.”

  Everyone agreed. Mr. Stone said the travelers were welcome to leave their luggage as long as necessary. Outside, Frank suggested they first report the knife-throwing incident to the Mounted Police. The group went directly to the station, and handed the weapon to the officer in charge.