“Is there anything wrong?” Mrs. Hardy asked.
“Well—maybe. But we don’t know for sure. Mother, if you hear from Dad, will you have him get in touch with us at the Manzur Hotel or at the Celliers’ in Marrakesh?”
“Yes. I’ll tell him to call right away.”
The boy looked bewildered as he hung up the phone.
“Good grief!” Chet said. “What are we going to do now?”
William spoke up. “Get the police and raid Dubonnet’s apartment!”
The Jamaican’s determined voice roused the Hardys, and they immediately agreed to the strategy. Since the boys were acquaintances of Dr. Cellier’s, the police were cooperative. They accompanied the Americans to Dubonnet’s place, but found it empty!
“It looks as if somebody left in a hurry,” one of the officers said.
“Let’s go back to the Celliers’,” Joe decided. “If we want to continue with the treasure hunt, we’ll have to act fast.”
Christine was home, and when she and her parents heard about the afternoon’s events, they were flabbergasted.
“I think your father would want you to pursue the case to the end,” Dr. Cellier said. “And you had better stay here for the night. Then, in the morning, rent jeeps and some gear, like sleeping bags, and get detailed maps of the area around the lost city.”
“Will you come with us?” Chet asked hopefully.
“I cannot go right now. But I will try to follow later.”
After the boys had picked up their luggage at the hotel, Christine showed them into the guest room. It had a large French window looking out onto the ramparts of Marrakesh. Mrs. Cellier brought in a cot, and Christine got her sleeping bag. “We do not have enough room, really,” Mrs. Cellier apologized. “But it is only for one night.”
“Please don’t worry about that,” Frank said. “The accommodations are just fine.”
The boys waited hopefully for a call from Bayport, but none came. Finally they went to sleep.
How long they had dozed off Joe did not know. But he was awakened by a noise. He sat bolt upright and adjusted his eyes to the moonlight streaming into the French window.
Now the others responded to his sudden movement. They looked, mouths agape, at a figure standing in the window. It was a man with his body painted in bright colors. He wore a grass skirt, but the most startling thing was his face. It was hideous. Obviously he was wearing a mask.
He spoke a few words, then leaped from the casement onto the top of the wall and disappeared.
“A ju-ju man!” William said, his throat dry.
“What did he say? Did you understand it?” Chet asked.
“Yes. He put a curse of death upon us!”
CHAPTER XIX
Figue Barbari
THE boys jumped out of bed and climbed through the window. When they reached the ramparts, however, the ju-ju man was out of sight, and they returned to their room.
“You don’t believe in this curse stuff, do you, William?” asked Chet, trying to act unconcerned.
“N-no,” the Jamaican replied. “Not entirely.”
“Tell you what, William,” Frank said. “Now that we have the whammy on us, you take this charm to ward off the wizard’s power.” He removed the lion’s tooth from his neck and placed the chain over his friend’s head.
“I’ll try,” William said.
The next morning they were up very early. They gave Dr. Cellier a duplicate of the map in case he could join them later, and said good-by to their hosts. Christine accompanied them to the business district, where Chet and William rented two jeeps, while tents, camping equipment, shovels, crowbars, and assorted digging tools were rounded up by the Hardys.
All the while one nagging question persisted. Would they or their enemies be first to find what lay at the end of the route of the mysterious caravan? Time was now more important than ever.
With their chores swiftly completed, the young detectives consulted a reliable road map Dr. Cellier had given them.
“Good-by, Christine,” Joe said.
The girl shook hands with each one. “You will see a lot of little fortified villages along the way,” she said. “These are called casbahs. The natives are usually very nice people. They are Berbers.”
“Not Arabs, you mean?”
“No. The Berbers are blue-eyed Caucasians. Where they came from originally nobody seems to know. They live in the Atlas Mountains and are farmers or herders.”
Frank drove one jeep and Joe the other, and they set off along the highway, which wound higher and higher through the mountains to the east.
For the first twenty miles the road was good, although seemingly little used. They passed very few cars along the way. Frank floored the accelerator for a while but had to ease off because the road narrowed and grew steeper.
“I wish this buggy had more zip,” he said to William, who was seated beside him.
Several miles farther on they left the paved highway and jounced along hard-packed dirt and gravel. Just past a bend, William spied a goat in the middle of the road.
“Frank, look out!” he shouted.
Frank swerved and stood on the brake. The jeep missed the animal, but slewed around. The rear wheel dangled dangerously over a sharp culvert beside a foaming mountain stream.
The boys gingerly stepped out so as not to upset the jeep’s balance. Joe pulled up beside them. It was not until then that they noticed five men standing below at the edge of the stream. They had built a small lagoon of stones, and inside the quiet water hundreds of potatoes bobbed around.
“How do you like that?” Chet exclaimed. “They’re washing spuds!”
“Probably Berber farmers,” said Frank as the men scrambled up the side of the gully and stood grinning at the foreigners.
One, a stubble-bearded fellow with a skull cap pointed to the car, then to the road, and nodded.
“You want to help?” William said. “Fine, lend us a hand.”
The natives joined in to lift the jeep safely onto the road. When it was done, Chet noticed a bush laden with ripe figs at the side of the road. He picked a few, pointing first to the figs, then to his open mouth.
“Leave it to Chet to find something to eat,” Joe said, laughing.
The Berber farmers looked at the boy and nodded.
Chet stuffed a fig into his mouth. Now one of the men frowned, shook his head, and indicated no.
“Why can’t they make up their minds?” Chet asked while he chewed on the fruit. “This doesn’t taste bad!”
Shortly after midday, as the road grew even rougher, Frank stopped briefly. No sign of the criminals.
“We’re at a pretty high altitude now,” Joe said. “Look at those clouds. They’ll be down on top of us before we know it!”
An hour later, Joe’s guess proved to be correct. A dense fog settled over the road, which threaded around the mountain passes perilously close to precipitous cliffs. Their speed was reduced to a crawl.
Finally Frank stopped and jumped out of his jeep to consult with Joe and Chet. William joined them.
“We’d better wait till the fog lifts,” was Frank’s advice. “I can’t see more than a few feet. If we go over the edge, it’ll be the end.”
They waited for several hours. No traffic came from either direction.
“I am wondering,” William said, “whether the Scott-Stribling gang is up ahead or trailing us.”
“Either way,” Frank said, “there’s no use in worrying. This fog may have stopped them, too.”
“I wish I could quit thinking about Dad,” Joe said, “where he is, and what he’s doing.”
“He’s always been able to take care of himself,” Frank remarked. “You know, William, you may be right. Stribling could have been bluffing.”
Now it grew dark, and as the boys were about to break out some sandwiches they had brought along, Chet said, “Wow! Have I got a stomachache!”
It rapidly grew worse, and the stout boy bent over with
pain. “The figs! They were poisonous!” he cried.
“Holy crow!” Frank muttered. “I hope not!” He was just about to reach for their first-aid kit to find the Alka-Seltzer, when William put a hand on his shoulder.
“Look!” he said.
Several figures appeared across the road. They moved slowly, their djellabahs blending into the heavy fog like wandering spirits.
As Chet began to moan, they came closer to look at him. Then a man said in hesitating English, “Are you in trouble?”
“We sure are,” Frank replied. “Chet must have been poisoned by figs.”
“Figue barbari?”
“They were growing by the side of the road.”
“Not poisonous,” the man replied. “But they must be cooked.” He told them that he had worked in Tangier for a year and that he and the others lived in a little settlement nearby.
“You come with us,” he concluded.
The Berbers led the boys into a village consisting of a few huts made of rock and mud. Chickens darted around and the noise of goats could be heard through the fog. Dogs barked as they drew closer.
They were taken into one of the huts, where a family of friendly blue-eyed people smiled and nodded while the boys described their travels to the interpreter. Then they were served bread and goat meat and were led into a small anteroom. Its walls were lined with crude bunks.
Chet, meanwhile, having learned that he was not about to die, improved quickly, and by the time they all lay down on the straw bedding, he felt much better.
Neither Frank nor Joe slept well during the night. The noise of chickens and the occasional barking of dogs sounded eerily through the thick fog, which continued to blanket the mountaintop.
By morning it had lifted, however, and when the Hardys opened their eyes, Chet was already up. He peered out of a window and let out a gurgling scream!
“Help! I’m nuts!” he wailed. “I’ve gone cuckoo!”
William was first to rush to his side and look out. There, in a scrubby tree in front of the hut, a goat was climbing in the topmost branches!
William laughed. “Chet, you are not daft. I have heard about these goats. They really do climb trees!”
“Phew!” Chet said. “I thought I was hallucinating from the figue barbari.”
The farmer and his wife were preparing breakfast, but Frank said, “We have food in the car and will bring it in.” With gestures he indicated what he meant, then hurried to the jeep with William. They were digging under a tarpaulin for their supplies when a sudden rumbling sound filled the air. Chet and Joe ran out to see what the noise was and froze in fright!
Rocks, boulders, and debris crashed down the side of the mountain with the roar of a hundred jets! The two jeeps were directly in the path!
“A rockslide!” Joe cried. “Frank, William, run!”
CHAPTER XX
The Mysterious Mirage
FRANK and William looked up in time to see what was happening. Racing for their lives, they were pelted with small stones that stung their backs and arms.
Then a huge boulder crashed like a thunderclap into the provisions jeep, sending it far over the edge of the cliff and into the valley below.
The boys reached the hut, where Joe and Chet were viewing the spectacle with terror. They watched as the second jeep was showered with dirt and pebbles.
Then it was all over. Quiet settled over the mountain once again. The little settlement had been spared, but not by much. Cautiously, the Berbers came out of their huts, talking excitedly.
“Wow!” Frank said, his hands still shaking. “That was close.”
William nodded. “We were fortunate, but we lost a jeep.”
The Berbers helped free the remaining one, which was laden with spare gasoline and digging tools.
“We’ll have to carry on with only one vehicle,” Frank said, rubbing his sore shoulders.
“I wonder if the ju-ju man’s curse is working,” William said. He fingered the lion’s tooth charm. “Baby, do your thing! Wipe out the curse!”
The Berbers supplied the boys with bread, goat cheese, and water, and waved them off on their journey. Joe and Chet sat high on their equipment, with Frank at the wheel and William beside him. The road became even narrower, winding like a serpent coiled on the rim of the mountain.
William’s finger followed their progress on the map spread out on his lap. “We are getting close to Rissani,” he said. “The buried ruins of Sijilmasa should be around here somewhere.”
With their destination near, a new exhilaration gripped the adventurers. Joe put the binoculars to his eyes and studied the deep valley below. “That must be Rissani,” he said.
The road that had tilted up so many miles now descended rapidly and before long they were driving past the Rissani casbah.
“From here it’s compass work,” Frank said as he pulled to a stop outside the town. He took the death-mask-tissue map from his wallet, and with William he studied the lines. From Rissani the trail went south and west in a looping arc.
Frank and William raced for their lives!
Frank was in favor of stopping at Rissani to ask a few questions, but was out-voted by the others.
“We need every minute of time,” Joe argued.
“But we might pick up a clue,” Frank reasoned. “Maybe the gang stopped here for something or other.”
“So what if they did?” Chet said. “Let’s not waste any time, Frank.”
William agreed, and they kept on.
“What’s over there?” Chet said, shading his eyes. “Another mountain?”
“It’s a cliff,” Joe announced. “Here, have a look.”
The binoculars were passed around, and each of them surveyed the barrier that lay about thirty miles distant.
Joe spelled Frank at the wheel and William climbed up on the back with Chet. Now they realized that the desert, which had seemed to be so flat, was studded with outcrops of rocks between which steep dunes rippled like waves on a beach.
Coming to the top of a small rise, Frank studied the cliff again. “We don’t seem to be any closer to it,” he said. “Look!”
“What’s the matter?” Chet asked.
“Camels!”
“You’re seeing things. Nothing’s there,” Joe said.
“I guess you’re right. Now I don’t see anything—wait a minute! They are camels all right!”
Each of the boys scanned the shimmering expanse in front of them. The heat waves danced off the sand, obscuring and then revealing what appeared to be a small caravan. Suddenly, everything disappeared.
“It is a mirage,” William said. “Deserts are known for them.”
“Maybe it’s the mysterious caravan written about on the death mask!” Chet said.
The boys stopped now and then to sweep the desert with their binoculars. Once Chet reported sighting seven camels, but Joe gently suggested that it was his imagination. There was no sign of jeeps and they were confident that their enemies were far behind them.
“The sun is apt to get you out here,” Joe said.
Nonetheless, Frank ordered a sharp lookout for camel tracks. But he had to admit after another ten miles of driving, that the wind might have blown sand over any vestige of animal footprints.
Gradually the cliff loomed larger, and a cleft was clearly visible. It ran diagonally from the sand up into the top.
“I suppose we have to move south around this obstacle,” Chet said.
“Not till we reach the base,” Frank remarked.
“Could this be the end of the journey taken by the mysterious caravan?” William asked.
“It’s possible,” Joe said, and the boys wondered about it as they drove even closer to the escarpment. Now it stood only a few miles away, and the cleft in the rocks had grown to fantastic proportions.
“There may be a road running right through the cliff,” William said.
“We’ll have to explore it, Frank,” Joe urged.
“Right. B
ut in case anybody’s there, I’ll scout it first.” He worked his way inside and returned shortly with word that he had not seen a sign of anybody.
The Hardys scanned the desert again to make sure they were not being followed. But nothing moved on the stark landscape.
Now they drove in, stopped, and appraised their situation. “No road,” Frank noted. A quarter mile ahead of them the defile narrowed and the gray rocks towered so high they had to crane their necks to see the top.
“We’d better turn around and get out of here,” Chet said.
Frank nodded and started back. Another, smaller, cleft became visible.
“I wonder what’s in there,” Joe said. “Think we should find out?”
“What if it’s a cave without bottom?” Chet said. “We might fall all the way down.”
“And land in China?” Joe quipped.
“All right, explore it if you want,” Chet said.
Leaving their jeep, the boys decided to go in, but they stationed Joe outside in the desert as a guard.
“If you see anything, holler,” Frank told him.
“Roger,” Joe said.
Frank, Chet, and William pushed into the narrow cleft and suddenly found themselves at the mouth of a cave. Its entrance was partially sealed by crumbling stones.
“Look, somebody put these together with mud mortar,” William observed. They pulled away at the loose rocks. Age-old dust rose into their faces and made them cough.
“It’s pretty dark in here,” Frank said. “We need a flashlight.”
“I’ll get it,” Chet volunteered. He went back to the jeep and returned with one. Its six-inch lens sent a powerful beam to the back of the cave. Just then Joe came in.
“I saw an airplane going overhead in a direct line,” he reported. “Do you think it could be our enemies spying on us?”
“Maybe. Better watch it,” Frank advised.
Joe’s eyes, slowly becoming accustomed to the dark, focused on the cavern floor.
“Holy crow, look at this!” he exclaimed. “Skeletons!”
The bones of five men, laid out side by side, rested stark on the ground. The skulls grinned ludicrously at the boys, who stepped over them gingerly.
The Mysterious Caravan Page 11
