Mystery at Devil's Paw

by Franklin W. Dixon

  “Wow! This water’s ice cold!” Joe exclaimed.

  “Watch out for those sharp stones on the bottom,” Frank said.

  The black rock stood only a few yards from shore. It was smooth and weathered, showing no signs of having been chipped or chiseled into shape by tools.

  “Funny how it narrows in the middle,” Frank said. “Could the water alone have done that?”

  “Probably,” Joe mused, “it gets worn away by silt and debris when the river’s—”

  The words ended in a yell of surprise as Joe was suddenly knocked flat by a huge paw. With a splash, he landed in the water! Frank, whirling, saw an enormous brown bear! A menacing growl rumbled from its throat.

  Before the bear could aim another blow, Frank plunged into the icy rapids. Balked, the huge beast then turned back to his first target. Joe was stunned and floundering in the shallow water. The bear’s claws arced toward him in a vicious swipe! But Frank yanked his brother’s arm, pulling him out of the way. The bear’s paw missed Joe by inches!

  A menacing growl rumbled from the bear’s throat.

  Towing Joe with one hand, Frank swam frantically out of range. The foaming rapids threatened to sweep them toward the falls, but fortunately, the two boys were strong swimmers and finally reached the shore.

  Meanwhile the bear, towering erect on his hind legs, glared at the youths. Luckily he made no move to pursue them.

  “What a monster!” Joe gasped as they sank down on the bank. “He must be nine feet tall!”

  “At least,” Frank panted. “And I’ll bet he weighs close to a ton!”

  Joe shivered in his soaked clothing. “What made him so mad? I thought those fellows seldom attacked humans unless they’re provoked.”

  “There’s your answer.” Frank chuckled wryly. “We did provoke him—by barging into his private fishing spot!”

  Down on all fours again, the bear had just speared a plump salmon with one stroke of his paw. Flopping back on his haunches in the water, the huge animal devoured the fish in a few gulps.

  Splat! Another salmon fell prey to his mighty paw. This too disappeared down his gullet, followed by half a dozen others in quick succession. At last, his hunger satisfied, the bear lumbered out of the water and vanished among the alders.

  “Whew!” Joe let out a whistle of relief. “I’m sure not sorry to see that baby leave!”

  “That makes two of us,” Frank murmured. “Let’s get back to camp before we freeze in these wet clothes!”

  Dripping and shivering, the Hardys trudged along the riverbank.

  “Hold it!” Joe exclaimed, stopping suddenly. He bent down and plucked a battered knapsack out of the underbrush. “I wonder who lost this.”

  “Take a look inside,” Frank suggested. “Maybe there’ll be some clue to the owner.”

  Joe unbuckled the straps and groped inside the pouch. “No. It’s empty,” he announced, holding the bag open for Frank to see.

  “Wait a minute! I think there’s an extra thickness of leather in there.” Frank took the knapsack and ran his fingers around the interior. “Sure enough! There’s a secret pocket!”

  Joe looked on as Frank removed the contents. There were two items. One was a piece of jade, carved in the likeness of a fierce-looking bird. The other was a crumpled piece of paper.

  “A map!” Frank exclaimed, unfolding the paper.

  “Of what?” Joe stared in puzzlement. The map, crudely drawn, showed a river or stream of water and various other geographical features. But it bore no place names.

  “Maybe Tony will recognize it,” Frank said. “Come on. Let’s go!”

  Frank and Joe hurried back to the camp. Chet and Tony greeted the two bedraggled figures in astonishment.

  “Do you always go swimming with all your clothes on?” Tony asked in jest.

  “Only when we tangle with bears,” Frank replied and told of their close call. Chet grew pale.

  “We found something on the way back,” Frank said, and displayed the knapsack and contents. “Have a look at this while we get some dry clothes.”

  As the boys changed, Tony produced a map of the area from among his gear.

  “This sketch doesn’t jibe with any of the places on my map,” he reported.

  “The jade carving doesn’t add up, either,” Joe said thoughtfully. “Matter of fact, I’ve never heard of jade being found in Alaska. Have you?”

  The others shook their heads. “It certainly doesn’t look like any of the Indian carvings we saw in the museum,” Frank replied.

  “If you ask me,” Chet said, “this knapsack could have been left there as a trap. I don’t think you should have brought it back to camp. It certainly could mean another visit from our enemies!”

  “It’s possible,” Joe said, “but on the other hand, it might be a valuable clue!”

  “How long do you think it had been lying there?” Tony asked, half inclined to agree with Chet.

  Frank scrutinized the knapsack closely, turning it inside out and running his fingers over the material. “Not too long,” he finally replied. “See, the buckles aren’t even rusty!”

  Joe shrugged. “It still doesn’t mean someone left it there on purpose for us to find.”

  But Chet had grown very apprehensive by now. He looked around nervously. “I’ll bet someone’s spying on us right this minute!”

  CHAPTER VI

  Nightmare!

  THEY crouched quickly and glanced about. Then Frank broke into a grin. “Cut it out, Chet. Quit scaring us like that!”

  “Just the same,” Joe declared seriously, “there might be something to what Chet says. I think we’d better tell Juneau about that knapsack.”

  Tony cranked up the aerial of his radio, turned on the set, and spoke into the microphone. “Kooniak to Juneau!”

  Presently a voice crackled: “Juneau to Kooniak. Over.”

  Tony reported the finding of the knapsack. The department operator promised to inform the police by telephone and then to call back.

  A few minutes later his voice came over the speaker. “The police say that no such loss has been reported. But our pilot will pick up the knapsack for them when he flies out with the helicopter.”

  “Okay, thanks,” Tony said. “Over and out.”

  After a hearty supper the boys washed their mess kits and talked for a while around the campfire. When they were ready to retire, Chet seemed nervous.

  “I still think we may get a return visit from that gang,” he insisted. “How about standing watch tonight?”

  “Okay. That’s not a bad idea,” Frank said. “Let’s draw straws to pick our turns.”

  Joe won the first assignment. Chet, Frank, and Tony would follow in that order. It was broad daylight through most of Joe’s watch. Finally, yawning, he woke Chet.

  As the plump youth took over, the birdcalls became hushed. The sky flamed red, then a deep brooding twilight settled over the pine forest.

  “These woods are positively spooky at night!” Chet thought. Selecting a comfortable spot, he sat down under a tree. “No use getting nervous. I’d better think of something cheerful!”

  Determinedly Chet concentrated on visions of himself salmon fishing—pulling in one silvery fish after another. This made him feel better.

  Night deepened. Soon it was completely dark, except for the circle of light around the campfire. From across the river came the melancholy hoot of an owl.

  Chet, lulled by the peacefulness of the night, settled himself more comfortably against the tree. “This isn’t such a bad spot after all,” he thought drowsily. The next instant he sat bolt upright and a horrified yell escaped his lips. The Hardys and Tony awoke in a flash and came rushing out of their tents.

  “Chet! What’s wrong?” Frank cried out.

  The boy was on his feet, trembling. “S-s-something came at me out of the darkness!”

  “You mean an animal?” Tony asked.

  “No—men! A whole gang of them! They tried to club me, but I
fought them off!”

  “What?” Tony stared at him. “You must have been dreaming! There’s no one around here but us!”

  “But I saw them, I tell you!” Chet insisted, still shaking with fright. “Masked men!”

  Frank and Joe quickly scouted the ground around the camp. But there were no footprints or other trace of intruders.

  “Exactly where did all this happen?” Frank inquired calmly.

  “Right here,” Chet replied. “I was sitting with my back against this tree, and all of a sudden—”

  “You fell asleep,” Joe broke in, chuckling, “and had a nightmare!”

  To reassure their friend, the Hardys and Tony took lanterns and made a thorough search. Finally Chet agreed that he must have dreamed the whole incident.

  “Go ahead and hit the sack,” Frank told him with a grin. “It’s almost time for my watch.”

  At breakfast the next morning Joe and Tony ribbed Chet about his wild dream. He took their jokes good-naturedly, adding, “At least these flapjacks are real. Slip me a few more, Frank!”

  Breakfast over, they busied themselves with their morning chores. Soon after they finished washing up, the helicopter arrived from Juneau.

  “I’m Robbie Robbins,” the pilot said. He was a pleasant young man, sandy-haired, about twenty-two years old.

  The boys shook hands and explained why they had sent for him. Then Frank showed him the crude map which the Hardys had found in the knapsack. “Ever seen a place like this?”

  Robbins studied the map and shook his head. “Not that I recall. But there are so many lakes and streams around here that I wouldn’t want to say for sure. We’ll keep our eyes open.”

  The helicopter had seats for three besides the pilot, but Chet elected to stay on the island with Tony. “You do the exploring,” he told Frank and Joe. “I feel safer on the ground!”

  Robbie and the Hardys climbed aboard, and the helicopter took off. Soon the Kooniak appeared as a ribbon of blue winding among the evergreens. The pilot headed northward, working back and forth in widening sweeps across both sides of the river.

  “I don’t see any place that looks like this map,” Joe remarked.

  “No sign of a camp, either,” Frank said as he scanned the terrain with binoculars.

  Several hours later the boys noticed a cluster of huts about a mile west of the Kooniak. “It’s a Haida village,” Robbie told the Hardys. “They’re one of the Alaskan Indian tribes.”

  “Could we land and question them?” Frank inquired. “I’d like to find out if they’ve seen any strangers lately.”

  “Okay. But you may not find them very talkative,” Robbie warned.

  The helicopter descended slowly to the village clearing. Instead of running to meet their visitors, the Indians gathered to watch from a distance. Their dark, slanted eyes, set in coppery faces, stared impassively at the newcomers.

  “They don’t look very friendly,” Joe muttered.

  “Do they speak English?” Frank asked the pilot.

  “Most of them do, although they may not admit it. Often they use the Chinook trading jargon in talking to strangers.”

  The Indians made no move so the pilot stepped forward. “Klahowya!” he said in a loud voice. Several men of the village returned his greeting.

  “We’re looking for some white men,” Frank told them. “Have you seen any strangers around here?”

  The Indians merely shrugged and shook their heads. “Looks as though we’re not going to get much out of them,” Robbie murmured.

  “Let’s circulate around the village,” Frank suggested. “Maybe they’ll open up a bit after they get used to us.”

  Robbins agreed, so the trio strolled around, peering at the Indian dwellings. Though crude, the houses were stoutly built. Near each one stood wooden racks, with strings of fish drying in the sun.

  Frank and Joe were intrigued by a number of small log structures, poised on stilts as high as a man’s head. There was one beside each house, with a ladder going up to the entrance.

  “What are those things?” Joe puzzled. “Oversized birdhouses?”

  Robbie Robbins grinned. “No, they’re caches,” he explained, “for storing food out of reach of wild animals.”

  Several Indian children trailed around behind the white visitors, watching them curiously. Finally one teen-age boy grew bold enough to speak.

  “I’m Fleetfoot,” he said to Frank.

  “Glad to know you.” Frank offered his hand, hoping to make friends with the boy. “I’m Frank Hardy. This is my brother Joe, and this is Robbie Robbins.”

  After pumping each one by the hand, the Indian youth continued, “You ask about strangers?”

  “That’s right,” Frank said. “Have you seen any recently?”

  “Nowitka! Yes,” Fleetfoot replied. “One day I went to the river to fish. Saw two white men drift downstream in a big canoe. They talked a lot.”

  “Did you hear what they were saying?” Joe asked eagerly.

  The Indian boy paused, furrowing his brow as if trying to remember the exact words. “I heard one man say, ‘They protect the salmon. The salmon protect us.’ Then the other man said something in strange lingo—not like American talk. I didn’t understand it.”

  Joe shot an excited glance at his brother, who said, “Fleetfoot, will you do something for us?”

  “Maybe.” The Indian boy smiled and shrugged. “What do you want?”

  “Next time you see those men, or any other strangers, trail them to their camp—but keep out of sight, so they don’t see you. Then come and tell us. We’ll be staying on the island at the mouth of the river.”

  The boy looked uncertain.

  “Maybe we can do something for you. What would you like?” Frank asked.

  A broad grin spread over the young Indian’s face. “I’d like to ride in the whirlybird.”

  Robbie Robbins chuckled. “Okay, it’s a deal, Fleetfoot.”

  Satisfied with the results of their visit to the Indian village, Robbie and the Hardys took off again in the helicopter.

  “Frank, it looks as though our guess was right,” Joe said excitedly. “If one of those men spoke a strange language, we must be up against foreign agents!”

  “It sounds that way,” Frank agreed. “But I sure wish we knew what they’re after. Let’s hope Fleetfoot delivers on his end of the bargain!”

  Continuing northward, the helicopter soared above the rolling foothills of the Alaskan coastal range. Beyond the timberline, the rocky slopes towered up to snow-capped peaks. One of the mountains drew Frank’s attention by its strange contours.

  “Gosh, look at that,” he remarked, pointing out the unique formation to Joe. “Those peaks stick up just like four fingers and a thumb.”

  “A good description,” Robbie put in. “The Indians call it Devil’s Paw, and you can see why.” He added, “That whole range up ahead forms the international boundary between Alaska and British Columbia. Guess we’d better turn back.”

  On the return trip, Robbie circled over an enormous tongue of ice, seventeen miles long. Glittering blue-white in the sunshine, it trailed down from the mountain snowfields almost to the coast.

  “Mendenhall Glacier,” the pilot told Frank and Joe. “It’s actually a river of ice.”

  The boys gaped at the spectacle. “A river?” Joe echoed. “You mean it flows?”

  “Yes, but so slowly you could never tell by the naked eye,” Robbie replied. “I guess creeps might be a better word.”

  Suddenly Frank exclaimed, “Go lower, Robbie! I think there are two people down there!”

  The helicopter swooped toward the glacier. “You’re right!” Joe cried. “A man and a woman! They must be stranded!” The tiny figures signaled frantically, waving their arms. They appeared to be seated on the ice.

  “Can we rescue them?” Frank asked the pilot.

  “We’ll sure try!” Hovering into position above the two people, Robbie told the boys to unreel a rope ladder
which he carried in the rear of the helicopter’s cabin.

  At sight of the ladder, the man on the glacier shook his head and signaled with his arms.

  “He wants someone to climb down and help them,” Frank said. “I’ll go!”

  CHAPTER VII

  Glacier Trek

  THE helicopter hovered lower over the ice as Frank prepared for the rescue. Easing himself out of the cabin, he groped for a footing on one of the metal rungs. The ladder swayed sickeningly as he climbed down. But Frank kept a steady grasp. Finally he reached the glacier. The middle-aged couple, dressed in hiking garb, greeted him with anxious relief.

  “Sorry to put you to so much trouble. We’re certainly grateful that you responded to our signals!” The man, although he seemed to be in pain, flashed a smile. “My wife and I had an accident. Our name’s Turner. I’m an engineer.”

  Frank introduced himself, and Mrs. Turner, a pleasant-faced woman, added her thanks.

  “We’ve had a nasty fall on the ice,” she explained. “I’m afraid my husband’s leg is broken, and I seem to have sprained my arm quite badly. Could you possibly take us aboard?”

  “Of course, Mrs. Turner.” Frank smiled reassuringly. After studying the situation, he removed two rungs of the ladder and improvised a splint for Mr. Turner’s leg. Then he lashed first the woman, then the man, to the ladder and had them lifted aboard.

  “There won’t be room for all of us,” Joe told the pilot. “Suppose I keep Frank company on the glacier while you take Mr. and Mrs. Turner to the hospital?”

  “I guess that’s the best plan,” Robbie agreed. He reached into a storage locker and took out two pairs of steel cleats. “Here. You and Frank fasten these to your shoes. They’ll help you keep your footing on the ice. I’ll be back pronto to pick you up.”

  “Okay, thanks.” Joe pocketed the cleats, and after wishing the Turners a speedy recovery from their injuries, climbed down the ladder. Then Robbie reeled it back aboard. The two boys waved as the whirlybird took off toward Juneau.

  “This is a chilly-looking spot, all right,” Frank remarked, gazing around at the vast expanse of ice. “What a nasty place to have an accident!”