Mystery at Devil's Paw

by Franklin W. Dixon

  “What did you find?” Joe called.

  “A canvas sack. And is it heavy!”

  When Frank had pulled the large sack free of the hole, he leaped nimbly to the ground with it. Then, quickly unloosening the drawstring, he dumped the contents onto the ground.

  “Look at that!” Joe cried out. “More treasure!”

  “From grave houses!” Fleetfoot declared instantly. He picked up several of the ornaments and examined them curiously.

  Frank spoke up. “Joe, this stuff must be priceless! I’ll bet there’s nothing like it, even in the Alaska Historical Museum!”

  Joe reflected for a moment. “Do you suppose Robbie pointed the sweater sleeve this way to lead us to the thunderbird’s cache?”

  “I don’t think so,” Frank said. “He was probably interested only in where he was going—or being taken.”

  “Treasure or no,” Joe said, “Robbie’s safety is more important. But, meanwhile, what’ll we do with this?”

  “Same thing we did before,” Fleetfoot said. “We’ll bury it, just like the other stuff. But first we must put back the thunderbird’s wing.”

  Standing on Frank’s shoulder, Joe quickly replaced the wing, covering the opening. Fleetfoot had found a cleft between two rocks which he thought might be a good hiding place for the treasure. The boys laid the canvas sack in the depression, and covered it with a layer of brush, then a rotted tree limb which lay nearby.

  After the artifacts were concealed, they trekked on, following the same direction as before. They scanned the ground and their surroundings for any other clue Robbie might have left, but found nothing.

  All of a sudden, about ten minutes later, Frank stopped short.

  “Fleetfoot, Joe! Look here!” He pointed to a sapling. A branch, close to the ground, was freshly broken.

  “A marker!” Fleetfoot said, examining it closely.

  “You think Robbie did that to indicate a change in the direction?” Joe asked.

  “Looks that way,” Frank said. “It points over there, to the right.”

  “Let’s follow it,” Fleetfoot said. “You see the sap still oozing from the branch? It was only broken a little while ago, and I’m sure Robbie did it. He was on his toes, all right.”

  “But we’d better be quiet,” Frank warned.

  The boys alternated in taking the lead through the dense underbrush. As they topped a low rise of ground, Fleetfoot motioned the Hardys to stop and listen. They put their ears to the ground.

  “Someone’s walking up ahead,” Frank whispered.

  “Yes. Many feet,” the Indian said. “We must be careful.”

  Creeping forward on hands and knees, the boys inched to the top of the knoll. There, completely hidden by foliage, they looked down into a small ravine. Below them was a group of men going through mysterious motions!

  “One, two, four—six of them,” Joe counted to himself.

  In their hands all of the men held long poles which they were moving back and forth over the ground and bushes.

  Frank leaned close to his brother. “Detecting equipment!” he exclaimed in a whisper.

  “No wonder our radio’s been full of static!” Joe whispered back. “These birds must have been pretty close to us all the time.”

  Frank touched Fleetfoot on the shoulder and motioned for him to withdraw. The three boys ducked below the brow of the hill. In an undertone Frank quickly explained the situation to Fleetfoot.

  “They’re looking for the rocket, all right,” he said, “and it’s not dark yet. They must be getting desperate to find it.”

  “But where’s Robbie?” Joe whispered. “You don’t suppose they’ve—?”

  “I don’t think they’d harm him,” Frank said. “Robbie is their ace in the hole—they might need him in case they have to escape by helicopter.”

  “We’d better take a closer look,” Joe suggested.

  “Follow me,” Fleetfoot said.

  Depending on their Indian friend’s acute sense of direction, the boys hunched low and crept after him in a circuitous route which led down to one end of the ravine. Then darting from tree to tree in the deepening evening shadows, the three approached nearer to the six men.

  Suddenly one of them straightened up and leaned on his detector. “What a wild-goose chase!”

  “Yeah,” another man said. “It doesn’t make sense. What could they drop out of an airplane that was so valuable?”

  “Oh, them foreigners don’t give you any straight answers,” a third man spoke up. “They’re pretty clever, and after all, they’re paying us enough.”

  “Not enough to keep this poor guy tied up,” another of the gang members called.

  A voice sounded from behind a large tree ten yards ahead of the Hardys. “Let me go, will you, fellows? Maybe I can help you out of the mess you’re in.”

  “Robbie!” Frank whispered.

  “You ain’t got enough money to buy us,” one of the men called back. “After all, we’ve got to make a living!”

  Fleetfoot, who had pressed close to the Hardys, whispered, “These men are no good. Loafers. I have seen them hanging around the dock at Ketchikan.”

  Frank nodded. “I don’t think we can talk them into letting Robbie go. We’ve got to get him out of here ourselves.”

  “But how?” Joe asked.

  “Let’s wait a while and see what happens.”

  Fortunately, the six searchers moved farther away from the spot where the captive pilot was sitting. After ten minutes Frank motioned to his companions. “Let’s get over to Robbie, but easy! If we scare him, he might yell!”

  The three boys inched along the ground, using every blade of tall grass as cover until they were behind the tree from which Robbie’s voice had come.

  “Robbie! Robbie!” Frank whispered hoarsely.

  “Wh—?”

  “Sh!”

  But Robbie’s startled outcry had alerted one of his captors. He straightened up and turned in their direction.

  “What’d you say, skipper?”

  “Why don’t you let me go?” Robbie called back promptly. “I might have more money than you think. We can talk about it.”

  “Forget it!” The man shrugged and resumed his search.

  In a hushed voice, Robbie said, “Frank, Joe, is that you?”

  “Yes,” Frank whispered. “Be quiet. We’re trying to get you out of here.”

  Frank peered around the side of the tree. Robbie’s hands were tied behind his back and his ankles were bound with leather thongs.

  “Lie down,” Frank said, “and stretch out as if you’re taking a nap.”

  Robbie did as he was instructed, holding his wrists and ankles close to the side of the tree. In the dim light the hands of Frank and Joe were barely visible as they reached around to cut the bonds of the helicopter pilot.

  Robbie moved his arms and legs slowly so as to regain circulation. This accomplished he slithered around the tree, unnoticed by the gang. Then, with the tree as a shield, he stood up. Fleetfoot motioned the three to follow and they set off at a rapid pace through the underbrush.

  At first Robbie had difficulty keeping up with the boys because of cramps in his legs. These, however, were soon worked out and he was able to jog swiftly along beside his rescuers.

  They were breathing hard as they hurried through the tangled woods. Part of Robbie’s story of what had happened came out when the group stopped for a short rest.

  “Those men probably haven’t discovered you’re missing yet,” Joe said. “All is quiet.” Then he added, “Who are those fellows, Robbie?”

  “Renegades from down the coast somewhere. They’re working for those foreigners. Oh, I’d like to get my hands on that guy who kidnapped me!”

  “What was his name?” asked Frank.

  “Remus—or something like that.”

  “Remo Stransky!” Frank exclaimed.

  “How did he get away with it?” Joe asked the pilot.

  “Pushed a gun in m
y back just as I was about to take off for the glacier to pick up you boys.”

  “But what about the package dropped to us by the airplane?” Joe asked, perplexed.

  “Remo bragged that a friend would do that,” Robbie told them, “just to throw you off the trail.”

  “Did you write the note?”

  “Yes. I was forced to.”

  Fleetfoot spoke up. “Do you know what these men are looking for?”

  “No, not exactly. Something very important.”

  Robbie told them his foreign captors had stated that one of their country’s airplanes had dropped valuable cargo by mistake. The United States government allegedly would not cooperate in helping them find it. “So,” concluded Robbie, “they decided to take matters into their own hands.”

  “What a phony story” Joe declared. “They’re looking for that rocket.”

  Just then shouts of angry men echoed through the darkening woods.

  “They’ve found out you’ve escaped!” said Frank. “Come on! Let’s go!”

  Like a slender brown ghost, Fleetfoot led them racing through the woodlands along a trail barely perceptible in the gloom. Five minutes later the cries of their pursuers were lost in the distance.

  “We’ve shaken them,” Joe said.

  “Don’t be too sure,” Frank cautioned. He turned to Robbie. “Do they have a radio?”

  “Yes. A strong transceiver.”

  “Then they’ll report this to Stransky,” Frank said. “We’ve got to be extra careful.”

  The four jogged along at an easier pace and the helicopter pilot told more of his story. The foreign gang, hunting for the valuable cargo in the woodlands, had come upon the Indian grave houses and rifled them.

  Robbie related that he did manage to drop his sweater and break the tree branch to mark the trail without his captors noticing. “They got careless about watching me,” he went on. “Too busy looking for a spot to stash the loot.”

  Frank interrupted. “They found a place—in the thunderbird totem.”

  Robbie was amazed. “How’d you find it?”

  The Hardys gave him a brief account of Joe’s accidental discovery. The gang, Robbie said, had also come upon the hiding place by chance. “And that salmon-poaching business,” he added, “was just a cover-up for this giant search.”

  The pilot was delighted to hear that the boys had brought cans of aviation fuel and cached them near the riverbank.

  It was decided that they would leave their canoes, as well as the treasure, hidden, and take off with Robbie in the helicopter.

  “Now that we know where these fellows are,” Frank said, “a flying police detail can help us round them up.”

  Skirting Devil’s Paw at a safe distance, the four made their way down the steep slope toward Robbie’s helicopter. The moon had come up, and cast a luminous glow on the sides of the craft.

  “Well, here she is safe and sound,” Robbie said, putting his foot on a rung at the side of the chopper. He was just about to climb into the cabin when a sudden swishing sound filled the air. Frank, Joe, and Fleetfoot, poised behind the pilot, whirled about.

  “Look out, Frank!” Joe called as he saw the dim figures of five men leap suddenly out from the shadow of a boulder.

  At the same time a large fishnet fell over the heads and shoulders of Frank and the Indian boy!

  CHAPTER XX

  Aerial Roundup

  WITH cries and whoops the five attackers rushed upon the boys. Frank and Fleetfoot, entangled in the net, could offer little assistance as the assailants fought to subdue Joe and Robbie.

  In five minutes all four lay exhausted on the ground. Their hands had been tied behind them by the gloating victors.

  As one of the gang examined the bonds, he rasped in English, “Nice work with the net, Igor. We got ’em all. Herd ’em together and tie the seine around the bunch. We have our fish.”

  “Remo Stransky!” Joe lunged out at him, but in vain. Stransky laughed in the youth’s face.

  “Save your strength!” he taunted. “This seine is made of your American nylon and is quite unbreakable.” Stransky’s lips curled gloatingly. “You Hardys and your two foolish friends here will never leave this forest alive.”

  “Don’t be too sure of that!” Frank retorted. “Besides, whatever happens to us, Stransky, you and your gang will be caught.”

  The ringleader threw back his head and laughed harshly. “I’ll say this much for you Hardys, you never give up. You and your buddies have found out a great deal, too much in fact, but my countrymen and I will not be cheated of success!”

  The Hardys, Robbie, and Fleetfoot were searched and their hunting knives taken away.

  “We’ll relieve you of these,” Stransky said with a sneer, “so you can’t cut your way to freedom.” Then he spoke into a small walkie-talkie which one of his henchmen handed to him.

  “Okay, my American allies,” he said. “We have snared the Hardys and the others. You will get a bonus for this.” Then he added, “Keep on looking there until I instruct you further.”

  Stransky turned to his captives. “Come now,” he said, “we have no time to waste.”

  To his henchmen, Stransky gave crisp orders. Two of them immediately jerked the prisoners around and headed them toward the trail leading up to the Devil’s Paw camp. Straining and sweating, the captives were half dragged, half shoved along the rocky trail. It was dark by the time they reached the camp.

  Stransky spoke again into the walkie-talkie. “Assemble at camp, men!”

  Robbie and the boys were glad to have a chance to lie down. All were aching, parched, and hungry.

  “This is outrageous!” Robbie muttered.

  “Calm yourself,” Stransky called out with a hoarse laugh. Then he directed one of his men, “Guard them closely, so they don’t escape while we prepare supper.”

  The guard, who spoke English, as well as Stransky’s native tongue, stretched down on the ground beside the prisoners. He taunted the Hardys. “I understand you found the boss’s knapsack. A lot of good it did you!”

  “How did you know that?” Frank asked.

  “One of our spies in Juneau told us.” The guard laughed raucously. “Fish! Salmon in the seine! Ha-ha!”

  “You’ll laugh out of the other side of your mouth,” Joe muttered. “Just wait.”

  “Quiet!”

  “What do you intend to do with us?” Frank asked.

  “What usually happens to unwanted fish?” the man sneered. “You throw them into the ocean.”

  His compatriots, meanwhile, had started a roaring campfire. The light flickered over the faces of the four prisoners who reclined glumly in the shadow of some tall bushes.

  About twenty minutes later the sound of many footsteps crashing through the woods brought the Hardys alert.

  “Joe! Maybe it’s a rescue party!” Frank said.

  But the boys were doomed to disappointment, for into the circle of firelight stepped the gang’s American henchmen carrying mine detectors.

  “So you caught ’em, eh?” said one.

  “Yeah,” another said with a chuckle. “I hear those Hardys are just a couple of amateur detectives.”

  “Boy, I wish Dad were here now,” Joe thought, furious. “We’d show ’em who are amateurs.”

  To add to the misery of the trapped quartet, their captors brought a steaming tin of stew to the guard. The aroma wafted to their nostrils, causing their mouths to water. But they remained silent, determined to ask no favors.

  Soon the group around the campfire were eating and joking loudly.

  “Now that the Hardys and their friends are tied up,” Stransky said, “we can go ahead in our search without any more trouble.”

  “What about the reinforcements, boss?”

  “They’re on the way,” Stransky replied. “They’ll skip past Prito and his fat friend tonight. With ten more fellows helping, you should find that—er—lost cargo in no time.”

  Frank and Joe ex
changed glances of alarm. If they could only warn Chet and Tony of the impending peril! “It looks as if it’s curtains for all of us!” Joe whispered glumly.

  After the meal, the captives and their guard were swallowed up in the shadows. Frank had started to doze when suddenly he was snapped to consciousness by the sound of a groan.

  Startled, the Hardys saw to their astonishment that it was their guard who had uttered the sound!

  Suddenly a voice close to them whispered, “How’re you fellows? All right?”

  “Chet!” Frank gasped. “Are you alone?”

  “No, I’m here too,” came another voice.

  “Tony!” Joe said in muffled but joyful tones.

  “Well, we took care of that guy for a while,” said Chet. “I jumped on his middle, then Tony socked him.”

  “Sure good to see you!” Fleetfoot said.

  “You bet!” Robbie spoke up. “Hope you brought a sharp knife.”

  “Right here. I’ll have you out in a jiffy.” Tony glanced quickly at the men about the campfire. Some were now asleep, others were lolling about. Desultory chatter muffled the sound of Tony’s knife as it cut through the strands of the seine.

  “There,” he said finally. “You’re free. Let’s get out of here.”

  “Where to?” asked Chet.

  “Robbie’s copter,” replied Frank. “I think we can make it this time.”

  Tony held out a small compass attached to his belt. The luminous face gave the group their bearings. Then, with Fleetfoot in the lead, the six stealthily crept away.

  Keeping tensely on the alert for signs of pursuit, they proceeded for some time in dead silence. Finally, feeling they were safely out of earshot, Joe asked Chet and Tony, “How’d you find us, fellows?”

  “Easy,” Tony said. “We spotted that campfire a mile away.”

  As the boys walked on, Chet told Frank and Joe they had become worried about their friends’ long absence.

  “Tony got half a dozen guards as replacements to take charge at the island,” he added, “so we could come to look for you.”

  Frank slapped the stout boy affectionately on the shoulder. Chet’s loyalty was unswerving.

  Once Fleetfoot had found the slope leading to the helicopter, the party cautiously traversed the rocky terrain. Frank and Joe, with the aid of Tony and Chet, carried the cans of gasoline from their hiding place. Upon reaching the helicopter, they fueled it. Robbie, meanwhile, checked the instrument panel, as Fleetfoot looked on with awe.