The Hardys and Chet drove back to their hotel in Mazatlan and turned in for several hours of sleep. After breakfast they went to the police station and asked for the name of the fisherman who had sighted the submarine.
The officer in charge told them that the report had not been kept on file and he himself had never seen it. He suggested, however, that they inquire along the docks.
The boys hastened to the area and made some inquiries. They had little success, until a Mexican youth, about Joe’s age, approached them.
“Señores,” he said, “excuse me, please, but I understand that you are looking for the fisherman who saw a submarine.”
“That’s right,” Joe answered.
“My name is Tico,” the Mexican boy extended his hand in greeting. “The man you seek is Senor Ricardo. He is now fishing and will not be back for two or three days.”
The Bayporters introduced themselves and Frank asked if Tico knew anything about the fisherman’s report.
“Only that he says he saw a submarine. I believe him, for I am sure that I have seen it too.”
“You’ve seen a sub?” Chet blurted. “When? Where?”
“My father, who is also a fisherman, and I took our boat up the coast as far as Ensenada del Pabe lion about two weeks ago,” Tico explained. “On the way back I was certain that I saw what looked like a submarine in a cove.”
“Why didn’t you report it?” Frank asked.
“I had too small a glimpse of it to be sure what I saw,” the youth replied. “It was nearly sunset, and my father insisted the shadows were playing tricks with my eyes. I forgot about it until Señor Ricardo said he saw a submarine a few days ago.”
“You speak very good English,” Chet commented.
“Thank you,” Tico said with a smile. “My father sends me to a fine school in Mexico City. He does not wish me to become a fisherman, but perhaps a lawyer. I study English.”
Frank thought for a moment. “Do you think you could find that cove again?”
“Yes—yes, I think I could do this,” Tico assured him. “The cove is best reached by boat. Unfortunately my father is away fishing, and I’m on my own for about a month. We have a small craft with an outboard that will serve our purpose. The journey will take about four or five hours.”
“Good. Wait here for us,” Frank said.
The Hardys and Chet first went to the Mazat-Ian shopping district to buy clothes suitable for their intended expedition. By the time the boys returned to the dock, Tico was in his boat, ready to depart. They hopped in, and the Mexican boy set off.
Frank and Joe marveled at the scenery along the coast. It was extremely craggy, and geysers of white foam shot up from the sea splashing against the jagged rocks.
Soon the wind became more brisk. The surface of the water grew choppy, and Tico had to increase the power to keep from drifting toward shore.
“It’s blowing up a storm!” Joe warned. “We’d better beach this boat!”
“Too rocky!” Frank disagreed. “The boat would be smashed to pieces.”
As the small craft was being tossed violently about, the motor mount suddenly pulled free from its fittings. The entire unit disappeared into the water!
“Caramba!” Tico cried.
Frank and Joe found two paddles stowed underneath the seats. They grabbed them and made a valiant effort to keep the boat away from the craggy shore. But their attempt was futile. Despite their frantic paddling, the boat continued to be swept toward the jagged rocks!
CHAPTER VI
Mysterious Vigil
JoE’s paddle suddenly was ripped from his hands by the raging sea. The small boat was carried to the crest of a wave, and went skimming down the lee side toward the jagged rocks.
“Hang on!” Frank shouted as water spilled over the gunwales.
Suddenly the craft capsized and the four boys were tossed into the sea.
“Swim for it!” Frank cried. “Head for—!” He swallowed a mouthful of brine and coughed violently as he struggled through the maelstrom.
For a while the boys bobbed like corks in the turbulent sea, progressing for a few strokes, then being tossed back again. With arms flailing, they finally made it. Frank and Joe were the first to be hurled onto solid ground. Chet came next, fol lowed by the Mexican youth.
Tico lay panting for a few minutes. “I am happy to see that everyone is all right,” he finally said.
“Sorry about your boat,” Joe remarked.
“It could not be helped,” Tico said philosophically. “Do not worry.”
The boys walked a short distance inland. There the wind was less brisk, and a warm sun began to send shimmering waves of heat up from the bleached sand and rocks.
“It’s very desolate around here,” Frank observed. “Where are we?”
Tico took a moment to orient himself. “We are not far from the cove I spoke about,” he said. “It is less than an hour from here on foot.”
“No sense in turning back as long as we got this far,” Joe commented.
The boys agreed to continue on. With the Mexican youth in the lead they trekked ahead, and arrived at their destination in the time Tico had predicted.
“There it is!” he exclaimed. “I know by that tall point of rock. It looks over the cove.”
They slowly worked their way down a steep incline of rock to the shore. At once the young sleuths began searching the area for clues.
“If a sub was here,” Chet said, “you’d never know it. There’s not a trace of anything but fish!”
He held his nose and pointed to a half-eaten sea trout that had been washed ashore.
Frank, passing a large rock nearly buried in the sand, noticed deep scratches on its surface. “Take a look at this, fellows,” he called out.
“Hm! Looks like some kind of heavy objects were dragged over the ground,” Joe stated as he studied the marks.
“Notice that they continue,” Frank replied, “in a straight line toward that big boulder at the base of the incline.”
As the boys began walking toward the spot, a shot suddenly rang out! Then another! Splinters of rock sprayed in all directions.
“Jumping jackals!” Chet yelled. “Hit the dirt!”
Frank and Joe whirled to look up at the high rim of rock surrounding the cove. Two men, one taller than the other, mounted on horses, were silhouetted against the sky. Each carried a rifle, aimed in the boys’ direction.
Bam! Bam!
Two more bullets struck nearby as the boys scrambled along the craggy shore of the cove.
“Quick!” Frank ordered. “In here!”
Followed by his companions, he darted into a narrow crevice. It led up the side of a steep hill, and eventually opened into a place which served as an excellent vantage point. From there, the boys could look up and see their attackers clearly.
“Why did those men shoot at us?” Joe hissed angrily. “Are they bandits?”
Chet crouched low behind a rock. “I’m not curious enough to go out and ask them,” he declared.
“Everybody be quiet!” Frank commanded.
They watched as the two men, dressed in ragged clothes and sombreros, got off their horses and scurried down the rocky incline to the cove.
“They’re coming after us!” Tico whispered nervously.
“There are many crevices along the shore,” Frank muttered. “Let’s hope they don’t find the right one.”
Minutes ticked by slowly as the men searched. Once they came uncomfortably close to the boys’ hiding place. The taller man, his voice barely audible in the distance, said something to the other in Spanish. Then, apparently giving up the search, they climbed back up the rocky incline to their horses.
“Did you hear what that fellow said?” Frank asked Tico.
“It was difficult, but I heard most of what he said,” the Mexican boy answered. “He told the other man that we were scared off by the shooting. They think we have run far from here by now.”
“I wish I w
as far from here,” Chet mumbled.
Frank suddenly pointed toward the men. “Look!” he blurted. “They’re not getting on their horses and leaving. They’re just sitting on the groundl”
“What are they up to?” Joe queried.
“Waiting for us to come back,” Chet said ruefully.
“Maybe they’re not waiting for us at all,” Frank said. “But whatever the reason, we’ll have to stay here till they leave.”
Huddled in their hiding place, the boys spent several agonizing hours under the hot sun. By now their clothes were practically dry. But they were hungry, thirsty, and exhausted by the intense heat. Even after sunset the armed men maintained their vigil.
“Are they going to sit there all night?” Chet grumbled. “I want something to eat!”
“When it is very dark,” Tico said, “perhaps we can sneak away without being seen.”
Frank now appeared less anxious to make an immediate getaway. “I’d like to stick around a little while longer and see what those two guys are up to,” he announced. “We might learn something interesting.”
Another hour had passed when a muffled, rumbling sound drifted in from the sea just beyond the cove.
“What’s that?” Chet asked, craning his neck to look out.
“Sounds like engines,” Joe said. “Get down, Chet!”
Suddenly a point of light began flashing from the position where the men were sitting.
“They’re signaling someone!” Frank observed.
Carefully they turned to look out into the cove. A flashing light pierced the darkness in response.
Gradually the rumbling became louder. Chet’s eyes popped and Joe gasped as the faint outline of a submarine slowly approached the cove!
CHAPTER VII
Night Rendezvous
THE BOYS gazed fascinated as the submarine drew closer to the shore.
“It’s hard to believe,” Frank whispered excitedly, “but there it isl”
“Leaping lizards!” Chet gasped.
“So that’s what those two bandits were waiting for,” said Joe.
All at once there was a burst of activity on the deck. Flashlights, carried by members of the crew as they scurried about, looked like a swarm of agitated fireflies.
“Pronto! Pronto!” a crewman barked. Then came an incoherent mumbling of many voices.
Beams of light were directed at the big boulder which Frank and Joe were about to examine when the two armed men had fired at them.
“Come on! Push this thing aside!” shouted a crewman in English. “Hurry it up!”
Four husky fellows shoved the rock to one side. Behind it was a large cavity in the incline. Despite their distance from the hole, the boys could clearly see stacks of wooden boxes in the hiding place.
“The cove is a rendezvous for picking up some sort of supplies,” Joe said.
Frank remarked that it was too dark to see whether the strange symbol was painted on the conning tower, but Joe had an answer for that.
“I’ll sneak down to the cove for a closer look.”
“I’ll go with you,” Chet offered.
“No, it’s better if only one of us goes.”
Joe slowly worked his way down through the crevice, then quietly stole along the craggy shore toward the submarine. Crawling on hands and knees, he made his way to a jumble of rocks near the water’s edge. Joe crouched down and peered over the damp rocks.
“Keep movin‘. Get that stuff aboard!” ordered a bearded, heavy-set man wearing a battered visor cap. It was obvious to Joe that he was not a Mexican. Neither were most of the other crewmen, who carried the wooden boxes to the sub.
Then one of the riflemen approached the bearded man. “Qué tal van las cosas—” the Mexican was saying.
“Talk English!” the other snapped. “You know I can’t speak much Spanish.”
“Sentirlo—sorry. I do as you wish, senor.”
Loud enough for Joe to hear, the Mexican told of spotting the boys in the cove. “But we scare ‘em off. We have no trouble.”
“That’s what you think!” Joe told himself.
“It doesn’t matter,” the bearded man went on. “We’ve got all the supplies we need and won’t be comin’ back here any more.”
“What about me and my amigo?” the Mexican inquired.
“The boss needs more men back at headquarters. He said you and your friend were to go back with us. We’d better get goin’ cause the trip takes about twelve hours.”
The crewmen hurried to load all the boxes aboard. The beam of one flashlight swept across the conning tower and Joe squinted intently to get a glimpse.
There it was! The same mysterious symbol!
Joe tingled with excitement. The identical sub, or a sister ship at least, both here and in Barmet Bay!
Satisfied that he had seen and heard enough, he decided to rejoin his companions. As Joe moved, his hand brushed against a loose rock. It splashed into the water loud enough for the crewmen to hear the sound.
“What was that?” one man shouted.
Joe froze, waiting anxiously while beams of light crisscrossed the shore.
“See anything?” another asked.
“Naw. It must’ve been a fish.”
“Okay!” the bearded one shouted. “Let’s get goin‘! Cast off the lines!”
The two riflemen unsaddled their horses and sent them galloping off on their own. Then they quickly boarded the submarine.
Joe gave a sigh of relief and crept off. By the time he returned to his companions, the sub was already on its way out of the cove. Breathlessly, Joe related his findings to the others.
“I wonder where it’s headed,” Chet said.
“That’s anybody’s guess,” Joe replied.
“The bearded guy said it would take twelve hours to get where they’re going?” Frank queried.
“Right,” Joe replied. “But in that time the sub could be anywhere from one hundred to more than two hundred miles away, depending on whether the trip is made submerged or on the surface.”
“What do you think are in those boxes?” Tico asked.
“Hard to tell,” Joe said, shaking his head. “They appeared to be heavy. I’d say they contain metal tools, or maybe parts for machinery.”
“This is one of the craziest situations I ever saw,” Chet declared. “A sub sneaks into a cove at night to pick up a lot of wooden boxes hidden in the rocks. Why not use a regular boat?”
“Secrecy for one thing,” Frank replied. Obvi ously it’s a renegade sub. And—“
“And you can be sure,” Joe interjected, “that it’s being used for something more than just hauling cargo around.”
“And then there’s the question of Cardillo,” Frank said. “How does he fit into the picture, if at all?”
“Before you masterminds begin building up a case,” Chet interrupted, “how about giving some thought to our food and water problem?”
Joe glanced at the luminous dial of his wrist watch. “It’ll be light in a couple of hours. We’d better wait till then before we go trekking around the countryside.”
“That is wise,” Tico agreed. “We would gain little by trying to make our way through the darkness.”
The four boys stretched out in the shelter of some scrubby bushes and fell fast asleep. At the first light of day they awakened and began climbing up the steep, rocky incline. They rested at the top for a moment and peered across the parched and barren plain.
“There isn’t much to eat and drink out there,” Chet muttered.
“There’s lots of cactus around,” Frank said. “That’ll take care of our water problem.”
“And we are sure to find plants which can be eaten,” Tico added, “such as acerolo.”
“Acerolo?” Chet blurted.
“That’s Spanish for hawthorn,” Joe explained. “It’s a plant which bears small red and yellow apples. They’re very good.”
As the sun rose higher, the boys’ hunger and thirst grew mo
re intense. Tico led his friends to a cactus plant, removed a fisherman’s knife from his belt, and sliced off the top. He dug out some of the pulp from which he squeezed a small quantity of water.
“You certainly picked a good one,” Frank remarked with a grin.
As Tico began digging out more pulp for his friends, he saw Chet, a sharp stone in his hand, working on another cactus plant.
“Caramba!” the Mexican youth screamed. “Do not touch that plant! It is muy malo!”
Chet was startled. “It’s what?”
“Very badl” Tico shouted. “The liquid is poison!”
“Poison?” Chet muttered nervously. His face turned pale. “Why—why I’ve already drunk some of it!”
CHAPTER VIII
Bullfight
Tico and the Hardys rushed to Chet. He staggered around, as if in great pain, and gripped his chest. “I don’t feel too well,” he said in a quavering voice.
“We must do something!” Joe yelled frantically.
“The nearest doctor will be miles away!” Frank said.
Suddenly Tico pointed to a figure in the distance. “I see something! I believe—Yes, it is a man on a horse!”
“Oh, oh!” Joe muttered. “Maybe he’s a friend of those two guys who shot at us.”
“That’s a chance we’ll have to take!” Frank said.
The Hardys and Tico waved their arm wildly and called out to the distant rider. Finally he headed in their direction.
“Buenos dias!” the horseman shouted as he rode up and dismounted. He was short and wiry and had a handsome face.
“Necesitamos un doctor!—We need a doctor!” cried Tico.
“Qué pasa? What is going on?” the stranger asked.
Tico quickly told the man what Chet had done and pointed to the cactus plant. The man walked over to it, studied the plant for a moment, then he scooped out some of the pulp and squeezed the liquid into his mouth.
“Hey! What are you doing?” Joe yelled.
The man grinned. He glanced at the Hardys, then at Chet, who by this time was rolling on the ground. “Americanos?” he inquired.
The Mark on the Door Page 4