After supper the two young detectives drove slowly back to the Shetland pony ranch. Now that the work of the day was over, the ranch hands were enjoying themselves. Some lounged in the yard, while others played cards and told stories in the bunkhouse. Grafton sat cross-legged on his bunk, mending a saddle. He appeared calmer than he had in the afternoon.
“Looks like a nice bunch of men to work with,” Frank commented as Grafton joined them outside.
“Yes,” he agreed. “They’re good fellows. Nobody knows anything about me here. I get along with them all.”
Slowly Frank, Joe, and Grafton strolled away from the buildings toward the fields where the herd of Shetland ponies was pastured.
“I can understand why you don’t want to leave here,” Frank admitted. “It’s a nice place, and you’re safe—both from the law and from Wetherby. But we have a proposition for you, Mr. Grafton.”
“What is it?” Grafton faced them squarely. Already he seemed to have regained some of his confidence.
“Don’t go back to Los Angeles just yet. Help Joe and me and our dad to track down Wetherby and capture him. That will square you with the law and get rid of the threat to your family.”
Grafton hesitated only a moment. Then, gratefully, he shook Frank’s extended hand.
“It’s a deal. Where do we go from here?”
“Back to Blythe.”
Grafton looked troubled. “Wetherby has spies in that area,” he objected. “They’ll know me right away.”
“Leave it to me,” Frank assured the man. “I have an idea of how to take care of that!”
CHAPTER XVI
The Disguised Cowboy
LATER that evening, after the cowboys had retired to the bunkhouse, the kitchen of the Redlands’ ranch home presented a strange scene.
On a chair in the middle of the room sat Willard Grafton. A sheet was draped about his body from the neck down. Above his head Frank Hardy brandished a pair of scissors in one hand and a comb in the other, like a barber working on a customer. With a flourish, Frank cut away a lock of Grafton’s brown hair, and then stepped back to observe the effect.
“Ooops—got an ear that time,” warned Mr. Redland, a boyhood friend of Grafton.
“What do you think you’re doing there, barber?” Joe demanded with pretended severity. The rancher and his wife laughed heartily as Grafton winced.
“I’m adding thirty years to Mr. Grafton’s age,” Frank defended himself. “Who ever saw an old drifting cowboy with such well-cared-for hair? Off it comes!”
Snip! Snip! When Grafton’s hair seemed ragged enough, Frank sprinkled on some powder from a special Hardy make-up kit which Joe had driven back to the plane to fetch. After a good rubbing, Grafton’s rich brown hair had become a dingy gray color. “No shaving for a while now,” the young barber ordered. “Tomorrow, whiskers gray, too!”
Another powder gave a dry, grizzled look to Grafton’s skin. Then Frank added a few age lines with a make-up pencil. “Now, stand up.”
Pulling off the sheet, Willard Grafton obeyed. His outfit consisted of down-at-the-heel boots and tattered clothing that the other ranch hands had discarded.
“That old cowpoke has sure seen better days.” Mr. Redland chuckled.
“Let’s see you limp across the room, Mr. Grafton,” Joe directed.
Obediently the disguised man moved slowly, in a series of awkward, painful jerks, toward the wall.
“No, no—not that way,” Joe objected. “A person who limps doesn’t walk like that. He walks smoothly—and just as fast as we do!”
Demonstrating, the young detective hobbled briskly across the kitchen as though he had had a limp for years.
“Say, that’s right, Joe,” Mr. Redland declared. “I’ve noticed myself—once a man gets used to his limp, he moves around pretty fast.”
After Grafton had practiced walking for a while, the group prepared to break up.
“Now remember,” Joe instructed Grafton, “you’re an old unshaven cowboy with a limp. Early tomorrow you hitch a ride to the airport with one of the hands. Then you stow away on our plane. If anybody chases you out, come back later and sneak on again. We’ll show up about noon.”
Frank, Joe, and the disguised Grafton stayed at the ranch house overnight and set off in the morning.
When the Hardys boarded their plane the next day, they discovered a seedy-looking old codger cowering in the back seat.
“Who’s that?” Frank demanded gruffly.
“A stowaway, sir,” Grafton pleaded, grinning.
“Keep your head down!” Joe warned. “We’re not supposed to know you’re here until it’s too late!”
The plane roared down the runway and ascended into the sky. In all directions its passengers could see the jagged ridges of the Rocky Mountains. Grafton was thankful for the speed of their flight back to Blythe.
“To think it took me three days to hitchhike that distance!” he declared.
“There’s Chet, waiting with a rented car,” called Joe as they taxied up to the hangars.
The door of the plane opened and Joe Hardy jumped down. Frank followed and then held the door open.
“Come on! Get down from there!” he ordered harshly.
Meekly a gaunt, disheveled old cowboy lowered himself to the ground. When the boys strode toward the car he hobbled respectfully behind.
“Who’s he?” Chet demanded, bewildered. When the Hardys did not reply, he added, “Not Grafton!”
“Hush!” Joe hissed in warning, glancing around.
“This old coot stowed away on us, Chet,” Frank announced in a loud, angry voice. “Keep your eye on him while we make a report, will you? I mean to have him arrested!”
Catching on, their chum responded, “Right. Get over here, you!”
Frank and Joe then walked over to Gene Smith’s office, actually to find out about leaving the plane for a few days. When they returned to the car they discovered Chet alone, looking frantically in all directions.
“Where’s Graf ... that cowboy?” asked Joe.
“Gone! Vanished,” wailed Chet miserably. “I swear I just peeked inside the hood for a second, and he disappeared into thin air. And after you guys had such a job finding him. Oh, I could kick myself!”
“Never mind that,” Frank cut him short. “Scatter, quick! Find him! His life may be in danger!”
“I’ll take the parking lot,” Chet volunteered, hustling off.
“Then I’ll search the hangars,” Frank said. “Joe, you check the planes and groups of people on the field itself.”
Quickly Joe peered into the cabins of three light planes standing nearby. Ducking underneath the fuselage of the third, he found a small crowd of men gathered around the loading door of a two-engine cargo plane.
Laughs, jeers, and shouts of encouragement came from the men, who craned their necks to get a better look at something. Slipping through to the front, Joe saw that a wide ramp had been placed in the door of the plane, and that a beautiful coal-black horse, her head tossing from side to side, her eyes rolling, ears flattened back to show her distrust, was resisting all efforts by an airport employee to lead her down the ramp. Cowering against its mother’s flank was a handsome colt of the same color.
“Easy, girl,” one man coaxed.
“Take the colt first!” another shouted.
Suddenly a tall, shabbily dressed old man hobbled forward onto the ramp.
“Look out, Pop! You’ll get hurt!” somebody cried.
But the old man, speaking constantly in a low, soothing voice, continued to approach the nervous mare, with one hand extended, palm up. As the horse nuzzled into the outstretched hand, the noisy crowd quieted with respectful surprise. Taking advantage of the silence, the old cow hand slipped closer, still coaxing, soothing, reassuring the animal while he gently grasped the halter. Then, turning slightly, he started down the ramp, and the horse, stepping gingerly, followed. The little colt clopped obediently after.
“Nice work,
old-timer!” Joe Hardy stepped forward and clapped the old man on the back. At the same time he seized the cowboy’s arm and pushed him brusquely away from the horse’s grateful owner.
“Boy, you gave us a fright, Mr. Grafton!” Joe whispered tensely.
Well pleased, Grafton only answered, “Lucky I had some sugar in these pockets.”
“Don’t forget to limp,” Joe warned as the two hurried to the car.
Both Frank and Chet had returned already. To prevent any more misadventures, the youths put Grafton in the car and got started immediately. When Chet was introduced, he told Grafton how pleased he was at his return. Then Chet was apprised of the plan to capture Wetherby and his gang before Grafton made his return known.
“And now, Chet,” Frank inquired, “what’s this big news of yours?”
“Just wait till you hear it!” Chet exclaimed. “Two nights ago I was out after some close-up pictures of desert animals with Jim Weston—my new friend. We got some good shots, but in one of them, without knowing it, we got a man! He was heading somewhere away from the river.”
“Well, that’s a little queer,” Frank commented. “Not earthshaking news, though.”
“You haven’t heard the half of it. This was the same guy I photographed back in Bayport!”
“The bellman?” Frank and Joe chorused. “That is a clue!”
Noticing Grafton’s bewilderment, Frank explained.
“We think he’s a member of Wetherby’s gang, since he has already spied on us and even attacked the three of us.” Frank described their hotel assailants. “Do you know them, Mr. Grafton?”
“Can’t say I do,” the man replied. “My kidnapers were Mexicans.” Then he changed the subject. “Where are we going to stay, boys? I’m not very presentable in this getup.”
“At our motel,” Joe replied, after a moment’s thought. “Frank and I will keep the manager busy while Chet sneaks you in. You pretend just to be helping us with our gear. Even though you’re disguised we don’t want you to be noticed.”
Joe’s proposal worked without a hitch. While the Hardy brothers were in the motel office, Grafton carried their rucksack to the room as though he had been hired to do so.
Bustling about officiously, Chet ordered four steak dinners sent up to the room. “Mr. Grafton would have to eat alone if we went to the restaurant,” he explained.
Although Grafton remained a little reticent, Frank and Joe were glad to see that he appeared to enjoy the boys’ company.
“Now, down to business,” Frank began after the meal. “I can’t wait to get over on the Arizona side and do some investigating around the giant effigy there. Chet’s picture of the bellman is a good lead. And the fact that we found digging near the lone giant’s left hand may mean other digging by the same people in a similar location.”
“Yes,” Joe said, “and those people who were digging may be connected with the gang. We may even pick up the men out there.”
“I suggest,” Frank said, “that we rent a cabin down near Ripley and hire another boat. Then we can cross the river as often as we want to.”
Willard Grafton was the first to approve. “I’m for it. Sounds good, Frank.”
“Okay. We’ll leave in the morning. Any other ideas?”
Chet spoke up. “Suppose you three drive out and hire the cabin. I’ll buy supplies, rent a boat, and come down with my pal Jim Weston. He’s trustworthy, and he’ll be a real help.”
“Good thought,” Frank agreed. “We might rent the cabin in his name, to throw the gang off our trail.”
At noon the next day Frank, Joe, and the disguised Grafton were with a farmer, inspecting a comfortable-looking water-front cabin just across from the Arizona giants. The place had a wide river-front porch from which the rocky bluffs on the other side could be seen clearly. Beautiful golden tamarisk trees grew all around the cabin.
“Nice place,” remarked the farmer, who owned it. “Off by itself, though. That’s the reason some folks won’t rent it.” He handed Frank the key and drove away.
Together, the boys and Grafton clumped onto the porch to unlock the door. The noise of their boots caused a sudden, dry rattle underneath the porch. Then came a rustling sound.
Suddenly the long body of a bright diamond-backed sidewinder twisted and slithered into the sunlight beside the porch!
CHAPTER XVII
The Chemical Fog
“DON’T move!” Frank flattened back against the door and spread both arms to restrain his companions.
But the gesture came a split second too late. Panic-stricken, Grafton had leaped from the porch—straight into the path of the swift-moving snake!
For an instant the man’s long legs were exposed to the danger of a bite, since he had landed with one boot on either side of the writhing, diamond-backed body. But before the reptile could coil to strike, Grafton had dashed to safety. The snake started to slither back to the porch.
“Grab one of these—quick!” Joe had discovered a pile of wooden stakes, each about three feet long, next to the porch. Armed, the boys charged after the retreating reptile. Unable to reach cover, the sidewinder turned and coiled itself menacingly. Warily Frank extended his stick. Bang! The snake, nearly five feet long, crashed into the target with such force that the weapon was knocked from Frank’s hands.
Seizing the opportunity while the snake lay extended on the ground, Joe rushed in and with a well-placed stroke killed the reptile.
“Wow!” Frank exclaimed. “I didn’t know those babies packed such a wallop!”
“That settles him, anyhow,” Joe said. “It’s okay, Mr. Grafton—the snake’s dead.” he called to the scared man, who had watched the fight from fifty yards away.
Reassured, Grafton came back. “Thanks, fellows,” he said.
“You had a mighty close call,” Joe reminded him. “Why did you jump like that?”
“I—I panicked, I guess. You see, I was brought up in dry country like this. When I was a little boy, I nearly died of rattlesnake venom. Ever since, I’ve been terribly afraid of snakes.”
“Well,” Joe suggested, “let’s get out of this sun, anyhow. I’m glad I don’t have a thermometer. I’d hate to know how hot it is in this desert.”
But Willard Grafton refused to move toward the cabin. “No, I couldn’t stay there now,” he declared nervously. “That snake may have a mate.”
“But you can’t just stand out on the desert,” Joe argued. “And we can’t keep you in town—it’s too dangerous. After all, you’re in hiding, you know!”
Not until Frank and Joe had poked and probed thoroughly under all parts of the cabin did Grafton move to enter the building. They found the big single room of the cabin pleasantly cool. Bunk beds, two-tiered, had been built against three walls. Hanging on the fourth were cooking utensils and fishing equipment for their use. The boys decided to wait for Chet and his friend on the porch, where they could watch the river.
“Wish they would hurry up,” Joe remarked impatiently. “I’m getting hungry. Besides, we have work to do to crack the rest of this case.”
At this new mention of the case, Frank shot an inquiring glance at Willard Grafton, who returned a little smile. “All right,” he said. “I’ve been holding out on you boys. I’ll make a clean breast of it, because I’m just beginning to see how hard you’ve worked to help me. But please don’t be disappointed if I can’t tell you much.”
“You must know enough to implicate the gang,” Frank reminded him. “Otherwise, they wouldn’t be so eager to get hold of you again.”
To the brothers’ surprise, Grafton shook his head. “I don’t know as much as they think I do. They never really took me into their full confidence, because I refused to join the gang.”
Although disappointed, Frank suggested that Grafton tell them what he knew. “First, what’s their racket? That’s the big question.”
“I’m not sure. I only have my suspicions. Suppose I start at the beginning. After we crossed the border, Wether
by took me to a lonely hide-out, where he had three Mexicans waiting for us. I didn’t like the men’s looks. All they talked about was making easy money. That’s when I became suspicious and said so. But Wetherby wouldn’t let me go, and it was then I realized I really was his prisoner.
“Twice we went to town and on threat of death Wetherby made me get his bad personal checks cashed at food stores. He had some checks on a Mexican bank and used an assumed name.”
“Did you try to break with him?” Frank asked.
“Yes. But it was hopeless. Wetherby again offered me a share in their illegal racket. When I refused, he set the men to guard me at the lonely spot. After that, they were always careful about what they said. But I did overhear some talk about zinc plates. That makes me think they must be counterfeiters of some kind.”
“But what are they counterfeiting?” Frank queried.
“That I don’t know.”
“Maybe I do!” Joe exclaimed suddenly. “Mr. Grafton, did you ever hear the names of any Americans in the racket?”
“Yes, I did. Al Purdy was one.”
Frank and Joe exchanged glances. The handkerchief they had found had the initial P on it!
Frank and Joe almost shouted in their excitement. Joe cried out, “Al Purdy must have been the phony bellman!”
Grafton went on, “Purdy had two buddies Caesar and Ringer.”
Quickly the Hardys told Grafton of their own encounters with Purdy, Ringer, and Caesar. “And this same Purdy is the man Chet discovered making a mysterious trip into the desert at night,” Joe finished. “And the one who knocked him out in Bayport and stole the prints.”
“There’s just one thing that doesn’t fit into the picture,” Frank remarked.
“What’s that?” Joe asked.
“The rock we found with the jasper in it. Mr. Grafton, does the gang deal in semiprecious stones? We found a valuable rock near the spot where your plane was abandoned. Could that be what Purdy was looking for when Chet snapped his picture in the desert?”
Perplexed, Grafton shook his head. “I doubt it. I don’t remember seeing any such rock myself, and I don’t think Purdy had anything to do with it. Probably some rock hunter lost it.”
Mystery of the Desert Giant Page 10