The Secret of Skull Mountain

by Franklin W. Dixon

  Dick told the boys that the dam had been built by the Coastal Power and Light Company. “When it’s working, it will supply electricity to this whole region as well as water to Bayport. But so far it’s a multimillion-dollar dud!”

  Frank and Joe scanned the valley. Trees had been cleared from a point level with the top of the dam down to the water’s edge. The high banks of the reservoir were covered with vines and low shrubs. There was one patch of high, thick bushes.

  Frank knitted his brows. “That’s odd!” he exclaimed. “Shouldn’t all of those bushes have been cleared?”

  The construction men did take out most of them,” Dick replied. “But a few days before they were finished, they were caught in a rockslide.”

  “Anyone hurt?” Joe asked.

  “Yes. Three of the men were seriously injured. Then the rest of the crew decided the job was too risky and laid down their tools. We’ll have the job completed when the ground freezes and there is less danger of a landslide.”

  The three continued down the slope. The way was much easier now, and they moved rapidly. Soon they could see a small construction shack among the trees some distance above the reservoir.

  Dick cupped his hands to his mouth and called down. Bob Carpenter came out of the shack. “Hi!” he replied as the others approached him. The engineer was tall and sun-tanned, with an intelligent face and a friendly manner. He studied Frank and Joe with keen interest as Dick introduced them.

  “Hardy? You must be Fenton Hardy’s sons.”

  “We are,” said Frank.

  “In that case, I’m twice as glad to see you,” Bob Carpenter said, smiling. He shook their hands firmly and waved toward the shack. “Welcome to Carpenter’s Cottage!”

  The engineers led the way to the shack, and as the boys followed, they noted that it was sturdily built. Some distance to the rear was an equipment hut, a pile of sand, and one of lumber. Inside, Dick lit a kerosene lamp and gave Bob the evening newspaper.

  Bob Carpenter’s face grew grim as he read the story of the water shortage.

  “This paper’s pretty rough on me,” he remarked. “If I don’t lick this problem, boys, it could lick me. My professional reputation won’t be worth a nickel!”

  “You and Dick are not trying to do this job alone, are you?” asked Frank.

  “No,” replied Bob Carpenter. “I have a six man work crew staying in a cabin over at the foot of the dam. They’ve been using electronic equipment to listen for a leak along the shores of the reservoir.”

  “But there’s so much ground to cover,” Dick put in, “that it’ll take a long while.”

  “Maybe we can save you time by getting to the root of the trouble, Joe said. “Let us have a crack at the case.”

  “Dick says some strange things have been going on here,” Frank said. “Tell us about them.”

  “Well, one strange thing is the smoke,” Bob said, frowning. “A thin column of it rises from the top of the mountain every so often. We’ve searched carefully, but haven’t found any sign of a fire.”

  ‘Dick told us about that. And we just saw the same smoke!” Frank said.

  The youth related what had happened while he, Joe, and Dick were driving along the road at the foot of the mountain. Frank had hoped that Bob Carpenter would be able to identify the strange man of the mountain, but the engineer was perplexed.

  Suddenly Frank felt a prickling at the back of his neck. He whirled and looked at the dark window behind him. Had someone been peering into the shack? “I’m going to take a look around outside,” he said quietly.

  “I’ll go with you,” Joe insisted.

  Taking flashlights, they stepped outside. Darkness lay on the mountain with a light mist over the reservoir below. The boys separated and began circling the shack.

  Suddenly Frank heard a scurrying sound and the crackle of twigs. He flashed his light, and saw a bush spring back in place. He ran to the spot, but saw no sign of anything moving.

  “What was it?” Joe whispered as he came up to him.

  Frank shrugged. “Maybe only an animal.”

  They went back into the shack.

  “Find anything?” Bob asked.

  Frank shook his head. “Who is on the mountain beside yourselves?”

  “There are some squatters in this area,” Bob replied, “but I never came across one who matches your description.”

  “Squatters? ”Joe repeated.

  “Yes,” Dick said. “There were several squatters living in the valley when the contractors moved in to build the reservoir. Most of them gave up their homes and moved back over the ridge to the other side of the mountain. But two-Sailor Hawkins and Potato Annie-refused to leave and are still hanging onto their shacks on the mountainside.”

  “Would Sailor Hawkins or Potato Annie be likely to roll a boulder or toss a skull at us?” queried Frank.

  Bob laughed. “I doubt it. They’re troublesome, but I’ve no proof that they’re the ones trying to scare me away from here.”

  Joe’s interest quickened. “What do you mean-scare?”

  Bob laughed again. “Well, I found a skull planted in my knapsack-and another on my worktable.”

  “Golly!” said Joe. “Where do they all come from?”

  “Years ago Indians lived in the valley,” Bob told them, “and their burial ground is somewhere on the mountain. Maybe the skulls come from there.”

  He said that tools had been stolen from the camp and surveying equipment had been smashed.

  “Someone’s mighty anxious to keep you from finding out what’s wrong with the reservoir,” Joe remarked.

  Bob nodded. “But they won’t get rid of me. I’m not leaving till I know the answer to this puzzle.”

  “You can count on us, Mr. Carpenter,” said Frank, and Joe nodded his agreement.

  The engineer smiled. “Call me Bob.” He glanced at his watch. “Now, let’s hit the sack. We have plenty to do tomorrow!”

  It was a half hour’s work for the boys to set up their pup tents close by Carpenter’s Cottage, and soon they were asleep in their cots.

  Some time later Frank found himself wide awake. Had that been a branch cracking outside the tent? He lay quiet, listening. There it was again—farther away!

  As he started to get up, there came a loud roar and the cot heaved. Frank was flung to the ground. An explosion! Debris thudded onto the tent! After that there was silence. Frank sat up, unhurt. Then, from some distance away, he heard a shrill cackling laugh!

  CHAPTER III

  Chet Joins Up

  “FRANK!”

  Joe’s cry sent a chill of fear through his brother. The older boy crawled hurriedly out of his tent. A lot of the debris had fallen on Joe’s tent and knocked it down. Joe was floundering under the canvas like an angry sea lion.

  As Frank helped him crawl out, he saw Joe was not injured, though the tent was badly torn.

  “Whew!” Joe exclaimed. “What happened?”

  “You know as much as I do,” Frank told him. “Put your shoes on and let’s have a look.”

  The boys found their flashlights and joined Bob and Dick, who had come rushing out with a lantern.

  It did not take them long to find the spot where the explosion had occurred. A huge jagged hole had been torn in the ground.

  “It’s a war of nerves,” Bob said grimly. “Somebody hopes we’ll crack under the strain and go away.”

  “I wish I could lay my hands on that guy,” Joe said as they started back. “That cackle of his gave me the creeps.”

  Suddenly Frank stopped. On the ground, in the beam of his flashlight, were the prints of two naked human feet. The right one showed the small toe to be missing.

  “You know anybody who goes around barefoot?” Frank asked Bob and Dick.

  The engineers shook their heads.

  “Maybe the old man of the mountain does,” Frank said. “Joe and I will follow the prints first thing in the morning.”

  The sun was well up when the
boys awoke to the aroma of frying bacon. Breakfast over, they set out to follow the prints, which led up the mountain.

  In some places the tracks were barely distinguishable. In others, where the mud was soft, they were strikingly clear. After climbing for a while, Frank and Joe found themselves a stone’s throw from a stretch of cleared land where row upon row of potato plants and other vegetables were growing. Behind the garden patch was a small shanty.

  “That must be Potato Annie’s place,” Frank said.

  “Yes,” agreed Joe. “And the footprints are heading straight for it!”

  As they approached the tidy garden, the boys saw a woman working in it. She wore a sunbonnet with an enormous peak that completely shaded her face, a faded cotton dress, and a huge checkered apron. Potato Annie was bare-legged but she was wearing shoes. The boys noted that her feet were too small to have made the prints.

  She straightened up at their approach and stared. “Who be you?” she demanded.

  “We’re from Mr. Carpenter’s camp,” Frank began, “and we—”

  “Oh, you be, be you!” Annie cut him short. “Then you git on back there, if you know what’s good fer you! Ain’t no engineers goin’ to traipse on my land!”

  “We’re not engineers,” Joe tried to explain. “We’re—”

  But Potato Annie was adamant. “You hear me! Git! Good-fer-nothin’ loafers—drivin’ self-respeotin’ people off their property!” Then, as the boys turned away, the spry little woman demanded, “What you want?”

  “We only came for some information, Frank told her. He described the column of smoke they had seen, and the explosion, but although Annie admitted she had seen the smoke and heard the explosion, she insisted that she did not know who was responsible.

  “Have you ever come across any skulls around here?” Joe asked.

  “Skulls?” scoffed the old woman. “Why, there’s a million of ’em buried on the other side o’ this mountain! That’s how the place got its name. My grandpaw told me a whole Injun tribe is buried here!”

  Frank tried another tack. “Did you ever see an old man on the mountain?” he asked. “A gaunt-faced fellow with long shaggy hair?”

  A flicker of fear crossed Annie’s face, but she declared flatly that she had never seen nor heard of such a creature. Frank thanked the old woman for her information.

  “Ain’t told you nothin‘, far as I know,” she retorted. She watched the boys start down the slope from which they had come. “Tell them engineers this valley ain’t never goin’ to be covered with water!” she yelled after them. “Tell ’em Annie said so!”

  The boys grinned at each other and looked back. Annie was bending over her potato plants again.

  Frank’s face grew sober. “She knows the mountain man.”

  Joe nodded. “Let’s try to pick up the prints again outside her place and see where they go.”

  The boys slipped behind a clump of bushes and watched the woman, waiting for her to go inside. Finally she squinted up at the sun, put down her hoe, and went into the shack.

  “Come on, Joe!”

  Quickly they made their way to the small farm and searched around it until they found the bare footprints. For a while they were able to follow the trail up the mountain. Then the ground became gravelly and the tracks vanished.

  Hot and hungry, the boys returned to the camp, where they had a late lunch of sandwiches and milk. Afterward they walked down to the reservoir. Men were working around the shore with electronic devices, while the two engineers slowly circled in a rowboat. Bob dropped white-painted shingles in the water at regular intervals.

  Frank waved, and Dick rowed the boat toward them. A few yards from the shore he rested his oars.

  “What are you doing?” Joe asked.

  “Trying to find out where the water is escaping,” Bob explained. “The river is feeding the reservoir, but the water won’t rise over twenty feet.”

  “The shingles will help us to detect currents that may indicate a hidden outlet,” Dick added.

  Joe looked puzzled. “Why are you doing it now? I thought it only emptied at night.”

  “That’s when most of the run-off takes place,” Dick replied, “but there might be a little drainage during the day. We’re checking every possibility.”

  “You’ve had no luck at night?” Frank asked.

  Bob scowled. “Every time we come down here after dark, somebody shoots at us with a high-powered rifle.”

  Frank raised his eyebrows. “A sniper.”

  “Several of them,” Dick corrected him with a grimace. “We get cross fire.”

  “They’ve hit the boat twice,” Bob put in, “and we’ve repaired it. Frankly, it’s pretty risky. I’ve been trying to think of a safer way to investigate.” Then he added, “What have you two been up to?”

  Frank described how the trail of the footprints had led them to Potato Annie. Bob agreed that the woman could be in on the trouble.

  “She will have to move, won’t she?” Joe asked.

  “As soon as the reservoir begins to function, she’ll be forced off the land. This will be a restricted area.”

  Joe grinned. “I feel sorry for the fellows who have to make her go.”

  Frank reminded Joe that they had to drive to town to replace Joe’s damaged tent. “We’ll be back before nightfall,” he told the engineers.

  “Wait a minute,” said Joe. The landslide—the road will be blocked.”

  “You can get out,” said Dick. He told them of a fork in the dirt road which would take them to the highway.

  An hour later when the Hardy boys drove up to their home, Aunt Gertrude was on the lawn, digging out dandelions. Joe, his eyes twinkling, picked up the skull from the dashboard and held it in front of him as he got out of the car.

  “Hi, Aunt Gertrude,” he greeted her. “We’d like to have you meet a friend of ours.”

  The tall, graying woman gave a shriek and almost lost her balance trying to get away from her nephew. Joe slowly but relentlessly pursued her.

  “Get away from me, Joe Hardy!” Aunt Gertrude cried. “Get away, I say!”

  Joe laughed. “Okay, Aunty,” he said impishly. “But that’s no way to win friends!” He started up the path toward the back door, and Frank joined him.

  “Don’t you dare take that horrible thing into the house!” Aunt Gertrude called after them. “If you must keep it, put it in your workshop where decent people won’t have to look at it.”

  Later, after a quick shower and a change of clothes, the boys drove downtown and purchased a new tent. Then they hurried home and sat down with their mother and aunt to an appetizing dinner of roast beef and vegetables. Mrs. Hardy calmly accepted their announcement that they planned to go back to Skull Mountain that evening.

  The talk soon turned to Fenton Hardy, who had been away from home for the past two weeks. “What kind of case is he working on?” Frank asked.

  “I don’t know,” Mrs. Hardy confessed. “Your father likes to keep the details of his work to himself.” She smiled at the boys. “I suppose he feels I’ll have less to worry about that way.”

  The boys had just finished eating when they heard a rattletrap car chug into the driveway. A moment later Chet Morton came into the dining room, greeted the Hardys cordially, then took an extra plate, knife, and fork from the sideboard. He drew a chair up to the table, spread a napkin carefully in his lap, and beamed at Aunt Gertrude.

  Chet’s visits often coincided with his friends’ meal hours. The Mortons lived on a farm and always ate at least an hour earlier than the Hardys did.

  “You’re too late, Chet,” Frank told him. “We’ve finished dinner.”

  Chet groaned. He looked at his watch. “Gosh,” he said plaintively, “I came as quick as I could.”

  Joe could not help laughing at the woebegone expression on Chet’s face. Next time, he promised, as Aunt Gertrude went into the kitchen, the Hardys would keep a filled plate for their pal.

  Aunt Gertrude returne
d bearing a seven-layer chocolate nut cake. Chet’s eyes lit up when he saw it.

  “This is for the camp,” Aunt Gertrude told her nephews.

  Chet’s face quivered slightly as he watched her pack the cake neatly in a box. “Camp? What camp?”

  “Bob Carpenter’s camp on Skull Mountain,” Joe said. “Frank and I are working with him and Dick Ames on the reservoir mystery.”

  “I read about the water shortage,” Chet said. “But what are you fellows doing up there?” He could not take his eyes off the cakebox.

  Frank told him of their experiences, but he carefully omitted any reference to the skulls.

  Joe, sensing Frank’s plan, concealed a smile. “Why don’t you come with us, Chet?” he said casually. “You can help eat the cake.”

  The stout boy beamed at the suggestion, then eyed Frank and Joe suspiciously. “I don’t know,” he said dubiously. “Every time I get mixed up with you two, something happens to make me regret it.”

  “Nonsense, Chet,” Frank said. “What can happen to you on a camping trip?”

  “Plenty of things—with you two around,” Chet retorted.

  “Well, if you don’t want to go—” Frank said, shrugging. He looked at his brother. “Guess we’d better get started, Joe.”

  Joe nodded and picked up the cakebox. He lifted the lid slightly open for another look and smacked his lips appreciatively.

  This was more than Chet could bear. “Wait, fellows!” he begged. “I’ll go with you!”

  The three boys drove to the Morton farm. Chet ran into the house to pack some clothes. When he returned, the Hardy boys saw that he carried more food than camping paraphernalia.

  “No telling how long we’ll have to stay up there,” Chet explained.

  Evening shadows were falling by the time they climbed up the mountainside, then made the comparatively easy descent to the camp. Bob and Dick welcomed the three boys warmly.

  “Glad to have you aboard,” Bob said when Chet was introduced to him. Then they all sat down in Carpenter’s Cottage to a snack of milk, sandwiches, and a slice of the cake. In a corner of the shack, Frank noticed a stack of white-painted shingles.