“It’s very important to your tribe that the golden relic be found, isn’t it?” Joe asked.
“It is,” the Indian had to admit. His eyes were deeply troubled.
“Do you know how it was stolen?” Frank asked.
“No.”
“What about the disappearance of the false faces?” said Joe. “Can’t you give us some idea what’s going on around here?”
Wallace’s face grew taut, and he said, “If the police cannot find out, how do you expect to?” Before the boys could reply, he added, “It is none of your business anyhow, nor Rod Jimerson’s either!”
The Hardys were dumbfounded.
“How did you know Rod sent us?” Frank demanded.
Wallace shrugged. “I guessed it. He’s been bugging me about this all along.” With that he turned on his heels and went inside his shack.
“Well, he wasn’t very informative,” Joe said.
“He’s so hostile you’d think he stole the masks himself,” Frank declared.
“I don’t know,” Joe replied. “He looks as if he’s in bad trouble. But somehow he doesn’t strike me as a thief.”
Frank got on the motorcycle, grabbed the handle bars, and Joe vaulted on the seat behind him. With a powerful growl, the machine leaped ahead and they enjoyed the cool breeze whipping their faces as they rode toward the motel.
When they reached it they noticed a Cadillac standing in front of one of the suites.
“Hey, Frank! It looks like the one that passed us before!” Joe shouted over the roar.
Frank nodded. Smoothly he applied the brakes and the cycle rolled toward a stop. Before either of the boys could dismount, a young man stepped into view. He was older than the Hardys, perhaps nineteen or twenty, thickset, with black hair and an unsmiling face.
He took a few quick steps forward, lunged at Joe, and struck him on the shoulder. The Hardys lost their balance and were spilled to the ground. The motorcycle fell on top, pinning them to the driveway!
CHAPTER VIII
A Flattened Foe
WINCING with pain, Frank and Joe untangled themselves from the fallen bike. They limped to their feet, righted the cycle, and brushed the dust from their clothes.
Joe had suffered the most damage. His right leg and arm were skinned. His chafed elbow smarted and blood oozed through his shirt.
Angrily the boys walked toward the perpetrator of the mean trick, who stood and smirked.
“Now what was the big idea?” Frank asked sharply.
Joe was hot with indignation. He clenched his fists and pressed past him. “Why ask any questions, Frank? Let me sock the jerk!”
Frank put out an arm and held Joe back. “Easy now. I’ll handle this.” He turned.
“Why did you knock us down?” he demanded, standing nose to nose with the larger boy, who wore an expression of childish amusement.
“You were riding my cycle without permission,” he said finally.
“Your cycle?” Joe said. “Why, we—”
The motel manager, having heard the commotion, hastened up to the trio. “I can explain everything,” he said. “I gave them permission to use the bike!”
The youth looked at him coldly. “You knew it belonged to me, didn’t you?”
“It’s been around here a long time. I thought you wouldn’t mind.”
“You were wrong!” the youth said haughtily.
The manager backed off and returned to his office.
“Come on, Joe,” Frank said. “Let’s go.”
They strode to their room and closed the door.
“I don’t see how you could take that,” Joe said.
“Listen, Joe. We’re here to do a job,” Frank declared. “Getting into a big hassle won’t help us at all.”
Joe pulled off his clothes and stepped into the shower. The hot water stung his abrasions, but the bleeding had stopped. He was toweling himself gingerly when the phone rang.
Frank picked it up. It was the manager, who was full of apologies. The youth, he said, was Elmont Chidsee. He had been going to Zoar College for three summers and was to be graduated this year.
“He had an awful nerve knocking us off the bike like that,” Frank said. “Maybe Joe should have bopped him after all.”
The man explained that Chidsee was an indolent type who spent most of his time loafing on a fat allowance from a rich uncle.
“He thinks he’s great, all right,” Frank said, and added, “Why in the world would anybody come for three years to a phony place like Zoar?”
“Because no other school would have him,” the manager replied. “Well, I hope your brother is okay.” With that he hung up.
Frank relayed the information to Joe, then he stripped and stepped into the shower. When both boys were dressed again, a bold knock sounded on the door. Joe opened it to see Chidsee standing there, the same smirk on his face.
Joe was surprised by the visit, and his face showed it.
“Don’t worry,” Chidsee said. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
“How nice of you!” Joe replied sarcastically. “What do you want?”
“You broke my bike!”
“No kidding!”
“I want you to fix it!”
“Fix it yourself!”
“He probably doesn’t know how,” Frank put in. “We’ll do it!”
His matter-of-fact tone puzzled the Zoar student.
“Most likely some dust in the ignition,” Frank went on, and the Hardys walked over to the motorcycle. Frank checked it out, and in no time at all had it running again.
Chidsee looked on all the while, with an envious half-smile. He curled his lips. “You fellows seem to know just what to do. Maybe you loused it up on purpose.”
“Of course, of course,” Frank said, wiping his hands on a piece of cloth. “We do this all the time!”
There was no word of thanks from Chidsee. Instead, he declared imperiously, “Now remember, keep your hands off what doesn’t belong to you!”
Joe’s lips tightened. “Same goes for you, Chidsee!” he said, putting a hand on his left shoulder. “This, for instance, belongs to me. So stay away!”
Elmont Chidsee sneered and moved in on Joe. “Oh, yeah? How would you like the other one pushed?”
Frank quickly stepped between them.
“Out of my way!” Chidsee growled.
Frank realized that argument was futile. With lightning speed he whipped a left hand into Elmont’s midsection.
“Oof!” Chidsee doubled over, only to meet a stiff right-hand uppercut to his chin.
With glazed eyes he staggered backward on rubbery legs. He stumbled over his own feet and sat down on the pavement.
Just then another car drove into the motel parking area. It stopped and a man leaned out the window to observe the ludicrous look on Chidsee’s face. He chuckled, turned his head to Frank, and said, “Wow! What a belt!”
Chidsee’s chauffeur came out of their suite to see what had happened. He ran over to the boy and helped him to his feet. Elmont Chidsee rubbed his chin, grimaced at the pain, and muttered to the Hardys, “I’ll get even with you for this!”
“We’re looking forward to seeing you again, chum!” Joe said with a grin.
The chauffeur took Chidsee’s arm and pulled him into their apartment. The door slammed shut.
“Nice going, Frank!” Joe praised his brother.
“He had it coming,” Frank replied. “Maybe he’ll lay off now.”
“I doubt it.”
For the rest of the day the Hardys studied a map of the area, familiarizing themselves completely with Yellow Springs and the Indian Reservation.
Their sympathetic motel host was a great help. He pointed out whatever the boys wanted to know.
“One thing we need,” Joe said that evening, “is some kind of transportation.”
“With luck,” Frank said, “Chet ought to be back tomorrow. Or at least the day after. Meanwhile, we’ll spy on Wallace.”
The next morning, the boys put on dark trousers and each selected a green sport shirt, to look as inconspicuous as possible in their sleuthing.
The small motel dining room provided a hearty breakfast. Frank and Joe looked around for Chidsee and his chauffeur, but they had not yet appeared.
“They probably get room service,” Frank said with a chuckle.
“Who knows? With his sore jaw Chidsee might not be able to eat at all,” Joe replied.
“It wouldn’t hurt him to lose some of his blubber around the middle,” Frank said. “He’s not in such good condition.”
The boys got a stack of sandwiches and a canteen of water from the kitchen, then hiked along the road to Wallace’s place. On the way they discussed Chidsee.
“How can a guy spend all his time driving around with a chauffeur!” Joe said. “I wonder if he has any friends.”
“I heard jokes about boys with rich uncles,” Frank said humorously, “but I’ve never met one before.”
“He certainly is a spoiled brat,” Joe remarked.
Traffic was light, but the Hardys kept an eye peeled for Wallace, also for the masked attacker who had blown up their car, and for Chidsee.
“I expect more trouble from him,” Joe said. “If his Caddy comes along, dive for cover!”
“Look, there’s Wallace’s house,” Frank said a few seconds later and pointed.
The two moved off the road and into a shallow ditch, screened on all sides by grass and tall weeds.
Frank reasoned that Wallace, having been alerted by their investigation, would probably contact a confederate, if, indeed, he was mixed up in the disappearance of the masks.
“Watch it!” Joe cautioned.
As they peered through the weeds the door of the shack opened. The Indian stepped out, holding a small hatchet in his right hand. A knife was tucked inside his belt. He looked about, then moved toward the woods at the back of his property.
“Come on. Let’s follow him,” Frank said.
Wallace glanced back several times, but the Hardys were on the alert and dropped to the grass unseen. Once among the tall trees, cover was better.
Frank and Joe kept Wallace’s bobbing figure in sight. They crouched low and were careful not to step on crackling twigs. Finally the Indian stopped and surveyed a basswood tree.
Joe whispered, “He’s not going to cut it down with that little hatchet, is he?”
“No. Look!”
The man raised his hatchet and with deft strokes began to chip into the smooth bark. Then he put the hatchet down, pulled out his knife, and with elbows held tightly against the trunk for leverage, he used both hands to carve into the wood.
The Hardys advanced as close as they could, fascinated by the skill of the carver. With long, curving strokes he fashioned a crooked nose, then the wry, lopsided mouth.
Joe pressed close to Frank’s ear. “That’s the same kind of mask that scared Chet in the barn!” he whispered.
Wallace stopped abruptly. He wheeled around, looked hard, and listened. The boys held their breath and remained absolutely motionless. Then Wallace returned to work.
Frank beckoned to Joe, and they backed off into the woods.
“What fantastic hearing that fellow has,” said Joe when they were safely away from the area.
“You nearly blew our cover!”
“Sorry about that,” Joe replied, and added, “Maybe he specializes in that Broken Nose mask. Do you suppose he’s the one that put Old Horror Puss on top of Chet that night?”
“It’s a possibility,” Frank admitted.
They retreated to the edge of the woods and kept a vigil until Lendo Wallace came out and strode back to his house.
The stakeout became tedious as the day wore on. The Indian had no visitors, nor did he go out again.
By sundown they had eaten all their sandwiches and had drunk the last drop of water. Under cover of darkness Frank and Joe stretched from their cramped positions.
“Boy, that feels good!” Joe said. “How long do you think we should keep our vigil?”
“Until he goes to bed,” Frank decided. “Come on. Maybe we can have a look inside through one of the windows.”
Just as they were sneaking up to the house for closer surveillance, a couple of headlights stabbed their beams along the lane and a car pulled up beside the shack.
The boys ducked, and a man got out and hastened inside.
“Oh, boy!” Joe whispered. “Looks as if we hit pay dirt!”
“Right. Maybe we can pick up a clue.”
They waited for a while cautiously, then inched their way toward the house. Slowly they moved around the outside to an open window.
At that instant the shade was drawn. It flapped lightly in the evening breeze, but completely hid all within.
Frank and Joe lifted their heads to get a glimpse of the caller. No luck. The indistinguishable murmur of conversation came to their ears. Then the talk grew louder. Anger edged the words of the visitor.
“Now look here!” he said emphatically. “You deliver the full amount we agreed on or the deal is off!”
“But the tribe!” Wallace pleaded. “I have to think of my people. Don’t you understand that?”
“I understand you made a deal. And a deal is a deal!” The speaker pounded his fist hard on the table.
The sudden jar caused the shade to fly up with a bang.
Frank and Joe were in full view!
CHAPTER IX
A Close Call
SURPRISE was instant and complete! Frank and Joe ducked and scrambled into the cover of some bushes. They had seen two persons, but in that split second could not identify Lendo Wallace’s visitor.
“Oh, nuts,” said Joe. “They saw us!”
“I don’t think the stranger did,” Frank said. “He had his back turned.”
“Let’s get a look at that license number,” Joe suggested. “Quick!”
As the boys crept toward the car, the back door opened and the two men rushed out. Frank and Joe melted back into the shadows.
Wallace was quiet, but his visitor muttered angrily as they circled the house once, then again. The stranger zigzagged with his flashlight in a frantic effort to spot the eavesdroppers.
The Hardys crawled backward, and tried to pick up all the information they could. Finally the flashlight clicked off and a voice said, “They got away. Did you see who they were?”
“No,” Wallace replied. “I didn’t see.”
“Were they some of your Senecas?”
“I didn’t see,” Wallace insisted.
The two men walked over to the car, where they talked for a while. Frank and Joe decided not to take further risks of discovery. Keeping to one side of the road, they moved out of sight, then trudged back to their motel.
It was well lighted, and they were still some distance away when they noticed Elmont Chidsee. He sat on a folding chair near their door.
“Now what do you make of that?” Joe asked.
“Obviously he’s standing guard.”
Joe grinned. “The spies are being spied on.”
“Let’s play a little trick on him,” Frank suggested. Quickly he explained his plan to Joe.
The boys crept closer, circled around to one side of the motel, and hid behind the big air-conditioning unit. Chidsee rose from the chair, walked impatiently up and down for a few minutes, then seated himself again.
“I wonder how long he’s been there,” asked Joe.
“I assume quite a while,” said Frank. “He’s getting restless.”
“Okay, let’s go around back,” Joe urged.
They moved cautiously to the rear. Frank pulled out his pocketknife and snapped open the screwdriver blade. Carefully he pried one side of the window, then the other. It budged a quarter-inch. He noiselessly slid the window open and both crawled inside.
Frank noiselessly slid the window open
Quietly they undressed and put their pajamas on.
“Here’s where we ha
ve some fun with our sentry,” Frank whispered. He stood near the door, put his hand on the knob, and announced in a loud voice, “Hey, Joe, it’s getting awful hot in here. I think I’ll go out for a breath of air.”
He opened the door quickly. Chidsee nearly fell off his chair in amazement. His jaw dropped.
“Well, well. If it isn’t our long-lost friend,” Frank said. “What are you doing here?”
No answer. Chidsee stared at him in bewilderment, muttered something, and hastened off.
Frank closed the door and the boys had a good laugh. “He didn’t know he was being a babysitter,” Joe chortled.
“You can’t blame the poor guy for being surprised,” Frank said. Then he became serious. “Joe, I smell a rat!”
“You were pretty close to him,” Joe said, still in a jovial mood.
“He’s in league with somebody else—most likely the people who’ve been harassing us all along. They put him here to stand watch—maybe they were expecting us to spy on Wallace toght!”
“You could be right,” Joe retorted. “If Chidsee could have reported the time we returned, that guy who was browbeating Wallace surely would have known that we were the eavesdroppers.”
“But the game isn’t over yet,” Frank said, and started dressing. “Come on. We have some more work to do.”
The two climbed out of the window again. Bending low, they crept around the rear of the motel till they were directly below the window of Chidsee’s apartment.
“Listen!” Frank whispered.
From inside came muffled voices.
“They were in their room all the time!” Chidsee whined. “In their pajamas. Must have gone to bed early!”
The chauffeur mumbled something the boys could not understand. Then they heard the door open and slam shut.
“What are you doing in here, Elmont? Didn’t I tell you to stand guard?” said a harsh voice.
“I did!”
“What do you mean, you did?”
“They’ve been inside all night!”
“Are you sure?” The visitor sounded incredulous.
“If you don’t believe me, go look for yourself.”
The chauffeur spoke up. “You guys better be quiet, or the whole motel will know what you’re up to!”
The Melted Coins Page 5