The Viking Symbol Mystery

by Franklin W. Dixon

  “Like what?” Joe demanded, half fascinated, half skeptical.

  “Like mysterious deaths, and fires, and accidents,” Chet answered, his eyes wide with excitement.

  “That’s a strange story, all right,” put in Mr. Hardy, leaning forward in his chair. “Even without jinxed stones, that area is dangerous.”

  “What do you mean, Dad?” Frank asked.

  “Just south of Great Slave Lake is the famous Wood Buffalo National Park,” said the detective, “where the world’s largest buffalo herd lives in refuge, protected by the Canadian government. The wood buffalo is a savage, treacherous animal, ready at all times to charge like a mad bull. It’s an enormous beast—black and shaggy. The park is also the home of the arctic fox, the arctic wolf, and sometimes the dangerous northern plains grizzly bear. It’s beautiful country, but untamed!”

  “Wow!” Joe exclaimed. “There’s nothing small up there!”

  “Oh, yes, there is,” Mr. Hardy went on, “but sometimes the smallest things are the most dangerous and troublesome.”

  “What are they?” asked Chet in surprise.

  “Insects,” Mr. Hardy answered. “The bigger animals are usually kept under control, but the gnats, mosquitoes, and black flies are a real problem. Even though they’re small, they can be very vicious, especially the black flies. They have been known to kill unprotected men and animals by stinging them to death.”

  “Sure must be rugged!” Joe remarked, impressed. “We’ll have to take mosquito netting along.”

  Chet eyed him suspiciously. “Don’t sound so happy about it!”

  Mr. Hardy leaned over the atlas on the table and pointed out to the boys exactly where Great Slave Lake was in relation to Edmonton.

  With a wink at his brother, Joe said to Chet, “We’ll send you a snapshot of the unlucky rune stone if we come across it.”

  For a moment the plump boy’s face was a study of conflicting emotions. Then a slow grin spread over his features.

  “Okay, fellows, you win!” he declared. “I’m not going to be scared out of the trip by any little old stone. Count me in!”

  Mr. Hardy and his sons laughed. “That’s the spirit, Detective Morton!” The older sleuth cheered him.

  The next morning Frank and Joe started for the airport right after an early breakfast, eager to begin their float-plane lessons. At the field, Jack Wayne greeted the boys with a warm handshake and smile. The tanned, lean young pilot had taught them to fly in his own plane, Skyhappy Sal.

  “Ready for lesson number one?” he asked with a grin.

  “You bet.”

  Jack took them over to the seaplane dock, where a sleek, four-place monoplane was moored. Here he showed the brothers the construction of the pontoons on the craft. Next, he explained the function of the water rudder, saying it helped steer the plane while taxiing.

  “Let’s take her up,” Jack suggested, “and you’ll see the difference between land planes and float planes in action.”

  The three climbed inside and the pilot taxied the aircraft out over the choppy waters of Barmet Bay.

  “Always watch for floating objects on take-off,” Jack cautioned the Hardys. “They’re usually the cause of accidents.”

  The craft planed along the water, throwing a spray from either side. When they were in the air, Jack gave the controls first to Frank, then to Joe. Both boys found the landing and take-off procedures quite different from a conventional airplane.

  “In take-off,” explained Jack Wayne, “you must use enough power to get the plane ‘on the step,’ or planing.”

  Frank looked puzzled. “That means,” went on Wayne, “that you give it enough speed so the plane is riding on just the very bottom section of the float.”

  “Then it’s planing on top of the water?” asked Joe.

  “Exactly,” agreed the instructor. “When you’re on the step, all you need is a little back pressure on the stick and you’re airborne.”

  “Is there ever any trouble?” Joe queried.

  “Not really. If the water is a dead flat calm, it’s sometimes difficult to get the plane on the step. The surface tension will hold it down.”

  “Then what?” questioned Frank.

  “Just push the stick to one side very gently, keeping your rudder bar in the center position. This gentle, even pressure will lift one float out of the water.”

  “Then pull back on the stick and off you go,” said Frank.

  “Right. Now, Frank, I want you to try a couple of solo take-offs and landings. Joe and I’ll be waiting on the dock.”

  Frank grinned in anticipation as Jack landed. After Jack Wayne and Joe had stepped out, Frank manned the craft alone. He had no trouble taking off, because there was enough chop on the bay for him to get up on the step easily.

  Frank loved the exhilaration of piloting a plane. His first landing went well, and he thrilled at the way the pontoons dropped stern first into the water.

  As Frank took off the second time, he waved his wings to Jack and Joe. After circling twice, Frank turned for his second landing. Jack’s instructions went through his mind—line up plenty of water, back gently on the throttle, lower the water rudder. Finally, center the stick and rudder and let her stall in.

  As the aircraft slapped into the water, Frank eased the throttle ahead a fraction. He was going to keep it up on the step and plane across the bay so Joe could have a turn.

  The aircraft bounced easily on the step, and as he skipped across the water, he felt the tremendous sensation of speed. Frank pulled the throttle back to cut the power, and pressed the rudder bar to turn the aircraft into the wind toward the dock. As the plane started to veer, he suddenly remembered Jack’s warning:

  “Never try turning into the wind if the aircraft is moving at high speed,” Jack had said.

  It was too late!

  Bang! Frank felt the jerk as the starboard wing dipped into the water. As he glanced out, the plane’s nose dipped into the bay, and his head crashed against the dashboard. The water came rushing up at him.

  “Frank crashed!” yelled Joe, staring in horror at the overturned float plane.

  “Quick—into my outboard!” Jack urged. He and Joe ran to a small motorboat tied up nearby.

  In less than a minute the boat was speeding out over the bay toward the plane, which lay on its side, one wing pointing in the air.

  By the time they reached it, Joe had his shirt and shoes off. As Jack throttled down, Joe dived over the side and swam underwater to the submerged cockpit.

  Desperately Joe wrenched the door of the aircraft open. He groped wildly for the seat belt, which he unfastened. Then, bracing his feet against the doorframe, Joe grabbed Frank’s shoulders and pulled him free.

  Joe’s lungs were ready to burst as he dragged his brother to the surface. When they broke through, Jack was leaning over the side of the boat. He reached for Frank and hauled him aboard. Joe scrambled up and applied artificial respiration while Jack raced the boat to shore.

  Suddenly Frank stirred and both rescuers gave a sigh of relief.

  “Don’t try that stunt again!” Joe grinned at his brother, but inwardly shuddered as he thought of Frank’s close call.

  “No fear of that!” Frank grinned back. “One crack on the noggin’s enough!”

  When they reached shore, Frank insisted he felt well enough to ride home. His only injury was a bruise on his forehead. “Hope I didn’t put your plane out of commission, Jack,” he said.

  “I’m sure the mechanics can fix it up,” Jack replied, adding that he would have the craft refloated immediately.

  Frank smiled wanly at Joe. “I ruined your chance to do a solo. Sorry.”

  “I’ll get a turn,” Joe said cheerfully.

  The boys returned home and hurried up to their room without encountering their mother or aunt. They showered and put on dry clothes.

  At the supper table the boys’ family commented on Frank’s darkening bruise. The brothers told of Frank’s miscalculat
ion, but made light of the incident.

  Later that evening, while they were studying the maps of the Great Slave Lake area, the phone rang. Joe answered and a woman at the other end of the line said:

  “This is Miss Shannon at the public library. Chet Morton mentioned that you boys are interested in Viking rune stones. I was wondering if you took out one of our reference books on the subject by mistake.”

  “Of course not,” said Joe. “What book is it?”

  “One of the most valuable in our collection,” Miss Shannon replied. “Rune Stones and Viking Symbols by Peter Baker-Jones.”

  CHAPTER V

  Detective’s Double

  AT the name Peter Baker-Jones, Joe was instantly alert. “The man in the Edmonton hospital!” he recalled. “The one who bought the rune stone and was knocked out.”

  And now a valuable book by Baker-Jones was missing from the Bayport Library!

  “Are you still on the line?” Miss Shannon’s voice broke into his thoughts.

  “Oh—sorry,” Joe apologized. “Frank and I don’t have the book. But I’d like very much to know who took it.”

  “So would we,” the librarian said sadly. “Well, I thought I’d just ask you about it to make sure.”

  Joe said good-by and replaced the telephone in its stand. He walked slowly back to the living room.

  “What’s up?” Frank asked, seeing the puzzled look on his brother’s face. Quickly Joe explained.

  “This means,” Frank said excitedly, “there’s someone else here in Bayport who’s interested in the missing rune stone! If the book was stolen, that is.”

  “I have a hunch it was,” Joe stated. “Frank, do you think Kelly could have had something to do with this case, as well as the one Radley has been working on?”

  “He certainly could. And the book may be just what the thieves need to figure out the runic symbols.”

  Just then the doorbell rang. It was Chet. The Hardys told him about Miss Shannon’s call. Chet listened carefully, then said, “I looked over the complete collection of Viking books, and I don’t remember seeing that title. The one by Baker-Jones must have been taken before I was there.”

  “Which could have been before our aerial was pulled down,” Frank said. “By this time the book might be in Canada.”

  “Maybe you’ll know for sure the day after tomorrow,” came Mr. Hardy’s voice from the doorway.

  “You mean we’ll leave for Edmonton then?” Joe asked excitedly.

  “Yes.” The detective said that he had overheard the boys’ discussion of the missing book. “So I think you three had better get started north and see what you can learn from Mr. Baker-Jones,” the detective concluded with a smile.

  “That’ll be our first step,” Frank said.

  The boys stayed up talking about their trip and speculating on the mysteries until Chet began to yawn.

  “I’d better get all the sleep I can now,” Chet defended himself. “I probably won’t get a wink up in that wilderness.” With that, he left for home.

  The next morning after breakfast Frank and Joe drove again to the airport. First they made plane reservations for their trip, then met Jack Wayne for more float-plane lessons. The pilot took them up for some aerobatics. The boys took turns trying loops, steep banks, and rolls—getting the feel of the aircraft with the extra weight hanging underneath.

  They stopped for lunch, then returned to the plane. Frank and Joe each made six take-offs and landings. By the end of the practice, Jack said they were skilled enough to pass the FAA proficiency test next day.

  “What about floating debris on night landings?” asked Frank.

  “There’s nothing you can do about that.” Wayne laughed. “If you’re landing in a strange lake or river, you just have to take a chance there isn’t any.”

  That night each of the boys shot six landings. Though they had done it often during the day, they found the experience an eerie one.

  “Just decrease your speed until the plane begins to fall, and maintain a three-point attitude,” Wayne instructed. “Give yourself lots of room and come down flying. The only secret is to cut your throttle the moment the floats skim into the water.”

  After a late snack the Hardys packed, then went to bed. They were tired from the full day’s flying, and wanted to be awake to leave early the next day.

  Frank and Joe arose greatly refreshed. They were just finishing breakfast when Chet arrived. The three boys were given last-minute advice and fond hugs by Aunt Gertrude, then were driven to the seaplane dock by Mr. and Mrs. Hardy.

  There the brothers took the FAA test, which they passed with flying colors, and had SES, for single-engine seaplane, inscribed on their licenses.

  Then Mr. and Mrs. Hardy drove the boys to the airport. After checking the luggage, Frank, Joe, and Chet shook hands with the detective. “Good luck on your part of the mystery, boys,” he said. “Be on your guard every minute. I’ll be checking with you.”

  “Right, Dad,” Joe said, and Frank added, “We’ll get on the case as soon as we land.”

  Chet grinned. “That’s for surel”

  Mrs. Hardy, although always a bit worried when her sons set off on a new mission, smiled as she kissed them all good-by. “Do take care of yourselves,” she cautioned.

  A few minutes later the boys boarded the silver jetliner for Edmonton. By noon the plane was over Winnipeg and the passengers could see the wide prairies below. The flight had been smooth so far.

  Joe was seated next to the window, enjoying the magnificent view. Frank and Chet were reading the flight-guide pamphlets. The stillness was broken by an announcement over the loudspeaker:

  “Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. Because of bad weather and turbulence over Edmonton, we are landing at Saskatoon. The delay probably will be overnight, but the stewardesses will give you complete details of your departure time and accommodations. Please fasten your seat belts.”

  Within minutes the stewardesses had checked the passengers’ belts and the jetliner began its descent. Frank pointed out the illustrations in the pamphlet of Saskatoon and the Canadian Air Force training craft stationed there.

  As they dropped over the runway, Joe leaned close to the window for a better view. “There’s one of the training planes now!” He pointed to a dark-gray craft landing on a parallel runway.

  At that moment there was a swo-o-o-sh as the jetliner leveled out and the wheels caught the field. Joe craned his neck to watch the gray plane.

  Suddenly there was a loud swish and a bang, and the tire of the jet’s starboard side blew out. The plane rocked violently to one side.

  Wh-a-am! Joe was thrown against the window, hitting his head on the frame. He saw swirling lights, then everything went black.

  When Joe opened his eyes and things began to come back into focus, he looked up into the face of a stewardess who was dabbing his forehead with a cold, wet cloth.

  “What happened?” he asked dazedly.

  “You hit your head!” the girl said, looking concerned. “Are you all right?”

  “I think I am now,” Joe said, grinning. “No permanent dents!”

  “Don’t scare us like that again, boy,” said Frank, as he and Chet smiled in relief.

  “That’ll teach me to look out the window when we’re landing.” Joe ruefully rubbed his throbbing head.

  When they disembarked, the three boys were directed to a modern Saskatoon hotel. En route, they made a tour of the city and saw its mammoth grain elevators.

  Chet grinned. “They look like out-of-place skyscrapers!”

  The following morning dawned clear and sunny. The jetliner left promptly, and after an uneventful trip, arrived in Edmonton before noon. The large airport there was busy with flights to and from Alaska, northern Canada, and the United States.

  Before the Hardys and Chet deplaned they learned from a stewardess that Edmonton is the focal point of the mining and fur-producing regions of the Arctic. “Also,” she added, “
it’s a busy agricultural distributing center.”

  The pleasant young woman wished them an enjoyable stay, then the three boys headed for the airport terminal building.

  After claiming their bags, they taxied to a hotel and checked in. Then Frank said, “Now to visit Mr. Baker-Jones.”

  They took a taxi to the Edmonton hospital. Here they were referred to the head nurse on the second floor. When they inquired about Peter Baker-Jones, she said:

  “I’m sorry, but you can’t see him. Mr. Baker-Jones is still in a coma, and as I told his other caller, we don’t know how long it will be until he regains consciousness, poor man.”

  “ ‘Other caller’!” Frank echoed. “Who was it?”

  “A man named Fenton Hardy,” replied the nurse. “He left just a few minutes ago.”

  “Dad?” Frank and Joe stared at each other.

  “It couldn’t have been,” Chet said, “unless your father took the next flight and wasn’t stopped by the bad weather.”

  “He never mentioned coming this soon,” Frank declared. “There’s a phone booth. I’m going to call home and find out about this.”

  Joe and Chet thought it a good idea and Frank placed the call to Bayport. Mr. Hardy answered the phone!

  Frank burst out, “I knew you weren’t here, Dad!”

  “What do you mean by that?” Mr. Hardy asked with a slight chuckle. “Did you think I was?”

  “No,” Frank replied, and explained, “One of the head nurses here at the Edmonton hospital told us you had been, and I’m sure many other people heard Fenton Hardy was here too. Dad, some man is impersonating you. He was just here trying to see Baker-Jones.”

  “Be very careful,” cautioned Mr. Hardy, instantly serious. “I don’t know why anyone would pose as me, unless it was to get some further valuable information from the Englishman in connection with the rune stone.”

  “At least we’re tipped off,” Frank answered. He assured his father that the boys were well and explained why the flight had arrived a day late.