Suddenly they tensed as Fogert’s recorded voice spoke again. “Stone—shay,” he mumbled. “—Dulac—lake—”
The listeners strained their ears, but no further words could be distinguished from the rest of the tape. The recorder was shut off and Joe burst out, “Stone! Dulac! Abner Dulac? The rune stone?”
Elatedly the Hardys speculated on the words muttered by the sleeping prisoner.
“I think Dulac is the key word,” Frank stated. “He and Fogert know each other! Which means —Dulac is one of the rune stone gang.”
Joe agreed. “And trailed us from Edmonton after Caribou spotted him.”
Quickly they revealed what they knew of the unscrupulous trapper.
“Shay—lake—” Frank repeated. “I don’t get ‘shay’—and which lake? I doubt the gang would dare go back to Great Slave—” He broke off as a sudden thought struck him. “Say! Maybe the lake’s in Wood Buffalo Park!”
Mr. Hardy concurred. “I suggest heading straight for the park.”
“You bet, Dad!” Joe said eagerly.
“Shall we go back to Fort Smith and pick up the float plane for the trip?” Frank asked.
“Yes,” his father replied. “Flying is the best way. We can check with the Mounties there, and get a permit to enter the park.”
The Hardys hastened to the schoolhouse and briefed their friends on the latest findings. The group had a quick lunch, packed their rucksacks, and went to the Hay River airport. They were in time to board the early-afternoon plane for Fort Smith.
When they landed at Fort Smith, Frank went to the terminal and telephoned Corporal Fergus.
“The lodge gang seems to be operating near the Yellowknife area,” the Mountie reported. “Two lodges there have been robbed, but the thieves have eluded us.”
“Yellowknife?” Joe repeated in surprise, when his brother relayed Corporal Fergus’s message. “That’s way up on the other side of Great Slave Lake—the gang is back in that area! Why?”
“You think we’ve been wrong about there being just one gang?” Sam asked.
Mr. Hardy frowned. “Perhaps. But it could also be a manuever on their part to split our forces.”
“I see what you mean, sir,” Chet put in. “Now we don’t know whether to go to Yellowknife or to Wood Buffalo Park.”
“Exactly. Well, we can’t take any chances,” Mr. Hardy said. “Sam—you, Biff, and Tony go on up to Yellowknife and check on the gang’s activities there. Chet, Frank, and Joe—you scout Wood Buffalo Park.”
“What are you going to do, Dad?” Joe asked.
“I’m going to stay here in Fort Smith,” the detective answered. “I’ll maintain radio contact with both groups. Frank, you can rent a short-wave portable at the Hudson’s Bay store. Sam, of course, has his own. I’d join you on the trip into the park, but I must admit my knee’s been giving me a few twinges since my bout with Fogert. I wouldn’t be good for any long hikes!”
“You take it easy, Dad,” Joe advised. “We’re going to nab those thieves one place or another!”
“We’d better get moving,” Frank said.
“Right,” Mr. Hardy agreed. “Sam, there’s a flight to Yellowknife leaving in a half hour. You three can take it.”
The two groups separated, with Biff, Tony, and Sam going off to buy tickets for the trip to Yellowknife.
“We’ll be in touch with you soon, sir,” Biff said to Mr. Hardy as they all exchanged farewells.
Then Frank, Joe, and Chet, accompanied by Mr. Hardy, headed for the Wood Buffalo Park office. When they arrived, a helicopter was just landing in the small clearing outside the administration office. A stocky, muscular man, with a ruddy, weathered face, stepped from the cockpit. He smiled at the Hardys and Chet as he jumped to the ground.
“Hello,” he said, coming toward them. “I’m Breen Connor. Were you looking for me?”
Mr. Hardy introduced himself and the boys and shook hands with the rugged-looking park superintendent.
“Have you had any recent visitors applying for passes into the park?” Frank asked the official.
“Yes, Frank,” Mr. Connor answered. “Quite a few. Only one stranger though, a fellow named Fontain.”
When Breen Connor described the man, the brothers and Chet looked excited. “That sounds like Abner Dulac!” Joe cried. “Where was he going?”
“To Shag Lake,” Breen Connor replied. “He seemed to know the country well.”
“Shay—Shag! That’s what Fogert mumbled in his sleep!” Frank exclaimed. “Joe, we have a terrific clue!”
CHAPTER XV
The Gray Terror
“SHAG Lake!” Chet echoed in excitement. “That must be the gang’s hideout!”
“The sooner we get there the better!” Frank said eagerly.
“How about today?” Joe turned to the park superintendent, “Can you issue us a pass now?”
“Yes,” replied Breen Connor. “But if you’re going up there, you’d better study the area first. It’s wild, dangerous country!”
He took the visitors into his office, and from a desk drawer pulled out a sheaf of papers. After he gave the required permit to the boys, the visitors sat down around a large table. The official brought over a detailed map of the area and spread it out.
“Shag Lake is named for the shaggy buffalo in this area,” Breen Connor told them, pointing to the lake, in the park’s southeastern corner. “Watch those buffalo,” he warned. “They’re ferocious—and so are the wolves.”
“Great!” Chet muttered, growing a shade paler.
“The Shag Lake region is strewn with great boulders, a result of an Ice Age moraine.”
“It sounds like a good place for a hideout,” Joe said.
Breen Connor nodded in agreement, then asked, “How do you plan to get into the park?”
“We’re going by float plane,” Frank answered. “Where is the best place to keep it?”
“Here on the south shore,” the man said, pointing, “is a small cove. It’s barely visible from the air. You could taxi in there and tie the plane to the rocks.”
“Fine,” Frank said, standing up. “Thanks for all the information, sir. It’ll be a big help.”
Mr. Hardy and his sons started to leave. As they walked outside, Breen Connor called after them.
“Be careful, boys!” he advised. “The buffalo are often uneasy this time of year. If you don’t bother them, they shouldn’t bother you, but anything unusual might start a stampede. Good luckl”
“We’ll need it!” Joe remarked, as the group hurried over to the Hudson’s Bay store. Here they bought provisions, rented a short-wave radio, and as a precaution, several rifles. Next, Joe called the airport. The float plane would be fueled and ready for them in a half hour.
After eating supper, the detective went with the boys to the airport jetty. “Keep me informed via radio,” he reminded the three boys, as they climbed aboard. “And be carefull”
“Sure thing, Dad. So long!”
With Joe at the controls, they took off and headed straight for Wood Buffalo Park. It was just dusk when they flew over it in the direction of Shag Lake. Joe located the hidden cove on the first pass. As he turned for his final approach, he switched off the engine.
“I’m going to make a dead-stick landing,” he told Frank and Chet, “so if the gang is down there they won’t hear us.”
With nothing but the whistle of the wind in the wings to betray its presence, the float plane swooped down over the trees. Joe pulled back on the stick as the plane dropped into the water for a perfect landing.
“Well done, Joe,” Frank said. The aircraft was pointed toward shore and drifted into its berth in the cove neatly and silently.
Quickly the boys unloaded their gear and moved far into the woods, away from the plane. Frank and Joe walked ahead, while Chet covered their trail with leaves and brush as they went along. When they reached a small clearing located near some protective rocks, the boys set up camp.
“
Let’s take turns standing watch,” Frank said, as they spread out their sleeping bags.
“I’ll take first watch,” Chet offered. He sat down and leaned against a nearby tree.
Frank and Joe were soon asleep and the camp was quiet. “It’s almost too quiet,” Chet told himself uneasily.
But as the time passed uneventfully, and the bright, arctic moon rose, the chubby boy relaxed. Suddenly he sat upright. “What’s that?” Chet’s hair stood on end as an eerie howling came to his ears.
The bloodcurdling sound again floated in the still night. Chet sat rigid, as the howling came closer and closer. “I’d better wake up the fellows,” he decided. But before he had a chance to do so, Chet saw a stealthy movement in the shadows near the Hardys. He gulped, standing up slowly and peering into the darkness.
Suddenly Chet saw two red glowing eyes staring at him. The next moment a hulking, gray shape emerged into the moonlight and sniffed around. A chill of terror went down Chet’s spine.
“A wolf!”
Quickly he nestled the rifle stock against his cheek and centered the animal in his gunsights. The gray beast stood still, his jaws open and his head down, ready to attack.
Chet increased the pressure on the trigger, squinting his eyes. Then he released his grip abruptly. A rifleshot would surely kill the wolf, but it would also warn the thieves that the boys were in the vicinity.
Leaning over, Chet picked up a large rock. With careful aim, he hurled it at the animal. The missile hit the wolf squarely on the side of the head. Giving a sharp yelp of pain, he sped away.
“What was that?” Frank called out, as he and Joe awoke with a start. They scrambled from their bags and jumped up.
“A wolf,” Chet explained, somewhat shakily. “I didn’t want to risk a shot, so I threw a rock at him.”
“Smart thinking, pal,” Joe praised him, and Frank added, “Took a lot of nerve, too. You deserve a medal, Chet.”
Their friend beamed. “But I think I can use some sleep, fellows,” he said. “You keep away the next wolf!”
A quick search of the area proved that the creature was not lurking nearby, and the boys settled down again, with first Frank, then Joe on watch.
As soon as it was daylight the three friends had a quick breakfast, then began their search for the gang’s hideout. They picked their way along silently, being careful to stay under cover.
Just as the boys started along the base of a hill, Frank, who was leading, waved for the others to stop, and ran back himself.
“Behind that boulder, quick!” he hissed. “Someone’s coming.”
As the boys dropped behind the huge rock, they heard heavy footsteps approaching, then rough voices. The Hardys, crouching, peered cautiously around the boulder. Four men were trudging single file past their hiding place. Two were burly and husky, another pudgy and grizzled-looking. As the fourth man came into view, Joe started.
“That’s Dulac!” he whispered to Frank. “The others look like the men we saw in the restaurant.”
All four men were carrying rifles as they tramped on toward the woods. As soon as they were out of sight among the trees, the three boys crept quietly from cover, and turned to track the men.
“Listen!” Chet stopped suddenly.
They heard a faint cry. “Pretty far away,” Joe said, listening.
“More wolves?” Chet looked apprehensive.
“I don’t think that’s any wolf!” Frank said seriously. “Sounds like a human voice! It’s a cry for help!”
CHAPTER XVI
Secret Ingredient
“A CRY for help!” Chet echoed, his eyes widening. “Who could it be?”
“There’s one way to find out,” Frank said. “Let’s go!” He headed in the direction of the voice, which called out again at just that moment. Moving quickly, he, Joe, and Chet followed the trail Dulac and his friends had been traveling.
Once again they heard the cry, though fainter this time. “Hurry!” Joe urged. “Someone must be hurt!”
The three spread out, covering the woods edging the narrow, winding trail. Suddenly Joe shouted:
“Over here! It’s Caribou!”
Frank and Chet ran over. Shocked, they saw that the husky trapper lay beneath a spruce tree, bound hand and foot with rawhide thongs. His eyes were closed and his head moved from side to side. He groaned as if in pain.
“He has a bad gash on his forehead,” Frank said, bending down to untie their friend. “He’s semiconscious.”
“Those rats must have left him here for the wolves,” Chet said hotly, as he pulled out his canteen to bathe Caribou’s head.
“We could take better care of him at the plane,” Joe said. “Let’s carry him there.”
The Hardys and Chet hoisted the heavy man and slowly made their way back to the float plane. The boys’ muscles ached with the burden of both their equipment and the unconscious woodsman. But finally they reached the secret cove. After they laid the trapper down in the shade of a tree, Chet got out the first-aid kit and cleaned and bandaged Caribou’s wound. After a few minutes the French-Canadian stirred and blinked his eyes. He tried to sit up. but sank back with a moan.
“Easy,” Joe cautioned him.
“Bon tonnerre!” Caribou exclaimed weakly. “My head is split!” Then he looked at the boys. “My friends! How did you get here?”
The three grinned at him reassuringly. “We’ll tell you later,” Frank said. “Lucky thing we heard you calling. What happened?”
“I trail Dulac to park,” the trapper replied. “Early this morning, follow him again, then suddenly four men jump out from the bush behind me and hit me on the head. That is the last thing I remember.” His face grew flushed. “I was a fool!” he stormed. “Dulac and Kelly must be the masked men who took the stone and money.”
“Who are the men with Dulac now?” Frank asked.
“All thieves—they have the rune stone!” Caribou answered. “Last night I sneak up on their hideout—a cave. I stood outside and hear them talk about the stone.”
Caribou rubbed his head gingerly. “Other three men called Mike, Red, and Fats.”
“Must be the guys we saw with Dulac a short while ago,” Joe said excitedly. “But they didn’t have the stone.”
“No,” Caribou said, “because it is in their cave. I hear them complain they cannot read the message on it. Kelly was to translate it but he got caught.”
“Did you hear anything else?” Chet put in.
“Oui,” Caron replied gravely. “They will kidnap Monsieur Baker-Jones. Make him tell what the stone says.”
“What!” Joe exclaimed. “I thought we had the gang fooled about Baker-Jones!”
Caribou looked doubtful. “The robbers think he is in Edmonton.”
“What’ll we do now?” Chet asked the Hardys.
“Get the rune stone,” Frank replied coolly. “How do you feel, Caribou?”
“It takes more than a sock on the head to keep Caribou away,” the trapper said, rising to his feet. “We go to the robbers’ cave!”
The three boys eagerly fell into step behind him. Swiftly and silently they followed the trapper for what seemed like miles. The trail led around the shore of Shag Lake, and north into the woods. Caribou strode to the foot of a hill, stopped, and pointed.
“The cave is over this hill,” he whispered. “If I can fool the crooks, you boys run inside and try to find the stone. I will meet you at your plane.”
“Right,” Frank said. “We’re ready.”
Caribou climbed the slope and went around some huge boulders to approach the hideout from the opposite direction. The boys, meanwhile, crawled straight up to the top of the hill where they could see the mouth of the cave. By this time Caribou had edged close to the entrance. He stood up and hurled a stone into the hideout.
A moment later Dulac emerged. He stared out into the sunlight, his hand shading his eyes from the glare.
“Dulac!” Caribou roared. “You goat! You weasel!” Then th
e big trapper staggered back, pretending to be overcome by weakness.
“It’s Caron!” Dulac shouted back into the cave. “He’s free!” Dulac ran toward the trapper, who began to back away from the cave. Three men emerged from the hideout and took up the chase.
Soon Caribou and his pursuers were out of sight behind the boulders. Frank, Joe, and Chet sped to the cave and dashed inside.
“Hurry!” Frank said breathlessly. “We haven’t much time. We must find the rune stone!”
The three boys searched frantically through the knapsacks lying around the rocky floor.
“Hey! The book stolen from the Bayport Library.” Joe held up a red volume he had pulled from a canvas sack. “Rune Stones and Viking Symbols by Peter Baker-Jones!”
“Keep it, Joe,” Frank said. “We’re on the right track.”
He began shaking out four bedrolls, while Chet rooted through boxes of gear. When they were through, Frank shook his head disgustedly. “No luck! The stone isn’t here!” he said.
Just then Chet spotted a long loaf of crusty bread on top of a box. “I’m starving!” he muttered.
“Chet! We must get out of here!” Frank warned, as his chubby friend hacked at the loaf with a knife. Scrape!
“Talk about stale bread!” Chet exclaimed, attacking the loaf again. “Hard as a rock!”
“Rock!” Frank echoed, grabbing the loaf. To his amazement, the whole top came off in his hand. Nestled inside was a long, odd-shaped stone with angular markings.
“The rune stone!” Frank cried out.
“This must be the real one!” Joe said joyfully. “Chet, it’s a good thing you got hungry!”
Frank scooped up the rune stone, and clutching it tightly, led the way as they all fled from the cave. As they headed for the hilltop, the boys saw two of the gang coming up the other side of the slope.
“Whew!” Chet panted. “We got out of there just in time!”
He and the Hardys sprinted silently through the high grass and into the woods. They followed the lightly blazed trail that led to the secret cove.
The Viking Symbol Mystery Page 9