The Viking Symbol Mystery

by Franklin W. Dixon

  “Oh, no!” Joe suddenly exclaimed, stopping in his tracks. “I’ve dropped the book!”

  “There’s no time to go back, Joe,” Frank said, urging him forward.

  The boys continued along the path and finally reached the hidden float plane. Frank jumped into the cockpit. As Joe and Chet were climbing up, Caribou came crashing through the bushes at the edge of the cove.

  “Bon tonnerre, mes amis!” the trapper shouted. “Hurry! There is no time to spare!”

  He rushed to the plane and gave it a mighty push, then jumped in. The craft floated out into the cove.

  “Go, Frank!” screamed the French-Canadian, his beard jutting out with excitement. “Dulac off the track now, but not for long.”

  Frank hit the starter and the engine caught at once. Not worrying about the wind, Frank pressed home the throttle. He would have to make a crosswind take-off.

  The roar of the plane was loud in their ears as they saw Dulac and his men appear on the shore. The boys watched Dulac raise his rifle. They could not hear the shots but they saw the wind snatch a wisp of smoke away from the muzzle.

  Suddenly Frank felt the aircraft dip slightly to starboard. He knew they were not up on the step and the shock had not been hard enough for them to have hit a piece of floating debris.

  “It’s the floats!” Joe shouted. “He’s hit the Boats! If they flood, we’ll never get off the water!”

  CHAPTER XVII

  Viking Message

  “THE floats!” Frank thought. He knew they would be compartmented. But how well would the bulkheads between each compartment hold if more than one was Hooded?

  The young pilot felt the extra weight of water on the right side of the aircraft dragging it to starboard. He knew he was in trouble.

  Placing enough pressure on the rudder bar to straighten out the plane, Frank gently forced the stick over to the left. The engine was laboring against the extra weight, but the plane was picking up speed through the water.

  He felt the right wing lift. As it did so, the starboard float cleared the water and the left float came up on the step.

  Immediately the plane picked up speed, and as Frank eased the stick back a hair, they were airborne and away.

  Frank pushed the stick forward to drop the nose and pick up more speed. Then he pulled back and they were swooping over the trees.

  “Whew!” Chet breathed a sigh of relief. “Now, what about the landing at Fort Smith?”

  “Shouldn’t be any trouble,” Frank said. “Any water that got in probably would have run out by now.”

  Joe radioed a message to his father that they were on the way and would meet him at the RCMP station. After setting down at Fort Smith, the boys and Caribou went directly to headquarters.

  Mr. Hardy and Corporal Fergus were waiting for them. Quickly Frank gave the details of the gang’s attack on Caribou and their narrow escape in the plane.

  “And,” Joe said, grinning, “we brought you a present, Dad! Right, Frank?”

  “You bet.” Frank had rolled his sweater around the rune stone. Now he unwrapped the ancient tablet and handed it to his father.

  “Great work, boys!” said the detective in delighted surprise. “I can hardly believe it!”

  “Congratulations!” added Corporal Fergus.

  “We’re pretty sure this stone is genuine,” Frank told the men, “since the thieves went to the trouble of hiding it in a loaf of bread.” He grinned. “Chet had to go without something to eat.”

  The plump boy feigned a look of starvation. “At this point I could eat rocks.”

  Mr. Hardy suggested that he and the boys have a quick bite at a nearby restaurant. After eating, Frank said, “Dad, let’s take this stone to Mr. Baker-Jones as soon as possible, and also warn him to be on his guard against the thieves’ kidnaping plan. Maybe we should notify the police.”

  “I’ll do that,” said Mr. Hardy, “and we should be on our way. There’s a flight out of here early this evening. Will you call, Joe, and make reservations for four?”

  “Sure thing, Dad.”

  “Please, Mr. Hardy,” Caribou spoke up. “I go with you to Edmonton. Dulac and his gang will not give up the stone so easy. You will be in danger. I will protect you!”

  “We appreciate your offer, Caribou,” Mr. Hardy said. “But with your long whiskers I’m afraid the crooks would spot us a mile off!”

  Caribou grinned. “I can get a shave and hair-cut right away.” He looked at the detective hopefully.

  “Fine.” Mr. Hardy smiled. “Joe, make that reservation for five.”

  The trapper beamed and strode off. When he returned in a half hour, he had short hair and was clean shaven.

  “Caribou,” Joe said in amazement, “I’d hardly recognize you myself!”

  The French-Canadian grinned. “I am something like a plucked chicken, no?” he asked.

  They all laughed, then left to get ready for the trip. The boys returned the rented equipment to Bill Stone and took fresh clothes from their suitcases at the Hudson’s Bay Company store. Later, they met Mr. Hardy at his hotel.

  “Any word from Sam and the fellows?” Joe asked his father.

  The detective said Radley had just reported by radio that an unidentified float plane had been sighted. “Sam thinks the rest of the gang might be using it,” Mr. Hardy added. “He and the boys are working on that angle.”

  The flight to Edmonton was nonstop, but it was too late for the group to visit Peter Baker-Jones in the convalescent home that night.

  Directly after breakfast the following morning, the five left for the suburb of Edmonton. When they arrived at the large, old house that was now converted to a nursing home, they inquired at the reception desk and the attendant said that they might go right up to see the rune stone expert. Caribou waited downstairs to keep watch for anyone suspicious.

  “We won’t mention the kidnap threat to Mr. Baker Jones,” Mr. Hardy decided. When he and the boys entered the patient’s room, they found him sitting up in an easy chair, reading.

  “Good morning,” said the Englishman, nodding formally at the visitors. He looked much stronger and had more color than when they had last seen him.

  “I have a surprise for you.” Frank smiled and brought out the tablet. “We hope you’ll find this to be the genuine rune stone.”

  Mr. Baker-Jones’s reserve gave way to great enthusiasm. He listened with keen interest to the boys’ account of their adventures in finding the relic in the cave hideout.

  “My word!” he exclaimed. “You have taken great risks in this case. If only those scoundrels can be brought to justice!”

  “We’ll see to that!” Joe declared tersely.

  The patient arose, took the stone, and placed it carefully on the table. He scrutinized the odd markings, as the Hardys and Chet waited with bated breath for his verdict.

  “Hmm.” Mr. Baker-Jones ran his fingers across the characters cut into the surface of the stone, then lifted it as if trying to determine the weight. Finally, very deliberately, the museum representative placed the tablet on the table and removed his glasses.

  “Well?” said Joe, unable to suppress his curi osity any longer. “Is it real?”

  “Unquestionably genuine,” the expert pronounced. “Authentic ninth-century runic tablet.”

  “Wahool” Joe cheered.

  “Terrific!” cried Chet.

  “We’ve solved half the mystery, at least,” Frank put in elatedly.

  Mr. Hardy smiled, obviously pleased at his sons’ and Chet’s discovery, then turned to Mr. Baker-Jones and asked him, “Can you translate the Viking symbols?”

  “I believe so,” the runic expert replied. He put on his glasses and bent over the tablet. After some minutes of intent study, he straightened. “Roughly, the symbols say a ship is hidden in a cove near a river which meets a knife-shaped body of water, on the north shore of a great lake. Apparently the vessel, which contained treasure, was sunk!”

  “That ship must be what
the crooks were dig ging for, but without this translation they couldn’t find the right place,” Joe said.

  “If they had studied my book more thoroughly,” said Mr. Baker-Jones, “they might have found the answer.”

  “Of course Kelly, their translator,” Joe said, “is in jail.”

  Frank, meanwhile, had been pondering the message on the ancient Viking tablet. “A great lake,” he murmured. “Would that be Great Slave Lake?”

  “The northwestern part of Great Slave Lake is shaped like a knife blade,” Joe said excitedly.

  “And the cove must be near Yellowknife,” Frank added. “That’s where a river runs into the lake.”

  Suddenly the group in the room were startled by loud voices coming from the first floor. Crash!

  The Hardys dashed into the hall and down the steps two at a time. They found Caribou and a man struggling on the floor. The huge trapper was flushed with anger.

  “Bon tonnerre!” he shouted as he tussled with his wiry opponent.

  “Caribou!” Mr. Hardy exclaimed. “What happened?” Together, the boys broke the giant’s grip on the other man, whom they pulled to his feet.

  “Abner Dulac!” Joe exclaimed in astonished recognition.

  The captive wore a dark suit, and on the floor lay a physician’s black bag.

  “That’s Dulac, all right!” Caribou snorted in disgust. He stepped toward his adversary and kicked the black bag open. A pistol tumbled out. The trapper glowered at his old enemy.

  “He sneak in here to steal the rune stone, I bet!”

  “Good work, Caribou!” Joe said. “I’ll call the police.”

  When several officers arrived and handcuffed Dulac, he sneered at his captors.

  “You think you have beaten us! But you haven’t. Kelly has escaped!” he gloated. “We smuggled a small gun to him in his food. We’ll get the Viking treasure first!”

  CHAPTER XVIII

  Whistler’s Signal

  “KELLY has escaped!” Frank repeated in astonishment as Dulac was led off. “Think that’s true, Dad?”

  Mr. Hardy frowned. “I’ll call the Hay River police right away and find out.” He hurried to the reception office to use the telephone.

  In a few minutes the detective rejoined the boys. “Dulac was right,” he said. “Kelly escaped from the Hay River jail two nights ago by overpowering a guard.”

  “What if he deciphered the symbols before we found the stone?” Frank asked worriedly.

  “Or, he could have copied them down,” Joe said dejectedly, “figured out the message, and met the rest of his gang.”

  “That means they might be digging up the treasure right now!” Chet put in.

  “Let’s head for Yellowknife pronto,” Frank urged.

  “First I’ll contact Radley,” said Mr. Hardy.

  The five exchanged hasty good-bys with Mr. Baker-Jones and taxied back to their hotel. Here Mr. Hardy set up his short-wave set and radioed to his assistant. Soon they heard Sam’s voice over the transmitter.

  “We spotted diggers along the lake shore. Before we could apprehend them, they fled in a float plane. We found the half-buried hull of a small Viking ship. The hold was empty, but we found a few gold coins and gems. Over and out.”

  Frank cried excitedly, “Those crooks have found the rune stone treasure!”

  “They must have used the stolen float plane we were looking for,” Joe said dejectedly. “I wonder where they went.”

  “I’ll bet they’re in Wood Buffalo Park, but at another hideout.”

  “And they’ll stay there at least until the heat’s off.”

  “Then the gang’ll try to get out of the country?” Chet asked.

  “Right,” said Frank. “Dad, I think we should go to Fort Smith, get camping gear, and take off into the park after the gang.”

  Mr. Hardy agreed. “We’ll leave this afternoon.”

  “Bon tonnerre!” said Caribou. “Think of all that gold!”

  The group took the next flight to Fort Smith. When they arrived late that afternoon, the detectives went straight to the Hudson’s Bay Company store. After buying food, picking up their gear, and renting rifles, they went to the park administration office.

  Curly Pike was there and greeted them as they entered the office. “Hi, fellows!” the pilot called out. “What are you doing back here? Still on a mystery?”

  The Hardys introduced their father, then ex plained the proposed search. “We want to leave for Wood Buffalo Park as soon as possible,” said Frank. “Could you fly us in your copter?”

  “I sure can,” Curly answered. “I’m pretty eager to have you capture those thieves myself. Can you leave in an hour?”

  Mr. Hardy smiled. “I think we can, Curly. We’ll meet you back here.”

  “I’ll be ready,” Curly replied.

  Mr. Hardy, Caribou, and the boys went to a small restaurant where they had supper. When they returned to the park office, the large helicopter was being warmed up on the field next to the administration building. Curly was at the controls and waved to his five passengers.

  They climbed aboard, and seconds after the door was shut, the helicopter lifted off. Soon they were cruising over Wood Buffalo Park, and Frank, who was seated up front with Curly, directed him toward the cave where they had found the stone.

  “We may as well check the spot to be sure no one is hiding there.”

  “I had a good look around here yesterday,” Curly shouted over the roar of the rotors. “I didn’t see a soul.”

  “We’ll go farther inland to search then,” Frank said.

  Presently the Hardys, after conferring with Chet and Caribou, signaled for Curly to set down. When the craft landed, the boys unloaded their gear and studied maps to determine their exact location.

  “Good luck,” called Curly, as he boarded the helicopter. “Radio me when you want to be picked up.”

  “Okay,” said Joe. The searchers strapped on their rucksacks and set off. Spreading out to cover the widest territory possible, they struggled and stumbled their way through thick brush and rocky, uneven terrain.

  Just as it was growing dark, the group trudged across a barren hill. Reaching the top, they stood looking into a valley below. Feeding on the tall grasses was a huge herd of buffalo.

  “Wow!” said Chet, when he saw the size of the hulking beasts. “They’re tremendous!”

  The great black animals, the boys recalled, were the true wood buffalo, not the prairie bison of the American West. On the flanks of the herd stood bulls, flicking their tails and twitching their skin to shake off the black flies.

  “I read that this buffalo’s skin is two inches thick,” Joe said, joining his brother, “and their hair eight inches long.”

  “They’re big,” said Chet, “but they don’t look very bright.”

  He walked ahead of his companions as they trudged downhill and skirted the edge of the herd. Chet drew near for a better look at the beasts.

  “Not so close!” Caribou warned him.

  Just then one of the bulls snorted and pawed the ground near the chubby boy. Suddenly the huge animal wheeled and lunged toward him.

  “Yeow!” yelled Chet and stumbled back ward.

  Fortunately, the bull evidently was only trying to scare off the strange human intruder. When Chet retreated, the beast rejoined his herd, keeping a wary eye on the hikers as they passed by.

  “Not bright, eh?” Joe said, grinning, when Chet rejoined them.

  “I take it back,” Chet said, laughing.

  It was dark when the group stopped to camp. The Hardys and Caribou were busy unpacking necessary gear. Suddenly Joe looked around. “Where’s Chet?” he asked. The chunky boy was not in sight.

  “I hope he not chase more buffalo,” Caribou said, chuckling.

  Just then there was a rustling in the brush and Chet stepped out. “I was just doing some exploring,” he explained. “You know, it’s amazing how well you can hear the robins singing in this still air.”

/>   “Wait a minute!” Frank said eagerly. “Did you say you heard robins?”

  “Sure,” Chet said, “as clear as a bell!”

  “You couldn’t have,” Frank contradicted him. “There aren’t any songbirds up here now. It’s one of the strange things about this part of the Northwest Territories.”

  “That is right,” Caribou agreed, puzzled. “No songbirds here in the summer.”

  Joe snapped his fingers. “Someone must be using the birdcall as a signal.”

  “Bon tonnerre!” Caribou muttered. “I think we get near our enemy.”

  “Do you think they’ve spotted us?” Joe asked his father.

  “I’m not sure, son. But even if they have, I don’t believe the gang will stop to put up a fight. They’d take the Viking treasure and run!”

  “Well, let’s follow them,” Frank urged. “If they’re close by, we’d better not spend extra time camping.”

  By now a full moon had risen and illuminated the trail chosen by the searchers. They started out in the direction of the area where Chet had heard the “robins.” Progress was slow through the tangled underbrush. Thorny branches tore at their clothes.

  Suddenly all five stopped and listened. The sound of men’s voices came from directly ahead.

  “We’ve located them!” Joe whispered tensely.

  CHAPTER XIX

  Stampede!

  “We’ve found the thieves!” Chet repeated excitedly as the sound of voices continued.

  Mr. Hardy held a finger to his lips, signaled for the others to follow, and retreated a hundred feet. The boys and Caribou gathered tensely around him.

  “We must make plans,” he said, as they formed a huddle. “We have the element of surprise on our side.”

  Shielding his flashlight beam, the detective pointed it downward and drew a large circle in the dirt.

  “Caribou,” said Mr. Hardy, “you’re the most experienced woodsman in our group. You make your way around to the far side of the spot where the men are.” He indicated Caribou’s position on the circle.

  “Oui,” said the French-Canadian. “I will be quiet like a mouse.”

  “Frank,” the detective continued, “make your way to the right side, and Joe, you take the left. Chet and I will close in on the men from this direction.”