“Let’s look at the Antarctic vehicles,” Muller suggested.
The three walked over to the helicopter. The Hardys noted it was just like the choppers they had flown at Bayport airfield except for the skis.
“That’s the way to travel down here,” Frank said. “No mushing over the snow. ”
Muller nodded but cautioned, “If you boys ever go up, look out for the wind. You might get blown off course. ”
“We’ll watch out,” Joe promised. “Who wants to crash-land at the South Pole?”
“Anyway, we do most of our traveling in these vehicles,” Muller continued. He pointed to the machines standing near the helicopter. “Motor toboggans and Sno-Cats.”
The toboggans were long, narrow vehicles, open on all sides but protected from the Antarctic blast by a windshield mounted on the front. They were propelled by a motor connected to revolving chains with cleats on either side. The cleats biting into the ice diminished the danger that the chains would spin instead of moving the toboggan.
The Sno-Cats looked like trucks for hauling heavy cargo except that the four wheels were replaced by tractor treads.
“This is the workhorse of the Antarctic,” Muller commented. “It has four-wheel drive—or I should say, four-tread drive. Each tread can be operated independently, enabling the driver to maneuver over rocky terrain, through deep snow, and past crevasses where one tread may be hanging over the edge. Well, now you’ve seen all our equipment. We might as well go in.”
The pleasant aroma of cooking wafted from the galley as they entered, and the chef beat on a small, copper gong.
“Chow time!” he called out.
The scientists and naval personnel began streaming into the dining room where long wooden tables were laid with dishes and cutlery. The men sat on makeshift benches made of planks nailed to crossbars extending from the tables at each end.
The Hardys found themselves sitting next to a youth about their own age.
“I’m Bob Field,” he introduced himself. “I’m a freshman with a scholarship in geology, so I’m spending a year at Byrd Base. Actually, I was at Outpost I, but they ordered me and another student to come back here.”
Frank and Joe questioned him about his work at Outpost I.
“How long were you there?” Frank asked. “My brother Joe and I find it pretty bleak in this icy desert. I bet after a while it gets to you.”
“It does,” Bob admitted. “But the work’s extremely interesting. I’ve been doing research on core samples. We’re using the uranium method.”
“We’re familiar with that,” Frank said. “All rocks contain uranium, which turns into lead at a very slow, steady pace.”
“And the amount of uranium in relation to the amount of lead gives you a fix on the age of the sample,” Joe added.
The three continued a lively discussion of Antarctic rocks. Then Frank asked Bob if he did anything else at the base.
“Part-time radioman,” was the reply.
“What kind of messages do you send? High-level technical information?”
“No. Just routine stuff—reports to navy ships in the Ross Sea, weather warnings to other Antarctic bases, things like that.”
“Could we watch you work sometime?”
“Oh, I’m sure it wouldn’t interest you.”
After the meal was over, the Hardys went to a corner of the lounge to discuss the situation.
“What did Bob mean by saying we wouldn’t be interested in his radio messages?” Joe wondered. “He sounded to me like he was afraid we might discover something.”
“Could be,” Frank responded. “As a radioman, he would be in a position to communicate with gang members on other bases. We’d better keep an eye on him.”
“He could hardly be the ringleader, though,” Joe said. “I would think it takes more than a college freshman to run a gang of thieves spread out all over the world. ”
Fenton Hardy joined them, and they reported to him their suspicion of Bob Field.
“I’ll keep an eye on him,” their father promised. “You boys will be pushing off for Outpost I tomorrow. Any delay would look suspicious. Report to Professor Muller in the morning.”
“Dad, have you spotted any clues?” Joe asked.
Fenton Hardy shook his head. “Nothing yet. But I’ll keep checking while you two are investigating at Outpost I. I don’t want to go into it now because we shouldn’t be seen with our heads together too much. The ringleader of the gang might figure out what we’re up to. ”
He rose to his feet and walked off. Frank and Joe picked a couple of books from the library shelves and read until it was time to turn in with the rest of the men. They all slept in one room, where each had a locker at the foot of the bed and hooks on the wall to hang clothes.
Bob Field had a bed next to the Hardys. As he was hanging up his shirt, Joe noticed a piece of paper in the breast pocket. The sheet was fine enough for Joe to see the word “radiogram” in reverse on the other side.
“That could be a message Bob’s sending for the ringleader!” the boy thought excitedly. “I’d better have a look at it. ”
Joe waited until Bob and the rest were sound asleep, then he silently slipped out of his bed. He retrieved a pencil flashlight from his jacket pocket, stealthily edged over to Bob’s clothes, and eased the paper out of the breast pocket of the shirt. Slowly and carefully, to avoid making any noise, he opened the paper and played the beam of his flashlight on it.
The message was:TO SUPPLY SHIP BALCHEN. REQUEST MORE CANNED PEAS. STORES RUNNING LOW. SIGNED IAN LANGTON, ADMIRAL, USN.
Grinning in the darkness, Joe pushed the paper back into Bob’s shirt pocket. He doused his flashlight, returned to his bed, and fell asleep.
In the morning, he took the first opportunity to tell Frank about the night’s episode.
“Great detective work!” Frank laughed. “You set out to expose a crook and ended up with an order for canned peas!”
Joe nodded sheepishly. “Well, let’s see if anything is cooking in the admiral’s quarters.”
The boys left the dormitory and found their father with Langton.
“I don’t have a break in the case yet,” Fenton Hardy told them. “You two go to Outpost I. We can communicate by radio if anything develops.”
“How do we get there? Frank inquired.
“By Sno-Cat,” Langton replied. “You’ll be traveling by yourselves because the route’s quite easy to follow. Now, report to Professor Muller. He’ll explain the details.”
Frank and Joe walked down the corridor to Muller’s office. The scientific advisor was shuffling papers on his desk.
“Here’s what you need to get to Outpost I safely,” he said and pulled a map out of his desk drawer. “This will show you where Outpost I is located. ”
He took a pen and made a cross on the map. “Go directly toward the inland mountain with two peaks,” Muller advised, “then you stop at the large glacier at the base of the mountain. Turn west, go twenty miles, and you’ll see the outpost on a broad plain of ice and snow. ”
He handed the map to Frank. “It really isn’t very far and it’s easy to find.”
“What’s it like?” Joe queried.
“It’s made up of two small, wooden buildings. You’ll see an American flag flying from a pole out front. I’ll have our radioman send them a message to expect you. All that remains now is your transportation. Come on outside.”
The Hardys’ Sno-Cat was ready. Antarctic clothing for them had been stowed in a compartment opposite the steering wheel, and the back of the vehicle was filled with crates of food. More provisions were lashed to a heavy sled tied to the rear of the Sno-Cat by a stout rope.
“These are supplies for the outpost,” Muller explained. “You’re to deliver them to Commander Noonan, who’s in charge. Then you’ll join the crew as student scientists and see if you can break the case you’re on. ”
“We’d like to say good-bye to our father,” Frank said.
The boys put their overnight bags in the Sno-Cat and laid the map on the dashboard. Then they went to see the admiral and Mr. Hardy.
“Good luck, boys,” the investigator said. “Make notes on everything that you find suspicious. I’ll contact you later and we’ll talk about it.”
“Sure thing, Dad,” Frank said and the boys shook hands with the two men. Then they went outside again and climbed into the Sno-Cat, waving to a few crew members who were watching them.
Frank started the motor. The treads of the vehicle began turning, and the rope grew taut in the rear as the heavy sled started to move.
“Here we go into the wilderness,” Joe said with a wry grin. “Left out in the cold, so to speak.”
“What I’d like to know,” his brother said, squinting his eyes against the whiteness around him, “is—will we find what we’re looking for?”
11 Lost in the Antarctic
The Sno-Cat clanked forward over the ice and the powdery snow. Occasionally, the treads ground over outcroppings of rock with a harsh, metallic sound. An hour passed.
“The motor’s purring like a kitten,” Frank observed.
“Good thing, Frank. If we stall, it’s a long walk back to Byrd Base!”
Joe took a pair of binoculars from the glove compartment and focused on the terrain up ahead. “I see the mountain with the two peaks,” he announced. Measuring the angle with his compass, he added, “Two degrees to the left, Frank, and you’ll be on the beam.”
“Okay.”
Soon, they could see the mountain with their naked eyes. It rose like a solitary sentinel in the distance. There was no sign of life anywhere, no animals on the ground or birds in the sky.
“It’s eerie out here,” Joe commented as he gazed at the wilderness. A snowstorm was approaching.
“At least there’s no parking problem,” Frank joked.
The Sno-Cat rumbled forward through howling wind and falling snow. Hitting a slippery patch of ice, Frank had to use his four-wheel drive as first one tread and then another began to spin because it could not get a grip on the ice.
The Hardys crossed this slippery area and kept going until they reached the mountain. There Frank brought the Sno-Cat to a halt.
“Joe, do you see the glacier?” he asked.
Joe shook his head. “It must be on the other side. Let’s see.”
Starting the engine again, Frank drove around the base of the mountain. They strained their eyes to see if they could make out the glacier through the wind and snow.
Suddenly they felt the Sno-Cat moving sideways!
“We’re on the glacier!” Frank shouted.
Desperately, he threw the vehicle into reverse. The moving river of ice caught it and spun it in a semicircle. They swung toward the end of the glacier where a tumbled mass of ice blocks threatened to crush them!
At the last moment, helped by the weight of the sled behind, the left rear tread caught on solid terrain. Frank quickly flipped the switch that fed all the power to that tread, and the Sno-Cat moved backward, pushing the sled as it went. Then the right rear tread gripped the ground. This permitted the vehicle to back all the way off the glacier.
Frank wiped perspiration from his brow. “Wow!” he gasped. “That’s the first time I ever drove sideways!”
Joe chuckled, trying to overcome the fear he had felt only seconds before. “You just won your Sno-Cat driver’s license.”
“Anyway, we found the glacier, and are on the last leg of this trip.”
“Right,” Joe said. “Now go west for twenty miles.”
He took a compass reading, and they clanked forward over hills and down into valleys. Checking his instruments, Frank counted off the miles.
“Twenty!” he said at last.
“We should reach Outpost I at any moment,” Joe said, again resorting to the binoculars for a better view ahead. However, all he could see was endless ice and snow.
They rolled on and on, and the snow stopped falling. Now the terrain became more level.
After a while, Frank spoke up. “Maybe we bypassed the place. We could have missed it in the snowstorm. See if you can raise them on the radio, Joe. They can guide us in.”
Joe took the receiver from the dashboard and flicked the “on” button. However, no sound came from the instrument! He banged it with the heel of his hand, but to no avail. Then he opened the back to check the batteries. The case was empty!
“No batteries!” Joe groaned. “How did that happen?” He quickly searched the cabin for spares, but there were none. “The guy who fixed the Sno-Cat for us must have forgotten them. What a mistake!”
“Let’s look at the map Muller gave us,” Frank suggested. “Maybe we made a mistake, too.”
Joe picked up the map and unfolded it. Then he gasped. “The cross Muller made to indicate the outpost’s location isn’t there!” he cried out.
“What!” Frank stopped the Sno-Cat and stared at the map.
“Someone must have changed maps on us,” Joe said. “While we were inside saying good-bye to Dad and Admiral Langton.”
“Same guy who swiped the radio batteries,” Frank added. “It figures.”
“No, it doesn‘t,” Joe insisted. “I remember Muller said to turn west at the glacier, and that’s what we did!”
“Are you sure he didn’t say east?”
“Yes—well—I thought he said west.”
Frank pointed to a small hill to the right. “Let’s climb up there and take our bearings. I’ll maneuver as close as I can get.”
He drove forward toward the hill. Suddenly, the snow gave way under the right front tread! He cut the engine instantly, but the Sno-Cat tilted up on end and the tread hung over empty air! The Hardys stared down into an icy crevasse hundreds of feet deep!
They shivered as they realized that any movement might cause the vehicle to lose its balance and topple over the edge, hurtling them to the bottom of the crevasse!
“We can’t take a chance and climb out,” Frank muttered. “I’ll have to see if I can drive us out of this corner. Keep your fingers crossed, Joe!”
Carefully, he turned on the motor and put the vehicle into reverse. It teetered on the edge of the crevasse while the Hardys held their breath. Then the two treads still on firm snow took hold and rolled the Sno-Cat to a point where gravity took over and dragged the vehicle onto its third tread. The fourth still hung over the crevasse, but Frank was now able to drive back and let it regain its normal position.
He mopped his forehead with a handkerchief. “We’re driving an obstacle course!” he groaned. “This is very dangerous!”
“I know,” Joe said grimly. “Well, we’re close enough to walk to the top of the hill. Let’s hope we can spot Outpost I from there.”
He took the heavy Antarctic clothing from the compartment behind them. They donned thick leather boots, rough trousers, parkas, and fur gloves. Pulling goggles over their eyes, they emerged from the Sno-Cat into a high wind.
They roped themselves together. Using alpenstocks—wooden staffs with metal tips—to help them keep their footing, they set out for the hill with Frank in the lead.
At every step, they tested the snow with their alpenstocks to make sure it was strong enough to support them. Skirting past the crevasse into which they had nearly fallen, they tramped along under a sky the dismal color of lead. The sun was barely discernible over their heads, and the only sound they could hear was the wind and their own footsteps.
Reaching the bottom of the hill, the Hardys began to climb it step by step, sometimes over snow and ice, sometimes over the frozen earth and rock of the Antarctic. They gasped in the frigid air.
About halfway up, they came to a rocky ledge, where they stopped for a rest, discussing their predicament.
“Unless we took the wrong turn, Outpost I has to be in sight from the top of the hill!”
Frank declared. “Even if we bypassed it in the storm, we can’t have missed it by much.”
“Right,” Joe said. He made sure the rope connecting them was securely tied before they resumed their climb. It was a difficult ascent because they had to feel with their alpenstocks for places where they could get safe toeholds. The cold wind blowing in their faces made them lean into it in order to maintain their balance.
As they rounded a rocky wall, Frank stepped onto an icy cliff. At the same time, a violent gust made him stagger to one side. He slipped and skidded along the ice toward the side of the cliff, dragging Joe after him!
Then, finding nothing to break his momentum, he went right over the edge!
Suddenly Joe came to a bone-crunching halt as his boot soles slammed against an outcropping of rock protruding from the ice. The rope around his waist tightened as it stopped Frank’s fall down the face of the cliff!
“Frank, hang on!” Joe yelled.
“I’ve got my foot on a rock sticking out of the side,” Frank called back. “I can climb up if you help me.”
“Will do!”
Joe yanked on the rope with all his might. He played it in, hand over hand, so Frank could brace his feet against the side of the cliff and work his way back to the ledge. Then both sat down gasping for breath.
“It’s good we’re tied together, or I’d been at the bottom of the cliff,” Frank muttered.
Joe peered over the edge. “Well, our alpenstocks are down there. I can see them lying in the snow.”
“They’ll stay there, Joe. I’m not about to go and get them!”
“Neither am I. Let’s make tracks up the hill, okay?”
Getting to their feet, they again climbed toward the top. They moved more slowly and carefully than before because they no longer had their alpenstocks with which to feel for the safest path upward. Finally the slant of the hill became less steep, and they struggled to the summit.
Planting their feet firmly and bracing themselves against the wind, the Hardys surveyed the terrain all around them. They saw an expanse of ice and snow extending to the horizon in every direction except to the west, where a range of mountains cut the skyline in a series of tall peaks. No buildings, no flagpole, broke the uniformity of the white landscape.
The Stone Idol Page 6