The Sign Of The Crooked Arrow Part 13

"Sam Radley and government agents," Mr. Hardy said, "have arrested several peddlers of Arrow cigarettes in the Bayport area and in other widely scattered sections of the country.

But they haven't nabbed the ringleader, whoever he is.

"Maybe he's Arrow Charlie," Frank suggested.

"We have a trap set for him if he shows up here," the detective said. "But he may show up nearer you. Watch your step!"

The boys promised they would, and the conversation ended. Frank and Joe spent the evening near the corral and the bunkhouse but learned nothing. No riders came in or went out up to twelve o'clock, and Pete did not return. Finally the brothers went to bed.

Chet Morton was up early with the Hardys the 128 next morning. Having felt ill all the day before from overeating, he attacked his breakfast with some restraint.

"What's the matter, Chet?" Joe needled him, as the boys rose from the table. "Lost your Eastern appet.i.te?"

"I'm taking it easy from now on," the boy declared. "I positively will not eat a third helping any more."

"Two's enough, eh, Chet?" Frank grinned. "Aren't you afraid of starving to death?"

Chet finished his second stack of flapjacks and joined his friends in a stroll around the ranch buildings. As they neared the bunkhouse, a cheerful voice called out the doorway.

"Mornin'. Come in. I got somethin' to show yo'."

It was Terry, the singing cowboy. He held the door open for them to enter.

"Thar 'tis," he said, pointing.

A long pine table stood in the middle of the cowboys' quarters. On it lay three piles of range riding clothes.

"Some o' the men kinda got an apology to make," he said. "Leastways to Frank an'

Joe. We found out from Pye yo' sh.o.r.e c'n ride. So a few o' us got together some o' our gear for yo'."

"That was mighty nice," Frank said. "Thanks."

129 "Pretty swell of you," Joe exclaimed, examining the bright s.h.i.+rts and bandannas.

"We had a little trouble gettin' jeans big enough for yore friend here," Terry said, thumbing toward Chet.

The boys climbed into their new outfits enthusiastically. Chet pulled a wide-brimmed hat c akishly to the side of his head. akishly to the side of his head.

"Gimme my six-shooters!" he cried, spreading his feet wide apart and slapping his hips. "Oh,, boy, am I sharp!"

The cowboys laughed, and Frank thanked them for their generosity, adding that the Hardys had not expected such treatment from Hank.

"Hank don't know about this," Terry replied, "or his pals m.u.f.f an' Red. Just keep it under yore hat, will yo'? Better go. Here comes Hank now."

Chet and the Hardys hastily thanked Terry again and departed from the bunkhouse.

Nearing the corral, Chet suddenly wheeled about.

"Gosh, I forgot my bandanna," he exclaimed.

He hotfooted back to the bunkhouse. Terry had gone. The bandanna lay on the floor beside the table.

As Chet leaned down to pick it up, he heard Hank's voice. The foreman was talking on s. telephone on the far wall of the bunkhouse. Chet could not help but hear what he was saying, 130 "Not 'til those wise guys from Bayport leave," the dour cowboy said.

He hung up and turned to go out. Seeing Chet standing by the table. Hank became furious.

"Yo5 sneakin' coyote!" he roared. "What yo* doin' in here?"

"I c-came for my bandanna," Chet stammered.

"That's a lie," Hank snarled. "Yo're eavesdrop-pin' on me!"

This was too much for Chet. "What were you saying about us boys?" he demanded.

"None o' yore business!" Hank burst out.

He strode toward Chet and grabbed him by the s.h.i.+rt front. Twisting his fist, he lifted the boy nearly off the floor.

Suddenly Chet remembered! "Don't let anybody push you around," his judo teacher had told him. "Brute strength isn't everything."

The words rang in the boy's ears. Quickly he recalled the armlock grip that Russ Griggs, the ex-Marine, had taught him. With a sudden movement, Chet grasped Hank's left wrist with his right hand. The foreman, caught off balance, relaxed his hold on Chet's s.h.i.+rt.

With) another lightninglike move, Chet thrust his left hand under Hank's shoulder, using it as a fulcrum. An agonizing look of pain came over Hank's (ace as Chet bent the man's arm back. Then, with 131 a flip, Chet hurled the man across the room. Hank teetered backward on his heels, then crashed onto a cot in the corner of the bunkhouse.

Chet could hardly believe his eyes. He had thrown the powerful foreman! Hank regained his feet, roaring for help.

"I'll throw yo' blasted nuisances off this place!" he shouted. "m.u.f.f! Red!"

Two cowboys, hearing their boss yell, rushed into the building.

"Grab that guy!" Hank ordered, pointing to Chet. "He tried to murder me!"

Hank's friends advanced on Chet, pinning his arms to his sides.

"What'll we do with him?" one of them asked.

"Tie him to a steer's tail!" Hank thundered.

CHAPTER XV.

More Trouble.

chet, frightened stiff, lurched wildly. He managed to throw one of the cowboys off his feet, but the wiry ranchman sprang up, securing a tighter grip on the struggling boy.

"Lemme go!" Chet cried. "Help! Frank! Joe!"

Chet realized he could not pit his strength against three men, judo or no judo. So he quit struggling. Instead he hollered again at the top of his voice.

"Shut up, yo' blubberhead!" Hank growled. "Take him away, men!"

Suddenly the door of the bunkhouse burst open. Frank and Joe rushed in, followed by the singing cowboy.

"Stop!" Frank shouted, seeing his friend about to be kicked by the bellowing foreman.

132.

133 Hank wheeled. "Yo' stay out o' this!" he snapped at the Hardy boy. "This fat greaser threw mes an' I'm goin' to pay him off!"

"Don't do that, boss," Terry pleaded. "Yo might hurt him."

"Mind yore own business," the foreman glowered, rus.h.i.+ng at Frank. "These kids got no business in the bunkhouse!"

Hank's right hand lashed out at Frank's face. But before it could find its mark the boy grasped Hank's wrist in a vicelike hold.

In a split second the place was in an uproar. Joe rushed at m.u.f.f. As he unloosed his hold on the stout boy, Chet tangled with Red.

Arms and legs flew as the Hardys and Chet put all of their judo lessons to practical use.

One thud followed another.

Terry stood by, openmouthed. Never before had he seen such a spectacle. Three hardened ranchmen were being set upon by a trio of striplings from the city, and were being beaten. It was unbelievable!

When the smoke of battle cleared, the three cowboys lay in grotesque poses. Hank was draped over a cot. The other two sat on the floor, reclining on their elbows, their legs stretched out V-shaped in front of them.

"Sh.o.r.e is a funny sight," drawled Terry.

134 All of the sc.r.a.p was gone from Hank and his henchmen. They pulled themselves to their feet and limped out the back door of the bunkhouse. As Hank left, he turned around and pointed a finger at the boys.

"I'll get yo' for this!" he muttered. "I'm boss around here!"

Terry looked worried. "Hank's a bad actor when he's got a grudge," he said. "I'm warnin'

yo' to be keerful o' him."

Suddenly the singing cowboy's mood changed. He reached for his "gee-tar" from his bunk and strummed the instrument. His face broke into a broad smile.

"Listen to this." He grinned. "I'll sing it at the next roundup."

Terry struck a few chords. Then, raising his head high, he burst out: " Thar was a city slicker Thar was a city slicker Dared grab hold o'foreman Hank.

Oh, ,yippee, oh!

Now the city kid was quicker, He had his wits to thank.

So foreman Hank went flyin'

Right clean through the air.

Aye,yi,yah!

Fll remember 'til I'm dyin', His sad look of beat despair!"

135 "Swell!" Joe exclaimed, laughing. "Only I'd advise you not to let Hank hear it."

"How can you make up that stuff so quick?" Chet put in.

Terry scratched his head. "Guess it just comes to me off the range," he answered.

The crooning cowboy remarked that it was time he got started on his ch.o.r.es. The boys walked as far as the corral gate with him, then went toward the house.

"That was nice going, Chet," Frank said, slapping the budding judo artist on the back.

"Maybe Hank won't bother us for a while, even with his threats."

"What started the fracas?" Joe asked.

Chet toid about the telephone conversation which had ended with a reference to the boys from Bay-port, and Hank was not going to do something so long as they were at Crowhead. Frank and Joe scowled.

"So maybe," Chet brightened, "nothing will happen to us while we're here."

"I wouldn't count on that," Joe said.

"Not after yesterday," Frank said. "By the ways we ought to track down that clue."

"Which one?" Joe asked.

"The arrowhead," Frank replied. "The one that nearly hit me in the woods."

136 "What you going to do with it?" Chet wanted to know.

"I think the tip may contain poison," Frank replied. "Come on, we'll take a look at it."

Joe and Chet followed him to the brothers' room, where Frank had cached the white-feathered arrow. 'He dipped the tip in a saucer of water for a few seconds, then carefully carried the saucer onto the porch.

A fly buzzed around the water, then settled down to investigate. When it touched the water, the insect keeled over dead!

"Just as I thought!" Frank declared. "But to make sure, I'm going to take the arrow to Santa Fe for a.n.a.lysis."

Frank told his cousin Ruth what he had in mind, then put in a long-distance call to the young pilot who had flown them to Crowhead. Winger happened to be free and promised to come for them at once.

At noon the drone of a plane was heard over the ranch. Winger landed alongside the ranch house and the boys ran to meet him. Frank got in, carrying the arrow wrapped in waxed paper. His brother and Chet followed. Hank saw them from a distance. A queer smile tugged at the corners of his hard mouth.