The Sign Of The Crooked Arrow Part 18

"Forget it," Frank replied. Then, turning to the Indians, he said, "What are you fellows up to?"

The taller Indian spoke one word.

"Come!"

Walking single file, with one Indian in front and the other bringing up the rear, the boys were led through the forest to the Indian camp. When they appeared in the clearing, the workers excitedly left their benches and crowded around them.

"Plenty strong," the big Indian said, pointing to Frank. "Watch careful."

With the tribe gazing at their captives, Frank asked, "What reservation is this?"

A stony look was the only reply. He spoke to the other Indians in their native tongue, then turned to the boys.

"Follow!" he commanded.

The Indians led the boys a short distance into the woods on the other side of the camp.

At the spot stood a well-built, sapling stockade. Frank and Chet were pushed through a crude doorway, which was slammed shut after them.

As the Indians went back to the clearing, the boys heard the leader say: "Big boss come soon. Fix boys good."

CHAPTER XXI.

Wild Dogs.

frank and Chet looked at each other in dismay. Who was the boss, soon to arrive and pa.s.s judgment on them?

"M-maybe he's an Indian Chief," Chet said. "I hope he w-won't burn us at the stake!"

"I doubt that he's an Indian," Frank replied. "The word 'boss' is a white man's lingo."

About an hour later someone approached the door of the stockade and lifted the latch.

A stooped, haglike squaw entered. The elderly Indian woman was carrying two bowls, one filled with water, and the other with maize. She set the bowls on the ground, then untied Chet's bonds. Motioning for Chet to free Frank's hands, she slipped out again and secured the door.

"Gosh, she looks like a spook," Frank said. "I'll bet she's over a hundred years old."

178.

179 With his hands free once more, he joined Chet in a simple meal that tasted much better than they had antic.i.p.ated.

Hardly had the hungry boys finished, when footsteps sounded outside the stockade. It was the tall Indian, who flung open the door and beckoned to the boys.

As Frank and Chet stepped outside the compound, they were immediately surrounded by an escort of six braves, who marched them silently to an adobe hut.

Stooping to enter the low doorway, the boys found themselves in a dim, candle-lighted room. They uttered a gasp of astonishment. Standing be< fore="" them="" was="" a="" brawny="" man="" whom="" both="" boys="" recognized="" at="" once.="" he="" was="" the="" fellow="" who="" had="" slugged="" slow="" mo="" and="" escaped="" on="" the="" train.="" and="" the="" same="" one="" who="" had="" quizzed="" chet="" on="" the="" farm="" back="">

Frank's brain raced to piece together the clues of this puzzle, which seemed to be dropping into place with amazing speed. Following a strong hunch, the Hardy boy said defiantly: "You're C. B. M., otherwise known as Arrow Charlie."

The big man's evil eyes fairly popped. Recovering from his surprise, he managed a crooked smile.

"Yes," he said, "I'm Charlie Morgan. You seem 180 well acquainted with my alias. Likewise, I'm well aware who you two are."

The boys exchanged troubled glances as Morgan continued, his voice growing louder.

"I know all about you meddling Hardys. And this fat friend of yours here told me everything about your proposed trip to Crowhead."

Arrow Charlie laughed raucously over the easy way in which he had learned of the boys'

plans. Chet winced, but Frank shot back defiantly: "We've found out all about you and your Indians!"

"A lot of good that will do you," Morgan gloated. "You're going to stay here-as my guests-for a long, long time."

"Not when Dad knows we're missing," Frank retorted. "He'll find us!"

"So you think," Morgan shouted. His face grew purple with anger at the mention of Fenton Hardy's name. "Your father's interfered all he's ever going to in my business."

"So you're the one who shot him!" Frank said.

Arrow Charlie smiled evilly.

"No, I didn't shoot your father," he said, "although I'm not a bad shot myself."

"Who did?" the boy demanded.

"One of my men," came the answer. "He's the greatest archer in the world. Nothing but the best 181 for Arrow Charlie! I'll call him and a couple of other friends of mine you should meet." He clapped his hands.

The big man was reveling in the situation. Frank could see he was an egotist and quickly planned to make the most of the man's bragging and acquire some useful information.

"Your Arrow cigarettes were a clever stunt," Frank led him on.

"You like the idea, eh?" Arrow Charlie asked. "n.o.body would suspect an innocent-looking cigarette of containing knockout gas. I hear you got a whiff of it, too!"

The adobe hut echoed to Arrow Charlie's guffaws.

"But they'll never find out where I make 'em," he boasted, "and if Fenton Hardy thinks he'll keep on looking-well, another poisoned arrow for him!"

"You wouldn't dare!" Frank said hotly.

"Oh, wouldn't I?" Charlie sneered. "Pretty soon I'm going to stop selling the stuff to crooks. There's a foreign country ready to pay me a king's ransom for my secret."

Into the hut came a man and a woman. Charlie introduced them as his right-hand henchmen; the chief distributors of his product.

"You're the couple who left your car at Slow Mo's garage," Frank shot at them. "Who took the plates and filed off the engine number?"

182 The man looked at his Indian wife, then said in surprise, "I dunno."

"Why didn't you come back for your car?" Frank asked.

"I did," the man answered, "but Slow Mo was talking to a state trooper, and I thought they was on to us. So vhat with losing the watch and-"

"I tell that part," the Indian woman interrupted.

It came out that she was the owner of the wrist watch with the broken strap. While she was driving along one day, it had dropped off. She had put the watch and the attached strap in her purse. Her husband later had picked up the other piece and put it into the car's compartment.

Chet, proud of his friend's cleverness, blurted out the whole story of the watch strap.

Arrow Charlie was thunderstruck at first, but when the full import of how valuable a clue the strap had been began to dawn on him, he became furious.

"Take these kids away!" he roared to the Indian who had brought them. "If they try to escape, I'll throw you and them into the hissing crack!"

The Indian lost his stalwart demeanor. "I won't fail," he promised.

With that Arrow Charlie pushed the boys through the door. Frank clenched his fists.

Nothing would have given him more satisfaction at that moment 183 than to take a swing at the man who had instigated the shooting of his father.

But knowing force would be futile, the boy went back quietly to the stockade with Ghet.

The door swung shut and the Indian padded away in the growing darkness.

Alone in the solitude of the stockade, Frank and Chet discussed the case of Arrow Charlie.

"If I ever get out of this," Chet wailed, "I'll never open my mouth again to a stranger."

"Skip it," Frank said. "If you hadn't told Arrow Charlie where we were going, he'd have found out some other way."

"Did you hear him mention a hissing crack?" Chet asked. "What's that?"

"I'm trying to figure it out," Frank replied. "Apparently it's something the Indian is afraid of, otherwise he wouldn't have flinched at Charlie's threat. We've got to get out of here, p.r.o.nto. Dad's in danger of being shot again, and I'm afraid we may lose our own lives."

"How can we go anywhere in the dark?" Chet asked dolefully. "I can hardly see my hand in front of my face. We'd probably only get into worse trouble."

Frank agreed to wait until daylight. But with the dawn came another unpleasant surprise.

A.

184 pack of dogs was tied next to the stockade. The boys could hear them snapping and growling.

Later in the day the dogs were suddenly released. Judging from their yelps, they were after somebody.

"What about Joe and the cowboys?" Chet asked with anxiety. "Maybe th-the dogs are chasing them!"

CHAPTER XXII.

Racing for Aid.

in another part of the forest Joe sat under a pon-derosa pine tree. Pye squatted beside him. Their ponies were hobbled near by, occasionally swis.h.i.+ng their tails.

"I'm worried about Frank and Chet," Joe said as he furrowed his brow.

The Indian stared impa.s.sively at the pine needles which blanketed the ground.

"Maybe get lost," he grunted. "No trail in woods."

"And Terry," Joe continued. "Where'd he go?"

After Frank and Chet had failed to show up at the designated meeting place the night before, Joe, Pye, and Terry had set out to look for them. It was then that Terry had suddenly dropped out of sight. No trace of the singing cowboy could be found.

"I wonder," Joe now hazarded a guess, as a frightening thought came to him, "if Terry disappeared like the other cowboys from Crowhead!"

"Maybe bad hombres get him," Pye replied. "But Terry good friend. No savvy why he leave."

"Let's go back to Frank's and Chet's ponies," Joe said, getting up. "Maybe the boys are waiting there."

The two mounted and made their way to the spot. The ponies were there, but the missing boys still had not returned.

Joe dismounted. Reaching into his saddle bag, he drew out a pad and pencil. After hastily writing a note to his brother, saying they would return there again, he tucked one end of it under the saddle of Frank's pony. Then he and Pye set out on the search again, this time skirting the forest.

After they had ridden some distance, the trees became spa.r.s.er, giving way finally to a bald clearing at the foot of a cliff. Before the eyes of the startled boy and the Indian, a gruesome scene unfolded. From the top of the cliff a lamb, evidently fleeing from some wild animal, came hurtling down toward them. It landed in a broken heap near their ponies. Joe's mount reared up. Pye quieted his animal, then got off to examine the dead lamb.

"No wild sheep in this country," Pye said, looking up at Joe. "Men here. Go find."

187 With that the Indian picked up the lamb and flung it on his saddle. Joe asked why.

"Maybe need," he remarked without further explanation. Then he added as he mounted, ''Ride in trees. No noise."

Entering the forest again, Joe and Pye picked their way carefully, scanning the dense timberland for any possible sign of Frank and Chs.t. Chs.t. Suddenly Joe reined in sharply. Suddenly Joe reined in sharply.

"Something moved ahead," he said.

"Go on foot," Pye suggested.

They dismounted, tied their horses and set off quietly. Presently the sound of a harsh voice came to their ears. Peering from behind a thicket, they saw a rider on a white-faced sorrel.

Joe, not more than thirty feet from the man, recognized him immediately. He was the big man he had chased from Slow Mo's garage!