The Sign Of The Crooked Arrow Part 8

"Where is he?" Joe asked.

"Over in the lunchroom at the end of that runway," the man pointed. "He's short and dark, and has a mustache."

The boys thanked the flier and hurried to the lunchroom. They had no trouble spotting the pilot, a swarthy little man. He was eating a bowl of soup.

"Are you a private pilot?" Frank asked him.

The man brushed a crumb from his mustache. "Yeah. Why?" he asked.

"We'd like to fly to New Mexico. There'll be three of us. Could you take us?"

The flier looked the boys up and down. "Sure, I can take you," he said.

"Swell," Joe burst out. "When can we start?"

"Right now if you want to."

"Hold on a minute, Joe," cautioned his older brother. Then, turning to the man, Frank asked, "How much for the trip?"

The pilot avoided Frank's candid gaze, looking instead at his bowl of soup.

"Two thousand dollars," he said.

"Spin my prop!" Joe shouted. "Two thousand dollars?"

79 "That's right," the swarthy man replied. "Take it or leave it."

"We'll leave it, thank you," Frank said. "Come on, Joe. Let's look for another plane."

"You bet!" Joe exclaimed. "We don't want to buy this man's plane!"

Unfortunately, there were no other private pilots at the field. Frank and Joe got into their car and started home. After a mile on the highway, Frank said suddenly: "Joe! I have an idea that pilot-"

"Yes?"

"I think he may be in cahoots with the crooked arrow gang."

"Why?" Joe asked, perplexed.

"No pilot would ask that much to fly us," Frank explained. "I'll bet he's deliberately trying to keep us from going to New Mexico as the archer did Dad."

"Let's go back and find out who he is," Joe suggested.

Frank made a U turn on the broad highway and headed back toward the airport. Whey they entered the lunchroom the pilot was gone. The man behind the counter said he had left in a hurry.

The Hardys dashed outside. The fellow was not in sight. They asked the flier who was still tinker80 ing with the two-engine plane if he had seen the dark-skinned pilot.

"Yep," he replied. "There he is." He pointed to a speck in the sky. "Took off a few minutes ago."

"Who is he?" Frank asked.

"Dunno," was the answer.

The boys inquired at the office. Obligingly the clerk looked him up.

"He's Jack Howe, from New York City."

"Which proves exactly nothing," Frank declared.

Disappointed at their failure, either to advance a step in solving the mystery or getting reservations, the boys got back in their car. As Frank breezed along, Joe said: "Let's drop by at Chet's and tell him to get ready. You know how poky he is."

"Right."

When they slowed down on the road fronting the Morton farm, a strange sight greeted their eyes. In a cow pasture among a herd of cows rode a cowboy on a chestnut mare.

"Yippee!" laughed Joe. "It's Chet!"

The boys stopped and got out.

"Hi, Chet! Where'd you get that rig?"

"Bought it, of course," puffed Chet.

He leaned over in the saddle and looked down at the Hardys. "I've been practicing for out West. Watch me rope a cow."

81 Chet swung a rope over his head, then flung it at a Holstein grazing complacently near by. The rope snaked through the air and landed smack over an old tree stump.

"Bull's-eye!" Joe shouted.

"Looks like you're stumped!" Frank wisecracked.

"That was only the first try," Chet retorted. "Watch this one."

He looped the rope again. It glided through the air, landing neatly over the cow's head.

"Told you!" he cried.

Chet should have been satisfied with this feat. But wis.h.i.+ng to impress his audience, he yanked the rope, as he had seen cowboys do in the movies. With a toss of her head, the animal gave a loud, frightened bellow, and started to run.

Chet had been gazing at Frank and Joe, hoping to elicit a word of praise, and wasn't watching the cow. Suddenly, with a jerk, she pulled him from the horse.

With a thud, somewhat cus.h.i.+oned by his avoir dupois, the boy landed in a clump of gra.s.s. The Hardys doubled over with laughter.

"Do it again," Joe egged him on. "I didn't see it."

He leaned over to help his friend off the ground. As he did so, the cow, tired of the whole silly business, b.u.t.ted Joe squarely!

CHAPTER X.

Pursuit in the Clouds.

"oomph!" Joe grunted as he sprawled in the pasture.

It was Chet's turn to laugh. The stout boy shook all over, like an old jalopy on a country road.

"A fine bunch of detectives we are!" Frank laughed. "If we don't keep our eyes open better than this, we'll never solve the mystery on Cousin Ruth's cattle ranch."

Joe, rising from the ground and brus.h.i.+ng off his pants, addressed Chet. "Good thing that wasn't a bull," he said ruefully. Then he added, "Be ready to fly out West with us the minute we call you. Dad's much better. He wants us to start as soon as we can get reservations."

"Gee, that's swell," Chet beamed.

"Remember, no more than fifty pounds of luggage," Frank reminded him.

Chet wiped his brow with his red bandanna kerchief. "Fifty pounds?" he exclaimed.

"Why, my saddle and boots and duffel bag and ..."

"And you," Joe teased, "all add up to about five hundred pounds!"

"No fooling," Frank said seriously, "you can't take all this equipment by plane."

"I'll send it by express," Chet decided.

"No go," his friend said. "Take too long out to those wilds."

"Then I'll have to buy all new stuff when I get there!" Chet wailed. "And I haven't any money left!"

"There's one sure way to get some," Joe suggested.

"How?" Chet asked eagerly.

"Earn it," Joe said, winking at his brother.

Chet's face dropped like a bulldogged calf. Then he remarked: "I could have earned part of it, helping the farmer down the road build the foundation for his new barn. But there's not time enough."

"Hop to it," Joe said. "We may not go for a week."

Frank and Joe left their friend staring in bewilderment. Definitely Chet did not like to work. What was he going to do?

With a sigh that could have been heard at the 04 next farm, he trudged down the road to carry stones for the farmer.

Chet came home that evening dusty and hot from the rugged work. The next morning he was up so early that he surprised even his mother. After putting away a breakfast of ham and eggs, griddle cakes, fruit, and a pint of milk, Chet hurried back to his job.

A big truck had dumped a huge pile of stones at the side of the road. It was Chet's ch.o.r.e to haul them in a wheelbarrow to the site of the new foundation. About midday, as he was working alone and figuring on how soon he could get off for a hearty lunch, a strange man approached him.

"Hi-ya," said the friendly Chet, eager for an excuse to rest from his weary task.

"Looks like you're workin' mighty hard," said the man.

He had broad shoulders, a large nose, and bushy black eyebrows.

"Yeah," Chet agreed. "It's tough work carrying these stones, 'specially when the sun's so hot."

"Well," the stranger replied, "a boy oughta help his father!"

"I'm not doing this for my father," Chet said, leaning against a fence post.

"Oh, no?" replied the man in surprise. "You're just workin' here?"

85 "There's a good reason," Chet said as a smile wreathed his round face. "I've got to make some money in a hurry."

"Hurry?" asked the man. "You got all summer, ain't you?n "Nope," the boy replied, throwing out his chest pridefully. "I'm leaving any minute. Coin'

out West."

"Is that a fact?" the stranger remarked. "What part of the West?"

The boy was so enthusiastic about his trip that he told the man all about Ruth Hardy having trouble at her ranch and how the Hardy boys were taking their father's place on the flight to investigate the peculiar goings-on at Crowhead.

A twisted smile, unnoticed by the stout boy, came to the man's lips as he urged Chet to go on with his story. When the boy had finished, the man tugged at the brim of his hat. Then, without even so much as a good-bye, he hurried down the road.

"Funny kind of a duck," Chet said to himself.

As he watched, the stranger walked under a low-hanging tree by the side of the road.

An instant later the boy heard the roar of a motor and saw a car pull onto the road. It sped toward Bayport.

Pondering over the man's peculiar actions, Chet went back to his ch.o.r.e. Suddenly he let out a howl of dismay.

86 "My gosh," he thought. "That man! He was probably a spy!"

Chet loped home to telephone the Hardys.

Meanwhile, the Hardy home was as busy as rodeo day in a prairie town. The airline office had telephoned, offering three cancellations to El Paso the following evening. From there they could go north to Crowhead. Frank and Joe began packing their light equipment, relying on Cousin Ruth's cowboys to supply them with the bulkier things needed for ranch life.

"I've just got to take this saddle," Frank said, as he admired the Western saddle which he had kept in such good condition. By leaving out some less essential articles, he figured he might include the precious piece in his baggage.

"I'm nearly set!" Joe exclaimed presently. "It's sure going to feel good to be on a pony again!"

While they were busy, the telephone rang. Chet Morton was calling.

"Gosh, I've been trying for an hour to get you," he complained.