The Hidden Harbor Mystery (10 page)

Barely at treetop level, the craft recovered from its sickening dive.

Al's eyes fluttered open. He shook his head, then he came fully alert as several branches scraped the bottom of his craft. He grasped the wheel from Frank, and with his jaw set grimly, fought for altitude.

Nobody spoke until Al banked toward the airport.

“Thanks,” he said, “I think we'll make it.”

“What happened?” Joe asked.

“Control failure. Something went haywire.”

Al radioed for emergency clearance.. and brought the plane in for a rough landing. When they climbed out, shaken by their close brush with death, Al summoned the maintenance crew. Together they went over the controls.

“Here's your trouble,” one of the mechanics said finally. “A stabilizer cable has been cutl”

“Sabotage!” Joe exclaimed.

Frank nodded understandingly. “Stewart must've heard you telephone the airport. But how did he have time to get here and cut the cable before we arrived?”

Joe, seeing a puzzled look on Al's face, told him of Cutter's and Stewart's apparent attempts on the boys' lives.

The pilot frowned. “What road did you take out here?” he asked.

“The main highway from Larchmont.”

“There's a shorter way, over back roads. That old taxi probably crawled like a snail, too. Stewart could easily have beaten you here, and tampered with the ship while we ate lunch.”

Al brought out his tool kit and quickly fixed the damaged cable. He threw a calculating glance at the sky, where dark clouds were forming in the west.

“Storm's coming up,” he said. “But I guess we still have time to look around before it hits.”

Once more, the silver amphibian raced down the runway and lifted into the air.

“I hope Chet nails things down at camp,” Frank remarked.

“He'd better. Haven't you heard?” Al asked. “Hurricane warnings have been out since last night. There's a big one working up from the Gulf of Mexico, but she shouldn't arrive here for several hours.”

The craft passed high over Larchmont, then winged above the ocean. The choppy water was a deep, black-tinged green. White lines of foam stroked far up on the beach.

“There's our tent!” Joe called out.

“Yes, and there's our enemy's observation post.” Frank pointed to the fishing smack bobbing at anchor on the rough water.

Al West banked the ship inland across the pale, high-peaked sand dunes. From this height, all the huge ancestral Blackstone plantation was visible at once. On the right, the shiny slates of Samuel Blackstone's home peeped through well-spaced trees. Rand's mansion, nearly overgrown, was harder to pick out. Between the two houses, the pond reflected the troubled gray sky. At the edge of the water on the ocean side, black-cypress foliage indicated the swampland.

“You say you're looking for a harbor?” Al was perplexed. “A harbor means a break in the coast, fellows. It's solid beach and dunes along here.”

Frank was eying the fingers of water leading from the pond, some wide, some narrow, which lost themselves among the dunes or stretched into the swamp among the cypresses.

“Go lower, Al,” Frank directed. “Let's see where some of those bayous lead.”

“Okay,” said Al. “But none of those little inlets reaches to the ocean or ever has so long as I've been around here—and that's all my life!”

A closer view appeared to upset a theory Frank had that at one time there might have been a channel leading to a harbor. But now every finger of water was choked by stumps or ended in a mass of vegetation.

The amphibian spiraled slowly upward again, then made another run over the area.

“Say,” Frank cried out suddenly, “the pond does have a big loop in it directly in the center of the ocean side, and one of these fingers runs straight toward the sea.”

The others agreed. Then Frank added, “I see something else. That finger of water is of a lighter shade than the pond. There may still be an underground stream running from the ocean to the pond—but not enough to cause any perceptible rise and fall of the pond with the tide.”

“Why is the inlet lighter?” Joe asked.

“Probably a different kind of soil underneath,” remarked Al. “Well, fellows, do you all want to head back now?”

“Hold it!” Joe cried suddenly. “There's a boat! On one of those strips of water!”

Al kicked his ship into a sharp wing over that brought his craft low over the spot. A rowboat was quickly pulled out of sight in the hanging moss.

“What would a boat be doing in there?” Frank wondered.

“Yes,” Joe put in. “I'd like to go down and find that man!”

“Maybe we can,” Frank suggested. “How about it, Al? Could you set us down on the pond?”

Apprehensively the pilot checked the clouded skies. He looked at his watch.

“Okay,” he agreed. “But don't make it long. When that storm hits, she'll be a honey. I want this ship safe in her hangar long before then!”

Veering round, the silver craft came in just over the cypresses, glided onto the pond, and floated toward shore.

Quickly the Hardys rigged mooring lines. Then the brothers waded ashore and plunged into the swamp.

Ducking under vines and hanging moss, leaping from one solid foothold to another, they pushed toward the spot where they had seen the rowboat disappear.

Under the cypresses, silence prevailed. In spite of the unsettled weather above, the thick mossy curtains scarcely moved. Frank and Joe forged ahead and presently found themselves beside a wide stream, which was running toward the pond.

Frank tasted the water. “Fresh,” he announced.

Narrowing and branching, the little stream led them deeper into the treacherous area. At last Joe halted, crouching, behind a huge fallen tree trunk. Ahead, through the moss, he had spotted the rowboat.

A blue-shirted, slightly built man with his back to the boys leaned over the stern. He wore gloves. Hand over hand, he brought up a dripping object in a net.

“A baby alligator!” Frank whispered.

The man dropped the reptile into a deep box on his boat, and lowered his net again. Twice more the Hardys watched him bring up a similar catch.

“That's illegal,” Frank commented quietly. He slipped over the huge tree trunk and crept ahead. Joe, following, supported himself against one of the tree's low-hanging limbs. Suddenly the branch gave way with a loud
crack.

Instantly the stranger dropped low in his boat. The next moment he came up again with a blue shotgun barrel trained in the Hardys' direction. A blast and a puff of gray smoke followed rapidly. Deadly pellets ripped shreds in the hanging moss and leaves just beside the brothers.

Frank and Joe were hugging the mucky earth when the second blast sounded. This time the shot rattled into a fallen tree trunk right behind them.

“Keep down!” Frank warned. “He may have another shell ready!”

But now the stranger was bending low over his oars. With quick pulls on them he sent the boat up the little stream, and in a moment was out of sight around a bend.

“Better let him go if we don't want to get shot,” Frank said. “Let's look at the alligator nest.”

Frank and Joe clambered forward to the mud-bank.

“Besides poaching baby alligators,” said Frank, “he was stealing the eggs, too. Look. There's the nest he was rifling.”

The boy pointed to a freshly dug mound of mud at the very end of the oozy bank. Half sunk in the muck and water was a fallen tree trunk. Balancing themselves, the boys walked out on it for a look.

“I guess these poachers sell the baby alligators to tourists and pet shops,” Joe said.

“Well, the fellow should be reported,” Frank stated flatly. “Alligators in this country are protected by law against poaching. That's why he shot at us.”

Stooping, Frank peered into the muddy hole, but no eggs were visible. He straightened up, then looked around, puzzled.

“Say, which way is the plane? We couldn't have come far, but I've lost my sense of direction in this place.”

“Yell,” Joe suggested. “When Al answers, we'll know which way to go.”

“Al! Al West!”
The boys' voices echoed through the silent swamp.

“Louder!” Joe urged, cupping his hands and taking in a tremendous breath.
“Hey‾
All
Where are you?”

In his strenuous effort, the boy lost his balance on the slippery trunk. With a splash he went down into the water. Grabbing the trunk with both hands, he tried to hoist himself out.

“My legsl They're caught in some vines!” he gasped.

Stooping to aid his brother, Frank spotted a sudden movement on the surface of the stream. Then he recognized the snout of an alligator. The angry reptile was swimming straight toward Joe!

JoE, trapped, blanched when he caught sight of the oncoming alligator. Frank balanced himself on the fallen trunk and glanced quickly about for a means of rescue. A stout log about four feet long floated by. Seizing the log, Frank lifted it over his head in both hands.

When the alligator's ugly snout came into range, Frank hurled his weapon with a mighty thrust. A solid crack told him that the heavy log had struck the animal's head. The huge reptile rolled over, its short legs flailing helplessly and tail lashing from side to side.

Meanwhile, Frank jumped into the water beside his brother. Three quick slashes with his jack-knife severed the underwater vines, and the two boys scrambled onto the trunk in safety.

“Whew!” Joe gulped. “Thanks, lifesaver! Let's go.”

The brothers once more started off in the direction they judged the seaplane to be. “All” they kept shouting. “Al West!”

No answer from the pilot came through the dim swamp. But now, the tops of the cypresses swayed and the hanging moss quivered as the advance winds of the storm began to pick up. Suddenly, from some distance behind the Hardys, an airplane engine roared.

“We've been heading in the wrong direction!” Frank cried out. “Come on! Hurry!”

The treacherous, boggy ground prevented quick progress, however. All around the light was quickly dimming. Frank and Joe forged doggedly on, and finally the throb of the plane's engine grew louder.

“We're getting there!” Frank panted in relief.

At last they broke through to the shore of the pond. Overhead, dark shreds of clouds were being driven across the sky like streams of smoke. A light rain slanted across the water and Al West, with a worried frown, was just about to take off.

Upon seeing Frank and Joe, he gave a joyful shout. “You were gone such a long time,” he called, “I got scared, and revved up the motor for a signal. Storm's arriving ahead of schedule. If we take off now, we'll just about make it!”

Quickly the boys climbed aboard. Turning the plane, Al ran it down the pond until she rose, bucking, into the stiff gusts of the approaching storm.

Now the lead-gray sea, crossed with white foam, was running high up the beach below.

“Chet!” Frank exclaimed suddenly. “He's had no warning of the hurricane. We must get to him. Al, can you set us down near our camp?”

The pilot looked out his window, against which the rain was beating hard. “Sea's getting too mean for this ship,” he said. “Even that fishing smack has run for shelter somewhere. I know! There's a flat, firm beach a little way up from your place.”

Minutes later, the skilled pilot brought his plane down in a neat landing only yards from the big breakers now crashing higher and higher up the sand.

“So long—good luck!” the Hardys called as Al lifted his craft into the buffeting air currents once more, and winged for the airport.

Frank and Joe plowed through the sand toward camp. “Wow!” Joe exclaimed, struggling against the wind. “It must be blowing at forty miles an hour already!”

Whirling sand and gale-driven rain slashed at the boys as they raced along the beach and rounded the big dune. Just as they did, Frank gave a shout.

“Our tent!”

Their canvas shelter, straining from its one remaining rope, suddenly jerked loose and was carried off by the howling wind.

Fearfully the brothers looked around the devastated camp, now a confusion of ropes, poles, and blowing sand. There was no sign of Chet.

“Maybe he's taken shelter,” Joe yelled above the screaming gale. “We'd better find some ourselves!”

“Let's try the underground passage to Rand‘s,” Frank decided quickly. “It's the safest place.”

As the winds increased to hurricane force, making a continual eerie wail in the scrubby pines, the boys set out on a loping run from the beach toward the pond.

The storm rose to full fury. The sky had become pitch dark, although it was only about six o‘clock. Cold, heavy sheets of rain drove in sideways from the sea. The wind pressed relentlessly at the boys' backs.

They were forced to break into a fast run along the pond toward Rand's. Suddenly, above them, came an explosive splintering sound.

“Look out!” Frank yelled, yanking Joe aside.

The next instant an enormous dead oak, throwing up its network of roots, landed right in front of the boys!

“Close call!” cried Joe.

They skirted around the fallen tree, and pounded uphill toward the hedge. Then they rolled down the steep embankment on the other side, and groped their way until they found the heavy wooden door. At last, exhausted, they stumbled into the dry darkness of the old brick passage.