Read The Secret of Skull Mountain Online
Authors: Franklin W. Dixon
The Secret of Skull Mountain (6 page)
“Same old story,” he concluded gloomily. “I found nothing!”
Chet poked his head out of his pup tent. “Hey!” he called. “How about some chow? I'm starved!”
The boys went into the shack. Chet whistled noisily while he made hot chocolate. With the rich drink they had sandwiches, and what remained of Aunt Gertrude's cake.
“I'm convinced that more important people than the squatters are interested in keeping Tarnack Reservoir from filling,” Frank declared as they ate. “I think we've got to look for something that ties in with Dr. Foster, the scientist Dad is searching for.”
“I don't see the connection,” Joe remarked as he watched Chet devour another sandwich.
“I don't either, Joe. Not yet,” said his brother. “But everything I found out today points to a tie-up between Kleng, Dr. Foster, and the thin man called Sweeper. And we saw that thin man on the mountain!”
“It's true.” Joe nodded. “By the way, Bob's still convinced the water is running out through an underground channel.”
“I don't believe there is any old tunnel,” Chet grumbled.
“How else can the water escape?” Frank asked.
They thought in silence for a moment.
“What I'd like to know is,” Joe said, “why does the channel drain off the water at night only?”
“You've got me there,” Frank admitted. “But first we must prove that the underground channel exists and one way to do that is by planting floats in the reservoir and leaving them in at night!”
“And if the tunnel exists, we can watch for the stuff at the other end!” Joe said excitedly.
“But where is the other end?” Chet asked skeptically.
“According to the book Bob read, the underground river empties into the bay at Bayport,” Frank replied.
The boys were silent for a moment, each considering the possibilities of the plan.
“Hey!” Chet said suddenly. “I smell smoke!”
The boys sniffed. “See if something's burning on the stove,” Frank suggested.
Chet rose heavily from his chair and went to the stove. “Nothing here,” he reported. Then he stared. Wisps of smoke were curling through the floor boards of the wooden shack!
“Fire!” he yelled, pointing to the floor.
Frank and Joe leaped to their feet. “Come on, everybody out!” yelled Joe.
“Take that bucket of water with you!” Frank ordered, pointing behind his brother.
Joe grabbed up the bucket as Frank ran for the door. He pulled on the knob, but the door refused to open. Frank yanked again with all his strength.
“Chet!” he gasped. “Give me a hand!” The heavy-set boy also gripped the doorknob, and together they strained at it.
“It must be jammed,” Frank breathed. “It won't budge!”
“Try the windows!” Joe shouted.
They ran to the two windows in the shack, then drew back. Flames were already licking the window sills!
Joe emptied the water bucket on them, but the blaze continued to mount.
“It's no use!” cried Chet. “We're trapped!”
CHAPTER VII
A Hatchet Job
DESPERATELY the boys looked for a means of escape. Lifting a chair, Frank hammered at the wooden door. It would not yield. Smoke billowed thickly through the cracks in the floor, and a tongue of flame licked greedily at a plank.
The smoke made the boys' eyes water. They began to cough. Then, just when it seemed there was no way out, they heard excited voices. A moment later the blade of an ax bit through the door!
“Bob-Dick!” Joe shouted. “Hurry!”
“Boy, will I be glad to see them!” Chet spluttered weakly.
“Grab anything you can carry!” Frank gasped.
Quickly the boys gathered armloads of papers, camping equipment, and engineering instruments. Chet scooped up clothing.
Blows from Bob's ax had split the wood at the jamb. An instant later the door was flung back, and the boys ran into the open. They dropped their bundles and breathed deeply, filling their lungs with fresh mountain air.
Meanwhile, shouts of “Fire!” came from the reservoir and the boys could see some of the sounding crew running up the slope with buckets of water.
Bob and Dick were frantically shoveling sand from the nearby pile onto the flames. The Hardys and Chet pitched in, using whatever pots and pans they could lay hands on.
When the last flame was out, the boys and men stood gasping for breath.
“Frank,” said Bob wearily, “what happened?”
“That's what we'd like to know!” Joe declared.
“A fire started under the shack,” Frank went on, “and when we tried to run out, we couldn't get the door open.”
“It was padlocked!” Dick said grimly.
“Padlocked!” Joe gasped.
“Yes,” Bob replied. “Someone snapped the lock shut while you were inside!”
“And then set the fire!” Frank exclaimed.
“Golly,” said Chet. “Who would do a thing like that?”
“Someone who is desperate to get rid of us,” Dick replied bitterly.
The sounding crew watched silently as the Hardys searched carefully around the smoking shack for a clue to the arsonist. They found none.
Talking uneasily, the men started down the slope again. One of them said, “This party's getting too rough for me.”
“That's all we needâ” Bob remarked bitterly, “is for the crew to quit.”
The boys and engineers examined the blackened shack and were relieved to see that the main damage was to the floor, windows, and door.
“We can fix it,” Dick said. “We've got tools and lumber.”
The Hardys helped Bob and Dick salvage whatever articles they could from the shack. Nearby, the engineers pitched two tents which Joe had rescued from the fire.
Bob told the boys that he had gained some specific information from the white stripe with which he had previously marked the high-water level of the reservoir that afternoon.
“When we got there tonight, the level of the water was one foot under the mark,” he said. “But the rock itself was damp for four feet above the stripe!”
Dick summarized their findings. “During the afternoon the water rose four feet. And later five feet of it drained away!”
“We've checked it daily and find that the story is always the same.”
“Sounds as if the How is controlled in some way,” said Joe.
Frank wanted to tell the engineers about his idea of planting articles in the reservoir at night, but he did not wish to arouse their hopes too soon. He caught Joe's eye, and the younger Hardy understood that he was not to mention the plan.
Early the next day, while the engineers repaired the shack, Frank and Joe went down to the reservoir and walked along the shore a few feet from the water. Chet trudged behind them.
The slope at the water's edge was dotted with rocks, patches of shrubs, and creeping vines which extended under the water. Did one of the tangled masses conceal the mouth of the tunnel?
The boys prodded the brush with long sticks, tearing away the thickly matted branches and leaves. The job was slow, difficult, and unrewarding.
Now and then they looked up and saw men with earphones and sounding equipment working around the shore.
When the sun was high overhead, one of the men gave a shrill whistle. He signaled the others and the crew climbed the hill, carrying their lunch boxes and gear into the shade of the trees above.
“They're going to have lunch, I bet,” said Chet. “How about us?”
“Soon,” Frank said briefly. Both Hardys were intent on their job.
After a while, Chet wiped his forehead. “Wow, is it hot!” The youth sat down heavily, then jumped up as if he had been shot. “Ow!” he yelled.
He put his hand to the seat of his pants and gingerly pulled out a huge thorn. “That's what I get for letting you two talk me into hunting for an old tunnel!” he said disgustedly.
Joe turned to his brother. “What can you do with a guy like that?” he asked.
Frank looked speculatively at the water. “We might duck him,” he suggested.
“We might at that!” Joe's eyes lighted up at the idea.
Chet blanched. “Don't you dare!” he pleaded.
“Come on, Joe! Grab him!” yelled Frank. Laughingly the Hardys took hold of their friend. Frank clutched Chet's struggling arms and shoulders while Joe held his feet.
The stout boy shouted helplessly, “Oh, come on, fellows, let me down!”
They started to swing the spluttering youth toward the water.
“One!” Frank counted. “Twoâ”
Suddenly a metallic sound rang out from the woods above them.
“Hold it! Listen!” exclaimed Frank.
Again and again the noise echoed from the mountainside over the silent sun-baked valley.
“Come on!” Frank raced up the slope with Joe at his side and Chet slipping and sliding along behind.
Panting, they reached the woods as the sound stopped. A moment later there was thrashing in the underbrush.
Joe bounded up the slope after the invisible figure, but in a few minutes the crackling of brush ceased. He searched among the trees and beat the bushes, but could find no one. Disappointed, he started down the hill.
“Over here, Joe,” called Frank.
The younger boy hastened to his brother and Chet who stood under a large tree near the edge of the woods. Without a word, Frank pointed to the ground.
Six sets of electronic sounding equipment lay smashed beyond repair.
As Joe groaned and shook his head, the men of the sounding crew came running down the hill.
“I knew it!” exclaimed a tall man. “As soon as I heard the noise!”
“Another hatchet job!” said one of his companions. “We should never have left the gear here, but we decided to take a hike and the stuff was too heavy to carry.”
Bitterly the crew gathered up the broken pieces and started back to the shack to report to Bob Carpenter.
“Those men were being watched,” Frank said quietly. “Probably we are too.”
“Oh, that's great!” croaked Chet. “Why did I ever leave home?”
The three started walking toward Bob's shack. Suddenly Frank exclaimed, “Look!” He pointed to the crest of the mountain.
A thin column of smoke was rising from it!
A thin column of smoke was rising from it!
“Come on!” he exclaimed. “We're going to find that fire!”
“Wait!” wailed Chet. “What about lunch?” But the Hardys were already climbing up the slope. Chet groaned and followed.
Soon they found themselves skirting Potato Annie's garden. The old woman had been pulling turnips, carrots, and beets. As the boys hastened past, she picked up a basket laden with the vegetables, then hobbled up into the woods.
“Wonder where she's taking all that food,” Joe said.
“Don't know,” replied Frank, “and we can't stop now to find out. Maybe she sells 'em.”
“We'd better check on her later,” said Joe. He glanced back. Chet was puffing to catch up, but the woman was hurrying away fast.
Climbing steadily, the three youths hoped to reach the smoke before it vanished. As they crossed a small clearing, a shot rang out.
“What was that?” Chet yelped, ducking.
They looked behind them to see Sailor Hawkins standing among the trees, his rifle still smoking. He shook his fist at them. “Get off the mountain!” he roared. “Ye no-good swabs!” The boys hurried into the woods.
“Who's he?” Chet demanded, glancing behind him in time to see Hawkins disappear down the slope.
“Just a friend,” Joe replied airily.
“Some friends you've got!” Chet retorted. “When they're not throwing rocks at you, they're throwing bullets!”
Frank and Joe laughed. Then they looked up toward the smoke. It was gone!
“Oh, no, not again!” exclaimed Joe.
Frank considered. “We've come this far, so we may as well keep going,” he decided.
They had just resumed their climb when they heard the sound of an ax striking wood. It seemed to be only a few hundred yards away!
The boys looked at one another excitedly. “Maybe that's our hatchet man!” Frank said softly. “Let's go!”
Half running, the three made their way through the woods toward the sound. Except for the echoing blows of the ax, the forest was strangely still.
They clambered over scattered rocks and skirted a cliff. As the ax rang more loudly, they crept forward.
Suddenly the noise stopped. The boys halted and stared ahead anxiously. Had someone spotted them?
They waited a moment for the chopping to resume. When it did not, Frank broke into a run, motioning the others to follow. Soon they came to a small clearing.
Frank pointed to the stumps of several fresh-cut trees. He went over to them and examined the surrounding earth. “Look here,” he said.
Joe's eyes followed his finger. Pressed into the soft earth were the footprints of the man with the missing toe!
Frank traced the prints for a short distance and saw that they followed a narrow dirt path. He beckoned to the other two.
Walking stealthily, wondering how close they might be to their quarry, the boys trailed the mysterious prints. Once they lost them, but Joe found a fresh-cut tree limb the man apparently had dropped, and they soon picked up the trail.
As they hurried forward, Chet's eyes fell on a pocketknife lying beside a tree. He stared at it disbelievingly. Engraved on it were the initials C.M. “Hey!” he called softly. “Look what I found!”
Frank and Joe joined their friend. “It's my knife! I had it in the pocket of the pants that were stolen!”
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