The Viking Symbol Mystery (15 page)

“Yes,” Mr. Hardy agreed. “From what they were saying, it was before you left Bayport.”

“Bon tonnerre!”
Caribou boomed. “Those thieves probably are far away by now.”

“If they manage to reach their plane,” Mr. Hardy said, “we'll have a hard job stopping them.”

Joe pulled out the map, and spread it on the ground. “I'd say we're at this spot,” he said, pointing. “There's a lake about three miles away from here.”

“Which would be a logical place for the thieves to keep their float plane,” Frank added. “Maybe they haven't taken off yet.”

“We'll head for the lake then,” said Mr. Hardy. “First, I'll radio Curly Pike and let him know where we're going.”

The five headed back to the spot where they had left their equipment and in a few minutes the short-wave set was operating. Mr. Hardy reached Curly on the first call, and explained what had happened. He also told Curly the route that they planned to follow.

After the detective signed off, everyone took up his gear and the party set out once again. For an hour the searchers made their way through the dense forest, traveling as quickly as possible. Just at dawn they came out of the heavy belt of trees and onto the rim of a saucer-shaped stretch of meadow, about a mile wide.

“Sure looks peaceful,” Joe commented. “No sign of the gang.”

The sun began to rise, casting a rosy light across several huge boulders on the other side of the valley. The glint of water lay just beyond.

“Must be the lake,” said Frank.

Exhausted from lack of sleep, the Hardys and Chet flopped down for another brief rest. Caribou paced back and forth, peering into the meadow.

“Something down there move!” he exclaimed, squinting into the faint light.

His remark brought the others to their feet. They scanned the valley intently. Among the tall grass moved a mass of dark, bulky shapes.

“Only buffalo!” Joe said in disappointment.

As the sun rose higher, the group made its descent into the meadow. They started across it, noticing that the buffalo were moving about restlessly. Some of the animals were grazing peacefully, but the bulls were snorting around the flanks of the herd.

“They probably have our scent,” Frank said.

Suddenly Joe cried out. “Over there! The gang!”

On the opposite side of the valley, a group of men could be seen moving from behind one of the large boulders. They were hurrying toward the water. Suddenly one of the men wheeled around.

“They've spotted us!” Joe said grimly.

“Let's get them!” Frank broke into a run.

“Hold it!” Mr. Hardy warned.

The men across the field had turned and raised their rifles.

“They're going to fire!” Chet shouted.

Three shots rang out, echoing back from the heavy boulders. A second volley followed. The next moment Caribou yelled, “They're stampeding the herd!”

No sooner had he spoken than the Hardys and their friends realized in horror that he was right. The gigantic herd of huge, shaggy buffalo had turned toward them and the beasts were pounding across the flat valley in an enormous dusty wave. The ground shook as hundreds of hoofs thundered toward the five companions. They were by now far out in the open meadow with no protective trees nearby.

“We can't get out of the way!” Joe shouted. “We'll be trampled!”

THE avalanche of wild buffalo thundered on toward the Hardy group.

“Back! Run back for the trees!” Frank shouted desperately. “It's our only chance.”

The five turned and raced for their lives toward the woods.

“Ye-o-ow!”
came a yell of panic from Chet, as he tripped and fell. He lay helpless, one of the straps from his pack tangled around his leg.

Quickly Frank bent down and tugged at the strap, slipping it off. The pounding hoofs of the buffalo grew louder and nearer.

“We'll never make it, Frank!” Chet gasped, as his pal pulled him to his feet.

Suddenly there was another roar louder than that of the rampaging herd. A piercing hum split the morning air as a helicopter came across the trees and over the brow of the hill.

“It's Curly Pike!”
Joe yelled.

The helicopter swooped down and hovered between Frank and Chet and the charging buffalo. Using his stick and rudder skillfully, the pilot brought the chopper into a half turn. The roar of the rotor blades and the thick cloud of dust they raised filled the area.

The dust apparently seemed like a solid wall to the charging beasts, for Frank and Chet heard the snorting animals turn to the left and thunder off in another direction.

Curly followed the buffalo as they ran, moving back and forth behind them like a sheep dog herding his flock. When he had chased the beasts to the other end of the valley, the pilot brought the helicopter back to the group and landed near them. As he jumped out, the five raced over to the aircraft, grinning with relief and gratitude.

“Thanks,” Frank said, arriving first. “You came just in the nick of time!”

“I hate to think what would have happened if you hadn't!” Joe added fervently.

“Yes,” Mr. Hardy said, “you saved our lives.”

“And how!” Chet was still shaking from the narrow escape.

“Merci
,
mon ami!”
Caribou put in. “A million thanks!”

The pilot smiled. “One of the first things you learn up here is never argue with a herd of buffalo. What happened?”

Mr. Hardy explained that the thieves had fired rifleshots into the herd. Then he quickly suggested a plan. “Curly, you take Frank and Joe in the copter and head for the lake to cut off the thieves' escape.”

“Right,” said the pilot. “And I'll radio to the Fort Smith Mounties for reinforcements.”

Caribou and Chet, too, were eager for action. “What's our next move, Mr. Hardy?” Chet asked.

“We'll track the gang on foot,” the detective replied. “If they backtrack, we may be able to capture them.”

The two teams quickly departed on their separate missions. As Mr. Hardy, with Chet and Caribou, moved swiftly across the valley, the helicopter lifted Frank, Joe, and Curly into the air.

“Let's make straight for that lake,” Frank urged. The pilot complied, then radioed the RCMP station, which promised help at once.

A few minutes later the helicopter was hovering over the quiet water. “Look below!” Joe exclaimed. “A float plane! Must be the gang's stolen one!”

Tensely the Hardys and Curly scanned the surrounding area for any sign of the enemy. They could see no one. “We'd better hurry and fix their plane so they can't escape in it,” Frank said. “Suppose I go down and fasten a rope to the plane so we can tow it away.”

“Good idea,” Curly agreed. “The Mounties might not get here before the crooks do.”

He kept the chopper about thirty feet above the water while Frank snapped the lowering harness under his arms. Joe then fastened a hook at the end of the descent wire to the ring in the middle of the harness, and gave a sharp tug to make sure it was secure.

“All set!” Frank said tersely.

Soon Joe was carefully turning the winch and letting his brother down to the float plane. Frank dropped into position on its left pontoon. He unsnapped the hook from his harness and made three quick turns with the cable around one of the float's struts.

He looked up at Curly and signaled. The pilot eased the helicopter forward. While Frank kept a firm grip on the strut, the float plane was towed rapidly across the water.

“That's neat,” said Joe.

Curly built up speed and the plane skimmed toward shore. At the right moment, Frank loosed the half hitch on the strut and the craft's momentum carried it up onto the beach among the trees.

The young sleuth hopped off the pontoon and ran along the shore. He stopped beneath the hovering helicopter and grabbed the lifting wire which dangled from it. In a moment he was being hauled up by the winch.

When he was aboard once more, Joe praised his brother. “Nice going!” As the helicopter gained altitude and headed toward the center of the lake, Joe added, “And not a second too soon! Look!”

The trio spotted a group of men, armed with rifles, standing on the far shore. They were gesticulating frantically and pointing to the spot where they had left the float plane. “The gang!” Frank exclaimed.

Suddenly the thieves caught sight of the helicopter as it swooped toward them.

“Hey! Kelly's there!” Joe cried out as he recognized the pale, thin man. The next moment the outlaws broke and ran for the shelter of the trees.

“They're heading into the forest!” Frank said.

“It won't do them much good,” Curly said, pointing. “Your father, Caribou, and Chet are closing in from that side.”

“They sure are!” Joe said, as he intently watched the three familiar figures encircle the thieves.

Just then those in the helicopter saw three float planes swoop low over the lake. One after another, they splashed onto the surface and taxied toward the beach.

“The Mounties!” Joe yelled. “We really have the gang trapped!”

Curly dropped the helicopter over the sandy beach and set down near the RCMP planes. He and the Hardys hopped out and ran to where Corporal Fergus and his men were snapping handcuffs on the four surly-looking gangsters. Mr. Hardy and the others came up at the same time.

“No escape this time, Kelly,” the corporal was saying to the prisoner.

“Where's the treasure from the Viking ship?” Frank shot the question at the captured thieves.

Kelly glared at him, but indicated three canvas sacks lying near the rifles and packs. “Over there,” he said in a sullen voice.

Mr. Hardy, Caribou, and the boys ran eagerly to the bags and opened them rapidly. Reaching deep into a sack, Chet pulled out a handful of glittering gold coins.

“Wow! Look at these!” he cried.

“And this statue must be worth a fortune!” Frank held up the gold figure of a Viking warrior.

“This is a historical find, as well as a valuable one,” Mr. Hardy said. “It definitely links the exploration of northern Canada to the ancient Norsemen.”

The other three prisoners—Mike, Red, and Fats—were Americans. Fats was the pilot who had made off with the float plane on Great Slave Lake. They were eager to talk, and named Kelly and Dulac as the instigators of all the robberies.

They disclosed that Kelly was his real name, although he sometimes used the alias Jesse Keating. He was the ringleader. A disbarred lawyer from northern Maine, Kelly once had been associated with a law firm in Quebec, where he had handled a case which involved the history of Vikings and rune stones. A Canadian museum was suing a man who had sold a rune stone, which later proved to be a hoax.

While delving into rune stone history, Kelly had uncovered a fragmentary clue to the whereabouts of a treasure buried on the shore of Great Slave Lake by Vikings who had explored inland for hundreds of miles. Thinking that Great Slave Lake was part of an ocean, they had stopped to construct a sturdy ship, only to find that the body of water was a vast lake.

This information had started Kelly on the quest of the treasure, and when he learned of the find which Caron had made, Kelly figured it might contain more specific information about the treasure. His guess had proved to be astute.

But Kelly had been dismayed when he learned through a London confederate that famous Fenton Hardy had been called in on the case. The Bayport venture was to frighten him off, if possible, and to glean more information about rune stones from the excellent collection in Bayport Library.