Mystery of Smugglers Cove (11 page)

“ Right. ”

The Hardys pushed off with Joe again at the controls. After traveling for about five miles, Frank signaled to his brother to cut the engine.

“The big bend's beginning right here,” he said in an undertone. “We'll have to paddle now.”

They worked their way upstream until they spotted the poachers' boat tied up at the bank. Quietly they fastened their own craft under mangrove branches hanging low over the water, then sneaked through the underbrush. They were guided by the sound of voices to a spot where another large cluster of roots offered them cover.

They saw the poachers sitting around a campfire cooking hamburgers on a grill. The aroma made Joe's nose twitch. “Too bad we can't barge in and say we're backpackers,” he whispered. “Maybe they'd treat us to a couple of burgers!”

“I'd have mine with ketchup,” Frank continued the joke. Then he was serious again. “We'll have to settle for fruit,” he added. “Come on.”

Silently the Hardys retreated farther into the trees. When they were sure the poachers could not hear them, they plucked pieces of fruit from the mangroves and made a meal of them.

By the time the boys crawled back to their hiding place near the camp, night had fallen. The fire threw weird shadows over the area and tongues of flame reflected on the surface of Moss Tributary.

The poachers had finished their meal and began polishing their rifles.

“After shootin' the ‘gators,” Tom said, “we'll bring the skins here and pile 'em in the boat. I reckon it'll hold at least a couple dozen.”

“Good idea,” Fatso agreed. “And that box of ammo will keep us in bullets as long as we need to hunt.”

Frank nudged Joe with his elbow. “We can foul up their plans if we grab the ammo box,” he whispered.

Joe replied in the same undertone, “When they go to sleep, maybe we'll get a chance. ”

Just then Fatso stood up. “I'll find some more wood, he announced and walked directly toward the mangrove where the Hardys were hiding! Both boys hunched down between the roots. Their hearts pounded as they wondered what to do if they were discovered.

However, at the last moment the man turned in a different direction. He had spotted a number of dead branches lying under another tree. Gathering an armful, he returned to the camp and dropped the wood on the fire. It blazed in the darkness of the night.

“I wonder where the Hardys are,” Tom Lami said suddenly.

Startled, Frank and Joe strained their ears to hear the answer.

Fatso threw a stick in the fire. “We ain't seen ‘em since that time in the Bayport Hotel. They musta got scared off the case.”

Lami sounded dubious. “Then who were those two kids who jumped me in the alley in Homestead? It was too dark for me to see ‘em, but they could've been Frank and Joe Hardy.”

“Maybe. But wouldn't we have spotted ‘em on the plane?” Fatso argued. “Those other two kids who tailed us seemed to be out for some kicks. I thought they were just talking through their hats when they mentioned poachers.”

“I'd still feel better if you'd have run ‘em down,” Lami said venomously.

“So would I,” Fatso agreed. “But they got out of the way too fast. ”

“Where are Nitron and Morphy?” one of the men asked.

“Nitron's still working out of Key Blanco,” Tom replied. “As for Morphy, I have no idea where he is. He took off with the picture when he was supposed to see the chief.”

“I'd like to know who this chief guy is,” Fatso put in.

Tom shrugged. “Nobody knows. He leaves written messages at the stone house near here. That's how me and Nitron get our orders. But we never met him.”

Frank and Joe listened with bated breath. Apparently both the smugglers and the poachers had the same boss. But the poachers had no idea that Nitron and his people were in jail on Egret Island! Now the next step for the young detectives was to find the stone house Tom had mentioned.

“Let's hit the sack,” one of the men said. “We have a big day tomorrow. ”

“Good idea,” said another. “I'm beat.”

The gang lay down on the ground and prepared to go to sleep around the smoldering fire. Lami assigned three of them to spell one another on guard duty. The man responsible for the first watch sat with his back against a tree, holding his rifle across his knees. Soon all was quiet.

The Hardys discussed in whispers what to do.

“Let's untie their boat and make it drift downstream,” Joe suggested.

Frank shook his head. “It might get stuck in the mud where the gang can recover it. We'd better drop the ammo box overboard. But we can't as long as the guy with the gun is around.”

Rustling in a mangrove tree caused the guard to get to his feet and walk over for a look. Suddenly an unearthly scream in the branches startled him so much that he dropped his rifle.

A bobcat leaped to the ground, screamed again, then ran off. Muttering angrily to himself, the guard picked up his weapon and resumed his post. He yawned, then began to nod. Finally he fell asleep.

The Hardys heard him snore. Otherwise, there was no sound anywhere in the camp.

“Now's our chance,” Frank whispered.

Quickly he and Joe clambered out from among the mangrove roots. They felt raindrops coming down through the leaves, and distant thunder broke the stillness.

“Hurry up before we get drenched,” Frank muttered as they crept through the undergrowth and circled the camp on their way to the water's edge.

They passed within a few yards of the guard, then stepped into the boat. Cautiously they moved to the stern where the ammunition box was. Each boy took one end of the heavy crate and eased it over the gunwale. Slowly they lowered the box into the water and grinned as it sank to the bottom.

Suddenly a lightning bolt flashed across the sky, lighting up the campsite. In the glare, the Hardys saw that the mud in the bed of Moss Tributary had all but covered the ammunition box.

“It's gone for good!” Frank said triumphantly. “Come on, let's get out of here.”

Stooping low to avoid detection in case the lightning had awakened the poachers, the young detectives scrambled out of the boat.

“I spotted an alligator den earlier,” Joe revealed. “It's almost like a cave. We can go in there for shelter. ”

“Suppose there are ‘gators in it?” Frank asked.

“Let's hope there aren't. They might have left after the gang got here,” Joe said. He led the way to a point in the bank where the giant lizards had made a small cave by gouging out the soft earth. Frank pulled his pencil flashlight from his pocket, leaned over the edge, and directed its beam into the cave. It was empty, and showed no signs that alligators had been there recently.

Relieved, the Hardys crawled into the den, which was just big enough for the two of them. Protected from the storm, they watched the rain turn into a downpour. High winds began to lash the mangroves, while thunder and lightning hurtled across the night sky.

Suddenly they heard footsteps and angry shouting overhead as the poachers took refuge under the mangrove trees.

“They're near enough to touch,” Frank murmured. “I hope they don't find us.”

“So do I,” Joe agreed fervently.

The storm died away just as dawn was breaking. After hearing the poachers move away, the Hardys crawled out of the alligator den and sneaked up to the gang's camp. They saw that the boat had disappeared.

“The storm yanked it loose from the tree!” Tom yelled to his men. “Go find it!”

Fatso shielded his eyes with his hand and peered downstream. “It's stuck in the mud!” he exclaimed. “About a hundred yards from here near the bank.” He ordered two of the men to bring the boat back. They maneuvered it into its old position and tied it to the tree again.

Tom Lami stared in consternation. “Where's the ammo box?”

The gang gathered at the water's edge and looked in dismay at the empty corner where the box had been. Fatso offered a suggestion. “The storm musta knocked it overboard. If we find it, we can salvage the bullets. The box is waterproof.”

He ordered an immediate search of the stream from the camp down to the point where the boat had been found. But one by one the poachers returned to say that they had failed to discover any sign of the box.

“Musta sunk in the mud,” Fatso guessed. “We'll never find it. What do we do now—give up the hunt?”

Lami shook his head. “We've still got loaded rifles. They'll get us a few ‘gators. Let's make tracks for the pool!”

The poachers shouldered their weapons and went through the mangroves in single file with Tom Lami in the lead.

“I'll follow them,” Joe whispered to his brother. “You stay here and see if you can find out where the rangers are.”

“Okay. They probably know where the alligator pool is. Let's hope they'll bring enough men to break up the hunt!”

Joe moved into the mangrove thicket where the poachers had gone, while Frank returned to their skiff. Unhooking the microphone, he called park ranger headquarters.

“Any word on the patrol boats?” he asked eagerly.

“They're close to your area,” the sergeant said. “Just reported in.”

“Do they know where the alligator pool is?”

“Sure. Not far from the big bend of Moss Tributary. Every ranger knows that.”

“That's where the poachers are,” Frank said. “We overheard them when they were talking about it.”

“Good. I'll put a call through to the patrol right now and tell them.” The sergeant hung up, and Frank wondered what to do while he was waiting. He decided to make sure the poachers could not escape if they got away from the rangers. He went back to the camp, picked up a tin cup from among the cooking utensils, scooped water from the stream, and poured it into the gas tank of the poachers' boat.

“That'll ground them,” he told himself.

Then he stared downstream for a glimpse of the patrol. His eyes strayed to the alligator den that had sheltered him and Joe during the storm. A huge lizard glared at him from the hiding spot!

Frank shuddered. I'm glad we didn't have
him
for a roommate last night, he thought. Just then the sound of a motor came from downstream. A small blue outboard with two men inside chugged toward the boy.

They did not look like park rangers, so Frank cautiously ducked into the undergrowth. The blue outboard pulled to a stop behind the poachers' boat. Frank recognized the man at the controls.

“Butch, that boat belongs to Tom Lami,” Morphy called out to his companion. “He and the others must be nearby. Let's wait for them here.”

He stepped ashore followed by a young man with a brown beard. Both sat down under a mangrove tree.

Frank decided to keep an eye on them. I wish the rangers would get here and nab these guys, he thought.

“I'm worried about the Hardys,” Morphy spoke up. “I shouldn't have left that photo of them in Raymond Wester's house. That was a stupid move. But how could I tell he'd hire them instead of having them arrested?”

“True,” Butch agreed. “But why are you worried? You haven't seen them up here, have you?”

“No. But I'm sure they're not sitting in Key Blanco doing nothing!”

“They're looking for the Bolivar portrait,” Butch agreed. “Where is it?”

“I don't know. Lami and Nitron helped me get it, but then I gave it to the chief. ”

Frank was hoping fervently that Morphy would mention the name of the elusive gang leader, but instead Wester's former secretary stood up and started pacing back and forth. “I didn't tell you this,” he said. “But the Hardys broke up Nitron's smuggling racket.”

“What!” Butch was flabbergasted.

“I found out just before we came here. Nitron and his men were arrested on Egret Island!”

“How did it happen?”

“The boys joined his gang pretending to be sailors and sicced the police on him.”

“No wonder you're worried,” Butch said. “So am I. Maybe they're after us now!”

“Well, I doubt they know about the poaching operation, but the chief is sufficiently worried to call a meeting at the stone house north of here. He wants to deal with the men on a one-to-one basis from now on to make sure no snoopers infiltrate the organization again. Also, he wants a contract out on the Hardys, so they can't butt in anymore.”

“Good. I can't wait to get rid of them.”

“Neither can I.”

The two men fell silent. At last Morphy looked at his wristwatch. “There's no telling when Tom and his group'll be back. ”I can't wait any longer. Got to meet the chief. “

“I'll stay here,” Butch offered.

“Good idea. Soon as they show, tell ‘em to come to the stone house. The chief will give 'em their orders.”

Frank's mind was racing. He wanted to follow Morphy to the gang's headquarters, but what about Joe? He decided to leave a message for his brother. He hurried back to their skiff, took his notebook out of a locker, and quickly scribbled, “Joe, follow trail north to endsville. Chief there.”

He placed the note on the bow, laid a paddle over it to keep it from blowing away, and hurried back to where the two men had been talking.

Meanwhile, Butch had retreated into the blue outboard. Morphy was already passing by the dead embers of the fire, and moving in a northerly direction.

Frank circled cautiously around the camp to prevent Butch from seeing him. He made sure to leave a trail of broken branches for Joe to recognize, then he shadowed Morphy into the mangroves.