The Clue of the Screeching Owl (2 page)

“Notice how his back is fully exposed to one of the cats at all times.”

But even as Frank spoke, the snarling black animal upon which the trainer had just turned his back gathered itself and sprang!

“He'll be killed!” shrieked Chet, dropping popcorn, peanuts, and cotton candy to the ground.

Warned by the boy's shout, Colonel Thunder whirled to face the charging beast. With a series of lightninglike whip snaps he drove the snarling cat back to its place.

“Terrific!” declared Chet to a man beside him. “He's good all right,” the stranger agreed. “Had another cat that almost got him, though—big yellow devil. Had to get rid of him finally.”

Spellbound, the boys watched the rest of Colonel Thunder's act, and then continued their journey.

At the end of the afternoon, two hours later, the yellow convertible climbed slowly up a steep dirt road with high, dark woods on either side.

“I think we're going in the right direction, Frank said. ”But we'd better check. There's a house.”

The bright-yellow car came to a stop before a weather-beaten clapboard building with a wooden picket fence in front. The place was silent.

“Seems deserted,” Joe commented, looking around.

As the three approached the gate, however, Frank suddenly pointed to a path among the trees at the side of the house.

“Here's somebody!”

A thin, worried-looking woman emerged from the woods dragging a boy about seven years old by the hand. He was crying vigorously. When she saw the Hardys and Chet, she called out, “Hello there! I'm Mrs. Thompson. Can I help you?”

“Yes, thank you,” Frank answered. “Is this Rim Road? We're looking for Captain Maguire's place.”

The woman, who wore a faded but neat cotton dress, came closer and looked intently into the boys' faces.

“Maguire? Straight up to the top of the road. He lives in the last house—right on the edge of Black Hollow.” As she answered, Mrs. Thompson gave the boys another searching look.

Chet had turned toward the child, who was still weeping. “Poor boy,” he said sympathetically. “Mind if I give him a candy bar, Mrs. Thompson?”

“Go ahead. Won't do any good, though. His dog disappeared last night, and nothing anybody can do is goin' to make him feel any better.”

“That's a shame,” said Chet. “Maybe if we keep an eye out, we'll see it, Mrs. Thompson. What kind of dog?”

“Little brown critter,” she answered. “He's got one white ear, and a collar, and a tag with his name, Skippy, on it.”

“We'll look for him.” As the boys turned to go, they heard the woman say sternly, “Bobby, you stop a-wailin' and get on in the house, now.” Then she called to the boys:

“Wait!”

Surprised, the three turned back. Mrs. Thompson came to the gate and began to speak in a low, intense voice.

“You seem like such nice boys I just had to tell you something. Don't go near Black Hollow!”

“But why not, Mrs. Thompson?” asked Frank.

“It's haunted—by the hex. Witch, I s'pose you'd call her. Two hundred years ago there was a pretty young woman around here that got to be a hex. She put spells on the dogs, and they disappeared and died. Then, by and by, people started to sicken and die, too.”

“But couldn't they do anything about her?” asked Chet with unbelieving eyes.

“They tried to. They caught her and thought she'd stop castin' her spells. But she just stayed scornful and silent. One day she got away and vanished down in the hollow. But at night she used to come up and roam around, and dry up cows, and kill dogs, and at dawn folks would see her going back down into the hollow. Then one night came an awful, terrible screaming from the hollow. In the morning, when some brave men went down, there was a great scorched hole in the earth!”

“W-w-what happened?” asked Chet.

“Folks figured that Satan, the devil himself, came and got the witch and dragged her down to the center of the earth!

“Then,” added the woman, emphasizing her words, “a hundred years later, dogs started disappearin' again. They heard the hex screamin' at night in the hollow. Soon it all stopped again. But, now listen, boys. Another hundred years have gone by. The dogs are disappearin' again.
And at night we hear the witch screamin' in Black Hollow!”

Peering at the trio closely, the woman saw that Chet Morton looked white. But in the eyes of Frank and Joe Hardy there was only a twinkle of amusement and disbelief.

Abruptly the woman shrugged her shoulders. “Don't say I didn't warn you!” With that, she turned and went into the house.

CHAPTER II

“BOY, that woman gave me the creeps.” Chet shuddered, as the car ground up the hill in low gear.

“Relax,” Joe told him. “You said yourself that people don't believe in that hex stuff any more.”

“I don't know—around here they might,” Chet continued in a worried voice. “All these thick woods, and hardly any houses. Do you suppose she's just making it up? After all, somebody—or something—must have taken Bobby's dog!”

Joe chuckled. “That's how these stories get started,” he explained unconcernedly. “Something mysterious happens, and instead of looking for a sensible explanation, superstitious people think of spells and witches right away.”

“I don't know,” Frank put in thoughtfully.

“There's the screaming, Joe. Mrs. Thompson wouldn't have told us about that if she hadn't heard it herself.”

A freshly painted R. F. D. mailbox, with the name T. MAGUIRE carefully printed on it, was the first thing the boys saw when they reached the top of the hill.

Beyond was a small grassy clearing. Both sides were bordered by woods made up of thickly leaved hardwoods and darker hemlock and spruce trees. A neat rustic cabin, built of stripped logs chinked with white mortar, stood to their right. The polished headlights and radiator of an old-model automobile peeped from behind the little building.

“That's Captain Maguire's car, all right.” Joe laughed. “It's fifteen years old, but he keeps it looking like new—just the way I saw it last.”

The Hardys and Chet found, to their astonishment, that just beyond the rear of the house the ground dropped off into space. The lush grass gave way to smooth gray rock that fell steeply and disappeared in the tangled woods of a deep, cup-shaped valley below. For miles, the lip of rock curved around in a huge circle like the rim of a great bowl, broken here and there by a strip of green indicating a trail into the valley.

“This must be Black Hollow,” Frank said quietly. “Funny, even the trees down there look black, though it's still daylight.”

“Well, what do you say we get settled?” Joe suggested cheerfully. “Strange that Captain Maguire hasn't come out to meet us. Oh, Captain Maguire!” he shouted toward the cabin. “It's Frank and Joe Hardy! We've arrived!”

But the trim little house and the woods around it remained silent. Since they had written the captain to say they were coming, the boys were surprised. They mounted the porch and knocked at the cabin door.

“No answer,” said Joe, perplexed. “May as well try the door.”

It was unlocked, so the visitors entered. They found themselves in a small, but neat and comfortable room, with a narrow bunk on one side. There was no sign of the captain. Chet Morton, venturing into the little kitchen beyond, suddenly called out.

“Whoops! A fellow could go swimming in here!”

Frank and Joe raced in. Their friend was standing in a large pool of water on the floor. Otherwise, the kitchen was spick and span: the pots on the walls gleamed; the curtains were spotless. Everything was in its proper place.

Joe could not help chuckling. “Water on the floor? That's surprising. Captain Maguire's a tidier housekeeper than some women.”

“Well, there's a leak in his plumbing somewhere,” Chet complained ruefully. “My brand-new moccasins will be soaked! And this water's
cold.”

“That's because it's ice water, Chet.” Frank stooped down before an old-fashioned icebox in one corner. He drew from underneath it a basin so full that the water was constantly overflowing to add to the pool on the floor.

Chet grinned. “An old-time refrigerator,” Frank explained briefly. “The cake of ice inside melts, and the water has to go some place. Well, I'd drill a hole through the floor.”

Joe frowned. “I wonder why Captain Maguire didn't empty this!” He picked up the basin and poured the water in the sink.

Frank nodded. “It's strange. The captain hates a mess. He'd be sure to come back and empty the icebox's pan—unless something unexpected detained him!”

“The bunk's unmade, too,” Joe observed thoughtfully. “That's not like him, either.”

“It looks as if Captain Maguire left in a hurry,” Chet summed up.

Suddenly apprehensive, the boys hurried out into the clearing again. Striding to the rim of the hollow, Frank cupped his hands and shouted:

“Cap-tain Maguire! Cap-tain Ma-guire!”

The boys strained to listen, but no answering sound came up from the dark hollow, not even an echo.

“We'll have to look for him,” determined Frank. “He may be nearby, injured. I'll take the woods on this side of the cabin. Joe, you and Chet comb the other side. Keep calling for him while you search!”

Accordingly, Joe and Chet plunged into the woods together. The big trees which blocked the twilight choked much of the undergrowth, making the going easy. Gradually they ceased to hear Frank's calls. The shadow under the trees deepened to dusky gloom. In another half hour it would be dark.

“It's almost night,” observed Chet. “My stomach tells me it's long after suppertime and we aren't getting anywhere here. Let's go back!”

When they reached the clearing again, Joe called his brother. No answer came.

“Oh-h,” moaned Chet in despair. “First no Captain Maguire. Now Frank's gone too.”

“Hush!” Joe stopped him. “What's that?”

By now it was almost fully dark in the clearing. From the woods came a crackling sound of something moving.

“Joe? Chet?” came a familiar voice that caused Chet to sigh with relief. In a moment Frank had rejoined them.

“No sign of the captain,” he reported briefly. “I did find a trail down into the hollow, though, and went along it a good way. That's what took so long. But I didn't see any trace of him there, either.”

“It's a real mystery,” agreed Joe, shaking his head. “But we've solved a few tough ones before —like the
Mystery of the Desert Giant.
Let's get our gear inside. We can't do anything more out here.”

Soon the delicious aroma of frying ham and baked beans filled the tiny cabin. While Chet Morton tucked away a few extra helpings of each, Frank and Joe sat with him at the kitchen table and discussed the Maguire situation.

“The door wasn't locked and his car is in the yard,” mused Frank. “That leaves a couple of possibilities.”

“Yes. Either somebody else drove him, or he walked,” Joe deduced. “Now why would he walk? Perhaps because he was going somewhere his car couldn't go.”

“Into the hollow!” Frank exclaimed. “I was thinking that myself.”

At this moment Chet Morton finished his supper. “Look, fellows,” he volunteered, “I know how absorbed you two get in mysteries, so I'll wash the dishes while you look for clues, but on one condition.”

“What's that, Chet?”

“You two get me some firewood for the stove.”

“It's a deal!” The brothers laughed, and went outdoors to the captain's woodpile. They soon returned with armloads of kindling.

While Chet worked the hand pump to get some water, the two young detectives started their search for clues.

“Here's something,” called Joe from the living room. “I believe there's a shotgun or rifle missing from the captain's gunrack! It has one empty space.”

Frank had found something he thought was even more significant in the drawer of the kitchen table.

“Come here, Joe,” he urged. The blond-haired boy found his brother poring over an ordinary kitchen calendar showing the dates for the previous two months.

“On certain days,” Frank explained, “Captain Maguire has written the name of a breed of dog, and the name of an owner. See this one for June 10. ‘Border terrier. J. Brewer, owner.' ”

“You're right,” admitted Joe, taking up the calendar. “But wait! On some dates there's another notation, ‘She screamed.' ”

“Screamed!” repeated Chet, who was washing the dishes. “Who screamed? The witch? Oh, great! I'd forgotten all about her! Did Captain Maguire hear her, too?”

“Could be, Chet,” Frank answered seriously. “And the notations about the dogs—according to the story, the witch was a dog-killer, remember?”

“Say, what about that kid, Bobby Thompson, who was crying?” Chet broke in. “Is his name down there?”

Quickly Frank checked. “No, and that happened only last night. I wonder if that means Captain Maguire wasn't here last night and maybe all of today?”

“Possibly,” Joe answered. “My hunch is that this witch-and-dog business was what Captain Maguire wanted to see Dad about!”

“Could be,” Frank agreed. “And I'm afraid he's met with trouble. We'll start a search for him tomorrow as soon as it's light enough.”

“Which means we'd better turn in and get some sleep.” Chet yawned. “Well, fellows, shall we flip coins to see who gets the bunk?”