The Haunted Fort (10 page)

“A sea monster!” Chet screamed

The Hardys arranged with Mr. Ashbach to pick up the bateau at his shop the next day.

Later, walking back to their room, Chet was preoccupied with Mr. Davenport's lake serpent. “I bet he's going to give rides on it!” Chet guessed finally.

Joe grinned. “Beats me.”

After breakfast the next morning the Bayporters found the school grounds a beehive of activity. Uncle Jim and the students were busy getting the pictures in final shape for Saturday's exhibit.

Hurriedly the Hardys and Chet tidied up their quarters. Frank's mind kept turning over an idea which had been growing steadily. “Maybe it's a wild one, but—” Suddenly he dashed from the room. “Come on, fellows!”

Mystified, Joe and Chet followed him across the grounds to the Davenport mansion. The door was open. Frank led the way upstairs to the musty attic alcove. Joe was excited. What inspiration had struck his brother so forcibly?

Frank lifted the fort painting carefully onto the table. Chet wore an expression of utter perplexity as Frank pointed to the date on the back of the canvas. “This was the last picture Jason Davenport did. I think that's why the style is so different—he knew he was going to die.”

“I get it!” Joe exclaimed excitedly. “He must have left the clue in this picture, knowing he'd never have a chance to get the treasure himself,” Joe guessed.

“Right.” Frank now indicated the specklike daubs on the canvas. “Let's study them from a distance.”

Frank set the painting against an opposite wall. At first the boys noticed nothing unusual. Then they were startled to see, out of gray and yellowish dabs, a design taking shape in the corner!

“The treasure clue!” Chet whooped.

The image seemed to lose itself as they stepped closer, then to reappear when they stood back.

“There must be a similar marking somewhere inside the fort!” Joe exclaimed.

The boys then noticed hat the tomahawk handle had small notches, and wondered what these meant.

“The main thing is to keep this a close secret,” Frank cautioned.

When they showed Mr. Davenport their discovery, he congratulated the boys heartily.

“It was Frank's brainstorm,” Joe said.

The art patron looked at the painting. “I should have known Jason had a special reason for using that strange style.”

The millionaire, too, was puzzled by the notched tomahawk.

“Did Indians fight at Senandaga?” Frank asked.

“They were involved in the Crown Lake campaigns,” Davenport replied, “but it's not known whether they played a major role at the fort itself. I've studied the battle for years, but there always seems to be a piece missing.”

The boys wondered if the chain-entwined tomahawk had any relation to the mysterious fort conflict?

“We've got to get inside Senandaga,” Joe declared.

The boys hurried to tell Uncle Jim the good news, and their plan to search the fort that evening. Chet then excused himself to work on his painting. The boys were about to part when the French sculptor came running over. He carried three pamphlets.

“Bonjour!”
he cried. “I hear you will use a bateau. Wonderful! A fine boat it is, used by le Marquis de Chambord. Here, my friends, these for you !”

He handed each boy a pamphlet. The title was
The Final French Victory at Fort du Lac.

Follette pounded his chest proudly. “This I wrote to give the true account of this battle. Read it.
Au revoir!”

Joe chuckled. “The second ‘true' story of Seriandaga.”

After the Hardys left for Mr. Ashbach's shop, Chet worked feverishly on his painting, even forgetting to eat lunch. By midafternoon the chunky boy realized he was ravenous and went to the house for a snack.

As Chet came outside he heard a horn beep urgently. He looked up in astonishment. A car, with a trailer bouncing behind it, was pulling into the lot. On the trailer sat an unusual-looking gray boat, flat-bottomed and tapered at both ends.

The car stopped and Frank and Joe hopped out. As Chet hurried over, Joe grinned. “Behold the bateau!”

“You sure she's seaworthy?” Chet asked, cocking his head.

“Indeed she is,” came a deep voice as the carpenter, Mr. Ashbach, got out of the car.

He and the boys hauled the old-fashioned craft down to the lake and beached it a short distance from the water. The young detectives thanked Mr. Ashbach, who wished them luck and left.

Chet now studied the bateau curiously, noting its overlapping board construction. He asked about a pair of long poles lying in the bottom beside the paddles.

“The poles are used in shallow water,” Frank explained.

As soon as dusk fell, the boys eagerly launched the bateau and clambered in. Jim Kenyon came to see them off. “Be careful,” he warned. “Weather doesn't look good.”

Heavy dark clouds shrouded the lake and the wind was rising, but the boys were undaunted. Chet was in the middle seat while Frank stood in the rear and Joe in the bow. Plying the poles, the Hardys got the Colonial craft under way.

“Wow, this is smooth!” Chet said. “How long is she?”

“Fifteen feet,” Joe answered, “and four wide.”

The brothers at first had trouble but soon were poling in rhythm. They were amazed at the ease with which the bateau could be moved.

With the strong wind at their backs, they passed several islands. The darkening sky remained overcast and few private boats were out. “Hope the rain holds off for Senandaga Day tomorrow,” Chet said anxiously.

Joe grinned. “You can always put an umbrella over your painting.”

Reaching deeper water, the Hardys switched to paddles. Presently they approached the cable-ferry dock on the west shore.

The passenger barge was just pulling out. There was only one car aboard. The boys could barely see the cables stretching taut, reaching into the water.

The wind was now lashing the lake into a mass of whitecaps.

“It won't be any picnic returning against this gale,” Joe remarked, as they paddled abreast of the chugging ferry. Its tugboat pilot waved to them from the lighted cabin.

Suddenly they saw him spin the steering wheel frantically, then race out onto the passenger barge.

“Something's wrong!” Joe exclaimed. The three boys leaped to their feet. Frank looked back at the dock and saw two metal strands lying slack on the choppy surface!

“The cables have broken!” he cried out.

The pilot had dashed to the rear of the pitching barge. Suddenly he staggered in a terrific blast of wind and toppled overboard!

Horrified, the boys watched the ferry veer wildly off course!

THE ferry drifted aimlessly on the storm-tossed lake past the dock, while its pilot was struggling to keep afloat. Paddling strenuously, the Hardys swung about to the rescue.

Swiftly the bateau closed the gap. The ferry passengers, two women, huddled panic-stricken in their car.

“You fellows get the pilot!” Frank said, flipping his paddle to Chet. “I'm going for the boat.”

In a flash he was overboard and swimming through the choppy waves. Finally he managed to grasp the end of the ferry barge and pull himself aboard. Frank ran past the car, tore into the pilot's cabin of the tug, and spun the wheel hard to the left.

He realized cutting the motor would be dangerous, since the heavy craft would only drift farther. Determinedly, he steered against the strong current.

At first it seemed useless. Then, slowly, the ferry backed toward the cable area, where Frank swung her to the right and headed for the far dock.

Just before reaching it, Frank cut the engine. Three men quickly secured the ferry and raced into the pilot's cabin.

“Young fellow—we can't thank you enough!” one of them said to Frank. “There could have been a tragic accident.”

The women, shaken and pale, added their praise, then were helped ashore.

Frank peered worriedly out over the wind-driven water. To his relief he saw the bateau, with Joe and Chet paddling and the pilot safely aboard, plowing crosscurrent. When they pulled in, all three boys were warmly congratulated.

“Your presence of mind saved us all!” the pilot said gratefully.

Trying to determine what had happened, two of the dockworkers began reeling in the cable sections attached to the pier.

“How could they have broken so suddenly?” Chet asked, as the ends of the cables came to view. To everyone's astonishment, there was no sign of fraying.

“The cables were cut!” Joe cried out.

The pilot and dockers agreed. They said that the ferry had run for years without a cable breakdown. “I'm afraid,” said the pilot, “it'll be some time before we're able to repair the damage.”

After local authorities had been notified, the pilot insisted on driving the boys back to Millwood. He located a boat trailer on which to tow the bateau.

During the trip they discussed the accident. Who could have cut the ferry cables? Was there any connection between this, the art thefts, and the other strange occurrences?

“It'll probably cut down the turnout at our exhibit tomorrow.” Chet sighed gloomily.

“It sure didn't help our treasure search,” Joe murmured.

Once back in their room, and after a hot shower, the boys felt less despondent. Frank suggested that he and Joe offer to act as guides at Senandaga. “It'll give us a chance to look around inside the fort, ' he added.

They consulted with Uncle Jim, who was shocked to learn of the ferry mishap. He readily agreed to the Hardys' proposal and was sure Mr. Davenport would concur.

The exhausted sleuths then went to bed. “At least,” thought Chet in satisfaction as he dozed off, “my painting is ready.”

When Joe woke the next morning he hopped to the window. “The sun's out!” he exclaimed. “Wake up, fellows!”

After breakfast the Hardys wished Chet luck as he hurried off with his painting. The entire school grounds were devoted to the display. Some students hung their watercolors and oils on a long wooden backing sheltered by a red-striped awning. Other paintings stood on easels scattered about the lawn. The sculpture entries were displayed on several long benches near the judges' table.

Meanwhile, the Hardys were ready to tackle their job at the fort. They had decided to go in the bateau. Heading for the lake, they met Mr. Davenport, dressed impeccably in a white summer suit. He was in good spirits.

“Happy Senandaga Day, boys!” he drawled. “Great idea you two being guides.” Frowning slightly, he cautioned them to admit the tourists only in groups and to keep them at the ground level of the fort ruins.

“Safer that way,” he said. “Also, less chance for someone to sneak off alone and look for the treasure.”

“We'll do our best,” Frank promised.

Soon the brothers were paddling downlake in the bateau. They passed several canoes and motor-boats heading in the direction of Millwood. “Looks as if the ferry accident may not affect attendance too much,” Joe said.

Rounding the promontory, the Hardys looked up at the flagpole over the sprawling, gray fortress. They could not believe their eyes. A banner fluttered from the staff, but this one bore three crosses, two red and one white on a field of blue.

“It's the British Union Jack!” Frank exclaimed.

Quickly the boys poled into a cove at the foot of the fort and beached their craft. They scrambled up a steep path and made their way around to the moss-covered entrance passageway in the north wall.