The Haunted Fort (9 page)

Authors: Franklin W. Dixon

BOOK: The Haunted Fort

12.78Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

The Hardys glanced at the canvasâa landscape in vivid greens, reds, and yellow. Warren kept his brush moving. “Tried that fishing at the north end yet?”

“No.” Frank smiled. “We'll keep it in mind.”

In the garage Frank slid behind the wheel of the luxurious limousine and pulled out into the road above Millwood.

It was late afternoon by the time they reached the fort. There had been no trace of the phony detour sign. Frank parked, and they unlocked the gate, then climbed the hill toward the ramparts. Pausing on the glacis, the boys looked at the map, then at the tracing showing the locations of figures in the pictures.

The actual shape of Senandaga was that of a square with diamond-shaped bastions at the corners of its four ramparts.

Frank pointed to a high, wedge-shaped defensive stonework which stood in front of the ditch. “That must be the demiluneâthe south one. There's another to the west.”

They decided to begin their hunt by checking outside the fort walls and ditch. First, the Hardys walked north along the zigzagging ditch, then to the spot where the wall had fallen. They stopped to examine the rubble.

“Hey!” Joe yelled, pushing aside a rock. Underneath lay a round black object. “An old cannon ball!”

The Hardys wondered: Had it been hurled against the ancient wall to cause the collapse? They surveyed the crenelated walls of blocked stone. Although its soldiers and cannon were long gone, a forbidding, ominous silence seemed to make itself felt around the bastion.

As Frank's eyes passed over the crumbled roofs visible above the walls, he stopped suddenly. “Joe, look!”

Waving atop a flagpole on the southeast ramPart was a white and gold flag!

“It's the flag used by the French before their revolution!” Frank exclaimed, recognizing the pattern of three white lilies. “But it wasn't here the first time we came.”

“One thing is sureâit's no relic,” Joe said. “Mr. Davenport didn't mention anything about a flag.”

They stared at the mysterious banner, recalling the drumbeats they had heard earlier. Who had placed the old French colors over the fort?

Hastily the Hardys continued along the ditch to an area which they had marked on their tracing sheet. They hoped to find some kind of marking or rock formation at the same spots the figures stood in the paintings.

“Over here, a little more to the right,” Joe said, comparing the map and sheet. Frank noticed that freshly churned-up soil surrounded their feet.

“Joe! Somebody's been digging!”

“You're right!” Joe reached down and felt the earth.

“If the treasure was here,” Frank reasoned, “we're out of luck.”

They walked toward the west demilune. But halfway, Joe noticed a pillar of black smoke in the sky. It came from beyond a shadowed promontory to the north of the lake.

“Frank, that looks like a fire!”

“It is. I wonderâJoel It's coming from Millwood!”

CHAPTER XI

The Lake Monster

“WE'VE got to get back!” Frank urged.

The brothers raced down the slope to the parked car and soon were streaking around the lake road leading to Millwood. The column of black smoke swirled higher and they heard sirens.

Reaching the school, Frank wheeled the limousine to the parking area and they jumped out.

“It's the boathouse!” Joe exclaimed.

Waves of intense heat rolled out from the flaming structure. The Hardys ran toward the lakeside, where a crowd watched the firemen fighting the holocaust.

The dock was already lost, and what had been canoes were smoking shells on the bank. Voices echoed as spumes of water played against the blazing boathouse. Suddenly Frank detected a strong oily smell in the air.

“Kerosene!” he said. “This fire must have been set!”

The Hardys spotted Uncle Jim and Chet among the spectators back of a cordoned area near a police car. Chet was glad to see his pals.

“Was anybody hurt?” Frank asked, worried.

“Fortunately, no,” Mr. Kenyon replied. “But our boat area is a complete ruin.”

In an hour the fire had been extinguished. According to a student, the conflagration had apparently broken out suddenlyâon the lake itself.

“Which means somebody poured a kerosene slick on the water and ignited it,” Frank said.

Chet nodded solemnly. “With the wind and floating pieces of burning wood, we're lucky it didn't spread along the whole shore front.”

By now, most of the onlookers had dispersed and the fire trucks and police car were leaving.

The Bayporters surveyed the grim, charred skeleton of the boathouse, wondering who the arsonist could have been, and what his motive was. Another attempt to discourage the Hardys from investigating Fort Senandaga?

“It wasn't Ronnie Rush who set it, anyway,” Chet declared. “He was too busy making fun of my painting.”

The three boys searched the burned wreckage for evidence. They found nothing but a fat, charred cork, smelling of kerosene, bobbing on the waterfront.

“A pretty slim clue,” Joe muttered, stuffing the cork into his pocket. After supper they stopped in with Uncle Jim to see Mr. Davenport. He seemed inconsolable. The school's exhibit was only two days away, and the blackened ruins would detract greatly from the estate's appearance. Joe had an idea.

“We'll begin clearing away the debris first thing tomorrow, and have the lake front in good shape by Senandaga Day.”

Mr. Davenport brightened, and Uncle Jim said, “That would be a big help. At least the lake residents will be able to beach their boats.”

“There's one person I suspect,” the art patron burst out angrily, “who would want to spoil our exhibit. A certain party down the lake.”

The boys assumed he meant Chauncey Gilman, but somehow they could not picture the critic in the role of an arsonist.

The brothers then told the others about the mysterious French flag they had seen at the fort. Mr. Davenport expressed complete bewilderment.

“A flag over Senandaga!” he exclaimed incredulously. “It must be the work of some blamed touristl A trespasser!”

Frank doubted this, saying that even a practical joker might not go to the trouble of climbing the fence.

“Don't tell me a ghost put up that flag,” Chet gulped.

Mr. Davenport shook his head. “You can get to the fort by boat, too.”

The Hardys left him, wondering if the strange incident was part of the puzzle they were trying to solve.

Directly after breakfast the boys plunged into the task of cleaning up the dock site. With axes and wheelbarrows, charred wood was cut up and carted away, as well as burned shrubbery. Up to their waists in water, Frank and Joe hewed down the remaining boathouse supports and dock stakes.

“Whew!” Chet exclaimed as noontime approached. “I feel as though I'd been building a fort.”

Ronnie Rush came up just then and looked on smugly. “Want to help?” Joe asked him.

“My time is too valuable,” Ronnie said, and sauntered off.

“He may not have burned the docks, but he sure burns me up!” Chet muttered.

At last the boys finished their project, having set up bright buoys offshore. After lunch they were summoned to Cedartown Police Headquarters, where the chief handed them a photograph. “Recognize him?”

“The picture and frame thief!” Joe exclaimed.

“His name's Adrian Copier,” the chief informed them, adding that the man had a long criminal record as a thief, especially of art objects. There was no indication of his being an arsonist.

“I wonder if he's the brains behind the thefts at Millwood,” Frank said, “or if he's working for a higher-up.”

The chief shrugged. “Copler seems to be as elusive as he is clever. But I'll keep men on the lookout.”

Back at the school, the boys discussed their future trips to the fort. “The Queen's still laid up and we can't keep borrowing the limousine,” said Frank. “A canoe would be fineâbut the fire took care of that.”

“Guess we'll have to rent a boat,” Joe said.

When Mr. Davenport heard of the boys' quandary, he called them into his study.

“We can't have you detectives grounded,” he said. “How would you like to use a Colonial bateau?”

“A what?” Chet asked.

He smiled. “A bateau was a boat used during the French and Indian campaigns.” Mr. Davenport explained that the wooden craft, resembling a modern dory, had been used by the English as well as the French for carrying supplies and for scouting. The original bateaux were up to forty-five feet long; later, they varied in length.

“Sounds great!” Joe broke in. “But where can we get a bateau?”

“My carpenter, George Ashbach, has a keen interest in historical boats. Out of curiosity, he put together a bateau last year. Doesn't use it much, but I understand it's navigable. I'm sure he'd be glad to let you boys borrow it.”

“Super!” Chet exclaimed.

The elderly Southerner beamed. “Mr. Ashbach will be finishing upâmyâerâjob today. I'll talk to him.”

“Are you building something?” Joe asked.

A devilish gleam sparkled in the patron's eyes. He smiled, but gave no answer.

That evening, as dusk fell, the boys sat on the bank, wondering whether they would hear the eerie drumbeats again.

“I'd like to know if that French flag was lowered at sundown,” Joe commented.

“By the same ghost, maybe,” Frank said, grinning.

Chet was not amused. “Aw, fellows!” He shivered. “Can't we talk about something-er-cheerful ?”

The only sound was lapping water, ruffled by a chilly breeze. Chet glanced out over the lake to the grayish islands, huddled like waiting phantom ships. Dim lights were visible across the water, but to the south, where the fort lay, all was black.

Suddenly Chet stiffened. Out on the water, about fifty yards from where the boys sat, something broke the surface, then disappeared !

Rooted to his place, Chet blinked and looked again, his eyes as big as half dollars.

“What's the matter?” Joe asked. “Do youâ?”

He broke off with a gasp as all three stared in disbelief.

A speck of white showed on the dark water. Then an immense, curved black shadow loomed larger and larger, gliding, waving toward them.

Chet stuttered with fear as the shadow drew near. It had a long neck and a huge glistening head, gaping jaws and long sharp teeth!

CHAPTER XII

A Strange Tomahawk

JUMPING up, Chet screamed. “A sea monster!”

In a burst of foam, the phantasmal creature sank beneath the surface and again emerged, its white eyes gleaming above moving jaws.

Frank and Joe dashed along the bank until they were abreast of the weird figure. It seemed at least thirty feet in length!

“It's a serpent!” Joe cried out.

They watched for the monster to surface. Then a subdued, drawling laugh broke the silence. Chet, terrified, had caught up to the brothers. The three stopped short as two figures emerged from the nearby woods.

“Mr. Davenport!” Joe burst out, recognizing one of them.

“Frank! Joe! Chester!” The art patron grinned. “I reckon I must ask your forgiveness for being victimized by my Crown Lake monster!”

He introduced the tall, lean man with him as Mr. Ashbach, the Cedartown carpenter.

“You mean that thing we just saw was
artificial?”
Joe asked.

The carpenter chuckled. “Joe,” he said, “we had to test it on somebody, and we figured you young detectives were as tough a test as anybody.”

Mr. Davenport nodded. “Now you know what my building project is!”

Still mystified, the boys noticed wires in the men's hands trailing off into the water. They began reeling in and soon the “serpent” broke the surface. A minute later it lay on the shore. The boys walked around the huge object.

Shaped like a brontosaurus with gills, it had been built over a wood-and-wire frame. The “skin” was of inflated rubber, touched in spots with luminous paint. Both the neck and jaws were hinged, and the snouted head had been fitted with two light-bulb eyes and jagged rubber “teeth.”

“It's ingenious!” Frank laughed.

“Thank you.” The millionaire smiled, patting the wet rubber proudly.

Chet kicked a pebble, embarrassed. “Jiminy, do I feel like a goof! But what are you going to do with thisâerâserpent, sir?”

“You boys will see, soon!”

The curious sleuths could learn no more about the redoubtable monster.