The Short-Wave Mystery (16 page)

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Authors: Franklin W. Dixon

BOOK: The Short-Wave Mystery
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“You really like 'em?” The boy's face beamed. “I'm sure glad! I figured hunting knives would come in handy up there in the woods.”
Soon after the Gordons left, Frank and Joe gave Aunt Gertrude a final hug and set off for the airport with their father. Their route included Toronto, then over a vast, lonely, region, splashed with lakes and carpeted with spruce.
The plane landed briefly at Sudbury, where the boys glimpsed the white domes of a radar station standing out against the night sky. Two hours after leaving Toronto, they set down near the rugged mining town of Timmins.
They registered at a hotel for the night and arranged by telephone for a bush pilot to fly them on to Lake Okemow. At daybreak the two sleuths were up and breakfasting on a hearty meal of Canadian bacon, eggs, and fried potatoes. Then they taxied off in a four-seater amphibian.
The flight proved to be bumpy. Below lay a dense wilderness of black spruce, poplar, birch, and tamarack. Glittering lakes and snakelike streams slashed the forest. Farther north came barren patches, frosted white with snow. Then again they were flying over heavy timber.
“Here we are!” the pilot said at last. He brought the plane down to a choppy landing on the not-yet-frozen lake and taxied to a wooden pier. On the shore lay the stout log hunting lodge. Smoke feathered from its chimney.
A biting wind clawed at their faces as a bearded, red-haired man in a plaid Mackinaw came crunching across the snow to meet them.
“Bonjour!”
he boomed. “I was not expecting guests, but welcome to my lodge!”
“We're the Hardy boys,” Frank said as they shook hands. “I'm Frank and this is my brother Joe. I talked to you on the radio. Remember?”
“Ah,
mais oui!
And I am Jacques Lachine!” He bellowed an order, and a big, dark-skinned man came out to get the boys' duffel bags.
As Lachine led the way to the lodge, he remarked that guests were usually few at this time of year but that business suddenly appeared to have picked up. “First, M‘sieu Afron comes on Wednesday. Now you two, and today I hear by radio another gentleman will arrive tomorrow from New York, a M'sieu Ardmore.”
The boys looked at each other but said nothing until they were alone in their room at the lodge. Then Joe said, “Did you get that name Ardmore?”
Frank nodded thoughtfully. “I sure did. Sort of close to ‘Aardvark,' isn't it?” Both wondered if they had made a mistake about Afron being the leader of the gang.
As they ate lunch in front of a roaring fire, Lachine reported that there was still no news of Afron. Frank explained that they had come expressly to help search for him and would like to make a trip upriver to look for clues.
Lachine shook his head doubtfully. “The weather looks bad,
mes amis,
but if you insist upon going, my man René will be your guide.”
Within an hour after the meal, the boys had loaded their duffel bags into a canoe and were pushing off, up the mouth of the nearby river, into the wilderness. René, the dark-skinned man, rowed astern while Frank and Joe took turns wielding the bow paddle.
On both sides of them lay a dense forest of towering evergreens. Ice was forming along the banks, which in places were strewn with rugged boulders or rose in steep, rocky upthrusts.
As the afternoon wore on, the wind grew stronger and more bitter. Dark clouds closed in from the northwest. René muttered, “The snow, she come soon, I think.”
The first flakes came in gusts but gradually the storm increased to a howling blizzard. Soon after dark the trio reached the clearing where Afron had planned to camp.
René beached the canoe against the hilly bank. He ordered the boys to go ahead while he unloaded the camping gear. Shouldering their duffel bags, Frank and Joe clambered up the slope.
There were signs that the spot had been used as a frequent campsite by hunting and fishing parties. The two boys selected a sheltered spot close to the trees and began looking for firewood. Minutes went by.
“Wonder what's keeping René,” Joe said.
In the snowy darkness it was difficult to see more than a few yards. Puzzled by the guide's delay, the Hardys made their way back toward the shore to see if he was having trouble.
Frank was the first to reach the riverbank. His eyes widened in dismay as he peered all around. “Joe!” he gasped. “The canoe's gone!”
CHAPTER XX
The Right Spots
THE boys were thunderstruck to find themselves alone on the night-shrouded, icy shore.
“You don't suppose René got swept downriver somehow while he was unloading?” Joe faltered.
“Not a chance! He had the canoe too well beached,” Frank said.
The Hardys shouted the guide's name frantically, but knew their voices could not carry far in the shrieking blizzard. Bit by bit the realization grew that they had been deserted!
“Either René's in cahoots with Afron,” Frank said bitterly, “or he and Lachine both are.”
Joe nodded. “Now we know why Afron used the lodge for drumming up spy-ring victims.”
“Also why he came here to hide from the law!”
The boys debated whether to try trekking back downriver. For long stretches the banks were impossible to negotiate on foot, yet once out of sight of the stream they might quickly become lost! Without food or matches, their plight seemed desperate.
“Wait a second!” Joe exclaimed. “We're forgetting about Dad's transceiver! Maybe we can call some ham in this area for help!”
Frank hesitated, then shook his head. “Too risky. Don't forget, Lachine's on the air every night. If he heard our call, he and René might come back and hunt us down.”
Joe paced back and forth, swinging his arms to keep warm. “What about the life raft? Think we could make it downriver on that?”
Frank weighed the odds. “The river's freezing fast. If we hit any ice, we'd be goners.”
On the other hand, the boys thought any move seemed preferable to staying where they were. If they returned to Lake Okemow, they might be able to filch supplies from the lodge until some form of help arrived from the outside.
“Okay. Let's try it!” Frank said.
Joe inflated the raft with a CO
2
cartridge while Frank cut tree boughs to use as sweeps. Taking only blankets, a flashlight, and the transceiver, they pushed off downriver.
Almost at once the raft was seized in the fast current. The Hardys worked frantically, fending off jagged ice and trying to control their frail bark. The wind stung their faces as they steered into the swirling blizzard. At times the curving river put the wind cross-stream, threatening to beach or capsize the raft.
The snow-filled darkness increased their danger, making it hard to see obstructions or changes in course. Numb with cold, Frank and Joe continued on doggedly.
Hours went by, and the boys had lost all track of time, when at last the wilderness seemed to open and they found themselves approaching the river mouth. Poling their craft ashore, the Hardys flopped exhausted on the riverbank.
Not far away lay the lodge, its windows aglow with light. After hiding their raft, the boys crept up to the building and peered inside.
Lachine, René, and three other men were seated comfortably around the fireplace. They were talking and laughing as they drank mugs of steaming coffee. Frank and Joe identified Lachine's “guests” almost at once. The biggest one, blond and pug-nosed, was undoubtedly Afron. The other two were the auction thieves!
“Those dirty rats!” Joe mumbled. “And they think we're freezing to death out in the woods!”
The lodge's radio gear was in plain view.
“Keep watch and tell me if Lachine goes on the air!” Frank hissed. He squatted down in the snow and hoisted the transceiver antenna.
Within minutes he succeeded in contacting a ham at Moose Factory. He hastily explained the situation. The ham, who was outraged to hear of Lachine's treachery, soon reported back that a plane would take off from the island post as soon as the weather abated.
“Looks as if this blizzard could keep up till morning,” Joe muttered.
“We'll be lucky if it stops then,” Frank said.
A lean-to storage shed adjoined the lodge. To evade the bone-chilling wind, the boys decided to take shelter inside until daybreak. Wrapped in their blankets, they settled down against a pile of logs. Soon both were nodding.
Frank awoke with a start hours later. Daylight was showing through chinks in the shed. Steps came crunching closer in the snow outside.
Frank jerked wide awake. He shook his brother. A hand fumbled at the latch outside, then the door creaked open. The dark face of René, the guide, gaped in astonishment at the two boys.
Frank sprang at the man before he could cry out. Joe seized his leg and the burly guide flopped backward into the snow. But there was no chance to clap a hand over his mouth. René bellowed like a wounded ox.
The man was tremendously powerful. He shook off the two youths easily. One swipe of his huge fist sent Frank spinning into a snowbank. By this time, Lachine and the two auction thieves were running from the lodge. René stunned Joe with a blow, then grabbed him in a crushing bear hug. The others overpowered Frank.
“So,
mes enfants!”
Lachine leered at the two boys. “You prefer us to deal with you here, instead of dying in the wilderness, eh?”
The men were dragging Frank and Joe toward the lodge entrance when Nils Afron came striding out. He grinned in vicious satisfaction.
“So the brats got back alive. Now we'll make 'em pay for causing us so much trouble!”
“You're the ones in trouble!” Joe flared back. “Soapy Moran's in jail and Zetter soon will be. We know all about your racket!”
Afron sneered. “That won't help you boys.”
The baldheaded thug muttered angrily, “I knew it was a mistake hiring Moran to spy on them. That cheap con artist had to put us all in danger for a measly ten-buck swindle!”
“It wasn't Moran who blew the whistle on us,” his fat partner said. “We'd still be tuning in on Lektrex if these kids hadn't traced the bug!”
“Forget it!” Afron snapped. “Our Philly crew and the West Coast crew haven't been nabbed yet. We'll all be back in business before long.”
At the droning sound of an approaching plane, Afron and his henchmen turned their heads skyward. An amphibian was swooping down toward the lake! Lachine gasped.
“Sacrebleu!
M'sieu Ardmore arrive, I think!”
Frank and Joe took advantage of the distraction. They jerked free from their captors and dashed into the woods. Afron and his men pursued them as the Hardys dodged through the trees, toward the lake.
Meanwhile, the plane landed and taxied to the pier. A tall, broad-shouldered man leaped out, followed by two Mounties in parkas.
Glancing back, Frank saw Lachine's face go ashen with fear. His panic-stricken pals scattered, but the loud crack of revolver shots brought them to a frightened halt.
In minutes Afron, Lachine, René, and the two gangsters were lined up in front of the lodge, their hands raised in surrender.
“Dad!” Joe gasped as the tall man embraced his two sons. “Don't tell me you were Ardmore?”
The grinning detective nodded. “I thought you two might need some help in smoking out Afron, but it seems you've already done it alone.”
Mr. Hardy explained that the blizzard had threatened to delay his arrival Nevertheless, he had contacted the Mounties on landing at Timmins. After hearing of his sons' call for help, he had managed to find a bush pilot willing to fly him to Moose Factory.
All five prisoners were taken to the Mountie post. Lachine and René were charged with plotting the Hardy boys' deaths. Afron and his two men were held for extradition to the United States.
Not until Sunday afternoon were the Hardys able to take off from Moose Factory. A Mounted Police officer told them Afron had seized a jailer's gun and tried to escape, but had been unsuccessful.
“Dangerous as a snake, that fellow,” the Mountie commented. “He boasted he'd been in too many tight spots to be taken by any backwoods cops. But this is one spot he won't leave without wearing handcuffs.”
Frank was thoughtful on the flight to Timmins.
“What's on your mind?” Joe asked, curious.
“I'm just thinking about what that Mountie told us, and what Jimmy's uncle told
him.”
Joe stared at his brother. Suddenly his eyes lit up. “Wow! If you're right, Frank, Batter's treasure was right under our noses!”
Mr. Hardy listened keenly as the boys explained. “It's a clever hunch,” he agreed.
Early Monday afternoon they arrived in Bayport. Frank made two quick telephone calls.
“Mrs. Batter sold the house Saturday,” he reported. “She's there now, clearing out the last few items so the new owner can move in.”
“What about Jimmy?” Joe asked.
“We can pick him up at school.”
Joe chuckled. “Let's get Chet, too. He has a right to see the end of this.”
Later, as the three Hardys, Jimmy, and Chet drove up to the former Batter estate, they saw Mrs. Batter near the garage. She was adding several items to a pile of trash and furniture.
“Well!” she said coldly. “I hear you caught those thieves.”
“Yes,” said Frank. “I'm sorry we never did get back your animals.”
Mrs. Batter sniffed. “No matter. I may as well tell you, my husband hinted he'd hidden something valuable in the house—but I'm sure now it was just talk. That was Elias all over!”

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