The Stone Idol (5 page)

The Hardys gratefully accepted the invitation. Ata Copac got in the car with them and showed Frank where to drive. The hut was a one-story building with a table, a couple of chairs, and several canvas cots. Blankets were piled on the cots.

“I think you will be comfortable here,” the village leader declared. “Tonight we celebrate one of our holidays. Perhaps you will join us?”

“We sure will!” The boys grinned.

When they stepped outside, night had fallen and torches shone in a field just behind the hut. The villagers were piling up logs in the middle of the field. When they finished, they lit the kindling and an enormous bonfire roared up through the logs.

Women began to roast meat over the fire, and the rest of the feast came from jars of corn, peas, and potatoes. The natives filed past, plate in hand, to get their share of the food.

“Chet should be here,” Frank said to Joe. He was referring to their best friend, Chet Morton, who liked eating better than anything in the world.

Frank chuckled. “You're right. Chet could devour all this food by himself. ”

Ata Copac and the Hardys sat down at one end of a long table set up in the field and pitched into their dinner with gusto.

Afterward, the Indians performed on drums and wind instruments. Frank and Joe found the music strange at first, but after a while began to appreciate the rhythmic beat.

“We could play these numbers at high school graduation,” Frank said jokingly.

“And we could cut a disc for our stereo,” Joe quipped, “except that we don't have a sound stage. I'd like to have a go at those drums!”

“So would I. They're as good as the ones we have at school. ”

Frank and Joe were in the band at Bayport High. They usually played guitars, but they recently doubled on the drums.

Ata Copac put his arms around the Hardys' shoulders. “Oh, please give us a demonstration!”

Then he translated for the villagers. Many voices called out to the boys.

“They want you to play for them,” Ata Copac interpreted.

“Okay, let's go, Joe,” Frank said. “We can't say no to our public. What'll we start with?”

“The Bayport Rag,” Joe suggested.

Taking over a couple of drums from the grinning Indians, the Hardys went into their familiar routine. They began with a low rhythm, and then increased the sound until their drumming echoed over the village. The audience clapped and shouted. They swayed in time to the rhythm, and applauded loudly at the end.

The celebration finished shortly afterward. The boys returned to their hut, slipped under the blankets on their cots, and went to sleep.

A noise outside wakened Joe in the middle of the night. He stepped to the window and looked out. In the moonlight, he could see a man at their car, twisting the cap off the gas tank!

Joe rushed to the door and swung it open. The man heard him and looked up.

He was Julio Santana!

Santana darted away from the car, and Joe ran after him. The chase led between rows of barracks-like houses, behind the main store of the village, and across the square.

The young detective strained his eyes in the moonlight to keep Santana in sight. But he was hampered by running in his bare feet. By the time he reached the opposite side of the square, the Easter Islander had vanished into the night.

Joe came to a halt, wincing at the sharp pebbles underfoot. Realizing that any further pursuit was hopeless, he turned and went back to the hut where Frank and he were spending the night. After making sure that no gas had been siphoned from the car's tank, he woke Frank up and told him what happened. The boys decided to take turns standing watch for the rest of the night, in case Santana came back. However, all was quiet until eight o‘clock in the morning, when they decided to get dressed.

“Santana must have been watching from the mountain to see if anybody was after him,” Frank said as he pulled on his jeans. “He recognized us and tried to put our car out of commission by emptying the gas tank.”

“And I'm sure he must be at the other village now,” Joe added. “We've got to check him out.”

The boys made a breakfast of some army rations they found in the hut. They were just finishing when a knock sounded on the door and Ata Copac entered.

“I have come to give you directions,” he said. “You follow the road over the pass, turn right along a cliff, and you will come to a bridge over a deep gorge. Cross the bridge and you will see the village on the other side of the canyon.”

“Thank you,” Frank said. “And something else has just occurred to me. It would be better if we had a disguise. ”

“Why is that?”

The Hardys explained about Santana and his theft of the Easter Island idol.

“He might stir up the villagers against us if we look like outsiders,” Frank said, “Or we might be mistaken for tax collectors again.”

Ata Copac nodded. “I understand, and I will help you. If Santana is a thief, I wish him to be caught. If you find him with the idol, I will ask his village leader to have him arrested. Now, come with me.”

Leading the way to his house, he produced Indian clothing, a wooden washtub, and a bushel basket full of blackberries. The Hardys crushed the blackberries in the water until it became a dark color; then they rinsed their hands and faces to hide their light complexions. Joe also drenched his hair to make it look black.

Next the boys donned rough shirts, trousers, and boots. They slipped ponchos over their heads and pulled broad-brimmed hats down over their foreheads to mask the light color of their eyes.

Joe grinned. “Think we'll pass for Indians, Frank?”

“As long as we keep our hats on. Let's see if these getups work.”

Keeping their eyes fixed on the ground, the Hardys walked through the square, mingling with the natives who were dressed just as they were. No one seemed to notice the two Americans.

“Looks as if we can get away with it,” Frank muttered. “They can't tell the difference. ”

“Have your Spanish ready, Frank, in case somebody talks to us,” Joe advised.

The Hardys said good-bye to Ata Copac and thanked him for his help. Then they walked along the road beyond the village leading to the mountain pass. Whenever they met an Indian, they hurried by quickly in order to avoid any questions. They followed a narrow, rocky trail up to the pass, where they could see snow-covered mountain peaks in the distance. One huge outcropping towered over their heads.

“That's the cliff Ata Copac mentioned,” said Joe, pointing to the right.

He led the way onto a narrow ledge running along the top of the cliff. Frank was directly behind him, and they edged forward carefully.

Suddenly Joe stepped on a boulder that gave way under his foot. Shaken loose, it hurtled down onto the jagged rocks below. Joe clutched wildly at the air in an effort to regain his balance. However, he failed, and with a frantic scream, toppled off the cliff!

Frank lunged forward and reached for Joe's poncho. For a moment, the younger Hardy boy was suspended in the air with nothing between him and the rocks at the bottom of the cliff. Then Frank got a firm grip on the poncho and pulled his brother back to the safety of the ledge.

Joe blew his breath out in a great gasp. “Wow! That was too close for comfort!”

“It sure was, Joe! Don't step on any more boulders. You almost scared me to death!”

Moving cautiously along the cliff, they reached the other side. From there, a short walk brought them to the deep gorge Ata Copac had mentioned. The bridge crossing was made of narrow branches tied with heavy ropes to trees on both sides of the canyon. Two more ropes were strung about three feet above the first pair, and fastened to them at three-foot intervals, providing the handrails.

The makeshift bridge swayed in the wind as the Hardys approached it. They looked down and saw a small stream meandering at the bottom of the gorge.

“You have to be an acrobat to cross over that thing,” Frank muttered. “It's a death-defying stunt!”

“I just hope the guy who anchored it to the tree knew how to tie a good sailor's knot,” Joe added apprehensively.

Placing a foot on the first branch, and steadying himself by holding onto the handrails, Joe started across. Frank followed. The bridge rocked from side to side as they moved, and the ropes strained at their moorings. The branches creaked under the weight of the two boys.

It was slow going, and their hearts were pounding by the time they reached the opposite side. With relief they jumped onto solid earth.

The Indian village they were looking for lay right in front of them. The people and the buildings resembled the ones they had just left. It was market day, and stalls were set up in the village square. Vendors were selling food, clothing, utensils, and farming implements. A pen held a small flock of vicuñas being offered for sale.

“Joe, let's pretend to be Indians from the mountains, in town for market day,” Frank advised. “And keep an eye open for Santana. ”

Joe nodded tensely. Holding their heads low, the Hardys walked into the throng in the village square. Stall owners called out to them, offering their wares. Shaking their heads to indicate they were not interested, the boys moved on. After a few minutes, they began to feel secure in their disguises.

Suddenly Frank tugged on Joe's poncho and nodded toward a booth where small stone sculptures and other artwork were being offered. A man with his back to them was arranging the exhibit on a table behind the counter.

“Let's take a look at what he's got for sale,” Frank said.

Joe shrugged. “You don't expect to find the Easter Island idol there, do you? Santana knows its worth. He'd never sell it to a guy like that. He wouldn't make any money on it. ”

“I know. But maybe the vendor can give us a clue as to where one might sell a valuable sculpture.”

Casually the boys strolled over to the stall and looked at the pieces on the table. The man turned around with a smile, which froze on his face as he recognized them.

Frank and Joe gaped. He was none other than Julio Santana!

“The Hardys!” Santana exclaimed. “Welcome to our village. Would you like to buy one of my artifacts?”

“Where's the Easter Island idol you stole from South American Antiquities?” Joe demanded.

“Here it is!” Santana replied. He turned and took a small sculpture from the table. With an icy stare, he thrust it into Joe's hand.

The boys examined it. “This is an imitation Incan piece!” Frank declared.

Santana paid no attention. Instead, he screamed in Spanish: “Thieves! Thieves!”

A number of Indians whirled around and stared at the Hardys.

“Thieves! Thieves!” Santana kept yelling. Quickly a crowd began to gather, making threatening gestures at the young detectives.

“Let's get out of here!” Frank hissed.

Joe dropped the sculpture and the boys took to their heels, pushing people aside as they ran past the stall.

When they reached the open area leading to the bridge, a mob of Indians was behind them in headlong pursuit. In Spanish, they shouted threats of how the thieves would be punished once they were caught.

Frank dashed onto the bridge, followed by Joe. Desperately they tried to run over it fast, but the dipping of the branches under their feet and the swaying of the ropes held them up. They were about three-quarters of the way across when Santana arrived at the canyon. He took hold of one of the handrails.

“Grab the other one!” he shouted to a man beside him. “Now, do as I do!”

He moved the rope back and forth, and his companion followed suit. Together, the two men caused the bridge to sway dangerously from side to side.

Frank and Joe clung to the rails as the motion became more violent. High up in the air they fell to the right, then swung clear around to the left. The mountain spun before their eyes, and with each swing, they hovered over the gorge for a split second.

At last the bridge was flung too high for a return swing. It turned upside down and collapsed.

Frank and Joe were thrown off into the deep gorge below!

As the Hardys flew through the air, their fingers closed around one of the handrails. Gripping the rope tightly, they braked their fall and hung suspended over the gorge. Their Indian hats fell off and drifted down into the stream.

Frank was unable to turn his head. “Joe, are you there?” he called out anxiously.

“Right behind you!” Joe panted.

“Move ahead hand over hand,” Frank yelled as he began to pull himself along the rope. Joe did the same.

“They're getting away!” Santana shouted. “They're getting away, and we can't follow them with the bridge turned upside down!”