The Stone Idol (9 page)

“No batteries!” Joe groaned. “How did that happen?” He quickly searched the cabin for spares, but there were none. “The guy who fixed the Sno-Cat for us must have forgotten them. What a mistake!”

“Let's look at the map Muller gave us,” Frank suggested. “Maybe we made a mistake, too.”

Joe picked up the map and unfolded it. Then he gasped. “The cross Muller made to indicate the outpost's location isn't there!” he cried out.

“What!” Frank stopped the Sno-Cat and stared at the map.

“Someone must have changed maps on us,” Joe said. “While we were inside saying good-bye to Dad and Admiral Langton.”

“Same guy who swiped the radio batteries,” Frank added. “It figures.”

“No, it doesn‘t,” Joe insisted. “I remember Muller said to turn west at the glacier, and that's what we did!”

“Are you sure he didn't say east?”

“Yes—well—I thought he said west.”

Frank pointed to a small hill to the right. “Let's climb up there and take our bearings. I'll maneuver as close as I can get.”

He drove forward toward the hill. Suddenly, the snow gave way under the right front tread! He cut the engine instantly, but the Sno-Cat tilted up on end and the tread hung over empty air! The Hardys stared down into an icy crevasse hundreds of feet deep!

They shivered as they realized that any movement might cause the vehicle to lose its balance and topple over the edge, hurtling them to the bottom of the crevasse!

“We can't take a chance and climb out,” Frank muttered. “I'll have to see if I can drive us out of this corner. Keep your fingers crossed, Joe!”

Carefully, he turned on the motor and put the vehicle into reverse. It teetered on the edge of the crevasse while the Hardys held their breath. Then the two treads still on firm snow took hold and rolled the Sno-Cat to a point where gravity took over and dragged the vehicle onto its third tread. The fourth still hung over the crevasse, but Frank was now able to drive back and let it regain its normal position.

He mopped his forehead with a handkerchief. “We're driving an obstacle course!” he groaned. “This is very dangerous!”

“I know,” Joe said grimly. “Well, we're close enough to walk to the top of the hill. Let's hope we can spot Outpost I from there.”

He took the heavy Antarctic clothing from the compartment behind them. They donned thick leather boots, rough trousers, parkas, and fur gloves. Pulling goggles over their eyes, they emerged from the Sno-Cat into a high wind.

They roped themselves together. Using alpenstocks—wooden staffs with metal tips—to help them keep their footing, they set out for the hill with Frank in the lead.

At every step, they tested the snow with their alpenstocks to make sure it was strong enough to support them. Skirting past the crevasse into which they had nearly fallen, they tramped along under a sky the dismal color of lead. The sun was barely discernible over their heads, and the only sound they could hear was the wind and their own footsteps.

Reaching the bottom of the hill, the Hardys began to climb it step by step, sometimes over snow and ice, sometimes over the frozen earth and rock of the Antarctic. They gasped in the frigid air.

About halfway up, they came to a rocky ledge, where they stopped for a rest, discussing their predicament.

“Unless we took the wrong turn, Outpost I has to be in sight from the top of the hill!” Frank declared. “Even if we bypassed it in the storm, we can't have missed it by much.”

“Right,” Joe said. He made sure the rope connecting them was securely tied before they resumed their climb. It was a difficult ascent because they had to feel with their alpenstocks for places where they could get safe toeholds. The cold wind blowing in their faces made them lean into it in order to maintain their balance.

As they rounded a rocky wall, Frank stepped onto an icy cliff. At the same time, a violent gust made him stagger to one side. He slipped and skidded along the ice toward the side of the cliff, dragging Joe after him!

Then, finding nothing to break his momentum, he went right over the edge!

Suddenly Joe came to a bone-crunching halt as his boot soles slammed against an outcropping of rock protruding from the ice. The rope around his waist tightened as it stopped Frank's fall down the face of the cliff!

“Frank, hang on!” Joe yelled.

“I've got my foot on a rock sticking out of the side,” Frank called back. “I can climb up if you help me.”

“Will do!”

Joe yanked on the rope with all his might. He played it in, hand over hand, so Frank could brace his feet against the side of the cliff and work his way back to the ledge. Then both sat down gasping for breath.

“It's good we're tied together, or I'd been at the bottom of the cliff,” Frank muttered.

Joe peered over the edge. “Well, our alpenstocks are down there. I can see them lying in the snow.”

“They'll stay there, Joe. I'm not about to go and get them!”

“Neither am I. Let's make tracks up the hill, okay?”

Getting to their feet, they again climbed toward the top. They moved more slowly and carefully than before because they no longer had their alpenstocks with which to feel for the safest path upward. Finally the slant of the hill became less steep, and they struggled to the summit.

Planting their feet firmly and bracing themselves against the wind, the Hardys surveyed the terrain all around them. They saw an expanse of ice and snow extending to the horizon in every direction except to the west, where a range of mountains cut the skyline in a series of tall peaks. No buildings, no flagpole, broke the uniformity of the white landscape.

The Hardys stared at one another in dismay as the meaning became clear to them.

“We're lost!” Joe exclaimed. “We might never find our way out of here!”

Joe took the binoculars and looked around. He saw only ice, snow, and mountains. “What do we do now?” he wondered.

The wind was becoming stronger and colder, and the boys struggled to keep their feet on the hilltop. Shivering, they pulled their parka hoods across their faces for protection.

“Let's go back to the Sno-Cat,” Frank said. “At least it's warm.”

They made their way down the hill, which was easier than climbing up. Carefully they inched along the icy ledge where Frank had fallen, circled past the crevasse that threatened them, and got into the Sno-Cat, where they removed their Antarctic gear.

“There's no use continuing west,” Joe pointed out. “We'd only end up in the mountains. Anyway, Outpost I isn't out there.”

“We don't have enough gas to get back to Byrd Base,” Frank observed. “And we sure don't want to get stranded. But if west isn't the right direction, then Muller must have said east.”

“Right,” Joe said. “Unless he sent us in the wrong direction deliberately, hoping our Sno-Cat would fall into the crevasse and we'd never be found!”

“He could have exchanged the map while we were talking to Dad and the admiral. This way there would be no proof,” Frank added grimly.

Joe nodded. “And he might have snitched the batteries so we couldn't contact anyone.”

Frank started the engine, and they drove back along the route they had taken. Spotting the mountain with the two peaks, they reached the glacier where the Sno-Cat had nearly been swept away. Twenty miles of travel beyond that point over the frozen terrain brought them within view of a tall flagpole flying the stars and stripes. Two small wooden buildings stood nearby, one bearing a sign reading: U.S. NAVY OUTPOST I.

“Boy, am I glad we made it!” Frank said, looking at the gas gauge. “We couldn't have gone much farther!”

Seven men were working with polar equipment in front of the installation. One of them came up as Frank stopped the Sno-Cat and the Hardys got out.

“I'm Commander Noonan,” he said. “Welcome to Outpost I. You must be the Hardy boys.”

Frank and Joe shook hands with Noonan, but did not tell him that they almost had not made it.

“We'd like to radio Byrd Base and tell our father that we've arrived,” Frank said instead.

“Sure thing,” Noonan replied. “I'll have my radioman show you the equipment. He'll be here in a moment. Meanwhile, let me introduce you to my crew. ”

The men were scientists working on the geology and meteorology of the Antarctic.

“Stones and storms,” Joe quipped.

“That's our subject.” Noonan laughed. “We're big on weather reports.”

An eighth man emerged from one of the buildings. He was short and thin. He glanced around uneasily as he walked up to the group.

“Al Ambrose, meet Frank and Joe Hardy.” Noonan introduced them. “Al's our radioman.”

Ambrose looked at the Hardys in astonishment. His eyes widened and his mouth fell open. However, with some effort he managed to regain his composure.

“He's worried about something,” Joe thought. “And he's not glad to see us.”

Noonan ordered Ambrose to show the Hardys to the living quarters of Outpost I. “Then take them to the radio shack. They want to send a message to Byrd Base. ”

“Impossible, sir,” Ambrose replied quickly. “The radio's out. I'm trying to find the bug in the equipment. ”

“Well, let them know as soon as you have it fixed. Now, the three of you better go in.”

The radioman conducted the Hardys into one of the buildings. “This is our living quarters,” he informed them. “The other structure is for the technical work. I've got my radio shack over there.”

A corridor led from the door to the rear of the building. Flanking the hallway at the front were a number of storerooms on either side. Then came the kitchen facing the dining room and living room, followed by an infirmary and a small gym complete with exercycle.

At the end of the corridor, the dormitory occupied most of the width of the building. Ten cots stood in two rows along the walls. The remaining space was taken up by the private room of the commander.

Ambrose pointed to the two cots nearest the doorway. “These are yours,” he told the Hardys. “They belonged to the two students who went back to Byrd Base.”

Frank thanked him, then asked in a friendly tone, “What do you think's wrong with your radio, Al?”

“Search me,” the young man replied. “I'm trying to find out.”

“Need any help? We've had a lot of experience in that field.”

“That's all right. I'll handle it myself.”

“He doesn't want us to see his equipment,” Joe thought. Aloud he said, “Where do you come from in the States?”

“San Diego.”

“There's a big naval base in San Diego.”

“One of the biggest. Well, you guys are on your own now. I'm going to work on the radio. Tell you when I have it operational.” With that, Al left whistling a tune off-key.

Frank looked at Joe. “I bet Muller tipped Ambrose off about the scheme to have us disappear! That's why Al was so surprised to see us. He was hoping we'd be at the bottom of that crevasse way off in the west near the mountains!”

“That means his radio was working earlier today,” Joe continued his brother's thought. “I think he's only pretending it's on the blink. Let's sneak into the shack when he's not around and raise Byrd Base!”

“He might put the radio out of commission deliberately, Joe.”

“I know. But it's worth a try.”

The Hardys went outside to help unload the Sno-Cat and the sled. The crates and boxes were carried into the building and stacked in the storerooms.

By now it was getting dark, and the crew congregated in the living quarters. Ambrose, who doubled as a cook, was heading for the kitchen.

He stopped near the Hardys and said, “The vacuum tubes are gone and there are none in stock. We'll have to wait for Byrd Base to send technical supplies.”

“Well, help should be on the way soon,” Frank declared. “They probably know by now that our radio is out.”

“Let's hope so,” Ambrose mumbled and disappeared into the kitchen. While the radioman whipped up a spicy goulash, Frank made his way to the radio shack to check Al's story. He found the sender inoperable as Ambrose had told them, and quickly returned to the living room.

“It's out all right,” he reported to Joe. “But I don't know whether it was done deliberately or not.”

When the meal was ready, the men filed past a counter at the kitchen door, where Al, wielding a large ladle, filled their plates. Then they entered the dining room, which was just large enough to hold a round table and ten chairs.