Mystery of the Desert Giant Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  CHAPTER I - Missing Airmen

  CHAPTER II - The Desert Giants

  CHAPTER III - Clue Hunting

  CHAPTER IV - A Warning

  CHAPTER V - The Mob Scene

  CHAPTER VI - New Evidence

  CHAPTER VII - An Exciting Identification

  CHAPTER VIII - A Treasure Hunt

  CHAPTER IX - The Dust Devil

  CHAPTER X - The River Chase

  CHAPTER XI - Stranded

  CHAPTER XII - The Escaping Stranger

  CHAPTER XIII - Spanish Hardys

  CHAPTER XIV - Exchanging Names

  CHAPTER XV - An Important Discovery

  CHAPTER XVI - The Disguised Cowboy

  CHAPTER XVII - The Chemical Fog

  CHAPTER XVIII - Sleuthing by Camera

  CHAPTER XIX - The Attack

  CHAPTER XX - Treasure!

  “That dust devil will wreck our plane!”

  Copyright © 1989, 1961 by Simon & Schuster, Inc. All rights reserved. All rights reserved.

  Published by Grosset & Dunlap, Inc., a member of The Putnam &

  Grosset Group, New York. Published simultaneously in Canada. S.A.

  THE HARDY BOYS® is a registered trademark of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  GROSSET & DUNLAP is a trademark of Grosset & Dunlap, Inc.

  eISBN : 978-1-101-07653-8

  2008 Printing

  http://us.penguingroup.com

  CHAPTER I

  Missing Airmen

  “WHEN do you think this mysterious visitor is going to show up?” Chet Morton asked impatiently.

  The chubby boy looked uncomfortable as he squatted behind a waist-high hedge. Chet’s companions, Joe and Frank Hardy, who were experienced campers, rested easily upon their haunches.

  “Can’t say,” replied Frank Hardy in a low but distinct voice. “The person on the phone said to beware of the man who’s calling at our house tonight. And he didn’t give his name or that of the man who’s coming here to see Dad.”

  The trio had taken their positions shortly after dark. From their hiding places they commanded a view of the front walk of the Hardy home in Bayport.

  “I checked with Mother and Aunt Gertrude. They aren’t expecting anyone,” Joe Hardy said thoughtfully. “And Dad had an appointment on the other side of town tonight—”

  “But,” put in Frank, the older of the two brothers, “the man on the phone said the Hardys had better watch their step! That’s why we want you to take a picture of him, Chet, with that new infrared camera of yours.”

  “Here we go again,” the stout boy moaned. “Can’t you Hardys solve your mysteries without me? All I ever get out of your cases is bruises!”

  At that moment a sharp jab in the ribs by Joe alerted the others. The quick scrape of leather on concrete could be heard out front. Abruptly, the footsteps stopped.

  Peering, the boys made out the indistinct figure of a man who had just turned into the Hardy walk. The man stood motionless for a moment, then the boys heard his footsteps dying away down High Street.

  “Changed his mind,” commented Frank, puzzled. “What’s going on here?”

  “We’ll find out! I got his picture!” Chet cried out.

  “Hush!” Frank cautioned. “He may not have been the visitor.”

  As he spoke, the boys heard more footsteps. This time they were the strong, confident steps of a man who entered the walk and strode purposefully toward the Hardys’ front door. Simultaneously, Mr. Hardy’s car turned into the driveway.

  As Chet snapped the man’s picture, Joe debated whether to tell his father immediately about the telephone message. He decided against it. Leaving now would give away their position and ruin the element of surprise.

  “Let’s go!” Frank Hardy signaled.

  Abruptly the three boys broke through the hedge into the path of the astonished caller.

  “Who are you?” Chet burst out.

  “Why, I’m Philip Dodge—I’ve come to see Mr. Fenton Hardy, the investigator. We have an appointment tonight.”

  “I beg your pardon, Mr. Dodge,” Frank apologized. “We thought you might be—another visitor.” He introduced himself and the others.

  “We’ll take you in to Dad,” Joe volunteered, leading the way. “He just arrived home.”

  As Joe and the visitor entered the house, Frank whispered to Chet, “Why not develop your pictures while Dad talks to Mr. Dodge? The lab is open. I’m curious to see who our first visitor was—I’m also wondering if Dodge is the man we were warned about.”

  “Great idea!”

  Carrying his camera, Chet disappeared around the house. He liked nothing better than to putter in the well-equipped laboratory the Hardy boys had built on the second floor of their garage. More than once the lab had been useful to them in their detective work.

  Meanwhile, the brothers ushered their visitor into the comfortably furnished Hardy living room. In the light of the room the contrast between serious-minded Frank Hardy and impetuous Joe was apparent. Eighteen-year-old Frank was dark-haired and Joe, a year younger, fair-haired.

  As their father greeted Mr. Dodge, whom he seemed to know well, the boys turned to go. Fenton Hardy, a tall, broad-shouldered man in his forties, held up his hand.

  “Hold it, boys! No reason you shouldn’t hear this. I’ve a hunch you’ll find it interesting. You don’t object, do you, Phil?”

  “No. Of course not.”

  Frank and Joe needed no second invitation. Mr. Hardy and his sons took seats, while Philip Dodge stood nervously by the fireplace. He was a well-dressed, middle-aged man.

  “Fenton, I’ve never been so baffled in my life!” he burst out. “As a lawyer, I’ve had some odd cases. But this time I’m up against a brick wall!

  “I have an office here in Bayport, boys. Not long ago a retired manufacturer, Clement H. Brownlee, came to me and asked if I would try to locate his nephew. It seems this nephew, Willard Grafton, had been a highly successful young industrialist in Los Angeles. About three months ago he disappeared!”

  “How did he disappear?” Fenton Hardy asked.

  “Well, he liked to fly his own plane on business trips around the country,” the lawyer resumed. “Three months ago he and a friend named Clifford Wetherby took off on a flight over the California desert, near the Colorado River. Since then, nobody has seen a trace of Willard Grafton or Clifford Wetherby!”

  The visitor’s bafflement was apparent as he paced up and down the room. In contrast, Fenton Hardy’s manner was calm and professional.

  “What about the plane? They don’t usually just vanish, Phil.”

  “The plane—oh, the plane was found all right. It had been landed, very neatly, too, on the desert near a bluff about sixteen miles north of the town of Blythe, California.”

  “Anything wrong with the plane?” Joe asked.

  “Low on fuel, but not damaged otherwise. That’s what really baffles me. It looks as if Grafton set his ship down on that desert deliberately.”

  “Grafton and Wetherby must have walked away,” Joe stated. “But where?”

  “There wasn’t a trace showing where they went or what had happened,” Mr. Dodge said.

  “You’ve notified the local police, of course, and have had the area searched thoroughly?” Mr. Hardy queried.

  “Oh, yes, Mr. Brownlee saw to that before he consulted me. No results. No evidence that the men had died, and no leads to their whereabouts. The Air Force even supplied an Air Rescue team to help in the search, but nothing turned up. I went out there and flew over the area myself last week, but I didn’t learn anything, either.”


  While Philip Dodge was speaking, Frank Hardy sat quietly in his chair. Something in the lawyer’s story jogged his memory. “You say this plane was landed in the desert above Blythe, California? Near the Colorado River?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Shall I tell you what I think you saw below you?”

  “All right—shoot.”

  “You saw giants on the desert. Giants better than a hundred feet tall.”

  “Giants!” burst from the bewildered Joe Hardy and his father.

  “You guessed it, Frank.” Mr. Dodge chuckled. Fenton Hardy looked from his visitor to his elder son. “This sounds a little like a private joke.”

  Philip Dodge laughed. “Maybe you’d better explain, Frank. By the way, how did you know?”

  “The name Blythe stuck in my mind,” the young man admitted. “Joe and I read a lot when we’re not busy on a case. Some time last year I came across information on the desert giants.

  “As I understand it, a few hundred years ago the Indians around the California-Arizona border drew a number of huge pictures on the desert surfaces. The giant on the Arizona side of the Colorado River opposite Blythe, California, is one of the biggest of all.”

  Joe Hardy laughed. “Whew! What kind of pencil do you use to draw pictures that size?”

  “The Indians scraped away the surface gravel in very shallow furrows. The hard soil underneath gave them distinct tan-colored lines for their pictures.”

  “It doesn’t make much sense to me,” Joe objected. “The Indians drew pictures better than a hundred feet tall on the desert. What for? How could they even see their pictures, once they were drawn?”

  “I guess that’s a mystery in itself,” Philip Dodge commented.

  But suddenly Frank broke in once more.

  “Joe’s got something!” he announced. “It’s true, the only way to see the desert giants is from the air. The Indians couldn’t see them, but we can!”

  “I see what you’re getting at, Frank,” Fenton Hardy said excitedly. “You mean the various giant figures were visible to Willard Grafton and Clifford Wetherby as they flew over the desert?”

  “And they landed their plane to have a closer look!” Joe finished eagerly.

  “Maybe that’s the answer to your first question, Mr. Dodge.”

  The lawyer, however, was not satisfied. “These scratch marks don’t mean anything, Fenton. I wouldn’t have mentioned them myself, if Frank hadn’t reminded me. Why, once you’re on the ground, you can’t see them at all!”

  “That makes them all the more valuable as possible clues to the lost men,” the experienced investigator answered. “In detective work, sometimes it’s the crazy clues that bring results. This case is really beginning to interest me.”

  “Then you’ll help me find Grafton?” the visitor asked eagerly.

  Fenton Hardy hesitated. The international reputation he had won since leaving the New York City Police Department to become a private investigator in Bayport had brought more cases to him than he could accept.

  “Phil, I’m afraid I can’t possibly leave the case I’m engaged on now.” When their visitor expressed his disappointment, the detective added, “However, if you agree, I can start my two chief assistants on the case.”

  “Wonderful!” Philip Dodge brightened. “When may I talk with them?”

  “Immediately. They happen to be seated right here in this room.”

  Puzzled, the lawyer looked around. Then he understood. “Really, Fenton. I have heard about some of Frank’s and Joe’s adventures. But do you think this case can be entrusted to amateurs?”

  “Frank and Joe are amateurs, but very experienced,” said their father proudly. “Recently they broke up a gang of international air-freight thieves, with practically no assistance from me. What do you say they fly out to Blythe and look things over, at least until I can get on the case myself?”

  Much to the elation of the brothers, Philip Dodge agreed.

  “Hurray! Let’s tell Chet!” Joe urged. “Where is he, anyway? It doesn’t take this long to develop pictures.”

  “Developing pictures—ha-ha! Probably he came in the back way and stopped first for a piece of cake in the kitchen,” Frank answered.

  But good-natured Chet Morton, who loved to eat, was not in the kitchen. In the Hardys’ garage laboratory, a short while before, he had developed and printed the two pictures taken with his infrared camera. What he discovered when he examined the second print made him give an excited yelp. Chet grabbed both prints, dashed down the stairs, out of the garage, and across the yard.

  Heavy darkness enveloped the whole yard and back of the house. Chet yanked at the back door, but it was locked. Running, stumbling a little in the dark, he sped around to the front entrance.

  Before he reached it, something seemed to explode all at once at the back of his head. Chet felt the cool grass come up and hit his face. Then he lapsed into unconsciousness.

  CHAPTER II

  The Desert Giants

  “Boy, it’s dark tonight!” exclaimed Joe, after the brothers had walked with Mr. Dodge to the front porch and made arrangements to come to his office the next day.

  “Won’t make any difference to Chet’s infrared camera,” Frank replied. “Let’s see what’s on his films.”

  From where they stood the boys could see the light in the laboratory window. Knowing every inch of the ground, they started for the garage on the double.

  Joe, who was in the lead, tripped over something and sprawled headlong. Recovering his balance with a near somersault, he called back, “Wow! What was that?”

  “Chet!” cried the amazed Frank, stooping down. “He’s been slugged.”

  Supporting the heavy, limp form of Chet Morton between them, Frank and Joe re-entered the living room. Exclamations of alarm and concern filled the house as the other members of the Hardy family came on the run.

  Laura Hardy, the boys’ slim and attractive mother, quickly brought cold towels and spirits of ammonia, while her husband loosened the unfortunate Chet’s clothing and chafed his wrists.

  Aunt Gertrude, Fenton Hardy’s unmarried sister, clucked in concern. “I knew it! I knew it! This is what comes of meddling with mysteries!”

  Nevertheless, Aunt Gertrude herself, a tall, angular woman of great vigor, took charge. She soaked a gauze pad in the spirits of ammonia and passed it expertly, not too close, under Chet’s nose. As the pungent fumes reached his nostrils, the boy gave a sudden start and moaned.

  “Whew!” The entire Hardy family breathed in relief, and Joe, to test Chet’s mental state, said, “Chet! Aunt Gertrude has just baked a fresh chocolate cake!”

  The stout boy roused himself still further. “D-did you say chocolate cake?” he asked weakly.

  Completely aroused by this time, Chet was bombarded with questions, but could only say, “Don’t ask me who did it. There I was, rushing to find you two—when biff, I saw stars.”

  “But why would anyone hit poor Chet?” asked Mrs. Hardy.

  “Because he was helping the Hardy boys on a mystery again, that’s all,” answered Chet with great sympathy for himself. “I had just made an important discovery.”

  “The pictures!” Frank and Joe exclaimed.

  Chet nodded. “The first one—the fellow who went away—was just some man. I don’t know who. The other one I snapped fast, and my aim wasn’t too good. I didn’t get much of Mr. Dodge. But I got the full face of somebody crouching in the bushes under your living-room window!”

  “Great mackerel!” cried Joe, rummaging in his friend’s pockets. “Let’s see those pictures!”

  To the Hardys’ dismay, both prints were missing. Chet smiled. “You can always take a look at the copies I left in the lab.”

  “Better get them now, boys,” Fenton Hardy suggested. “We must find out if the person who slugged Chet is someone interested in the case I’m working on, or the Grafton case. The picture may help to identify the prowler.”

  The brothers
hurried to the laboratory. To their surprise and dismay the place was a shambles—it was evident that someone had made a hurried search. As the boys quickly straightened the equipment, they found no sign of the other set of prints which Chet had mentioned.

  “That settles it,” said Joe. “The thief doubled back after striking Chet to get any other prints and the negatives.”

  “Now we can’t possibly identify him,” Frank moaned. A moment later he whistled. “Look!”

  Tacked to the wall at the end of the laboratory was a small hastily printed note:HARDYS BEWARE!

  Beneath the note was a crude stick drawing of a man with an arrow aimed toward his heart.

  “Not much of an artist, is he?” Joe mused. “Say, Frank, what does this remind you of?”

  “By stretching the imagination I’d say that the figure could be the outline of a desert giant with an Indian arrow pointing to his heart.”

  “If only we hadn’t lost the pictures!” Joe sighed.

  “You can always print another set.” Chet grinned. “I hid the negatives in that secret compartment of your workbench. What kind of a detective do you think I am, anyway?”

  Frank and Joe applauded Chet’s action and hurried to make prints from the negatives. Then, returning to the house, the Hardys and Chet held a brief council. None of them knew the dark-haired, muscular eavesdropper or the slender, gray-haired man who had started to turn into the Hardys’ walk.

  “The unknown eavesdropper,” Frank said, “probably heard everything that was said to Mr. Dodge. Why did he come, unless he’s connected with Willard Grafton’s disappearance?”

  “And with the mysterious telephone call,” Joe added. Briefly, he told his father of the warning.

  “What I say is this,” broke in peppery Aunt Gertrude. “That terrible man outside heard you boys discussing some new mystery, and he hit poor Chet on the head to warn you to keep out of it!”

  “Why, Aunt Gertrude,” Joe teased with a straight face, “we’re only going to take a quiet vacation in sunny California.”

  “I know how quiet it will be,” snapped their aunt. “Just one danger after another.”