The Clue of the Screeching Owl Page 10

  “N-no,” gasped Chet. “Stop licking my face, Mystery! How can a fellow talk?”

  Two flashlight beams illuminated the scene in the same instant. Standing nearby was the mute boy, Simon. The little beagle, with tail whipping about happily, was leaping on Chet with fierce affection.

  “Oh boy!” Joe exclaimed, grinning. “You gave us a scare, Simon.”

  “We can’t keep Mystery with us now,” said Frank. “We don’t know where we’ll be from one day to the next.”

  Scooping up Mystery with a quick movement, Frank thrust the animal into Simon’s arms. “Simon, please look after our dog a little longer. Okay?”

  To their astonishment, Simon placed the beagle on the ground. Then, pointing quickly at Frank, Joe, and Chet in succession, he waved them away frantically with both arms.

  “He says for us to clear out,” interpreted Joe. “He must mean we’re in some danger! What is it, Simon?”

  Frank had already put pad and pencil into the mute boy’s hands. Now, while Frank and Joe shone their lights on the page, he quickly sketched a picture of a small, windowless cabin, with a gun barrel pointing menacingly from the door!

  “Donner’s place,” Joe muttered. “And he has a gun. Well, we knew that already. We weren’t going near there tonight, anyhow.”

  “Hold on,” Frank warned. “He’s drawing something else.”

  Simon had not yet finished. Next to the cabin he drew sketches of two owls seated side by side. With amazing skill, Simon sketched in the fierce owl eyes and beak of each. But one of the birds had high-pointed ear tufts; the other seemed to have no ears at all, and had a round, masklike face similar to that of a monkey.

  “Great sketches,” Joe commented. One of his hobbies was ornithology. Now, studying the drawings, he told the others, “The one with the prominent ears is the screech owl. He does the wailing. And monkey face, here, is the barn owl. He does the screeching.”

  “Hey! What are you doing?” Chet asked suddenly.

  Simon, after drawing two very accurate pictures, suddenly took his pencil and crossed them both out. Once again he waved the boys away from him.

  “I don’t get it,” said Frank, puzzled. “Are you afraid of the owls?” Simon shook his head vigorously.

  “Do you connect their cries with the witch of Black Hollow and want to protect us from her?” Again Simon shook his head.

  “Maybe he means Donner is going to shoot the owls,” suggested Chet. More denials.

  “I give up,” said Joe. “But listen, Simon. Witches, owls, Donner—nobody is going to drive us out of these woods! We’re staying! Get it?”

  Peering intently at the determined faces of his new friends, the strange boy looked frustrated. He gathered up Mystery in his arms, and as silently as he had appeared, glided off among the trees.

  “Wish I knew what he was driving at,” Chet remarked.

  Meanwhile, Frank and Joe had switched off their flashlights to save the batteries. As the three stood together in silence, a faint flicker appeared in the sky.

  “Lightning,” Frank commented. “Very far away as yet. Must mean a storm’s coming, though. I wish there were a cave, without rattlesnakes, for us to take shelter in.”

  “Don’t worry,” Joe assured him. “The storm’s far away; it may never reach here. Let’s get some shut-eye.”

  Thoroughly tired, the three friends lay down once more and fell asleep immediately. Some time later Joe suddenly found himself wide awake. His heart was pounding violently. The luminous dial of his watch told him that nearly two hours had passed.

  The darkness seemed thicker, the air heavier than a few hours earlier.

  “Frank! Chet! Did you hear it?”

  “Yes,” came Frank’s tense, whispered answer. “There it is again!”

  The heavy, oppressive silence was shattered by a scream—a horrible drawn-out cry. Again it sounded, this time harsher and higher-pitched. Then a third time.

  “That’s a human being in trouble!” exclaimed Frank, leaping to his feet. “Quick! Roll up your sleeping bags and shove ’em out of sight underneath these bushes. Let’s go! Somebody needs our help!”

  “This witch may be more real than we thought,” said Chet as he hurriedly slipped into his shoes. “Do you suppose she’s—she’s torturing Captain Maguire?”

  Fully awake now, and every sense alert, the boys listened intently while the blood-chilling screams were repeated. To add to the weirdness, the woods were illumined by a flash of lightning.

  “That cry was in the hollow, and not too far from here,” Frank directed. “Let’s go!”

  “Turn on all flashlights!” Joe called as he rushed forward. “Speed is important!”

  The three boys dashed along the path into Black Hollow.

  “Halt!” Frank ordered, as the screams came once more. Carefully he placed their direction. “We won’t go down to the floor of the valley,” he decided. “The cries seem to be coming more from the side. We’ll stick to this upper path instead!”

  Once again the young detectives rushed forward, halfway up the steep, partly wooded side of the hollow. But within a few seconds Frank halted them again.

  “Now what?” Joe asked breathlessly. “I don’t hear any more screaming.”

  “There’s something else. Don’t you hear it?” Straining his ears to their utmost, Frank listened intently.

  But hearing was difficult, for the night was no longer a quiet one. The wind that comes before a thunderstorm was now sweeping through the hollow like an onrushing wave. In the frequent flicker of lightning, huge trees could be seen waving wildly and showing the pale undersides of their leaves. The limbs creaked. The wind hissed in the leaves. But through it all, Frank’s ears seemed to detect another sound.

  “What is it?” queried Joe.

  “A kind of thin, human voice calling. But with this wind, I can’t be sure!”

  Just then, there came a long flicker of lightning. Joe pointed to a nearby tree. Perched motionless on a limb was a full-grown owl, its huge eyes unblinking even in the vivid glare. Then darkness closed in again.

  Suddenly the air was rent by a terrifying scream from the valley floor! Frank, Joe, and Chet were startled. As they crouched, breathless, upon the rock where they had halted, the snap of twigs on the ground alerted them to the movement of a heavy body in the woods just below.

  Frank and Joe kept their eyes fixed upon a small grassy clearing to their left.

  Suddenly something huge, black, and solid, moving catlike upon all fours, padded unhurriedly into the grassy area. Then noiselessly it glided into the blackness of the trees on the other side.

  “A wildcat!” Joe’s heart raced with excitement. “So that’s what’s been making those horrible screams!”

  “But this isn’t wildcat country!” Frank protested.

  “Hush!” Joe signaled.

  Over the sound of the wind and the growl of thunder, the boys distinctly made out a thin, quavering voice.

  “Skip-py!” it called. “Skip-py!”

  “Good grief, it’s Bobby Thompson!” Chet cried out in horror. “He’s down there looking for his lost dog!”

  “He must be somewhere among those trees ahead, where that big cat disappeared just now!” exclaimed Frank.

  As he spoke, the howling scream of the mysterious catlike beast ripped through the night once more. From the same direction came a little boy’s frightened sobbing:

  “Oh, Skippy, where are you? I want my mother. Help!”

  Frantically Frank, Joe, and Chet raced and stumbled forward along the rocky side of the hollow. The big cat sounded off again. Bobby Thompson’s pathetic whimpering grew louder and nearer.

  “Oh-h, I’m afraid! I want to go home!”

  “He must be around here somewhere! Bobby!” Joe called out. “Stay where you are and don’t move! We’re coming to help you!”

  Suddenly the path of the three boys was blocked by the spreading limbs and branches of a large tree, growing up from the fl
oor of the hollow just below. Bobby’s sobs seemed very dose now!

  In desperation, Frank, Joe, and Chet swept the valley floor below with the beams of their flashlights. At first, they saw only the storm-whipped branches of the trees.

  “There!” cried Frank at last.

  The yellow beams had finally located the little boy. Wearing a jersey and short pants, he stood cowering at the base of the big tree just below them. He was hiding his face with one arm, and had raised the other in an effort to protect himself.

  A few short yards away, a pair of malevolent green eyes glowed in the flashlight beams.

  Unblinking, the eyes stared at their prey. The big animal coughed deep in its throat. The tail lashed about savagely as the beast crouched for the kill.

  CHAPTER XVIII

  A Harrowing Rescue

  FRANK Hardy appraised the situation in a single swift glance. With an iron nerve, he issued crisp orders.

  “Joe, you’re the lightest. Into the tree! You haul Bobby up! Chet, this boulder is loose from the rain. Put your back to it. Roll it down on that cat!”

  Meanwhile, Frank shone the beam of his flashlight directly into the eyes of the puma, in an effort to delay the creature’s death-dealing spring as long as possible.

  Joe had already swung himself into the big tree. In another moment he had crawled out on the low-hanging limb directly over Bobby’s head. Seeing the beams of the flashlights, the small boy looked up and spotted Joe. But Joe and the branch were several feet out of Bobby’s reach!

  Thinking quickly, Joe hooked his knees over one limb, and his toes underneath another. Head downward, reaching with both arms, he swung into space between the cat and the boy.

  “Bobby! Grab my hands! Quick!”

  Paralyzed with fear, Bobby hesitated. In the same instant, the powerful black beast, with a snarl, shot forward. There was a sudden loud crash of underbrush. The animal whirled, then jumped lightly sideways to dodge the heavy boulder tumbling down the hillside.

  Quickly Joe grabbed Bobby’s thin wrist and yanked the boy, one-handed, upward until he could grasp Bobby’s waist with his other arm. Then, with a tremendous effort, he snapped both himself and Bobby into a sitting position of safety upon the limb.

  Frustrated, the big cat raged for a moment on the ground below. Then it disappeared in the woods.

  Sweating profusely from his effort, Joe handed the limp boy through the branches of the tree to Frank.

  “Nice work with that rock, Chet,” Joe gasped, as he fought to recover his breath. “It gave me the extra second I needed!”

  Bobby Thompson was sobbing again, but now it was with relief, as he buried his face against Frank’s chest.

  “Don’t worry, Bobby, ole fellow,” said Chet. “We’ll take you home. We know where your dog is, and we’re going to get him back!”

  “Honest?” Bobby asked.

  With Chet lighting the way in front, Frank followed, carrying the exhausted boy. Joe watched the rear, in case the cat might still be stalking them. The boys worked their way across the side of the hollow until they reached the path.

  Soon they had climbed into the clearing, near the ruins of Captain Maguire’s cabin. Chain lightning now zigzagged across the sky, showing great piles of menacing clouds. But the rushing wind had already passed over, and between the crashes of thunder came lulls of dead silence.

  “Look! What’s that?” called Joe, pointing off into the distance. The boys had stopped to rest on the very rim of the hollow.

  “You mean those lights way down at the other end of the valley?” asked Chet.

  “Yes. If my sense of direction is right,” continued Joe with rising excitement, “those lights are on the rim of the hollow just above Walter Donner’s place!”

  “You’re right,” agreed Frank. “Something is going on over there, fellows, and I don’t think it has anything to do with witches!”

  “Let’s get Bobby home,” urged Chet. “Then we can go over there and see what it’s all about.”

  On the double now, Frank, Joe, and Chet hurried with the little boy to where they had parked the yellow convertible. Soon they were racing down steep Rim Road.

  Veering sharply, Frank pulled into the rutted drive by the side of the Thompsons’ house. Lights were on in all of the rooms. As the car stopped, Mrs. Thompson, nearly hysterical, flew out from the porch.

  “You must help me! My little boy! He’s been gone since supper. I’m so afraid he’s lost in the woods, and there’s been that terrible scream ...”

  “Hi, Mommy!” said Bobby sleepily from Frank’s arms. “Don’t worry. I’m okay.”

  Openmouthed, the astonished mother stared for a moment. Then, snatching her son, she folded him in her arms.

  “He was looking for his dog, and I guess he got lost,” Chet explained, thinking it wise to say nothing of the mysterious catlike beast for the time being. “But we’re going to bring back his dog, too. Aren’t we, Bobby?”

  Suddenly Mrs. Thompson looked at them intensely. “Tell me,” she demanded, “where did you find him? Not in Black Hollow!”

  “Yes, we did, Mrs. Thompson,” Frank answered. “But don’t worry, he’s okay. I think it would be best if you put him right to bed. We’ll be back to explain everything in the morning.”

  The amazed and grateful woman called her thanks as the three youths jumped into their car. The wheels spun on the gravel road, then the car started up the hill.

  “Now,” Frank told the others, “we’ll drive right around the rim. Hang onto your seats, because it isn’t much of a road.”

  Joe and Chet, peering ahead, saw that Frank was right. The road soon narrowed to a pair of wheel ruts, and in places was dangerously close to the edge of the hollow. A single wrong twist of the wheel could mean a fatal plunge into the valley below.

  Frank drove swiftly, but with a firm hand. Though bushes and low branches smacked against the windshield, he did not slow down.

  “What’s this ahead?” he said suddenly.

  The headlights had picked up an abandoned vehicle. Joe jumped out to investigate.

  “Just an old jalopy, probably abandoned there a year or so ago,” he reported as he got back in the car. “It’s parked on the very edge of the bluff.”

  Frank drove on toward the mysterious lights they had seen earlier. All at once he stopped the car. They had reached a little wider space in the road.

  “There’s room here to turn around. We might want to get out of these woods in a hurry. I think I’ll play it safe.”

  He pointed the convertible back in the direction of Maguire’s clearing. “Now, let’s go. We can’t be more than five minutes from those lights.”

  There were no sounds except those of the storm, which was just about to break. A flash of lightning and the crack of thunder came simultaneously. It was followed by a continual rumble, and lightning was so frequent that flashlights were unnecessary. Stealthily Frank, Joe, and Chet crept forward along the narrow track.

  Suddenly a man’s voice was heard saying, ‘Here! Grab onto the other end of this, will you!”

  Quickly the boys ducked into the cover of some bushes. Ahead of them the lightning showed up the dark bulk of a heavy truck. As they watched, two men, struggling and puffing, lifted a long box from the tailgate and carried it between them among the trees at the edge of the hollow.

  “Where are they going with it?” Joe wondered in a whisper. “They’ll fall over the bluff if they’re not careful.”

  Tense but patient, the youths waited. Still the two men did not reappear.

  By now the Hardys were rapidly putting two and two together. The once-baffling clues in the strange case began to fall into place, like the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle.

  “Listen!” said Frank. “You know the two owls Simon drew, then crossed out? Now that I think of it, he must have meant the birds don’t make the sounds. Their cries are man-made! They’re signals to these men with the truck: one to stay away, one to come to the hollow. I wonder whi
ch is which?”

  “Not only that,” Joe added. “Someone is playing witch, using the old story of the missing dogs and screams to scare people away while this unloading is going on.”

  “I’ll bet one of the stolen dogs was parceled out by Donner to those hijackers we caught in the station wagon,” put in Chet. “The dog acted friendly at first, but the crooks must have trained him to attack on command.”

  “Sure,” Joe declared. “Walter Donner and his gang are hijackers. Probably they’re the same gang that Dad is trying to track down.”

  “Remember how Donner laughed at the police for not catching the thieves?” Frank reminded them. “He thinks he’s pretty clever!”

  “Captain Maguire probably suspected something,” he went on. “He came down to investigate and, I’m afraid, was taken prisoner or something worse.”

  “But if he’s a prisoner”—Joe puzzled—“where are they keeping him? Say, remember the door we heard closing in Donner’s kitchen, but didn’t see—that may be the answer!”

  Eager now to learn more, the three friends grew more impatient by the minute as the two men failed to return to the truck.

  “We must trail them,” Frank decided. “One at a time, and watch yourselves We can’t afford to get caught in a trap now.”

  First, Frank slipped cautiously from bush to bush, past the silent truck to the trees at the top of the hollow. Joe followed, then Chet.

  Warily they peered ahead. The two hijackers were nowhere to be seen. Frank led his companions through the narrow belt of trees and out onto the exposed edge of the bluff. Again they stopped to reconnoiter.

  Frank, Joe, and Chet were now crouching in the narrow ridge of small bushes that grew along the rim. Directly in front of them was nothing but bare rocks, curving sharply to the floor of the hollow below.

  By now the wind had come up again. Behind them, the trees waved wildly, and even in the brush the boys could feel its force. Constant flashes of lightning threw a clear white light over everything—so clear that every individual tree in Black Hollow stood out distinctly.

  By leaning forward slightly, the boys could see the roof of Walter Donner’s cabin and the small clearing surrounding it. There were Donner’s sheep, moving around nervously in their three-sided pen. But, to the boys’ amazement, there was absolutely no trace of the hijackers!