The Sign of the Crooked Arrow Page 12

  Just then another motor sounded beyond the big rock.

  “Morgan’s plane,” Frank cried.

  Instantly the police pilot ran to his craft and moved it under a clump of trees so it could not be seen from above.

  Too late, Bearcat spotted the chopper. Before he could maneuver his plane to flee, the state policeman opened up with his machine gun. Firing above and around the thieves’ craft, he forced the pilot to give up or be shot.

  Bearcat chose the former, and soon he and his wife were emerging from the white plane, with their hands held high.

  When all the prisoners were rounded up, the law officers and Mr. Hardy questioned Arrow Charlie about his operation at the caves. The big man was surly at first. But he finally realized silence was useless. Hoping for a lighter prison sentence, he talked freely.

  He showed the Hardys into a secret room deep in one of the caves, where the Arrow cigarettes were made.

  “What about the hissing crack?” Frank asked.

  Morgan led them to a pit a hundred yards back of the big rock. From one side a white plume of smoke hissed out through a split in the rock’s surface. Morgan had learned about it from the Indians and had employed a chemist to help him exploit the mysterious gas.

  Then he had hired the Indians to guard the approaches to his cigarette factory. When he needed more labor, he had lured the cowboys away from Crowhead, the nearest ranch.

  “How did you hit upon the crooked arrow as a sign of identification for your men?” Mr. Hardy asked.

  “That really wasn’t an arrow,” the man replied. “It was an ancient, writhing snake with crooked fangs and a forked tail. I found it carved on a rock pointing to the hissing crack. Must have been put there long ago by Indians as a warning. At first I thought it was a crooked arrow, and decided it would make a swell insigne for my distributors.”

  Arrow Charlie shrugged. “Things were going real well, until you Hardys began investigating our setup. I sent Silver to Bayport to put Fenton Hardy out of commission, but it didn’t help.”

  “Who set the ranch afire?” Joe asked.

  The guilty look on Morgan’s face revealed that the fire, indeed, was the result of arson.

  After a short rest, the sheriff and his men escorted the prisoners on the long ride to town, while the Hardys, Chet, Pete, and the errant cowboys rode back to Crowhead. The hands, reticent at first, began talking about Arrow Charlie. When they heard that the ranch house had been burned at his direction, they were enraged.

  “I think,” Pete said, “the least we can do to repay Mrs. Hardy is to help rebuild the house.”

  Cheers of approval greeted his suggestion.

  For the next two weeks Crowhead resounded to the clang of hammers and saws as the construction work moved along at a rapid pace. Ruth Hardy’s appreciation was unbounded.

  Then, the day after the job was completed, the Hardys and Chet stepped aboard a big jetliner at the Santa Fe airport to fly home. Mr. Hardy had left earlier to work on another case.

  Frank and Joe felt a little letdown as the plane lifted into the clouds. Life was beginning to seem slow already. But, as Chet predicted, this was not to be for long. The Secret of the Lost Tunnel was soon to bring new adventure into their lives.

  “I wonder what Slow Mo will say when we tell him we started solving the crooked arrow mystery right in his garage,” Frank said.

  Joe grinned broadly. “He’ll probably say, ‘I never thought of that!’ ”