Mystery of the Desert Giant Page 3

  “Say, I thought this was desert country,” Chet marveled.

  “It was,” Frank answered. “You’re looking at the result of irrigation in this spot. See the little ditch lines? No better soil anywhere. All it needs is water.”

  Farther on, they spotted the desert effigies and Frank dropped down for a landing not far from the knoll on which they had seen the lone giant.

  “Assuming this is where Grafton landed,” Joe mused as they piled out of the plane, “what would he have done next?”

  “He’d probably have climbed up onto that knoll to look around,” Frank suggested. “Come on!”

  Eagerly the young detectives scrambled to the top of the steep bank to hunt for clues.

  “Let’s just stand here a moment and get our bearings,” Joe suggested when they had reached the top.

  From where the boys stood, the area ahead of them was a dry, pebble-covered expanse and nothing more, with the exception of a small bush here and there. Not far from them, however, they noticed a wide dirt path.

  “Looks as if somebody took a broom and swept a walk among the pebbles,” Chet remarked.

  “Believe it or not, that’s one of the giant’s legs,” Joe said.

  Frank looked thoughtful. “I’m wondering,” he said, “if these knolls aren’t man-made. The ancient Indians could have built them and then drawn the effigies on top.”

  “You may be right, Frank,” Joe replied. “It’s a good theory. And the position of the giant may have meant something.”

  The boys tramped around the knoll, gazing in every direction. “Look,” said Joe, desperately seeking a clue, “if Grafton stood here, what would have caught his attention?”

  Suddenly Frank, who stood near the left hand of the giant, gazing down at the desert, cried out, “There’s something glinting out there!”

  “What is it—a mineral?” Joe asked.

  “Let’s find out!” Frank urged, starting down the embankment.

  Joe and Chet, following close behind, saw Frank reach the desert floor, then suddenly skid to a halt and leap backward.

  “Look out!” he shouted warningly.

  CHAPTER IV

  A Warning

  A HUGE angry lizard, nearly two feet long, had raised its head and was advancing slowly toward Frank. The reptile’s forked purple tongue darted menacingly from its mouth.

  Frank danced back out of reach and waved his companions to a halt. “Nearly stepped on it,” he said, as the lizard, hissing sharply, came on. The thick, dark-purplish body was blotched with bright yellow and covered with warts.

  “Wow!” Chet’s eyes popped. “What is it—a baby crocodile?”

  “Gila monster,” returned Frank, still watching the lizard closely. “Stay back. They’re slow as turtles in a race, but I wouldn’t get near those fangs. Their bite is poisonous.” At this news Chet jumped backward an extra yard.

  Finally the monster stopped its advance and stood regarding the boys out of cold, ugly eyes.

  “Trying to scare us.” Joe chuckled.

  “He’s succeeding,” declared Chet. “Let’s get out of here!”

  Frank and Joe looked at each other, their eyes twinkling.

  “Chet,” Frank said, “you go back. Joe and I will find out what that glittering thing is.”

  Nervously the chunky boy considered the expanse of desert between him and the blue airplane. No telling how many Gila monsters he might meet!

  “Alone?” he asked blankly.

  “Sure. Go on. Wait for us at the plane.”

  Wistfully, Chet considered the distance again. “No,” he protested in a forced hearty voice, “your folks would never forgive me if I let you down.”

  The Gila monster disappeared under a bush and the three boys started forward again. Ahead of them the unknown object flashed in the sunlight. After walking for some time, they did not appear to be much closer. All three boys were wearing moccasins, and the heat from the broiling sand made their feet uncomfortably warm.

  “Say, do you think that thing is moving away from us?” Chet complained. He took out a gaudy handkerchief and began to mop his face.

  “It’s tied to the tail of a Gila monster!” Joe teased, and Frank added, “Out here you can see twenty miles instead of two or three miles as we can at home.”

  As the boys finally approached the mysterious glittering object, they saw that it was a twelve-inch, round, metallic rock which caught and reflected the sun’s rays.

  Joe rushed forward to investigate. He found the big rock studded with lovely solid-colored stones. Some were dark red, others a rich brown, a few deep green. Nature had placed these stones in the rock like jewels.

  “That’s beautiful, Joe,” said Frank, as he came up. “What is it? Some kind of quartz?”

  Back in Bayport, Joe Hardy had an extensive collection of rocks and stones. Now he carefully examined their find.

  “Jasper, I’d say. Very fine specimens, too.”

  As slow-moving Chet joined them, he said, “Say, that stuff looks valuable. Are they precious stones?”

  “Well, they’re not exactly diamonds.” Joe laughed. “But they are valuable, and no mistake.”

  After a quick search the boys concluded that there were no similar rocks nearby.

  “That’s strange. Where did this one come from? It doesn’t look as if it belonged here,” Joe mused.

  Meanwhile, Frank had been examining the ground nearby. “You know,” he announced, “this rock might have had something to do with Grafton’s disappearance.”

  “How?” Chet asked.

  “There may be other valuable stones containing jasper around here. Maybe Grafton and Wetherby spotted some from the air and landed to pick them up.”

  Chet nodded. “After they had gathered them, some thugs stole the stones and got rid of Grafton and Wetherby.” The boy looked around him uneasily.

  “That could be,” Joe agreed. “But somehow I don’t think so. However, they may be prisoners.”

  “Well, fellows, this sun isn’t growing any cooler while we stand here. I vote we head back to the plane and take this rock along with us,” Frank suggested.

  He hoisted the big stone to his shoulder, and the three started back. Now it was their blue plane that appeared to be much closer than it really was. Again they walked for some time without seeming to make progress.

  “I’ll take a turn,” Joe offered.

  The heavy burden was shifted to his shoulder, and they went on. Finally, his face wet with perspiration, he called, “Your turn, Chet. Get a soft spot ready on your shoulder!”

  With sighs and groans, the valuable rock was transferred to the beefy shoulder of Chet Morton.

  “Why did we bring this old thing!” he grumbled. “How do we know it’s valuable?” he demanded two minutes later.

  For answer, Joe simply winked at his brother.

  “This stone weighs twelve tons,” protested the burdened boy. “Isn’t my turn up yet? It’s driving me into the ground!” Chet declared a dozen steps later.

  Suppressing their laughter, Frank and Joe walked behind. Suddenly, at a signal, they sang out together:

  “Gila monster!”

  “Where? Where? Oh—I see him!” The stone, in spite of its great weight, was sent flying forward through the air, and Chet Morton, showing great agility for a boy his size, went sprinting in the opposite direction.

  The Hardy brothers enjoyed their joke so thoroughly that for a moment they did not notice anything else. The heavy stone, however, had suddenly disappeared. “Hey! What happened to the rock?” Joe cried out.

  “Guess it went in that hole,” Frank said.

  “Serves you both right!” Chet called. “You and your Gila monsters!”

  “Why, Chet, you mean you didn’t see any monster? Then why did you run?” Joe teased.

  “Well ... I guess I made a little mistake,” mumbled their friend.

  “You sure did. You let that valuable stone roll into a hole. To make up for it, you�
��re elected to get the stone out.”

  Chet was agreeable but soon found he could not do it alone as the hole was narrow and deep. Perspiring and breathing heavily, he begged for help. Laughing, the resourceful Hardys took off their belts and improvised a cradle in which to drag the rock back to the surface. From there, Frank and Joe took turns carrying it to the plane.

  By the time the plane had landed at Riverside County Airport, it was after five o’clock.

  “Just about suppertime,” noted Chet with satisfaction. “A swim and a steak—”

  Gene Smith came out on the field to meet them. “Hello, boys! What luck?” he called.

  Chet told him about the Gila monster. Smith grinned and said, “I once made a pet out of one of those critters. Used to drink milk out of a saucer, and jump in my lap like a house cat.”

  “Really?” Chet gulped.

  “Sure,” Smith went on, with a straight face. “I taught that Gila to whistle. But it could only whistle one tune. I got tired of ‘Dixie,’ so I got rid of him.”

  The boys laughed, then showed him the jasper-studded rock. “This is all we discovered.”

  “Um, lucky find. We call that stuff Chinese jade. It’s picked up now and then.”

  “Do you think Grafton and Wetherby could have been after other pieces, lost their way, and perhaps injured themselves in the mountains?” Joe asked.

  Smith shrugged. “Could be. But it’s a long walk.”

  “We have a favor to ask,” put in Frank. “Willard Grafton’s ship is here. May we check it for clues?”

  “Help yourself. She’s at the back of the far hangar over there. When you’re through I’ll run you into town.”

  “Thanks.” Frank covered the jasper stone and locked the plane. The boys hurried over to Grafton’s craft, a handsome red-and-white ship, with seats for four in the cabin. One of the cabin doors hung open.

  “Funny they don’t keep it locked,” Joe remarked.

  While Frank checked the instrument panel and Chet looked in the baggage area, Joe opened a little compartment similar to the glove compartment in an automobile. A penciled note on a scrap of yellow paper was all he found.

  “Here’s something!” Joe cried, waving the note.

  Frank and Chet crowded near him to read over Joe’s shoulder:TAKE WARNING HARDYS. ROSES ARE RED. VIOLETS ARE BLUE. WE FIXED GRAFTON. WE’LL FIX YOU. GET OUT WHILE THE GETTING IS GOOD.

  CHAPTER V

  The Mob Scene

  “WHEW!” Chet whistled. “A warning! I knew this was coming!”

  The Hardys’ faces showed a combination of anger and perplexity. Who had written the note? Someone with a sardonic sense of humor, certainly.

  “Let’s not say anything about this,” Frank suggested. “But we should report that the plane door was open. I’m sure the person who delivered the note is responsible.”

  “Yes. The hangar is out of the way,” Joe agreed. “He might have sneaked in here any time, especially during the night. He knew we’d go over Grafton’s plane sooner or later.”

  “This proves that our movements are being watched a lot more closely than we realized,” said Frank soberly, pocketing the note. “I think it’s time to check with Dad. Let’s go!”

  The boys learned that Grafton’s plane had indeed been broken into and would be more carefully guarded in the future. Back in their motel room, Frank put through a long-distance call to Bayport.

  “Hello, Mother! ... Yes, we’re all right. ... Everything’s fine. We’re enjoying ourselves very much.... Can you put Dad on, please? ... Oh!”

  Covering the mouthpiece with one hand, Frank told his companions, “Dad’s case has taken him out of town and Mother doesn’t know where to reach him. He left us a message.

  “Go ahead, Mother,” Frank resumed. For the benefit of Joe and Chet, he repeated the note as Mrs. Hardy read it to him.

  “Hold up work at Blythe.... Proceed to Los Angeles.... Investigate Grafton’s business and interview his family.... Hope to see you before long. Dad.”

  The next morning as the three boys loaded their rucksacks, Frank grinningly whispered some order, then they went to the motel office.

  “Leaving so soon, boys?” the manager inquired.

  “Yes, the country doesn’t agree with our friend’s appetite,” Joe replied.

  “No place like home,” Chet Morton added.

  “If we’ve left anything behind, will you send it to our address in Bayport?” Frank asked.

  “Certainly. Sorry you don’t like it here.”

  It was not until the three friends had taken off from the county airport that the subject came up again. Then, with a grin, Joe said, “Did we look dissatisfied enough? I was trying to play my part, but I almost burst out laughing instead.”

  “I think that manager will remember us all right when somebody asks him about us.” Frank chuckled.

  “He’ll say we were in a mighty big hurry to leave Blythe and go back East,” Chet joined in the joking.

  “Which is just what we want,” Frank declared. “Meanwhile, we’ll be in Los Angeles digging up clues!”

  The flight was a brief one. Soon Frank, Joe, and Chet were installed in a spacious room in one of the city’s older downtown hotels. While the brothers unpacked, Chet fussily inspected their quarters.

  “Good solid metal fire escape,” he announced, glancing out one of the windows.

  Chet announced he was going on an errand and went out. An hour later, as Frank and Joe were discussing a plan of action, he returned.

  “No more detective work for old Chet today,” he announced brightly. “Here we are in Los Angeles, the movie capital of the world. I don’t know about you fellows, but I’m going out to a lot and watch them make movies. Behold!”

  With a flourish he produced three passes to a motion-picture lot. “I called up an uncle who lives here in town,” he explained. “What about it, fellows?”

  “You go ahead, Chet,” Frank suggested. “Joe and I will see what we can find out about Grafton and Wetherby at police headquarters, and show the warning note. Meet you back here later.”

  At headquarters the Hardys spoke to the detective sergeant who had been assigned to the case. “We’re really stumped on this Grafton disappearance,” the man admitted ruefully. “Nothing to go on. And we don’t know much about Wetherby except what the Blythe police could give us.”

  “Do you think Mrs. Grafton would see us?” Frank inquired.

  “Oh, yes. Poor woman, she’ll be grateful for your interest. You might stop at Grafton’s electronics plant, too. A manager operates it now.”

  When the detective had finished, Frank revealed what the boys had learned so far, and produced the threatening note.

  “You’re on to something, all right,” agreed the sergeant. “Keep me posted. And call on us any time, day or night, if you’re in danger!”

  The brothers thanked the sergeant and went back to their hotel. Chet Morton had not returned, but the two movie-lot passes were still on the table. Joe slipped them into his pocket.

  “Why not go and meet him?” he suggested. “I wouldn’t mind seeing a movie in the making myself!”

  “Okay,” Frank agreed. “We can call on Mrs. Grafton this afternoon.”

  The movie studio was fairly easy to find. Inside, an attendant checked the brothers’ passes and directed them to the proper set, where a picture about Mexico was being filmed. However, they couldn’t see the bulky figure of Chet Morton among the other spectators.

  In the middle of the set itself a great many people were milling around. Most of the men wore tall, wide Mexican hats. Some were in faded blue jeans with blue denim jackets, while others had on gaily embroidered outfits with silver buckles and beautifully tooled leather belts and boots. All the women wore bright-colored costumes.

  “Getting ready for a mob scene,” Frank remarked.

  Suddenly Joe, whose eyes had been roving over the set, noticed two actors talking earnestly together in a corner. As the two
parted, Joe was astonished to see that one was Chet, who was wearing his brand-new sombrero.

  “Hi!” the stout boy called out as he spotted the Hardys. He hurried over.

  “Who’s your friend, Chet?” Joe inquired. By now the man had disappeared in the crowd of actors.

  “Oh—just one of the ‘extras,”’ Chet explained. “He has a walk-on part in all of the mob scenes. When he saw my sombrero he said maybe I could get a job as an ‘extra’ too. But I can’t,” the disappointed Chet admitted sadly. “I asked the director. What a thrill it would have been, too!”

  “Let’s go, then.”

  After the three left the lot they passed a bank on the street near the studio. Chet called a halt. “I want to go in here a minute, fellows. That poor actor you saw with me can’t leave work before the banks close, so I cashed a check for him.”

  “Say, you want to be careful whose personal checks you accept,” Joe observed.

  “Oh, this one’s okay. It’s a United States government check for fifty dollars. It had been made over to Al Van Buskirk—that actor I was talking to—and he endorsed it to me,” Chet reassured him, and went into the bank.

  A few minutes later the door opened again, but instead of Chet, a uniformed bank guard confronted Frank and Joe!

  “Friends of Chester Morton inside?” he asked them gruffly.

  When they said yes, the guard asked them to come into the bank. He said Chet was in trouble.

  “You’re my witnesses, fellows,” Chet burst out in a worried voice. “Tell the cashier you know me and I’m honest.”

  Briefly, Joe corroborated this statement. The cashier and guard appeared satisfied.

  “But what about my money?” Chet wailed. “That check cleaned me out of cash.”

  “I’m afraid you’re out of luck,” the cashier said. “We’ll turn the counterfeit check over to the Treasury Department, of course.”

  “Counterfeit!” Frank exclaimed.

  “That’s right,” the cashier said. “A mighty good one, too.”

  Frank and Joe looked at each other and instantly thought of their father’s case. By any chance could Chet’s counterfeit check have anything to do with it?