The Stone Idol Read online

  Leading the way to his house, he produced Indian clothing, a wooden washtub, and a bushel basket full of blackberries. The Hardys crushed the blackberries in the water until it became a dark color; then they rinsed their hands and faces to hide their light complexions. Joe also drenched his hair to make it look black.

  Next the boys donned rough shirts, trousers, and boots. They slipped ponchos over their heads and pulled broad-brimmed hats down over their foreheads to mask the light color of their eyes.

  Joe grinned. “Think we’ll pass for Indians, Frank?”

  “As long as we keep our hats on. Let’s see if these getups work.”

  Keeping their eyes fixed on the ground, the Hardys walked through the square, mingling with the natives who were dressed just as they were. No one seemed to notice the two Americans.

  “Looks as if we can get away with it,” Frank muttered. “They can’t tell the difference. ”

  “Have your Spanish ready, Frank, in case somebody talks to us,” Joe advised.

  The Hardys said good-bye to Ata Copac and thanked him for his help. Then they walked along the road beyond the village leading to the mountain pass. Whenever they met an Indian, they hurried by quickly in order to avoid any questions. They followed a narrow, rocky trail up to the pass, where they could see snow-covered mountain peaks in the distance. One huge outcropping towered over their heads.

  “That’s the cliff Ata Copac mentioned,” said Joe, pointing to the right.

  He led the way onto a narrow ledge running along the top of the cliff. Frank was directly behind him, and they edged forward carefully.

  Suddenly Joe stepped on a boulder that gave way under his foot. Shaken loose, it hurtled down onto the jagged rocks below. Joe clutched wildly at the air in an effort to regain his balance. However, he failed, and with a frantic scream, toppled off the cliff!

  Frank lunged forward and reached for Joe’s poncho. For a moment, the younger Hardy boy was suspended in the air with nothing between him and the rocks at the bottom of the cliff. Then Frank got a firm grip on the poncho and pulled his brother back to the safety of the ledge.

  Joe blew his breath out in a great gasp. “Wow! That was too close for comfort!”

  “It sure was, Joe! Don’t step on any more boulders. You almost scared me to death!”

  Moving cautiously along the cliff, they reached the other side. From there, a short walk brought them to the deep gorge Ata Copac had mentioned. The bridge crossing was made of narrow branches tied with heavy ropes to trees on both sides of the canyon. Two more ropes were strung about three feet above the first pair, and fastened to them at three-foot intervals, providing the handrails.

  The makeshift bridge swayed in the wind as the Hardys approached it. They looked down and saw a small stream meandering at the bottom of the gorge.

  “You have to be an acrobat to cross over that thing,” Frank muttered. “It’s a death-defying stunt!”

  “I just hope the guy who anchored it to the tree knew how to tie a good sailor’s knot,” Joe added apprehensively.

  Placing a foot on the first branch, and steadying himself by holding onto the handrails, Joe started across. Frank followed. The bridge rocked from side to side as they moved, and the ropes strained at their moorings. The branches creaked under the weight of the two boys.

  It was slow going, and their hearts were pounding by the time they reached the opposite side. With relief they jumped onto solid earth.

  The Indian village they were looking for lay right in front of them. The people and the buildings resembled the ones they had just left. It was market day, and stalls were set up in the village square. Vendors were selling food, clothing, utensils, and farming implements. A pen held a small flock of vicuñas being offered for sale.

  “Joe, let’s pretend to be Indians from the mountains, in town for market day,” Frank advised. “And keep an eye open for Santana. ”

  Joe nodded tensely. Holding their heads low, the Hardys walked into the throng in the village square. Stall owners called out to them, offering their wares. Shaking their heads to indicate they were not interested, the boys moved on. After a few minutes, they began to feel secure in their disguises.

  Suddenly Frank tugged on Joe’s poncho and nodded toward a booth where small stone sculptures and other artwork were being offered. A man with his back to them was arranging the exhibit on a table behind the counter.

  “Let’s take a look at what he’s got for sale,” Frank said.

  Joe shrugged. “You don’t expect to find the Easter Island idol there, do you? Santana knows its worth. He’d never sell it to a guy like that. He wouldn’t make any money on it. ”

  “I know. But maybe the vendor can give us a clue as to where one might sell a valuable sculpture.”

  Casually the boys strolled over to the stall and looked at the pieces on the table. The man turned around with a smile, which froze on his face as he recognized them.

  Frank and Joe gaped. He was none other than Julio Santana!

  “The Hardys!” Santana exclaimed. “Welcome to our village. Would you like to buy one of my artifacts?”

  “Where’s the Easter Island idol you stole from South American Antiquities?” Joe demanded.

  “Here it is!” Santana replied. He turned and took a small sculpture from the table. With an icy stare, he thrust it into Joe’s hand.

  The boys examined it. “This is an imitation Incan piece!” Frank declared.

  Santana paid no attention. Instead, he screamed in Spanish: “Thieves! Thieves!”

  A number of Indians whirled around and stared at the Hardys.

  “Thieves! Thieves!” Santana kept yelling. Quickly a crowd began to gather, making threatening gestures at the young detectives.

  “Let’s get out of here!” Frank hissed.

  Joe dropped the sculpture and the boys took to their heels, pushing people aside as they ran past the stall.

  When they reached the open area leading to the bridge, a mob of Indians was behind them in headlong pursuit. In Spanish, they shouted threats of how the thieves would be punished once they were caught.

  Frank dashed onto the bridge, followed by Joe. Desperately they tried to run over it fast, but the dipping of the branches under their feet and the swaying of the ropes held them up. They were about three-quarters of the way across when Santana arrived at the canyon. He took hold of one of the handrails.

  “Grab the other one!” he shouted to a man beside him. “Now, do as I do!”

  He moved the rope back and forth, and his companion followed suit. Together, the two men caused the bridge to sway dangerously from side to side.

  Frank and Joe clung to the rails as the motion became more violent. High up in the air they fell to the right, then swung clear around to the left. The mountain spun before their eyes, and with each swing, they hovered over the gorge for a split second.

  At last the bridge was flung too high for a return swing. It turned upside down and collapsed.

  Frank and Joe were thrown off into the deep gorge below!

  7 Downhill Danger

  As the Hardys flew through the air, their fingers closed around one of the handrails. Gripping the rope tightly, they braked their fall and hung suspended over the gorge. Their Indian hats fell off and drifted down into the stream.

  Frank was unable to turn his head. “Joe, are you there?” he called out anxiously.

  “Right behind you!” Joe panted.

  “Move ahead hand over hand,” Frank yelled as he began to pull himself along the rope. Joe did the same.

  “They’re getting away!” Santana shouted. “They’re getting away, and we can’t follow them with the bridge turned upside down!”

  Frank and Joe reached the opposite side of the canyon and pulled themselves up onto solid ground. They collapsed on the soft earth to catch their breath. Meanwhile, the bridge began to swing again. Staring across the gorge, they saw that Santana and a group of natives were trying to turn it right side up.
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  “Let’s get out of here!” Joe exclaimed. “They’ll be coming across in a minute!”

  The boys rushed into the underbrush and concealed themselves beneath some tall bushes. They were still too exhausted from their ordeal to run very far. Peering through the branches, they could see the bridge hurtling back and forth in a wide arc. Finally it reached its peak and fell down into its original position.

  Santana and his companions ran over it as fast as they could and began to scout through the underbrush for the Hardys.

  “We can’t stay here!” Frank said in a hoarse whisper.

  “We don’t have to!” Joe whispered back. He pointed to a spot where a cave extended into the mountainside.

  Hitting the ground, the Hardys crawled into the cave and pulled small bushes and twigs over the entrance. Then they lay flat, gasping for breath and waiting to see what would happen.

  Their pursuers had split up and were running in all directions. Suddenly Frank and Joe heard Santana’s voice. “They got away!” the chauffeur complained in English.

  “Perhaps you were foolish to come here,” another man said.

  “It was an obvious choice. I wanted to stay with you until we could go on.”

  “It was too dangerous,” his companion declared.

  Frank and Joe could hear his footsteps as he came closer to the cave. Then they saw the outline of his figure through the brush. He stretched out his hand and the Hardys froze in terror.

  Had he discovered their hideout?

  But the man only plucked a few berries from a bush, popped them into his mouth, then said, “What will you do now, Julio?”

  “I will return to Santiago with the idol and hide out at Ernesto’s until you are ready. The Hardys will search the village and the mountains for me and they will never suspect I went back to the city. ”

  “Good,” the other man agreed. “I will find you at Ernesto’s when the time comes.”

  Both men walked off. Frank and Joe remained in their hiding place for a long time. Then they finally emerged cautiously, hoping that all the Indians had returned to the village after their futile search.

  “Now what?” Joe asked.

  “Let’s go back to our car and drive to Santiago,” Frank advised.

  “Too bad we can’t follow Santana,” Joe said. “But I’m sure he’s left already. I wonder where he plans to go with the other fellow.”

  Frank shrugged. “I have no idea.”

  The boys followed the return route along the ledge and through the mountain pass. They hurried to the Indian village without encountering any hostile natives, and quickly made their way to Ata Copac’s house, where they told him what happened.

  “I am sorry you did not catch the thief,” the village leader said.

  Frank nodded. “Well, at least we know he’s headed back to Santiago,” he said. The boys thanked Ata Copac for his help and washed off the dark dye they had used to disguise themselves. Then they exchanged their Indian garments for their regular clothes, said good-bye to their host, and drove off with Joe at the wheel.

  As they reached the steepest segment of the mountain road, he stepped on the brakes to slow their speed. Nothing happened. The car careened crazily forward!

  “The brakes don’t work!” Joe shouted.

  “And we’re going too fast to jump out!” Frank judged. “Keep steering, Joe!”

  Gripping the wheel, the boy struggled to stay on course. Rocky walls threatened the Hardys on one side, plunging cliffs on the other! Joe veered around curves at top speed, dodging boulders and potholes, while the speedometer of their car went up and up!

  As he rounded one corner, Joe saw another car racing directly toward them. Realizing there was no room for both, he made a split-second decision. Wrenching the wheel to one side, he steered off the road and the other car whizzed past.

  The Hardys bounced into an open area and slowed down as the wheels became entangled in grass and bushes. Joe swung around in a circle, and his vehicle gradually came to a stop.

  Bruised and shaken, the young detectives stared at one another. Joe mopped his forehead with a handkerchief.

  “That was a close call,” he said in a trembling voice.

  Frank nodded. “I want to look at those brakes. I bet—”

  Just then a familiar voice called out, “Are you boys all right?”

  Gloria Nemitz came running up, followed by Professor Yates. Without realizing it, the Hardys had reached the area of the American archeological dig.

  “I saw you drive off the road,” Gloria continued. “It looked like you were in trouble. ”

  “We were,” Joe admitted, as he and Frank climbed out of the car. “Our brakes didn’t work. ”

  “You can get them repaired here,” Yates declared. “We service all our own vehicles.”

  “Thanks. That’s great, Professor,” Frank said. “But first I want to find out what went wrong. ”

  He crawled under the car and inspected the machinery. Then he emerged with a grim face. “The connecting rod is nearly filed through,” he reported. “It snapped when Joe stepped on the brakes at the top of the hill!”

  “Somebody tried to kill us!” Joe exclaimed.

  “But who would want to do that?” Gloria questioned.

  “Julio Santana, the man from Easter Island,” Frank replied, and described their adventures since their visit to the dig, and the reason they had come to Chile.

  “I’m sorry to hear you have such a dangerous assignment, Yates said. ”Why don’t you walk over to our supply tent? We’ve got spare connecting rods.”

  The boys accepted his offer and repaired their car.

  “Why don’t you stay for some food?” Gloria invited when they were finished.

  Frank shook his head. “Thanks, but we can’t. We have to go back to Santiago as fast as possible.”

  “We don’t want to let Santana’s trail grow cold,” Joe added.

  Soon afterward, the Hardys were on the road again. They reached Santiago, turned their car in at the renting office, and walked to South American Antiquities. Bertrand was in his office inspecting some Incan artifacts.

  “Did you catch Santana?” he asked eagerly.

  “We caught up with him,” Frank replied. “But he got away again.”

  Bertrand stared at them in disappointment when they explained what happened.

  “Well, that leaves me no choice,” the antique dealer said finally. “I’ll have to call the police.”

  “Mr. Kimberley didn’t want that,” Joe objected. “Why don’t you give us another chance to look for Santana in Santiago?”

  Bertrand was doubtful. “I’ll let you know tomorrow morning,” he said with a sigh. “It’s late now, and I want to go home.” Wearily, he escorted the Hardys to the door.

  The boys discussed the case in their hotel room that night. “All we have to go on is a name—Ernesto,” Joe said.

  Frank nodded. “We might be better off asking the police for help, as Bertrand suggested,” he said. “Kimberley didn’t want the authorities involved, but that was because he signed the release for the idol and would have been the prime suspect. Now we know he didn’t take it. And the police might have some idea who Ernesto is, or even have a record of Santana!”

  “You’re right,” Joe admitted. “Let‘s—”

  Just then the telephone rang. Frank answered, and his face broke into a smile. “Hi, Dad,” he said. “What’s happening?”

  “You tell me first,” Fenton Hardy replied, and the young detective explained their adventures in the Easter Island idol case.

  “You did fine work,” his father commended him. “But as far as Santana is concerned, I’m afraid you’ll have to let the police handle him.”

  “We were thinking of asking the authorities for help,” Frank admitted. “But we want to keep searching for him, too. We have the Ernesto clue.”

  “I know,” his father said. “But I’d like you to put the case on the back burner and help me for a w
hile.”

  “Why, Dad? Do you need us?”

  “I do. I’d like you to leave Santiago as soon as possible.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “The Antarctic!”

  8 A New Plan

  Frank and Joe stared at one another. They could hear their father chuckling over the phone.

  “I thought that would interest you,” the detective said. “I can’t tell you any details at this point. Just catch a flight to Punta Arenas. It’s in Tierra del Fuego at the southern tip of South America. Belongs to Chile. There’s a plane out of Santiago tomorrow. I’ve already made reservations for you.”

  “What do we do after we land?” Frank wanted to know.

  “You’ll find out when you get there. An advisor will meet you at the information booth. I have to go now. Bye.” With that, Fenton Hardy hung up.

  “Dad’s really being mysterious,” Frank observed. “I wonder where he is.”

  “Probably in Washington,” Joe said. “Anyway, we won’t be going back to New York for a while. What do you say we call Kimberley?”

  “Good idea. He must be wondering if we’ve found the idol. But it’s too late now. Let’s do it in the morning. ”

  After breakfast the following day, Joe phoned South American Antiquities in New York.

  “What have you found out?” Kimberley demanded. “Any progress to report?”

  “That strange message you gave us was a clue,” Joe responded. “It showed us where to look for the idol—in a secret compartment. ”

  “Oh?”

  “Behind a photo of the Andes in the outer office of your Santiago branch. A small panel slid back when we lifted the photo off the wall. The peg worked as an automatic control. ”

  “I’ve seen that compartment!” Kimberley thundered. “It was there when we rented the office.”

  “I know,” Joe said. “Mr. Bertrand told us most of the staff were aware of its existence.”

  “But what about the idol. Was it there?”

  “It sure was. We were about to take it out when your chauffeur ran up to us and grabbed it.”

  “Julio? Are you talking about Julio Santana?”