The Alaskan Adventure Read online

  “Where are we going?” Frank asked as he and Joe followed David along a trail into the forest.

  “The grove,” David said. “It’s a place that Mona knows about.”

  “What’s there?” Joe asked.

  “Mona’s a healer,” David replied. “Her mother and grandmother were, too. To help Peter, she needs some plants and roots that grow only in the grove.”

  Frank had heard about Native American healers. Like peoples in other areas, David’s people had learned over hundreds of years which local herbs, leaves, and roots were helpful in treating illnesses. Even the big drug companies had learned to respect this knowledge. Teams of scientists were traveling to all parts of the world to find out as much as they could before the ancient lores were lost.

  After a twenty-minute hike Frank noticed a change in the trees. The dense stand of spruce was behind them, and they were in an open area of mixed birches and aspens. The bare, ice-decked branches sparkled in the weak sunlight.

  “Over there,” David said, pointing to a patch of ground near the base of a big oak. “Brush the snow away and dig up some of the moss you’ll find growing there.”

  Frank and Joe ran to the spot and worked together, exposing and gathering thick, earthy-smelling moss. Meanwhile, David dug up a patch of low-growing wintergreen, cut a section of bark off a black cherry birch, sliced off root sections of an alder bush, and took twigs from other trees and shrubs Frank didn’t recognize.

  Ten minutes later the three friends were on their way back to Glitter. The return hike went faster. When they got to the cabin, they found it filled with a strange aroma. On the stove a black iron kettle bubbled and steamed. Mona stood near it, putting in handfuls of herbs. She took the bag of stuff that David and the Hardys had collected and started adding that, too.

  While the herbal remedy steeped, Frank asked Mona, “Do you know what made Peter sick?”

  She shook her head. “Maybe the apple he ate was bad,” she said. “He started feeling sick right afterward.”

  “Did you or Justine eat any of it?” asked Joe.

  “Just him,” Mona said.

  David said, “I didn’t know we had any apples.”

  “We didn’t,” Justine told him. “It was a present from Curt Stone. We got a whole basket of fresh fruit from him.”

  Frank looked over at Joe and saw that his thoughts were running along the same lines. Why would Curt send a present to Peter? He had to know that Peter was one of the leaders of the opposition to ThemeLife’s plans for Glitter. Was the basket of fruit meant as a bribe? A pretty stingy one, if so.

  But what if Curt had deliberately poisoned one of the apples? Frank wondered. It sounded like something out of a fairy tale, but such things were known to happen. If Peter or one of his family got sick, it would keep Peter from organizing the town against the theme park. In fact, this and the fire in Peter’s cabin and the damage to Ralph Hunter’s boat could all be part of a plot to scare off people who were opposed to ThemeLife!

  “Where’d Curt get fresh fruit at this time of year?” David asked.

  Mona looked up from stirring the caldron. “It must have come in on the bush plane,” she said. “We thought he gave it to us to help us feel better about losing our cabin.”

  “What did he say when he brought it?” Joe asked.

  “He didn’t bring it,” Mona replied.

  “Gregg brought it,” Justine added.

  “Hold it, I’m a little confused,” Frank said. “Why did Gregg bring it?”

  Justine said, “Jake asked him to.”

  Mona must have seen the look of confusion on Frank’s face. She said, “Flip Atkins, the bush pilot, flies in the mail deliveries and food orders from Fairbanks. Everything but the mail goes to Jake at the general store. Then he delivers any special orders. Or asks somebody like Gregg to do it for him.”

  Frank opened his mouth to ask another question, but Mona held up her hand to stop him. She pulled on a pair of thick gloves and lifted the hot kettle. Justine held a piece of cloth over the mouth of an earthenware pot, and Mona poured the steamy liquid from the plants into the pot, straining it through the cloth.

  She then scooped a ladleful of the brew into a thick mug, poured in a little spring water to cool it, stirred in a teaspoon of honey, and took it over to Peter. Justine helped her father sit up on the edge of the bed while Mona held the mug to his lips.

  Peter finished drinking and lay down again. Frank asked Mona, “This basket of fruit—was there a card with it?”

  Mona crossed the room to the dresser and returned with a business card in her hand. Frank and Joe looked at it. It read, Curt Stone, Field Representative, ThemeLife, Inc. Handwritten on the back were the words “Best wishes, Curt.”

  “That’s his card, all right,” Frank said. “But it doesn’t have your names on it anywhere. He could have given that card to someone else, who put it in that basket of fruit. Someone like Gregg, for instance.”

  “I don’t get it,” David said. “Are you saying there was something wrong with the fruit?”

  “There’s no way to tell without a lab test,” Joe said. “But after what happened to Peter, I don’t think I’m going to try to eat any of that fruit.”

  David’s face reddened. “If Gregg thinks he can force me to drop out of the Iditarod by making me and my family sick, he’s going to find out different. And after I’ve beat him in the race, I’m going to do some major alterations on his face!”

  Justine put her hand on his arm. “David, we don’t know that Gregg did anything wrong,” she said. “I know you and he don’t get along, but he’s always been nice to me. I don’t think he’d try to hurt us.”

  Mona looked from Joe to Frank and said, “I hope you can get to the bottom of this, before anything worse happens.”

  She took the mug from the table and went back to Peter’s side. “How are you feeling?” she asked.

  “Better,” he croaked.

  “Good. Want some more?” she said, holding up the mug.

  Peter scrunched up his face. “That horrible stuff? Eeyuukk.”

  “It’s good,” Mona said, smiling. “It worked on you, didn’t it?”

  “Maybe it’s good for my stomach,” Peter replied. “But it’s eeyuukk for my mouth.”

  He tried to sit up. Mona pressed his shoulders back down. “Rest,” she said. “You need it.”

  “See what happens when you take something from ThemeLife?” Peter said, lying back. “Next thing you know, you’re sick as a dog.”

  “Hey, watch how you talk about dogs,” David said. “The Iditarod’s just a few days away!”

  • • •

  Just after nightfall Mona said she wanted to fix Peter some good, healthy moose steak. “Would somebody like to get some from the cache?” she asked, smiling and looking at Frank and Joe.

  “Sure,” Joe said, leaping to his feet.

  “Where is it?” Frank asked.

  “In the shed behind our cabin,” Mona said. “There’s most of a side of moose hanging there. You’ll find a big knife and a saw, too.”

  “How much do you want?” Frank asked as he donned his parka.

  Mona held her hands out, about six inches apart. “About this much,” she said.

  David lit a lantern for them, and the Hardys set off into the darkness. The Arctic sky was thickly sprinkled with glittering stars. An owl hooted nearby, and a small animal scurried away through the bushes.

  “They just leave their meat supply outside in a shed?” Joe asked.

  Frank laughed. “Don’t worry, it won’t spoil. The whole outdoors is one big freezer compartment.”

  “I get it,” Joe said. “Now I see why Mona mentioned that saw. We’re going to need it to cut off the meat.”

  The Windman cabin still smelled of smoke. Frank and Joe went around it and found the shed. Joe pulled open the door, and they stepped inside.

  Frank held up the lantern and looked around. To the left, fur pelts were stacked, stiff a
nd frozen, on a wooden crate. A two-man crosscut saw hung from a spike on the back wall. Other tools lay tossed in a big woven basket.

  “So where’s the moose?” Joe wondered, peering around. “Do you suppose Mona sent us out here as a joke or something?”

  “I don’t think so,” Frank said. “She needs that meat for dinner.”

  “Fine,” Joe said. “But where is it?”

  Frank held the lantern higher. “There’s a big hook in that beam,” he said. “It looks like that’s where the side of meat ought to be hanging. The only problem is, it isn’t.”

  “Frank,” Joe said, in a changed voice. “Frank, look!”

  Frank turned and looked. Painted on the plank wall with black paint was the rough outline of a heart. But this was no Valentine card. Protruding from the center of the heart was a wicked-looking butcher knife, the point driven deep into the wood.

  8 News Travels Fast

  * * *

  Joe and Frank stared at the knife stuck in the wall. After a long moment of silence Joe said, “The Windmans are counting on that meat to last them until spring, aren’t they?”

  Frank nodded grimly. “Probably.”

  “What kind of rat would steal a family’s food?” Joe asked.

  “A two-legged rat,” Frank said. “But I don’t think he cares about the meat. He wants to frighten Peter and Mona by showing them how easily they can be hurt.”

  Frank went over to the wall, put his nose near the painted heart, and sniffed. “The paint’s fresh,” he reported. “At a guess, no more than a couple of hours old, unless the cold keeps it from drying.”

  Joe thought about that for a few seconds before saying, “We know someone who was over this way at about the right time: Gregg. What if he brought that poisoned fruit, then took the moose carcass?”

  “He could have done it,” Frank agreed. “But so could almost anybody. The woods are just a few steps away. You slip in, do your dirty work, and slip away.”

  “ ‘Slip away’? How much do you suppose a moose weighs?” Joe asked. “They’re awfully big, aren’t they? You’re not going to toss it over your shoulder and stroll off through town.”

  “That’s a good point, Joe. Okay, we’re not talking about a whole live moose, which might weigh as much as a ton. Let’s say it’s a half or maybe a quarter of a dressed carcass. And Peter and Mona have been living off it since fall. Even so, what’s left must weigh a hundred pounds or more—maybe a lot more! Here, let’s take a look around outside. But watch where you step.”

  Even by the flickering light of the kerosene lantern, the tracks were easy to spot: two ruts about an inch wide, the distance between them about a foot and a half.

  “That’s too narrow for a dogsled,” Joe pointed out.

  “Remember when Justine went to get water from the spring?” Frank asked. “She used a sledge she pulled by hand.”

  Joe felt his jaw drop in shock. “Justine! Frank, you’re not saying—”

  “Of course not,” Frank said quickly. “But what do you want to bet she left the sledge outside the cabin, where anyone could get it?”

  Joe knelt down in the snow to get a closer look at the marks left by the sledge. “Look, Frank!” he said. “The tracks get deeper off to the left. The thief must have pushed or pulled it here from the path, loaded the meat on it, then gone off in the direction of the woods.”

  From the darkness David’s voice called, “Joe? Frank?”

  “Over here, David,” Joe called back.

  When David joined them, the Hardys quickly explained what they had found—and not found—inside the shed. David muttered a string of words in Athabascan. Joe didn’t understand a single one, but he was sure they weren’t compliments.

  “We found the tracks of a sledge,” Frank told him, and held the lantern near the marks.

  To Joe’s surprise, David got down on his hands and knees and put his face close to the tracks and felt the snow. When he stood up, he said, “This was Uncle Peter’s sledge. And the theft was just after sunset.”

  “How can you tell?” Frank asked.

  “From the way the snow looks and feels on the bottom and sides of the track,” David told him. “Let’s find out where the thief went.”

  As Joe had suspected, the trail led into the woods. They hadn’t followed it more than fifty yards when David held up a hand and said, “Wait—there’s something in the bushes on the left.”

  Frank held the lantern up at arm’s length. Joe narrowed his eyes and stared in the direction David had indicated, but he couldn’t make out anything more than a dark shape.

  David laughed aloud. “It’s our moose meat!” he said. “The thief must have dropped it here. We’ll have dinner after all!”

  They carried the frozen carcass back to the shed. While Joe and Frank sawed off a roast-size piece for dinner, David went back to follow the trail of the thief. A few minutes later he returned with the news that the thief had pulled the sledge around to the front of the cabin and left it there.

  “I told Joe I thought the thief wasn’t after the meat at all,” Frank said as they walked back to the cabin.

  David nodded. “What he wanted was to cause trouble for us. First he set our cabin on fire, then he threw the log through the window, then he doctored the fruit that made Uncle Peter sick, and now this. Somebody must hate us very much.”

  Joe was tempted to say that the incidents could have occurred for business reasons, not personal ones. He kept quiet. A business motive would probably upset David even more than the thought of having a personal enemy.

  • • •

  The next morning, while David was taking care of his huskies, Frank and Joe went into town to pursue their investigation. The first person they ran across was Curt Stone.

  “Hi, boys,” Curt said when he saw them. “How are you enjoying your stay?”

  “Fine,” Frank said. “Say, can we ask you about that basket of fruit?”

  “Ask away,” Curt replied. “What basket of fruit?”

  “The one you sent to Peter and Mona yesterday,” Joe told him.

  “Nope, not me,” Curt said easily. “Though, now you mention it, I should do something to show my sympathy, with all the trouble they’re having. I heard someone tried to steal their meat cache last night. Terrible, the things that happen.”

  “How did you hear about that?” Frank asked.

  Curt shrugged. “I told you. News travels fast in a little place like this,” he said. “But what’s this about a basket of fruit?”

  “Peter and Mona got a basket of fresh fruit yesterday, with your card in it,” Frank explained. He studied Curt’s face, which didn’t change, then went on. “Peter got sick after eating one of the apples.”

  Curt gave him a hard look. “I don’t like what you’re hinting at,” he said. “I didn’t send any fruit to anyone yesterday.”

  “What about your card?” Joe asked.

  “Half the population of Glitter must have my business card by now,” Curt retorted. “That’s what I print them up for—to give out to people.”

  Before either of the Hardys could think of a comeback to this, Curt added, “You boys will have to excuse me. I’ve got matters to attend to that are a lot more important than your wild accusations.”

  He walked away.

  After a moment Frank said, “Somebody sent that basket of fruit.”

  “We know who delivered it,” Joe pointed out. “Somebody who has a grudge against David. Maybe it carries over to David’s relatives.”

  “Let’s see what Jake has to say about it,” Frank suggested. “And while we’re there, I’d like to use Jake’s two-way radio to put in a call to Dad. He can look into the ThemeLife company for us.”

  “Great idea!” Joe said.

  Fenton Hardy, Frank and Joe’s father, had retired years before from the New York City police department to become a leading private investigator.

  When Frank told Jake what they wanted, he led them to the back room and rad
ioed Fairbanks. A minute later the link to Bayport went through. Jake handed the telephone receiver to Frank.

  Frank took it and waited with his palm over the microphone.

  Jake got the hint. “I’ll give you some privacy,” he said, and left the room.

  Frank and Joe took turns telling their father about Glitter and their dogsledding adventures on the Yukon River. They didn’t mention the fire or the other strange incidents. Anyone with a short wave set could be listening in on their call.

  At the end of the call Frank said, “Oh, and there’s a big campaign here by a company called ThemeLife to set up a theme park in the area. We’d sure like to know more about the company. It sounds very interesting—very. You don’t know anything about it, do you? ThemeLife?”

  “Why, no,” Mr. Hardy replied. “But if you fellows think it’s interesting, I’m sure it is. Maybe I’ll ask around about it. I’m sure your mom and Aunt Gertrude would like to say hello, but they’re out shopping. Can you arrange to be at this number one hour from now?”

  Frank gave a sigh of relief. His father had understood. “No problem, Dad,” he said. “We’ll make a point of it.”

  After Frank hung up, he said softly to Joe, “He’ll look into it and call back in an hour. We’d better wait before we ask Jake about the fruit.”

  “Until after we’ve heard from Dad, you mean?” Joe replied. “Right—or else something might go wrong with Jake’s radio.”

  Frank and Joe spent the next forty-five minutes trying to find Gregg. Several people said they had seen him that morning, but Frank and Joe never managed to catch up to him. They’d have to question him later. It was time to go back to Jake’s store for the call from their father.

  Frank took the call, which lasted less than a minute, during which he wrote down what he was hearing. When he got off, he showed Joe his notes, which read, “Sound reputation but desperate financial situation. Success of new projects crucial to company survival.”

  “I think we’re onto something here,” Frank said in an undertone.

  “ ‘Survival,’ ” Joe quoted. “That’s a pretty powerful motive to do whatever it takes to swing the vote your way. Even if it means trying to poison your opponents.”