The Wailing Siren Mystery Page 6

  “You take this gadget, Joe, and tell me what you think it is.”

  Joe listened. “Sounds like pounding or hammering,” he said.

  “I thought it might be a machine,” Frank said. “You listen, Biff.”

  After holding the detector to his ear a few seconds the lanky youth grinned. “I don’t hear anything like that. You fellows spoofing me?”

  Joe grabbed the instrument and listened for a minute. “The sound has stopped.”

  Frank frowned. “Maybe we’ve been seen. From now on we’d better creep along,” he advised.

  “Yeah, we may be right on top of their hideout,” Biff said grimly.

  The ground ahead rose slightly to the crown of a little hillock. Reaching the top, the boys peered hopefully down the other side.

  “Do you see what I see?” Frank whispered excitedly. “Isn’t that a chimney sticking up behind those trees? Come on, fellows!”

  The boys made their way down the hill, taking extreme care to keep well concealed.

  “Let’s sneak up on the place from three directions,” Biff said.

  The chimney belonged to an old shack. The roof was half caved in, and gunny sacks were nailed over the windows.

  “Guess nobody lives here,” Biff observed.

  “Somebody may be hiding in it, though,” said Frank. “We’d better find out.”

  The boys conferred briefly on making a surprise attack. It was decided that Joe would throw a rock at the back of the cabin. If anybody were inside, his attention would be directed there. Then Frank and Biff would rush in through the front door.

  Well hidden in the bushes, Joe selected a large rock. Taking careful aim, he sent it sailing toward the building. It hit with a loud crash. Immediately Frank and Biff raced from cover and ran through the front entrance.

  Nobody was inside. The only sign of habitation was a rickety cot, which showed no evidence of recent use. On a crude hearth lay a heap of ashes. Frank felt the stones. They were cold. By this time Joe had joined them.

  “Nobody home,” Biff announced.

  “What’s that?” Joe asked as he noticed a large object, draped with burlap bags, standing in a corner. He pulled them off, revealing a motor.

  “Holy crow!” he exclaimed. “It’s an airplane engine. How did it get here?”

  An idea flashed into Biff’s mind. “The missing planel Maybe it crashed in these woods after all, and somebody dragged the motor in here!”

  “It couldn’t have been dragged far,” Joe said excitedly. “This thing is heavy. I’ll bet Jack Wayne’s nearby. Come on, fellows. Let’s look for him!”

  CHAPTER XI

  A Hoax

  “IF Jack Wayne crashed here,” Frank said, “the person who moved the motor would have taken care of him, too.”

  “The gang!” Joe declared. “Maybe that’s what Wayne meant by ‘hijackers.’ ”

  Biff had a different idea. “Wayne may not be here at all. That motor could have torn loose from the plane before it crashed.”

  “Hey!” Frank called out excitedly. “This motor has never been in a plane. It’s brand new! I should have noticed that right away!”

  “How do you suppose they ever got an airplane engine through these woods?” asked Joe.

  The three boys scouted the area for further evidence, agreeing to meet again at the cabin to report any sign of a plane accident or other unusual circumstance. Joe, the first to return, had seen nothing unusual, except that a piece of bark had been chipped off a tree standing near the shack.

  Wondering if the cut had any special significance, he looked at other trees in the vicinity. Three of them had had bits of bark stripped off.

  Joe was about to look farther, when Frank and Biff joined him. After hearing they had failed to locate a crack-up, he called their attention to the nicked trees.

  “I believe they’re trail-blaze marks,” he said, “and made not very long ago. Let’s follow ’em and see where they lead.”

  Within five minutes two other marked trees were found.

  “Do you think the trail might lead to the wrecked plane?” Biff asked.

  The Hardys were inclined to believe the trail might possibly take them near the hideout of the men they were seeking. The boys continued to follow it.

  The Hardys’ keen eyes were alert for any evidence that the thieves or kidnappers might be around. But by midmorning all were weary from following the blazed trees with no end to the trail. Frank kept listening to the detector, but if the forest held a secret, it was being kept well.

  All at once Biff let out a cry. “Well, what do you know about this? We’ve been going in a circle.”

  Frank and Joe rushed to where their friend stood. There was no doubt about it. An oak with some of its bark removed was easily identified by a long split down the trunk into which a bird had built a nest.

  Following a trampled path, the boys found another familiar tree, then another.

  “I don’t see why anybody would mark a trail in a circle,” Biff said.

  After a few minutes’ thought Frank suggested that there probably were offshoots of the main trail. The boys spread out to look. Only Biff found one.

  “This thing’s got me dizzy,” he said. “Where are we headed, anyway?”

  Frank stopped. “I think there’s something phony about this whole deal,” he said. “Maybe this trail was made on purpose to lead people away from the cabin or the place where we heard the hammering sound.”

  “You mean I’m going to fall into some trap the way you fellows did?” Biff exclaimed, frowning.

  “Not if you watch your step,” Joe replied. The boys walked on. More trail marks, and more unfamiliar territory. Silence followed, until Frank whispered:

  “I’ve picked up something on the detector. Sounds like digging. Somebody’s up ahead, and not far away!”

  The hikers dropped to the ground, then slowly and silently inched their way forward.

  Biff, in his enthusiasm to make a capture, outdistanced the others.

  Ahead loomed a large rock. The unknown digger was on the other side of it. The boys could hear the sound of metal biting into soil.

  “Here goes!” Biff murmured to himself.

  He raised up and flung himself upon the stooped figure. There was a tangle of arms and legs. The digger was overpowered. Biff peered into his face.

  “Chet! Well, I’ll be mousetrapped,” he blurted, rising from the stout boy’s midriff.

  “What are you doing here?” Frank asked.

  “Yes, how did you get this far from camp?” Joe put in eagerly.

  “W-w-wait a minute,” Chet begged. “Let me catch my breath.”

  He sat down against the rock and mopped his brow. “I do a fellow a favor,” he continued, “and this is what happens.”

  “Do whom a favor?” Frank asked.

  “Tony. Who else?” Chet puffed. “I’m digging worms for him. He wants to catch some trout.”

  The boys looked down at the hole. Chet had been digging with his tin plate. Two worms wriggled beside it.

  “Where’s Tony?” Frank asked.

  “At camp. Right over there!”

  “Oh no!” Joe wailed.

  “Jumpin’ jeepers!” Biff exclaimed. “Somebody made a trail right here to our camp!”

  “He probably was watching all the time,” Joe declared. “But if he was one of the gang, why didn’t he just shoot at us and get it over with?”

  “I don’t think the trail was made by one of the gang,” Frank said. “We may have a friend in North Woods.”

  “What do you mean?” Chet asked.

  “That warning note we received may have been left by someone with good intentions, and he’s helped us out again.”

  After hearing the whole story, Chet said, “Two warnings are enough for me. I vote we leave this place.”

  “I think Chefs right,” Biff said. “Let’s shove off.”

  Tony agreed with Chet and Biff. “What’s more,” he said, “my dad’
s expecting me home to drive for him.”

  Outvoted, the Hardys agreed to go, but begged the others to stay until morning.

  “Look, fellows,” Frank said, “Joe and I will do some work alone. You fellows stay here and swim. Besides, we have to get the canoe.”

  They ate a quick lunch from the emergency kit they were carrying, then made their way to the tumble-down shack. They approached it quietly, Frank in the lead.

  “Joe! The motor’s gone!”

  The boys stared in amazement at the spot where the engine had stood. The burlap sacks had been tossed to one side.

  “Gosh, I wish I’d taken the serial number of that engine,” Joe said.

  “I wonder how much of a gang is in on this deal,” Frank mused. “It would take several strong men to move that heavy engine. Well, now where do we head?”

  The boys decided to depend on the detector for help. Finally their patience bore fruit.

  “Hammering?” Joe asked as his brother’s face lighted up.

  “No.”

  “The wailing siren?”

  Frank shook his head. “An animal.”

  Joe listened. “Maybe it’s the wolf that attacked me,” he said.

  “If he belongs to that fake salesman, now’s our chance to find that crook!” Frank declared.

  Hunting knives in hand to assist in any unexpected attack, the boys started off in the direction of the howling, which now could be heard without the aid of the detector.

  “That’s more than one animal,” Frank said.

  The Hardys proceeded more slowly. Suddenly a clearing opened up ahead. In the middle of it the boys saw a six-foot-high wire enclosure. Behind the netting five animals growled fiercely.

  “Wolves!” Joe exclaimed.

  “Sure looks that way,” Frank answered.

  “What are they doing here?”

  “We’ll find out.”

  Careful to keep themselves concealed, the boys circled the enclosure. The wolves smelled their presence, however, and started to howl.

  “I hope they haven’t given us away,” Joe whispered. “Their keeper must be nearby.”

  The boys looked about them. Partly hidden among the trees some distance to their left was a cabin, its front door open.

  Frank and Joe approached it cautiously. Nobody was in sight.

  “Someone may be spying on us from a window,” Joe whispered.

  He and Frank waited a few minutes before approaching closer to the cabin. Nothing seemed to be stirring.

  “I’m going to take a look,” Joe said.

  “I’m with you.”

  They stepped quietly through the brush and into a small open space in front of the cabin. There was an ominous silence about the place.

  Anxiety showed on Frank’s face. “Joe, I don’t like ...”

  His words were punctured by a snarl which froze the boys in their tracks. The head of a wolf flashed in the doorway. With a vicious growl, it sprang toward the Hardys.

  “The same one that attacked me!” thought Joe, poising his knife.

  The beast let out a piercing whine and jerked back. Then the boys saw that he was chained to the door. The frustrated animal continued to bellow and glower, straining at his leash.

  A sharp voice cut the air. “Stand where you are!”

  Frank and Joe wheeled. A tall man, his hat pulled low, stood before them, a gun in his hand.

  CHAPTER XII

  A Strange Pet

  THE man was a giant of a woodsman. His face was heavily bearded and his eyes fiercely sharp. Besides the gun, he carried a long whip.

  “What are you doing here?” he demanded.

  “Oh—uh—just looking around,” Frank replied, trying to look innocent. “I’m afraid we’re lost.”

  The man eyed the boys sharply, as if he doubted this statement.

  “You’re trespassing on private property,” he said sternly.

  “Private?” Joe asked.

  “Yes. I breed wolves here. This is a dangerous area.”

  All the while the animal chained to the door growled and pulled at his leash.

  “Quiet, Saber!” the man shouted.

  He flicked his whip and the end of it snapped like a rifle shot a scant two inches from the wolfs jaws. The animal retreated and threw itself down across the doorway.

  “Why do you keep wolves here?” Joe asked.

  “I breed them for zoos. And now I want to give you kids some good advice,” he snapped. “Leave this forest pronto and don’t come back! Do you hear me? Don’t come back!”

  Frank was not ready to go quite yet. This man might know some things the Hardys wanted to find out.

  “Do you take care of these animals all alone?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, by the way, we found a valuable rod and reel near our camp down near the river. Do you know who may have left it there?”

  “No.”

  “Did a plane crash around here recently?” Joe queried.

  “No.”

  “There’s an old shack off in the woods,” Frank said, pointing to the direction from which they had come. “Anybody live there?”

  “Listen, I ain’t answering any more of your nebby questions,” the woodsman said curtly. “Now clear out of here and don’t let me see you around these parts again!” He cracked his whip. “Get going!”

  Joe thrust out his chin in determination. “We’ll go,” he said, “but we don’t intend to be ordered around like your animals!”

  The man merely glared as the Hardys retreated into the woods, following the trail over which they had come. When they were out of earshot of the woodsman, they stopped to talk over the situation.

  “I sure don’t care for that guy!” Joe said.

  “Same here. I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw a haystack,” Frank agreed.

  “His story about breeding wolves for zoos sounded awfully fishy.”

  “Of course. It’s obvious he’s training the wolves to attack people. But why?”

  “Probably to scare them out of the woods. The critter that chased me just before I fell into the pit looked an awful lot like Saber,” Joe said.

  Suddenly Frank stiffened. “Listen!”

  In the distance he had detected the sound of something crashing through the brush.

  “Saber!” Joe exclaimed. “The man let him loose!”

  “Up a tree!” Frank urged.

  The boys raced through the forest until they spotted a couple of fir trees they could climb readily. Leaping to the lowest branches, they pulled themselves up into the trees.

  The Hardys were barely a safe distance off the ground when Saber reached them. Snarling and snapping, he pawed at one trunk and then the other. Joe broke off a branch and hurled it down, hitting the wolf on the nose. The infuriated ani mal howled and ran in circles around the tree.

  “This beast may not let us down for days,” Joe remarked woefully.

  “There’s one way we can catch him,” Frank said hopefully. “With a pole and noose. There’s a branch above you that’s pretty straight.”

  Joe climbed up. He cut off the branch and quickly stripped it of twigs and leaves.

  “I have a coil of small rope in my pocket,” Frank said, pulling it out.

  He threw it across to Joe, who fastened a noose to the end of the pole.

  Joe dangled the pole and the noose close to the ground. The wolf snapped at it. With a deft twist, the boy flung the rope over Saber’s head.

  “Pull!” Frank cried.

  The boy hauled the pole upward, but the wolf was heavy. It lashed out fiercely, snarling and gnashing with its fangs. Suddenly the animal freed itself and tumbled to the ground.

  “Whew!” Joe exclaimed. “He weighs a ton.” Saber continued to circle the trees but more warily. Joe tried to rope him again, but the wolf would not be tricked the second time.

  As the boys wondered what to do, they were startled by a distant wailing noise.

  “What’s that
, Frank? The siren?”

  “Sounds like it, but it’s mighty faint.”

  “Well, what do you know about that?” Joe cried. “Saber’s leaving!”

  The strange sound seemed to bother the animal. Putting its tail between its legs, Saber slunk off.

  “He acts frightened. That sound probably hurts his ears.”

  The boys dropped to the ground. “Gosh, I thought I was going to have to live in that tree.” Joe grinned as he stretched his legs. “Let’s get back to camp.”

  The Hardys found their way to the spot where the canoe was cached. They slid it into the water and paddled rapidly downstream. By the time they rejoined the other boys, the sun was sinking behind the trees to the west.

  Chet, Biff, and Tony rushed to the shore to meet their friends.

  As Frank and Joe related their adventures, Chet’s mouth sagged open.

  “A wolf?” he asked in disbelief. “If he picks up our scent, he’ll come right into this camp. What say, fellows? Let’s get out of here!”

  Frank and Joe were fairly sure that even if Saber had picked up their trail, he would get no farther than the place they had put the canoe into the water.

  “But to make sure he doesn’t bother us again, we’ll have to catch the critter,” Joe said determinedly. “With a stockade. We’ll build one after chow. How about it, Tony? Do we have trout tonight?”

  “Six nice fat rainbows,” Tony told him. “Biff and I caught’em.”

  “With my worms,” Chet added.

  The boys laughed and joked through the meaL When it was over, Frank said:

  “Now to work on the stockade. We’ll need saplings—plenty of ’em.”

  A number of small trees grew along the stream and the boys made short work of felling them. Soon a pile of saplings, stripped of their branches, lay on the spot which the Hardys had selected for the trap.

  While the others were digging a small trench, Joe and Frank went into the woods for vines with which to tie the saplings together. It did not take the boys long to erect a crude stockade. Frank arranged a small opening on one side with a gate which would drop in place once an animal had entered the trap.

  “Now all we need is bait,” Joe said.

  “I’ve some meat that we won’t need,” Tony said. “We can use that.” He produced a sizable chunk left over from the piece which the boys had taken along for stew.