The Alaskan Adventure Page 9

  “Frank?” he whispered. “I just saw Jake going out the door with a sneaky look on his face. I think we should see what he’s up to.”

  “Right,” Frank replied. “David, we’ve got something we have to do. We’ll be right back.”

  “Was the soup that bad?” David asked, smiling.

  “We’ll explain later,” Joe said, dragging Frank toward the door.

  The Hardys followed Jake toward the west end of town and saw him vanish behind one of the cabins.

  “Let’s get up on that rise behind the cabin,” Joe suggested. “We’ll be able to see him from there.”

  They ran up through a band of trees, then crawled to the edge of a low cliff and looked over. The roof and rear wall of the cabin looked almost close enough to touch.

  “What’s he doing?” Frank whispered.

  Joe narrowed his eyes. Jake was standing at the back of the cabin, near the door, glancing around suspiciously. He reached up and snatched two pairs of snowshoes hanging from a peg. He tucked them under his left arm, then reached inside his parka and tossed something down on the ground.

  “He’s stealing those snowshoes!” Frank declared. “What a slimeball!”

  “What did he drop?” Joe asked. “We’re too far up. I can’t see.” He moved forward to get a better look. But his hands slipped on the ice at the edge of the drop. He slid forward, over the cliff.

  14 Setting the Trap

  * * *

  Frank heard Joe cry out. He turned his head just in time to see Joe slide past him on the steep, ice-coated slope. With lightning-fast reflexes, Frank darted out his right hand and grabbed Joe’s left ankle as he went over the cliff. He felt the force of Joe’s weight start to pull him toward the edge. Frantically he dug the toes of his boots into the snow but failed to get a grip. He felt himself sliding forward.

  Just as it looked as if he and Joe were both going to plummet to the rocks thirty feet below, Frank managed to hook his left foot around the trunk of a small cedar. The tree bent with the strain, but the roots held.

  “Hang on, Joe,” Frank called. “I’ll pull you back up.”

  “Hurry! I think I’m going to pass out.”

  Frank managed to clamp his left hand on Joe’s ankle, taking some of the strain off his right arm. Contracting his abdominal muscles, he inched backward, towing Joe after him. Joe managed to get his other foot up, and Frank grabbed his right ankle and pulled Joe half onto the cliff. Joe clawed the ice with his hands, elbows, and knees, holding on to his precarious purchase on life.

  Finally Frank was able to kneel, and with one last tug he pulled Joe all the way up over the edge. The two brothers sprawled, arms outstretched and chests heaving, and tried to catch their breaths.

  “Whew. Thanks, bro,” Joe said. “I thought I was going to skydive without a parachute.”

  “You know Dad would have a fit if you tried something that dumb,” Frank said. He clapped Joe on the shoulder.

  “Jake dropped something,” Joe said, “just before I went over the edge.”

  “I know. I couldn’t see what it was. Do you feel okay?”

  Joe stood up. “Let’s go see.”

  They made their way carefully down the slope.

  When they reached the back of the cabin, Frank bent down and picked up a hammer. “Look,” he said. “It’s got LM scratched into the wood of the handle.”

  Joe peered at the tool and said, “LM—Lucky Moeller.”

  “Jake stole the snowshoes and planted the hammer here so Lucky would get the blame,” Frank said.

  “I bet this cabin belongs to someone who’s spoken out against the ThemeLife project, too.”

  “That’s the pattern,” Frank agreed. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

  “You mean, that Jake’s the bad guy we’re after?” Joe replied. “It sure looks that way. And I’ll tell you something else. I bet we came along yesterday just in time to save Ralph’s fishwheel from being vandalized the same way his boat was.”

  “You’re probably right,” Frank said. “The problem is, we don’t have a bit of evidence against him. We saw him take those snowshoes, but that’s it. It’s not enough.”

  “Do you have a plan?” Joe asked.

  Frank stroked his chin. “Not quite . . . but I’m starting to get a glimmer of one.”

  The Hardys walked back to the assembly hall. The potlatch was breaking up.

  “Follow my lead,” Frank muttered to Joe.

  The two brothers walked up to Curt. “Can we talk to you privately?” Frank asked him in a low voice.

  Curt gave them a measuring look, then nodded. “I’ll meet you at my cabin in ten minutes,” he said.

  At Curt’s cabin Frank started the discussion by saying, “You know, a lot of people are blaming you and your company for the disasters the people of Glitter have been having recently.”

  “That’s completely unfair,” Curt said. “My company and I have nothing to do with them, nothing at all.”

  “ThemeLife has a fine reputation,” Frank said. “And my brother and I believe you’re innocent. We can give you a way of proving it—help us trap the real culprit.”

  “But you’re just kids,” Curt said. “How—”

  “We may be young, but Joe and I have solved quite a few cases. Our father is well known in the investigative field. You can ask David Natik about us—he’s seen my family at work before, and he’s asked us to help him.”

  “David’s a good man,” Curt said, “from a good family—even if they do oppose the ThemeLife plan. I want this business cleared up. It’s only right, and besides, my job’s on the line.”

  Frank gave Joe a significant glance. They knew that if Curt had objected to helping trap the bad guy, it might have meant Curt had hired Jake to do his dirty work. His willingness to help them made that less likely.

  “Great!” Joe said. “Let’s go get him.”

  Curt stared at him. “You know who it is?”

  Joe nodded. “Jake Ferguson,” he said.

  “That—” Curt exclaimed. “So he’s the one! Well, I can’t say I’m surprised. Do you know that Jake’s been cornering the market in traditional crafts around here? He gives easy credit to people, then when they’re up to their ears in debt, he takes the beaded mukluks and other Athabascan relics they’ve inherited to clear the slate. He’s got stuff socked away that any museum would pay a fortune to have.”

  “So that’s why he’s doing everything he can to get the town to vote yes,” Joe said. “If Glitter becomes a theme park, he’ll make a bundle showing his collection and selling reproductions to tourists. The craftspeople who owe him money will have to make the copies for pennies. What a racket!”

  “Listen, Curt,” Frank said. “Here’s what we’d like you to do. Write a note to Jake on your letterhead. Tell him you appreciate his activities on behalf of your company and you’d like to talk about closer cooperation. Set up a meeting.”

  Curt pursed his lips and shook his head. “If anyone found out about it, I’d be in real trouble. My note would be proof that I support his criminal activities. No way, boys. Sorry.”

  “The note won’t say anything about sabotage,” Joe pointed out. “ ‘Activities’ could just mean telling people the plan’s a good thing for the town.”

  “You won’t be incriminating yourself at all,” Frank added as persuasively as he could. “Jake will understand what the note means.”

  “It’s a big risk,” Curt said.

  “We’re going to catch Jake, sooner or later,” Frank said. “What if he decides to throw all the blame on you and ThemeLife? Everybody will believe him. This way you’ll have proof you’re not part of his plot.”

  Curt frowned and said, “I see your point, Frank. I can’t say I like it, but I’ll go along with you.”

  He took out a sheet of ThemeLife letterhead and started writing. “When and where?” he asked.

  Frank looked around. Curt’s cabin was as small as the one he and Joe were sharing.
Curt had set up the living area as an office. He also had a sleeping alcove and a tiny kitchen in the corner. The windows were small and double paned against the cold. He doubted he and Joe could hear a conversation if they stood outside.

  He glanced up and saw a loft over the kitchen and sleeping alcove. “Is there any room up there?” he asked Curt, and pointed to the loft.

  “I guess so,” Curt replied. “I’ve never looked. I’m just renting this place month to month. If ThemeLife goes through and I’m assigned to run it, I’ll probably build my own cabin.”

  Frank and Joe climbed the narrow ladder to the loft. Behind a stack of old cartons and casks was an empty space about four feet by six. It was hidden from anyone standing below.

  “Perfect,” Frank called to Curt. “Write down that you’ll meet him here in an hour and a half. That’ll give us time to make our preparations.”

  • • •

  A little over an hour later Joe studied the intent faces around him in the loft. He and Frank had talked Peter, David, and Gregg into joining them as witnesses. David and Gregg were still awkward with each other, but Joe could tell they were both glad to have found out their suspicions weren’t true. They wanted to be friends again, and Joe had a hunch they’d succeed.

  Curt was downstairs. Joe heard him cough and rustle some papers. Unless Jake insisted on whispering, those in the loft would hear every word clearly.

  If Jake showed up. . . .

  The group sat down on the floor to wait. Frank looked at his watch, then met Joe’s eyes. Would Curt’s note be enough bait to pull the wily storekeeper in? That phrase about closer cooperation—would Jake read that to mean a payoff, as they’d intended him to? Frank had hoped Curt would have said he wanted to reimburse Jake for his efforts. But Frank understood why Curt had refused to take the risk. What if his note ended up being read in court?

  The minutes dragged on. What if Jake had been keeping an eye on Curt’s cabin and had seen them all arrive? He’d know then that Curt’s letter was intended to draw him into a trap. And even if he hadn’t seen them, he was sure to be suspicious of Curt’s summons. Peter had insisted on sweeping away their footprints in the snow, but had he done a thorough enough job?

  To distract himself, Joe tried reciting in his mind “The Shooting of Dan McGrew” by Robert W. Service, the Canadian poet who wrote about the north country. How did it begin? Something about a cold winter evening? He jumped when Gregg, who was seated next to him, touched him on the shoulder and put his fingers to his lips. Joe realized he’d been reciting aloud. What if Jake had come in and heard him?

  Not that it looked as if there was much chance of that. Where was Jake anyway? Joe was beginning to think he wouldn’t show up. Then he heard a knock on the door. His companions stilled their movements and waited.

  Joe heard Curt’s footsteps as he crossed the room. The cabin door creaked open.

  “Hi, Jake,” Curt said. “Glad you could come. What’s the rifle for—going hunting?”

  Joe glanced at the others. Their grave faces showed they understood Jake was armed.

  “I don’t believe in taking chances, that’s all,” Jake said.

  Curt said, “Good. Neither do I. I’m not taking any chances that my company’s plan might be turned down because of a few agitators. And I think we can work together. Let’s sit down and talk about it.”

  Frank took out a microcassette recorder, ready to tape what Curt and Jake said. He pressed the Record button. The noise the machine made was faint, but Jake heard the click.

  “Hey, what was that?” he asked, and scraped back his chair.

  Then Joe heard the snick of a rifle’s being cocked.

  15 Hometown Champions

  * * *

  Frank froze. If Jake came up to the loft, he’d see them. Their plan would be ruined, and they’d be face-to-face with an angry and desperate man who had a rifle. Rather than run that risk, Frank decided he’d attack Jake the instant he started up the ladder. With surprise as his ally, he was sure he could overpower Jake.

  “What are you doing?” he heard Curt ask. “Will you put that thing down? And put the safety back on. Guns make me nervous.”

  “I heard something,” Jake said. “It came from up there.”

  “Mice,” Curt said. “This cabin’s full of them. I’m half tempted to take something off the rent because of it. Now, can we get down to business?”

  Frank heard Jake uncock the rifle, then a chair scraped on the floor. He must have gone back to his seat. Frank took a deep breath and let it out. The recorder was still on, the tape turning silently. Frank placed the recorder on the floor and hoped the tape wouldn’t run out too soon.

  “What kind of business did you have in mind?” Jake asked cautiously. “Your note was kind of vague.”

  “Let’s not beat around the bush,” Curt replied. “I figured out what you’ve been up to. I wouldn’t have thought of it myself, but I can tell it’s persuading people to vote my way, so I’m all for it.”

  “Uh-huh,” Jake said. “Glad to hear it. So?”

  “So, I want you to know that ThemeLife is ready to pay your expenses and a sizable bonus for keeping up the pressure on the people who are trying to get in the way of progress.”

  “A sizable bonus,” Jake said in a thoughtful tone. “When?”

  “Right after the voters of Glitter approve the ThemeLife proposal,” Curt told him. “Your expense money you can get as we go along. What do you say?”

  “It’s a deal,” Jake said.

  Frank caught Joe’s eye and grinned. The fish had just snapped at the bait. Now all Curt had to do was set the hook and reel him in.

  Curt’s tone changed. “I wonder . . . ” he said. “I’m not a hundred percent sure you’re the man I want.”

  Jake’s voice rose. “What do you mean, not the man you want!”

  “I’m just wondering, that’s all,” Curt said. “Are you really the one who did all those things?”

  “Of course I am!” Jake said. “Who else?”

  Curt sounded skeptical. “Why would you blow up your own building?”

  Jake laughed. “Because nobody would think I would blow up my own building, that’s why. They’d think someone else was doing all this stuff. It put me in the clear. Besides, that old shack was about to fall down anyway.”

  “And Peter Windman’s cabin?” Curt continued.

  In the loft Peter stirred. His face was taut, and his fists were clenched. Frank shot him a quick warning glance, and he settled back.

  “Easy as pie,” Jake boasted. “I just dropped a Mason jar of gasoline through the back window, near the stove, and threw in a match.

  “Then, after they settled in at the Natik place,” he added, “I flung a log through the window, just to keep them on edge. That Peter’s been talking to too many people, working them up against the plan.”

  “So you broke into his cache and stole his meat supply, too?” Curt asked.

  “Say, you’ve really been keeping track, haven’t you?” Jake said. “Sure, that was me. And I wrecked Ralph Hunter’s longboat, too. I just waited till nobody was around, then went to work with a hammer and big spike. Whack! Whack! Whack! Didn’t take me long at all.”

  Curt said, “One thing I don’t understand is why you went after Gregg’s dog team. His dad hasn’t said anything against ThemeLife.”

  Jake laughed, a low sound that gave Frank shivers. “That was really a smart touch,” he said. “See, I’m planning to get at Peter through his nephew, David. I already started, by letting one of David’s best dogs loose. But then it came to me. If I pull a few tricks on Gregg, too, everybody will think that the two kids are feuding with each other. They’ll never suspect me.”

  This was too much for Gregg. He jumped to his feet and ran down the ladder. “You skunk!” he shouted. “You tried to poison my dogs! I’ll kill you for that!”

  Frank stood up and looked over the barricade of cartons. Jake had grabbed his rifle and was aiming it a
t Gregg.

  “Hold it right there, or I’ll put daylight through you,” Jake told Gregg. His voice was trembling. He looked over at Curt and added, “And you—you set a trap for me. I’ll settle with you, see if I don’t!”

  Curt’s face turned pale. “You can’t get away now,” he said. He backed away from Jake.

  “Why not?” Jake asked. The rifle barrel moved in a little circle, covering Curt as well as Gregg. “All I’ve got to do is shoot both of you and make it look like you shot each other. Everyone’ll think that Gregg figured out you’d messed with his dog team and came after you.”

  Frank’s eyes widened. Jake thought that Curt and Gregg were the only other people in the cabin! Frank made an urgent gesture to Joe, David, and Peter to keep absolutely still.

  “Now, let’s see,” Jake said. He sounded as if he was starting to enjoy himself. “Which of you should I plug first? Curt, I think, for trying to double-cross me.”

  He raised the rifle and aimed it Curt. Frank took a deep breath and launched himself from the edge of the loft. At that same moment Joe gave the sharp, high-pitched shout of a martial arts expert.

  Startled and distracted, Jake swung the rifle around. But before he could bring it to bear, Frank cannoned into him and knocked him to the floor.

  There was a deafening noise right next to Frank’s ear. Though partly stunned, he got to his knees, grabbed Jake by the front of his shirt, and gave him a solid right to the jaw. Jake’s eyes rolled upward, and he slumped back to the floor.

  Frank stumbled to his feet, picked up Jake’s rifle, and looked around. “Anybody hurt?” he called.

  Peter, David, and Joe rushed down the ladder. “No, we’re fine,” Joe said. “The bullet hit the ceiling.”

  “And you all heard what Jake said, right?” Frank asked.

  Peter came over and stared down at the groggy Jake. “We sure did,” he said. “And we’re ready to repeat it in court, too.”

  “You hear that, Jake?” Joe said. He waved the recorder. “Your goose is cooked.”