Mystery of the Desert Giant (16 page)

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Authors: Franklin W. Dixon

BOOK: Mystery of the Desert Giant
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CHAPTER XIX
The Attack
“Two Graftons! Talk sense, Chet!” Joe snapped.
“We haven't a minute to waste now!”
“S-so help me,” the scared Chet stuttered. “I was getting the boat ready, and when I went back into the cabin there were two of them—talking to each other!”
Without waiting to hear more, Frank and Joe set off at a headlong run on a short cut to the cabin. Jim and Chet followed slowly on the rough road in the car.
The black shape of the little cabin loomed in front of the Hardys. Inside, a single kerosene lamp lighted the room dimly. Bursting in, Joe and Frank froze in astonishment. In the flickering shadows stood Willard Grafton, talking to his double.
Slowly, the two figures turned to face the boys. Both were tall, slim, and unshaven. They wore identical shabby clothes. For one long, ghostly moment they stared mutely at the two youths.
Then abruptly the weird silence was shattered by a familiar laugh from one of them. “Dad!” both boys cried out at the same instant.
“Who did you think I was—Willard Grafton's twin?”
Fenton Hardy and his sons embraced warmly. “Glad to find you both in one piece, boys. Hear you had a little rough play earlier this evening.”
“Nothing serious, Dad,” Joe replied. “But what a trick for you to play on us! What's the idea, anyhow?”
“If you think you're surprised, you should have seen me,” Grafton put in. “I took him for a member of the gang.”
The famous detective gave another hearty laugh. “You boys sure cover ground fast. I've been trailing you for days. Up to Colorado, and then back again. Mr. Grafton's friend Redland, the ranch owner, gave me the story. Lent me these clothes and told me just how to disguise myself. I followed you back here and hung around Blythe awhile.”
“But why the disguise, Dad?” Joe asked. “Those crooks are out to get Grafton. If they learned about his masquerade, they might have attacked you by mistake.”
“Just what I figured,” Fenton Hardy admitted. “I was hoping they'd try it, so I could capture them.”
Frank, eager not to miss the capture of the suspects across the river, quickly told his father of the necessity of speed. “Let's exchange stories in the boat,” he urged.
Mr. Hardy was in agreement. Just then two automobile doors slammed outside. Chet entered the cabin cautiously, followed by Jim Weston.
“Hello, Chet!” the detective boomed. “Where'd you disappear so fast?” he added slyly.
“Mr. Hardy!” Chet exclaimed in astonishment. “Say, that's not fair, sir—to scare a guy so.”
After making his peace with Chet and shaking hands with Jim Weston, the detective said he understood the group was about to set off on a mission.
“Tell you all about it in the boat,” Frank promised. “But don't talk loudly, anybody. Voices carry across water.”
As Jim piloted the motorboat upstream, hugging the California shore, engine quiet and lights out, the brothers briefed their father on the sleuthing they had done. They included details of the recent camera pictures.
“And now tell us your story,” Joe begged.
The detective, in a whisper loud enough for them to hear, said, “First, for my case: I've been after a shrewd bunch of counterfeiters of United States government checks, but I haven't caught them yet.”
Mr. Hardy took something from his wallet. Cupping one hand over the end of his flashlight, he clicked it on and held the light to a paper. “Chet, is this the kind of check that actor gave you?”
“That's it, all right,” the stout boy answered without hesitation.
“Then there's no doubt about it,” Fenton Hardy concluded with a little smile. “You three boys and I have been working on the same case from different angles!”
“Tell me, Dad, have you been down in Mexico lately?”
“I was down in Mexico, Frank—looking for this gang's printing plant. With some help from the Mexican police I found it, but the ringleaders had vanished. I figured they had fled to the United States, leaving the underlings still working the plant.”
“And did you—or did you not—get Joe and me out of jail down there?” Frank interrogated.
Their father chuckled. “I plead guilty.”
“But how did you know we were in Mexico?” Joe wondered.
“Your friend Leon Armijo, the station agent, notified the police as soon as you left him, and they relayed his information to me immediately. What made me suspicious was the story of the two Americans in pursuit of the other one. Combing the desert around that lonely station with the Mexican police I came upon the gang's counterfeiting plant.”
“So we helped you break the case without knowing it!” Joe declared.
“Yes. I can't seem to get along without you two,” their father admitted. “Your method of travel—freight train—even gave me an idea. I thought that might be the way the gang leaders were trying to escape, and I had the border police search all trains.”
“And you told them to release us, when caught, and send us on our way,” Joe chimed in.
The detective nodded. “I knew you wouldn't have followed the man who escaped unless you were pretty sure he was Willard Grafton. So I went after you, hoping you would find Grafton and he in turn would lead me to the ringleaders.
“The Mexican police are watching the printing plant. They haven't made any arrests yet, because we want to catch the leaders first. I've just had word that a shipment of phony checks is due to go out tonight—to the usual spot in the United States.”
“Well, Dad, it's lucky you have your sons to turn to,” Joe teased. “We think we've found the place—right where we'll find Mr. Grafton's kidnapers—on the plateau across the river. We think the three men on it are waiting for that package to be dropped from an airplane!”
Fenton Hardy was greatly encouraged by the unexpected news, and as eager as his sons were to capture the men at the effigy, together with the package of incriminating checks.
Joe, impatient, urged that they turn back now and float downstream on the Arizona side. “I hope everybody's ready for a scrap,” he said.
“Oh, boy, there are six of us to three,” Chet chortled. “But two of them are real tough.”
“We'll use the same tactics as last time,” Joe told him. “Give them the old football rush.”
Mr. Hardy asked Jim Weston if the trip along the cliff would be safe.
“I know this river well,” Jim assured the others quietly. “It's illegal not to use lights, of course, but this is an unusual occasion.”
“It sure is,” Joe agreed. “And a good night to sneak up on those counterfeiters,” he remarked from the darkness.
A few minutes later Jim announced, “All right. I'm taking her to the other side.”
As they approached the Arizona shore, the black outline of the bluff seemed to loom higher and higher against the stars. Presently Jim cut the motor and they started downstream, without power, hugging the jagged cliff.
The boat drifted silently, with no one speaking. Occasionally they heard the gentle splash of a fish breaking the surface.
The pilot steered closer to the high, dark bluffs. Then suddenly he stepped overboard with hardly a splash, steadying the boat so the others could climb out easily.
“Sh!”
he warned. “Mustn't let the bottom scrape. There's a place here to moor her.”
Cautiously the party waded ashore, and Jim made the boat fast. When their eyes were accustomed to the new surroundings, the sleuths crossed the narrow beach and began the hundred-foot climb up the rocky cliff.
Jim Weston had made the ascent before, so he led the way. Frank and Joe followed. Then came Chet, while Grafton and Mr. Hardy brought up the rear.
The tricky, dangerous climb seemed to take hours. Any loose rock might cause an avalanche. Even heavy breathing might alarm their enemies and ruin the expedition. So the ascent was slow. At last, however, the rim of the bluff was gained.
Warily Frank and Joe raised their heads above the edge. To their great relief, three black figures were visible against the background of stars.
“Okay.” Scarcely breathing the word, Frank reported to the others. By signs, Fenton Hardy indicated that the group should now separate, and take up positions around the edge of the tableland. He himself would give the signal to spring the trap.
Obediently Frank and Joe moved off to the left of their father. When they reached their station, Joe suddenly tapped his brother's shoulder and pointed. Just below them was a cavelike opening in the rock. Frank nodded. A likely hiding place for loot or even counterfeit checks!
Then, at first from far away, came the drone of an airplane. At that instant the plateau was suddenly illuminated. The smaller desert giant was outlined at intervals by lighted lanterns! Three men stood with their backs to the watchers, gazing upward. One was Purdy, but the other two were unfamiliar to the boys.
The plane, flying without lights, circled once above the effigy and then flew away. A vague, puff-like white shape floated down out of the sky.
“A parachute!” Frank breathed.
The shape collapsed on the ground near the giant's elbow and the three men converged on it. Instantly the Hardys and their friends rushed to the attack.
But Frank's and Joe's forward leaps were checked by strong arms that seized them in strangle holds from behind, and covered their mouths with rough palms. Fighting back desperately, the two boys tumbled over and over, locked in combat with their attackers, clear to the bottom of the steep cliff!
CHAPTER XX
Treasure!
STUNNED momentarily by the surprise attack and the fall down the bluff, Frank and Joe felt the struggle going against them. The assailants tightened their choke holds so that the boys could hardly breathe.
“Now,” snarled a voice that sounded like Ringer's, “not a sound out of you, if you want to breathe. Listen to what's going on above us, because if the wrong side wins, you two won't live to tell about it!”
Up on the plateau, the attack had gone smoothly. Chet had knocked the wind out of one man with a ferocious football tackle, while rangy Jim Weston had kayoed another with two lightning punches. As the third man turned to flee, he was grabbed by Fenton Hardy and Willard Grafton.
Helpless below the cliff, Frank and Joe heard their father call out, “That settles them! This gang of counterfeiters has cheated the United States government for the last time!”
Meanwhile, on the cliff, Chet's opponent finally recovered his breath. “Oh-h! They've got us, boss,” the Hardy brothers heard him say.
“Shut up, you fool!” barked a thin, shrill voice.
“Wetherby!” cried Grafton. “You were the ring leader!”
“Yes—and I still am!” Menacingly the thin voice went on, “That is, unless Mr. Hardy wants to forfeit his sons' lives in return for my imprisonment.”
Startled, Frank and Joe looked at each other.
“Poor Dad!” Frank thought. “It's his duty to capture these men!”
Then came the detective's clear, decisive answer. “You win. I can't fight those conditions. We'll have to turn him loose, Mr. Grafton.”
The boys' captors breathed sighs of relief. For a bare instant, their iron grips relaxed.
“Now, Joe!”
Seeing their chance, Frank drove his elbow backward into the solar plexus of his enemy. As the man doubled up, the youth whirled and finished him with a smashing roundhouse blow. Meantime, Joe flipped his assailant over his head. Two sledge-hammer punches kayoed the man.
The boys' escape had taken only seconds. Now, scrambling up the steep cliff, the brothers met one of the gang in the act of stepping down from the rim!
“No, you don't!” Rising up, the boys flung the man back on the tableland.
“We're okay, Dad! Don't let them get away!” Joe cried out.
“Thank goodness for that!” Rushing forward, the detective said their captive was Wetherby and slipped a pair of handcuffs on him. Chet and Jim were guarding Purdy and the stranger.
“The other one looks familiar,” Joe said thoughtfully. “I have it—he's the guy we trailed in the motorboat. The one with the bad temper!”
“Well,” Frank suggested, “a term in prison should improve his disposition.”
“There are two more men down below—out cold,” announced Joe. “I think they're Ringer and Caesar.”
Mr. Hardy now opened the well-wrapped package dropped from the plane. Hundreds of counterfeit United States government checks dropped out!
“Now we have the evidence!” he exulted.
“Dad,” Frank spoke up, “Joe and I have something to show you. Bring your light here a minute.”
He guided his father to the cave the boys had noticed earlier. Inside they discovered some digging tools, rope, and another packet of bogus checks.
“We can use this rope,” declared Joe as he seized the coil.
Purdy and the boatman stood sullen while their arms were bound behind them. Then the whole party worked its way slowly down the cliff toward the kayoed men. Presently they revived, and were also bound.
The captors were now confronted with a problem; their boat was too small to hold eleven people at one time!
“I'll wait here,” Willard Grafton volunteered. “It's the least I can do.”
“Stay with him then, Frank and Joe,” their father ordered. “You two need a rest after that narrow escape.”
“Just a minute!” It was Wetherby's thin, nasal voice. “If you're taking us to the police, you've got to take Grafton too. He belongs to our gang.”

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