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Authors: Franklin W. Dixon

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BOOK: The Clue of the Screeching Owl
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“I see. Well, we'll give Captain Maguire your message, Mr. Webber.”
As the lawyer's car pulled away, Joe observed, “There's one fellow I wouldn't trust for two minutes.”
Chet now hurried to give their pet some milk and meat scraps. As the little dog ate hungrily, Frank said, “I'm going to test out what Webber told us. Sounded phony to me. I'll drive around to the opposite rim and yell. The wind is blowing in this direction. You fellows stay here and listen. When I get there I'll blink the car's headlights.”
Frank drove off to circle around to the far side of Black Hollow.
CHAPTER VII
The Hermit
JOE and Chet walked to the edge of Black Hollow. Darkness descended. Presently a short beam of light could be seen traveling rapidly along the opposite rim, almost two miles away.
“Must be Frank,” Joe murmured as he raised his binoculars. For a moment the beam disappeared. Then the boys saw two bright lights blink on and off.
“Frank has turned the car to face us,” said Joe.
Chet and Joe held their breaths, listening intently. A fresh breeze blew against their faces from the direction of the automobile lights, but no sound reached them. In a moment the lights were gone and the beam could be seen traveling again. Frank was on his way back.
When he reached the cabin Frank said, “I screamed my lungs out. I blew the car horn, too.”
“Didn't hear a thing,” Joe told him as the boys re-entered the cabin. The gasoline lanterns were lighted, and Chet prepared supper.
Frank rested his elbows on the table, frowning. “The hollow doesn't have any echoes to speak of,” he noted, “so Webber was lying. Why?”
“Sure,” said Joe. “He has lived around here long enough to know the truth. What's he hiding? Is he covering up for somebody?”
“He didn't seem to know that Captain Maguire is missing,” Chet put in.
“I wouldn't be too sure of that,” Joe cautioned. “He may have come around just to find out how much we know.”
Frank agreed. “There's something more than witchery going on here. Things look bad for Captain Maguire. We must press the hunt for him tomorrow!”
Hoping to make an early start next day, the boys decided not to expose the puppy to the dog thief and stay on watch, but to get some sleep.
Sleep would not come, however, except in fitful dozes. Each boy found himself waiting, listening for the terrible scream that had roused them the night before.
About midnight, Joe whispered suddenly, “Hush!”
A new sound floated up from the depths of Black Hollow—a long, screeching sound.
“Creepers!” Chet quavered. “Last night the witch screamed. Tonight she's screeching. What next?”
Meanwhile, the little puppy had begun to whine and tremble.
Suddenly Joe began to laugh.
“I don't see what's so funny,” Chet said crossly. “Our poor puppy is shaking all over!”
“Of course he is.” Joe laughed. “He hears his natural enemy. Witch, my eye. That screeching, my friends, is nothing but the screech of an owl!”
“Owl?” repeated Chet. “A screech owl?”
“No. A screech owl wails, Chet,” Joe replied. “It's the barn owl that screeches.”
Chet sat up in his bunk. “You mean that what we heard tonight was nothing but a barn owl!”
Joe nodded. “It must have been. And barn owls have been associated with witches and ghosts for centuries. But that screaming last night definitely did not come from any barn owl.”
“And furthermore,” said Frank, “barn owls don't steal dogs. Well, let's get some sleep before the sun comes up. We'll just have to get used to these weird sounds.”
“Owl or no owl,” Chet put in, “it gives me the willies!”
A gray, misty dawn the next morning found the boys already up and about. After breakfast, while Chet made sandwiches to take on the search, Frank and Joe walked out to Rim Road to look for Sheriff Ecker's party.
In an hour a bright sun had burned the mist away, but no searchers had arrived. “All right,” said Frank. “We're on our own. We'll go down and call on this Mr. Donner first.”
The door of the cabin opened, and the little beagle rushed out, only to be brought to a tumbling halt by a piece of clothesline attached to his collar. Chet held the other end in his hand.
“Whoa there, Mystery!” called the stout boy, who carried a knapsack on his back.
“Mystery!” repeated Joe. “That his name?”
“Yes, because he's the little feller that's goin' to help us solve this mystery.”
Once more, the three boys descended the steep path to the floor of the hollow. Around them the woods preserved their eerie silence. Even the puppy showed no desire to range about.
Suddenly Frank called a halt. “It's the same as yesterday,” he said in a low, perplexed voice. “I'm sure we're being followed!”
The three listened, hardly breathing. But there was nothing to be heard or seen. “All right. Let's go!” Frank signaled finally.
Almost before they knew it, the boys had reached the queer, windowless cabin. Frank stepped forward and rapped sharply on the door.
Immediately it was pulled inward. A tall, broad-shouldered man with heavy brows, a full mustache, and piercing eyes confronted them.
“Colonel Thunder!” Joe blurted.
“Colonel?” the man repeated quizzically in a deep, hearty voice. “Take it easy on the rank, there, boy. You couldn't even call me a buck private, seeing as how I was never in the army!”
“You mean,” faltered Chet, “you're not Colonel Bill Thunder, the fearless animal trainer?”
The big man gave a booming laugh. “No. Afraid I'm just plain Walter Donner.”
Perplexed, Joe stammered, “Well, Colonel Thun—I mean, Mr. Donner—we're afraid that something has happened to a friend of ours, Captain Thomas Maguire—he owns a cabin on the other side of the hollow. He disappeared from his cabin at least two nights ago!”
Immediately Mr. Donner's genial face became serious. “Hmm. Better come in awhile, boys. Just tie the puppy outside there, will you?”
Frank, Joe, and Chet followed their host into a tidy little room furnished with rustic wooden table and chairs. “Leave the door open for the light. Sit down here. I'll be back in a minute.”
The tall man ducked easily through a low, narrow doorway into the kitchen beyond. The boys could hear pots being moved about, and a door being closed. In a moment Donner was back.
“Now,” he addressed them, “who is Captain Maguire, and what's happened to him? Let's get all the details.”
The boys introduced themselves, then Joe explained, “He's a friend of ours who lives on the edge of the hollow. The captain was expecting us. When we arrived, day before yesterday, there was no sign of him. He'd vanished. We tracked him into the hollow, where we found his flashlight and two shotgun shells that he probably fired.”
“Yes!” Donner broke in. “There
was
some shooting the other night. At first I thought it was a hunter. But I didn't hear any dogs, which are used for hunting coon, or anything legal. So I assumed it was somebody poaching deer. As for your friend, I'm sorry. I never heard of him.”
“Well, thanks anyhow, Mr. Donner,” said Frank. “But say—would you know anything about the dogs we understand are disappearing in the neighborhood? We promised to look out for a puppy that's missing.”
Thoughtfully, the big man frowned. “Very likely a dog thief. You see, there's a big illegal market on dogs for medical experimentation. I'd like to get my hands on the wretch who steals them,” he added indignantly. “You see, I like animals!”
“We did see something else suspicious, yesterday,” Frank went on. “A strange person spying on us. He looked—well, he seemed half wild.”
“There I can help you,” declared Mr. Donner, raising his finger. “You must mean Simon. He's a mute boy who lives with his widowed mother over in the next valley. He can hear, but he lost his voice by an injury to his throat, I understand, even before he learned to talk. He runs wild in the hollow all summer. Lives on berries and whatever he can pilfer from nearby farms.”
“Is he dangerous?” Chet asked.
“Mmm—I'd keep away from him. He'd just as soon heave a rock at you as not. You know, it might be Simon who is making off with these dogs. Animals and birds seem to interest him.”
“Brrr,” Chet shuddered. “I don't see how you stand it here, Mr. Donner. Boys running half wild—the witch shrieking at night.”
At this their host's eyes twinkled with amusement. “Well, young fellow,” he said to Chet with a wink, “intelligence tells me it's certainly no witch. But I'll have to admit every time I hear the screams, chills run up and down my spine!”
Frank and Joe, thinking how they had been startled by the owl, grinned also. A soft popping sound was heard from the kitchen.
“There's my coffee,” Donner announced abruptly. “Come into the kitchen, boys.”
With eager curiosity Frank, Joe, and Chet followed their host through the narrow doorway. They found themselves in a small windowless kitchen lighted by two kerosene lamps. There was a little wood stove for warmth, but Donner cooked on a small gasoline range. In a moment he had whipped up cocoa for them and poured out coffee for himself.
“Yes, I camp out here,” he said, as the four sat around the plank table near a ventilation flue. “I come for a rest. I take it easy, and raise a few sheep. It's a quiet place.”
“Quiet is right,” Chet agreed. “You'd never know it was here!”
“Ah, but that was the idea,” said Donner. “The idea of living in the cabin, I mean. I guess you could call me a hermit.
“I love this cabin. You notice the way it blends with the surroundings? Take a look at the back wall of this kitchen. See? Solid rock. That's the rock face of the hollow. This cabin is over a hundred years old. Do you know what was going on then?”
“Let me see,” said Joe. “That would be just about the time of the Civil War.”
“Right. This was one of the stations on the Underground Railway—the route for smuggling runaway slaves up to Canada. That's why it's so well hidden, and has no windows, no lights to give it away at night. It's small, but comfortable.”
While he examined the unusual little house, one fact stuck in Joe's mind: There seemed to be only one door in the place; the one at the front. How was a runaway slave supposed to escape if he were surprised here? Besides, hadn't he heard a door closing earlier, or had he imagined it?
While Joe wondered, suddenly there came an urgent knocking.
CHAPTER VIII
Rock Barrage
THE sunlight streaming into the hermit's cabin was suddenly blocked off by the stocky figure of Sheriff Ecker.
“'Morning, Donner,” he said, as the tall man came forward with hand outstretched. “Sorry to break in, but we're going to need your help.”
By this time Frank, Joe, and Chet had come from the kitchen. “Oh, the boys found you first, did they?” The sheriff spoke in a gruff but friendly voice.
He was dressed for the wilderness in high-top boots and a sturdy belt from which hung a heavy revolver in its holster. Three men were standing together behind the sheriff.
“Well, here's your search party,” Ecker said to Joe. “It's not much of a posse—three men are all I can spare, but we'll do what we can. With you fellows and Mr. Donner here, we'll have eight, and that's pretty good. Sorry I couldn't get hold of a good dog to take along.”
“That's all right, Sheriff,” Chet spoke up. “We have Mystery!”
“Our beagle,” Joe explained hastily.
“Search party?” repeated Donner. “That sounds terribly official to me, Sheriff!”
Sheriff Ecker shot a quick look at the smiling Donner. “Did the boys tell you what's up?”
“Well, they
did
say something about their captain friend being missing. He probably just went for a long hike in the woods. I'd no idea it was so important that the sheriff personally would lead a search party in these out-of-the-way parts,” he added, smiling.
Sheriff Ecker frowned, obviously reminded of other urgent matters. Joe and Frank glanced at each other—would the man change his mind about conducting the search? But Ecker merely said:
“I'd like you to come along, Mr. Donner, since you know the hollow so well.”
“By all means,” agreed the big man. “But now that you are here, come in and have a look at my little retreat, Sheriff. It's over a hundred years old. I was just telling the boys that it used to be a hide-out for runaway slaves.”
Hospitably, Donner conducted Ecker through the cabin, while the boys waited. Joe went to introduce himself to the three deputies.
Chet, meanwhile, accompanied by the frisky young puppy, wandered over to the three-cornered sheep pen and peered inside. Frank stayed near the door of Donner's house. He stared thoughtfully at the ground. Something shiny that lay deep in the tall meadow grass caught his eye. Unobserved by the others, he stooped down, examined the object, and slipped it into his pocket, just before Donner and the sheriff appeared.
“Ready to go, boys?” Donner boomed.
The group now formed under his direction. Donner had put on a dapper felt hat with bright-colored trout flies hooked in the band. With an amused grin he was stuffing a long-barreled target pistol with a fancy pearl handle into his belt.
“Now I feel like a real deputy,” he joked. Frank and Chet took their places with Joe.
BOOK: The Clue of the Screeching Owl
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