The Sign Of The Crooked Arrow Part 12

Pye's admiration of the boys' horsemans.h.i.+p was unbounded. Finding that they showed no signs of fatigue, he urged them toward the northern fence line of the ranch.

"Nice up there," he said. "Long time ago Indian live there."

As they neared the boundary, Frank thought he heard the distant hum of a motor. He called his brother's attention to it.

117 "Sounds like a plane," Joe remarked, scanning the sky.

They knew that occasionally a transport pa.s.sed over the area, flying at a very high alt.i.tude. But this one was low.

"There's plane," Pye declared, pointing over a wooded section a few miles ahead of them.

A small craft suddenly appeared and skimmed over the treetops.

"Joe!" Frank cried. "Isn't that the same one ... ?"

"Golly," Joe cut in, "it sure looks like it!"

The boys could not make out the details of the airplane, but from a distance it could well be the same one which had followed them from El Paso the day before. Was the pilot searching for the Hardys? This thought was dispelled by a remark from the Indian.

"Me see plane many time," Pye said slowly. "All time he fly low by trees."

Frank and Joe exchanged glances. Was it in some way connected with the mysterious disappearance of the Crowhead cowboys? Perhaps it was landing near by, taking the ranch hands off to some other part of the country. Help was scarce in other range areas of the great West.

Suddenly Joe reined in sharply. "Look, Frank,"

1 18 he cried excitedly. "The plane's coming down."

The three watched as the craft banked and disappeared behind the trees.

"Do you suppose it's in trouble?" Joe asked his brother.

"Could be," Frank replied. "But it looked to me as if the pilot meant to land."

"In any case, I think we ought to find out," Joe declared.

But hardly were the words out of his mouth, when the plane zoomed sharply into the air.

"It didn't land after all," Joe commented. "What'd you make out of that?"

"Maybe him just have fun," the Indian said with a grin.

"Why would a pilot fool around out here?" Frank queried. "He'd be in serious trouble if he crashed. This country is too wooded to try any hopping."

As the stranger flew away, Frank noticed something that confirmed his belief the plane was not out on a playful junket. The sun's rays were reflected in the lenses of what was probably binoculars !

Joe saw it at the same time. "He's looking for something, Frank."

"And that something may be us," his brother replied with a frown.

119 "No worry," the Indian said. "He come back."

By this time he and the boys were nearing the woods. Pye hesitated, asking if the brothers wanted to ride into it. Wis.h.i.+ng to learn where the airman had come down, they nodded.

As they entered the dark stillness, Frank felt a peculiar sensation. The trees, although not the tallest he had seen, appeared to stretch their limbs grotesquely toward the riders.

Their gnarled branches, disfigured by wind and storm, seemed to beckon the boys into a trap which nature itself had devised.

"This sure is a spooky place," Joe remarked, feeling the same awesomeness.

"Very bad," Pye said. "Cowboys sometimes get lost in here." Then he grinned. "Pye no get lost."

Buoyed by the Indian's confidence, the boys entered the woods, ducking low-hanging branches along a faintly marked trail. Suddenly the pinto whinnied and stopped. Pye jumped off and put his ear to the ground.

"Someone come!" he warned.

The boys dismounted, leading their animals off the trail. As they did, a cowboy, panting as if he had run for miles, came stumbling along the path like a tumbleweed in a high wind.

A sudden look of recognition came over the Indian's face.

120 "Pete!" he shouted.

The runner was one of the men from Crowhead, The cowboy stopped, a wild look in his eyes.

"Where are you going?" Frank asked.

"Ch-chasin5 my pony," Pete replied. "He-uh-run away."

"We no see him," Pye said. "No come this way."

"Here," Frank offered, "climb up and ride back of me. We'll take you home. It's a long way."

"No," the man replied. His s.h.i.+fting eyes looked right and left into the woods. "I'll keep on lookin' for him."

With that he started off again along the trail and disappeared in the woods.

"I'm going to follow him," Frank said after a few minutes. "This looks mighty suspicious."

"Pye and I'll stay here awhile and see if anyone else comes along," Joe said. "Pete may have been running away to meet somebody."

Frank wheeled his horse, heading after the disappearing Pete. When he was out of sight of Joe and Pye, Frank glanced at the ground, hoping to pick up some information as to Pete's strange behavior. What he saw suddenly sent a quiver of excitement racing down his spine.

At the base of a pine tree lay a large, smooth rock. On its face was carved a crooked arrow!

Frank bent low in his saddle to get a better look 121 at it. As he did so, an object whizzed above him. It sounded like the buzz of a giant bee.

An instant later something sang closer to the boy's head. It was followed by a zinging thud. An arrow embedded itself in a tree trunk directly in front of him!

Another zing! Frank fell to the ground!

CHAPTER XIV.

Chet Snares a Clue.

FRANK struck the ground with a thud and lay still. He had made it just in time to escape being wounded by an arrow, which barely missed his shoulder. Now he flattened out to make himself as inconspicuous a target as possible for his unseen a.s.sailant.

Ten minutes went by. No more arrows shot past him. Cautiously Frank raised his head to look through the brush. Not twenty feet away lay a short arrow. Near its nock were three white feathers.

"The same kind of arrow that hit Dad!" Frank told himself in amazement.

The boy pulled himself along the ground and grasped the shaft. No doubt of it. This arrow was a duplicate of the other. Probably it had come from the same quiver! But why had the archer traveled from Bayport to the wilds of New Mexico?

122.

123 Cautiously Frank arose and looked around. He saw n.o.body. Then he wrapped the arrow in his kerchief and tied it to the saddle.

Frank spotted another arrow embedded in a tree a few yards away. From its position, he figured approximately the point from which the missile had been shot.

Keeping his eyes open for any human movement among the trees, Frank skirted the direct line of attack and approached the place from the rear. But when the boy reached the small clearing, where the a.s.sailant apparently had stood, he found no one.

Returning to his horse, Frank patted the animal's neck, all the while meditating the strange turn of events. The shooting in Bayport and the peculiar cigarettes the crooks were using definitely tied in with some strange plot against Ruth Hardy.

The giant crooked arrow sign cut in the timber, the crooked arrow chipped into the rock, and now the white-feathered shafts seemed to fit into the same frightening pattern. But the mystery remained as deep and foreboding as the woods in which Frank stood.

He racked his brain trying to find the answer. Finally the boy decided to telephone his father to see if he had any connecting links to offer.

Frank's thoughts were interrupted by the sounds 124 of approaching footsteps. Perhaps Pete was returning. Or could it be the mysterious archer?

The boy quickly led his horse into a gully, then dived into a tangle of underbrush to await developments.

To his relief, he saw Joe and Pye suddenly appear among the trees. From Joe's interested look, Pye was apparently telling him some bit of Western lore. Frank startled them when he sidled into their path.

"Him quiet like redskin," Pye said with a grin.

"You'd be silent, too," Frank replied, "if somebody had stalked through the woods, taking pot shots at you with a bow and arrow!"

The Indian looked puzzled as Frank told his story.

"n.o.body at Crowhead use arrow," Pye declared.

"Are you the only Indian there?" Joe asked.

Pye nodded. "No more Indian work for Mis' Hardy."

"Is there an Indian reservation near here?" Frank queried.

For a moment Pye was thoughtful. "Reservation hundred mile away," he replied.

"Then Indians wouldn't be wandering around here," Joe reasoned.

"Follow me," Frank said to the others.

He led the way to the stone into which the crooked arrow symbol had been cut, and pointed 125 to it. The boy watched Pye's expression intently. It reflected the same amazement that Joe's did.

"Ever see this before or one like it?" Frank asked him, although he was sure the answer would be no.

"Pye never see bad arrow. Indian no make bad arrow," he said proudly, and added, grinning, "only white man."

White man!

The remark gave the Hardys food for thought. After the report on the wrist-watch strap, it had been a.s.sumed that the dangerous archer was an Indian. But if redskins had such contempt for crooked arrows, then it was possible only white men were involved in the baffling mystery, and were trying to mislead Detective Fenton Hardy and his sons into thinking Indians were the crooks. Probably the watch strap had belonged to an Indian at one time.

"Go back to ranch house now," said Pye. "Long ride."

The three headed back. There was little conversation on the way. After several hot, tedious hours on horseback, they reached the inviting coolness of Crowhead's buildings.

Frank went straight to the bunkhouse to find Hank. The foreman eyed the boy suspiciously.

"What's the matter now?" he asked. "Yo' got good horses, didn't yo'?"

126 "I'm looking for Pete," Frank said, ignoring the question. "Did he get back? We saw him in the woods some time ago. Said he had lost his horse and was looking for it."

"Pete's been gone since early morning," Hank scowled. "Now don't bother me again."

The evening wore on. Still Pete had not returned. Frank and Joe learned that the cowboy's horse had trotted back, but without a saddle.

Ruth Hardy was very upset. Pete was one of her most intelligent hands. According to the other men, he had seemed happy and satisfied at Crowhead.

"I can't understand it," Ruth said to Frank. "You see what happens. One day a man is here, the next he's gone with no explanation."

Frank said he wanted to report to his father, and put in the call to home. Mr. Hardy answered. His voice sounded strong and clear as he spoke to both his sons. He said that he was feeling better and asked what had been going on at the ranch.

Frank outlined the mysterious happenings. When he told of the stone in the woods with the crooked arrow on it, the boy could sense that his father was surprised.

"Did that arrow and the one you saw from the air point in the same direction?" he asked.

"Why, yes, they did, Dad," Frank replied.

"Then keep looking for more clues in that 127 woods," the detective advised. "But proceed carefully, and don't go far without someone trustworthy from Crowhead."

"It'll probably be Pye. He's a swell fellow."

After the boys had finished their story, Mr. Hardy brought them up to date on the mystery from the Bayport angle. The car in Slow Mo's garage was still unclaimed. Tobacco Shop Al remained silent. No more telltale wrist watches had been located, but the telephone wire fairly crackled with the electrifying news-it had been found that the Arrow cigarettes contained a mysterious gas!