The Sign Of The Crooked Arrow Part 15

Frank turned his mount into the woods, heading toward the cries of the calf.

"I'll come right back," he called.

The boy rode a hundred yards, then halted to listen. The bawling of the dogie had ceased, but as Frank sat listening, he spotted something that made his heart leap. At some distance ahead, mounted on a white-faced sorrel in the shadow of a big tree, sat a cowboy. His big Stetson was pulled low over his face, entirely concealing it in the shade of the wide brim.

Frank quelled his first impulse to ride up to the man. Recalling his father's warning, and sure the cowboy was not from Crowhead, he turned his horse around quietly, hurried back to his friends, and reported what he had seen.

"Suppose you four fellows surround the woods," Frank said, "while I question the man. If he has no business on Crowhead property, we'll find out what he's up to."

With the four at their separate stations, Frank rode into the woods again to the place where he had seen the strange rider. He was gone!

The boy made his way to the big tree. The hoof-prints of the intruder's horse were in clear view-and something else, as well.

Excitedly Frank leaped off his pony and bent to the ground. There lay a package of cigarettes. The package was gaily colored in gold, blue, and yellow. Frank picked it up and read "Ramiro Cigarrillos, Mexico."

At the same moment he was startled by the sound [48 of hoofbeats near the far end of the woods. Frank sprang to his horse and went in hot pursuit of the unseen rider.

In a few minutes he reached the edge of the woods. He could hear the horses of two of his friends, who had taken up the chase. Joe and Terry were racing across the range as if they were trying to break a record. But presently they stopped, wheeled about, and came back.

"He got away," Joe reported, as his horse shook foamy perspiration from its neck.

A distant cloud of dust attested to the fact that the rider, v/hoever he was, had made his escape on a speedy horse. Pursuit would be futile.

Pye came riding up. "Man go to unhappy ground. Get hurt," he said simply.

"Must have wanted to get away bad," Frank remarked. "I sure wish I'd got a better look at him."

"Where's Chet?" Joe asked suddenly.

"Over there," the Indian answered.

He pointed far to the right of the group, where their friend was seated on his pony, holding both hands to his eyes. Presently he trotted over to where the others had stopped. In his right hand he held binoculars.

"I saw him!" Chet exclaimed jubilantly.

"What did he look like?" Joe asked.

Flash Flood 149 "He was the same guy that came to the farm in Bayport and asked me all those questions!" Chet declared excitedly. "And he was at the El Paso airport. Remember?" Chet looked admiringly at the binoculars and added, "Good thing I asked your cousin Ruth if I could borrow these. Thought I might see something interesting!"

"You sure did!" Joe exclaimed.

"It doesn't leave much doubt," Frank said, "that the person who's making the trouble at Crowhead and the one who's in league with the Bayport thieves is the same man!"

"But what's the connection?" Joe queried. "Do the Arrow cigarette peddlers hide out in this region?"

"Maybe they've got a cabin in the woods," Chet suggested. "That plane may drop them food."

"And Ramiro cigarettes," Frank said. He showed his brother and Chet the pack he had found.

"We're coming back to investigate this place," Joe determined, "and soon!"

The boys started back toward Crowhead. Suddenly Frank exclaimed, "I didn't get that dogie!"

The party headed into the woods again and Frank located the little animal, which had started bawling again. The boy found him mired in a water hole-pulled him out, and let him sprawl across the saddle in front of him.

'150 Terry and Pye started back toward the ranch house, with Joe, Frank, and Chet bringing up the rear. The boys, talking over the actions of the man in the woods, found themselves a long distance behind the others.

Suddenly a black cloud appeared on the horizon as if by magic. The next moment, a torrent of rain was las.h.i.+ng the range.

"We'd better get over this gully onto higher ground," Frank warned.

He led the way into the twisting gulch, on the other side of which was a high knoll. But just when the three boys reached the bed of the gully, a terrifying sound reached their ears. It was a swirling, swis.h.i.+ng noise, which reached thunderous proportions as it roared down upon the riders.

The boys were caught in a flash flood!

CHAPTER XVII.

The Galloping Archer.

the torrent struck the riders like a gigantic ocean wave.

Frank, choking and spluttering, clung to his mount. The pony struggled with all the rugged strength of a Western animal. Finally, its forelegs beat a tattoo on the bank of the now raging stream, then pulled up to higher ground.

Frank looked around. Farther down the stream Joe was scrambling out of the water, leading a bedraggled pony.

"Where's Chet?" Frank called to him in alarm.

Joe pointed around a bend where he could see an object bobbing like a buoy in the water. Suddenly a hand reached out and grabbed a jutting rock. Then Chet hauled himself slowly to the bank.

The chubby boy looked sorrowful when the others reached him. Pye and Terry had raced back. The 151.

152 storm had ceased as abruptly as it had started, but the water still raged along the arroyo.

"My pony," Chet said, "is dead. She hit something and went under.3'

"Too bad," Terry said sympathetically. "Lucky none of yo' was hurt."

"You can ride back with me, Chet," Joe offered. "My pony's hefty."

Chet looked ruefully at the stream, which had begun to subside. Then he let out a sudden exclamation.

"What's the matter?" Joe asked.

"Look!" Chet pointed.

All eyes turned upstream, where a white Stetson was floating down. As it spun in the stream, it looked like a miniature carousel stripped of its horses.

.Instantly Pye reached to his saddle and grasped his rope. After a few deft turns of the wrist, the Indian let the rope uncoil out over the water. It landed on the Stetson as neatly as a hatband. Pye gently pulled it to sh.o.r.e, where Frank picked it up.

Suddenly he stared in amazement. "The crooked arrow!" he exclaimed.

"Where?" Joe cried excitedly.

"In the hatband," Frank replied.

The other boys scrutinized the Stetson, which had the familiar crooked arrow skillfully burned into the leather.

153 *'And look at this!" Joe added. "The initials inside are C. B. M."

"Arrow Charlie!" Frank burst out, again referring to the name of the man supplying Arrow cigarettes to the criminal trade. Was he the owner of (this hat, floating in the arroyo hundreds of miles from the Hardys' home town?

"I'll bet he was the man in the woods!" Joe exclaimed.

The same thought suddenly struck the brothers. It was possible C. B. M. had drowned in the deluge. Frank spoke to Pye and Terry. Silently the group rode along the bank of the arroyo for some distance, but found neither the man nor his horse.

"Guess he escaped," Frank said finally. "And tomorrow I'm going to find out where to!"

When the riders reached Crowhead, Frank asked his cousin Ruth if she knew anyone whose initials were C. B. M.

"I know of no one with those initials," she told him. "But I'll contact the sheriff and ask him."

She went quickly to the telephone, but the sherifl said he had no idea who C. B. M.

might be. She decided to ask the state automobile license bureau.

"It's too late to try tonight," Ruth Hardy said, "but I'll do it first thing in the morning."

Cousin Ruth, who knew the man in charge, put in a call to the capital. When she explained the 154 nature of her request, he promised to look through his files and asked her to call back in an hour. The time seemed to drag as they all waited. When the hour was up. Cousin Ruth eagerly put in the call again.

"I'm sorry not to be able to help you," the man said. "n.o.body in New Mexico-that is, n.o.body who drives a car, has the initials C. B. M.

As the widow hung up and reported to her cousins, Joe said with a sigh, "Another blind alley! Just when we think we have a red-hot clue, it turns out to be a fizzle."

"I still think C. B. M. is Arrow Charlie," Frank persisted. "And I believe he's the person who wounded Dad and tried to shoot me!"

"If we could only nab him," Joe said, tightening his lips with determination, "then maybe we could squeeze the truth out of him about these two mysteries."

"I have it!" Frank exclaimed, snapping his fingers. "If Arrow Charlie is an expert archer, let's set a trap for him."

"Swell," Joe replied. "But how?"

"Here's my plan," he said. "There's to be a rodeo at the Circle O Ranch. I saw a poster down in the bunkhouse."

"It starts next week," Joe put in. "But what has that to do with Arrow Charlie?"

155 "We can put up a prize for an archery contest-a horseback archery shoot."

"Now I get it," Joe said enthusiastically. "Arrow Charlie may sign up and we'll capture him."

"It might not be that easy," Frank cautioned, 'but we can give it a try. What do you think?"

he asked his cousin.

"I'll go along on it," she agreed, "and put up a fifty-dollar prize."

The next day Frank rode to the Circle O Ranch to confer with the rodeo manager. After he had explained about his prize for the best horseback archer, the manager was agreeable.

He promised to send out circulars and posters advertising the extra event. Frank and Joe could hardly contain themselves as the day of the rodeo neared. Finally it came, bright and cloudless.

The Hardys and Chet arrived at Circle O an hour before the contests were scheduled to start. Making his way directly to the rodeo manager, Frank asked how many had entered the special archery event.

"Only three," came the disappointing reply. 'Guess there ain't many cowboys who can shoot a bow and arrow."

None of them had the initials C. B. M., but Frank was sure, if the man came at all, he would use another name.

156 Finally the announcer bawled out the announcement of the archery event. A ripple of excitement surged through the crowd. This was something new.

Chet scrutinized the three who entered the ring. One was an Indian, an old and scrawny man. The other two were nondescript cowboys.

"Any of these the one you saw on the white-faced horse?" Frank asked.

"No," he said.

After placing the target, which was a straw-filled dummy with a white paper heart sewed to the jacket, the announcer shouted: "The winner must pierce the heart, while riding at full gallop! Three shots for each contestant. Let'ergo!"

The first cowboy trotted around the circle, guiding his mount with the pressure of his knees. In his hands he held a bow and across his back was slung a quiver.

Gaining speed, he galloped past the target, taking careful aim. The bowstring zinged, and the arrow flew toward the dummy. It pierced the head as the crowd roared.

The contestant's next shot went wild. The third landed just below the heart.

The next aspirant, the Indian, fared a little better. All his arrows. .h.i.t the dummy, but none found the heart. Up rode the third man, obviously nervous.

The cowboy strung his bow, bringing his horse to an easy gallop. He handled the bow like an expert, drawing the nock of the arrow back slowly while taking aim.

Suddenly the crowd shrieked. Just as the arrow left the bow, the cowboy's horse stumbled, throwing the rider hard to the ground. The arrow, sent on a wild flight, embedded itself in a fence post.

The cowboy was too shaken to continue. He walked away.

In the excitement that followed, few people aoticed a late arrival stride to the judges'

stand. The man signed up for the event, bow and arrow in hand. The instant the third contestant had withdrawn from the meet, the newcomer mounted a peppery pony and pranced around the circle. Then, stringing his bow, he galloped toward the target.