The Sign Of The Crooked Arrow Part 14

137 "There they go," he said to a cowboy standing near by. "I hope they're gone for good!"

When they landed in Santa Fe, Frank, Joe, and Chet went straight to a well-known chemist whose name Ruth Hardy had given them. Frank asked him to a.n.a.lyze the arrow.

"I'll have the report ready in twenty minutes," the chemist said, "if you care to come back."

"Sure will."

The boys left the arrowhead and strolled down the street.

"Let's have a soda," Joe suggested.

"Okay," Frank agreed. "I'm thirsty myself."

They saw a drugstore near by and went in. On a chance, Frank went over to the druggist and asked in a whisper: "Have you any Arrow cigarettes?"

The druggist, an open-faced and friendly man with a shock of black hair, looked quizzically at the boy.

"Arrow cigarettes?" he said. "Never heard of them."

Frank, feeling sure the man was telling the truth^ rejoined Joe and Chet. The three sat on stools at the ice cream and lunch counter. Chet leaned over near the clerk.

"What's that chile con carne on the menu?"

138 The white-coated youth behind the counter explained that it was red-hot stuff, diet, thinking the clerk was recommending the peppery food said: "Gimme some."

The boy took a mouthful, made a wry face, then finished the bowl of chile, after which he put away a double-scoop ice-cream soda. Frank and Joe looked at their friend ruefully.

"You'll be sorry," Joe sang out, when Chet asked for another gla.s.s of water.

"Gosh, that chile was hot!" Chet remarked, as the boys rose to return to the laboratory.

When the chemist appeared, Frank hurried over to him.

"What did you find?" he asked excitedly.

"This arrowhead is poisoned," the man replied. "Even a scratch might prove fatal!"

Frank paid the man for his a.n.a.lysis and the three left the place.

"Let's make some more inquiries about Arrow cigarettes," Joe suggested.

They went to one place after another, but none of the proprietors ever had heard of the cigarettes.

"What I want to find out now," Frank said, "is something more about real arrows; Indian arrows."

He spoke to a policeman, who directed the boys to a museum.

"They've got a good collection there," he said.

139 The trio spent nearly an hour looking over the vast collection. Finally Joe remarked: "Funny thing. Every one of these arrows is longer than the white-feathered arrows."

"And they're not so thick," Frank added. "Whoever shot at Dad and me makes his own brand of arrows."

"That ought to make it easier to find him," Joe surmised.

After leaving the museum, the boys went back to the Santa Fe airport, where they met Winger.

"All set?" He smiled. After they got in the air, he asked, "Find any more crooked arrows?"

"Not one," Chet replied. "But I had some hot chile. Got any water on this plane? My stomach's on fire." He stuck out his tongue in a panting gesture.

"Sorry. No. Bread would be better, but I haven't any of that, either."

"You'll have to wait until we get back to Crow-head," Joe said. "This will teach you to leave that hot stuff to the Mexicans."

Chet sweated it out all the way back to the ranch. When they arrived, he made a dash to the kitchen.

"Whew!" he said, wiping his brow after three slices of bread. "I think the fire's out now."

After the boys had had supper, Ruth Hardy told them there had been more trouble at the ranch.

140 "Another cowboy disappeared while you were in Sante Fe," she said. "He took his saddle and all his clothes, just like the other men did."

With their cousin's permission the boys went to the bunkhouse and conducted an exhaustive quiz. The missing cowboy's friends, as well as the rest, could give no explanation for his disappearance. Hank watched the proceedings with slitted eyes, and gave short, negative answers to all questions.

"Do you suppose Hank told them not to say anything?" Joe whispered, as his brother finished the interrogation.

"No," Frank replied. "Cowboys don't talk much, anyway. But I really think they don't know what happened to the guy."

Joe stepped into the middle of the room and addressed the men.

"You fellows ought to know that the disappearance of your buddies is no laughing matter," he said. "The men may be in trouble-serious trouble."

At this remark the lounging ranchers sat up in amazement. A buzz of conversation revealed they had thought the cowboys went off of their own volition to some other ranch, and had said nothing to Mrs. Hardy since they did not want to hurt the widow's feelings.

"I'd advise you to stick to Crowhead," Joe went 141 on. "And if you value your lives, stay away from the north woods!"

At this admonition, Hank arose from his cot and glared at the Hardys.

"Shut up!" he roared. "I'll not let a couple o' coyotes come in here an' give advice to my men. I'm runnin' the affairs of Crowhead an' I don't need any tenderfeet's help. Now get out!"

To avoid another fracas, the visitors left. Chet thumped Joe on the back.

"Good sermon, Parson Hardy," he said. "Only old die-hard in there didn't like it. Say," he added seriously, "do you think Hank's mixed up in this?"

"He's either guilty as they come," Frank answered, "or else he's the meanest straight guy I've ever met."

"Right," said the other boys together, and Joe added, "I've got an idea. Let's find out how much these fellows know about archery."

"How can we do that?" Chet put in.

"We'll make a bow and some arrows tomorrow," Frank replied, "and let the men try their hand at shooting!"

"I get it!" Chet said eagerly. "Maybe that archer's right on this ranch. Well, count me out.

I'll go riding!"

But he did nothing of the sort. The following morning the boys obtained a piece of seasoned 142 hickory from the ranch workshop, and spent several hours on their project.

Frank shaped a bow from it, while Joe and Chet fas.h.i.+oned a couple of arrows.

"We don't need sharp arrowheads," Frank said. "Just make the ends blunt."

That evening, after the cowboys had completed their work, the visitors mingled with them outside the bunkhouse. Frank casually mentioned arrows, crooked and otherwise, and offered to let the ranchmen use the bow the boys had made. A quiet indifference met their suggestion. As one cowboy put it: "I ain't never had a bow an' arrow in my hands. I'll stake my chips on an old six-shooter any time."

"Well," said Frank, disappointed by the futile attempt to w.a.n.gle a new clue, "I guess I'll try shooting this thing myself. He strung the bow, inserted an arrow and drew the string back.

Just as he was about to let the shaft fly in the direction of the shed, the Indian Pye rushed up, shouting: "No shoot! No shoot!"

CHAPTER XVI.

Flash Flood.

pye's command not to let the arrow fly was followed by a fearful snorting and bellowing.

Frank turned. A mad bull, which had jumped the fence of a s.h.i.+pping pen, was charging directly at him and the other boys.

Quick as lightning, Pye grabbed the bow and arrow from Frank's hands. With one deft, continuous movement, he strung the shaft, drew the bowstring, and let the arrow fly-straight at the bull!

The blunt arrow caught the bull directly between the eyes. He went down in a heap at Pye's feet, stunned by the cras.h.i.+ng blow.

"Wow!" Joe exclaimed. "Some shot!"

"You s-saved our lives," Chet stuttered.

Frank was not so jubilant as the others. True, he was thankful that the arrow had found its mark, but the episode raised a serious doubt in his mind about Pye.

143.

144 Could the apparently friendly Indian be the one who had shot the white-feathered arrows? Pye seemed innocent enough, but Frank was determined to be wary.

The Indian looked sheepish as he handed the bow back to Frank. "Pye not know he can shoot straight any more," he said, grinning.

"You look as if you'd had plenty of practice recently," Frank commented.

Pye looked at the boy in surprise. "I no shoot since boy!" Then suddenly he realized what Frank might mean. "No shoot arrow in woods," he said. "Pye no try kill you."

"That's right," Joe spoke up. "Pye was with me every minute on our ride."

"I'm sorry I doubted you, Pye," Frank said in apology.

One of the men who was preparing to drag the bull away looked up. "What are you all talkin' about?" he asked in alarm.

Before the Hardys could stop Pye, the little Indian excitedly told what had happened to Frank in the woods. The cowboys stared in amazement, then turned their eyes on Joe.

"I see what yo' were drivin' at yestiddy," one of them said. "I sh.o.r.e won't show my face in the north woods!"

145 As the Hardys and Chet said good night and walked off toward the ranch house, Frank remarked, "We didn't learn much, but I'd like to bet if those woods have anything to do with the missing cowboys, the rest of the men will stay away from them!"

"Sure," said Chet. "And now that you fellows have no more work to do here, we can just have fun."

"What do you suggest, Chet?" Joe asked with a wink at Frank. "A little rope work to snare Arrow Charlie, or-"

"Golly," the boy sighed, "you fellows remember too much. Okay, I'll help you track him down, but don't ask me to hunt for anybody in the north woods."

Next morning the Hardys would have liked to take Pye and Terry and follow the trail of the mysterious archer in the woods, but Kank said gruffly that all his men had to ride fence.

The only concession he would make was to permit the visitors to go along with their favorite cowboys.

"We'll meet yo' at the corral," Terry said.

Pye picked out good ponies for the boys. Frank and Joe mounted quickly as Chet struggled to his seat. Then the five riders set off at the tireless trot of the Western range.

They had not gone far before Terry reached to 146 the left side of the saddle, under his rope, and pulled out a little stringed instrument.

"What's that?" Frank asked in surprise.

"My range gee-tar." Terry smiled. "Regular one's kinda big to tote on horseback. I made this here little fella myself."

As the boys marveled at the tiny guitar, Terry strummed out a melody which kept time with the rhythmic cadence of the trotting pony.

They rode on for several miles, the steady clop-clop of the horses and the rising dust beneath their hoofs almost putting Chet to sleep.

Finally the men's checkup of the cattle brought them not far away from the woods where the arrows had nearly hit Frank. Suddenly the boy reined in his horse.

"What's that sound?" he asked.

"Yo' got good ears," Terry replied. "It's just a bawlin' dogie lost in the woods. Want tO'

give him a hand?"

Pye broke his silence. "Maybe bad man there," he warned. "Me listen." The Indian dismounted and put his ear to the ground. "Hear nothing," he said.