The Sign Of The Crooked Arrow Part 17

"Wait!" Terry cried suddenly. Then he added, "What do yo' think o' this, Pye? Forest fire or camp site?"

The Indian stared long and thoughtfully at the curling smoke. He watched for indications of spreading flames but saw none.

"No forest fire," he announced laconically. "Hombre make fire. Cook grub."

167 As all eyes focused on the smoke, it seemed to fade out, confirming Pye's notion that the blaze was under control. But under the control of human beings.

"Would any of the Crowhead cowboys be camping there?" Frank asked Pye.

"No cow, no men," the Indian answered. "Pye tell you bad place over there."

"You've been in that forest?" Frank queried in amazement.

"Pye no go," the man answered. "Ancestor say stay away, so stay away."

"But what's there to make it bad?" Frank persisted.

The Indian shrugged. "Pye no know. But Pye not afraid. We go see."

"That's the stuff." Frank praised. "Come on!"

The sun was low as they neared the forbidding forest. The sky was taking on the vivid, darkening colors of sunset. Purple and magenta clouds blended into the pink backdrop of the heavens, which were making ready to cloak the plains with darkness.

"We'd better look for a camp site," Frank suggested.

"You got plenty savvy," Pye commented admiringly. "Dark come in."

After scanning the area, Joe and Terry found a 168 rocky gulch, protected from the wind and affording an ideal place to spend the night.

After tying their animals, the five travelers built a fire in the bottom of the gulch, so that it would not be seen by other campers. Terry said that he and Pye would take turns standing watch during the night.

Frank unpacked the provisions. Putting a tender piece of beef on a spit, he turned it over and over above the fire until its rich juice sizzled a merry tune.

"Hot diggidy!" Chet exclaimed, sniffing the savory odor. "This night air makes me hungrier than ever!"

After they had eaten, the boys set about to make their beds. Frank and Joe quickly dug little depressions to fit the contours of their bodies, arranp^d their blankets half under them, then crawled in, pulling the rest of the blankets over them. Chet was still digging. Finally he, too, setded down, along with Terry. Pye stood watch until three o'clock when Terry took over.

The sun was sticking its red thatch above the distant horizon when Frank awoke. He shook Joe, then tossed a pebble at Chet. It bounded off the sleeping boy's freckled nose and he sat up with a start.

"Oh, vvowee!" he exclaimed. Then, grinning, The Dangling Rope he added, "Am I relieved! I dreamed a snake was crawling over me."

"Bad dream," Pye said, shaking his head. The Indian and Terry were busy with breakfast. "Bad luck dream of snake," he prophesied.

"Let's hope it doesn't strike today," Frank remarked. "Gosh, that bacon smells good."

By the time the group had eaten, the sun was ascending like a barrage balloon.

"Let's get going," Frank urged.

"Go slow. Watch for bad hombre and snake," Pye advised.

"S-snakes?" Chet quavered.

"Maybe big chief ancestor mean poison snake," Pye shrugged, as the party advanced cautiously into the forest.

Suddenly the Indian halted the group. He said he thought they had gone far enough on horseback and should investigate further on foot.

"Put on animal feet," he ordered.

The boys tied on the tracking feet. Joe became a fox, Frank a bear, and Chet a wildcat.

Pye and Terry strapped on deer and wolf feet. Then they walked stealthily forward, listening intently and looking for clues that might lead them to Arrow Charlie or at least to the men responsible for some of the strange, recent happenings.

170 But their search proved fruitless, and the going tough. Any campers had covered their tracks well, and any riders to the forest certainly came and went by a totally different route.

Finally the boys and the two Crowhead men returned to their ponies. Just as they were about to mount, the sound of an airplane sifted down through the dense trees. The boys peered up through the heavy foliage but could see nothing.

"Give me your gla.s.ses quick, Chet," Joe said.

He looped the strap of the binoculars around his neck and made for a tall tree near by.

s.h.i.+nning up to the first branch, Joe quickly climbed to the top limb. He put the binoculars to his eyes and scanned the countryside.

Presently a small plane came into view. It looked like the same one the boys had seen before. Dangling from it was a long rope. It reached nearly to the treetops as the plane skimmed along.

At the end of the rope was a small package. As Joe glued his vision to it, the plane dipped out of sight behind the upland forest. Joe climbed down to report what he had seen.

"Do you suppose the plane was dropping the package?" Frank asked excitedly.

"Either that, or the pilot had picked it up," Joe replied.

"That proves the smoke did come from a camp171 fire," Terry put in. "An5 it can't be far from here."

"Let's go!" Joe cried, eager to be off.

"No go fast," Pye advised. "Enemy of Crow-head maybe plenty smart."

"Pye's right," Frank agreed. "We'd better go on foot."

"An' go separately," Terry said. "It'd be too bad if we all got caught at once."

Heeding the singing cowboy's advice, the five hobbled their ponies and set off in different directions, but all heading generally toward the spot where Joe had seen the plane.

They agreed to return to the ponies in two hours.

Frank set off first, creeping along stealthily. After going several hundred yards, he stopped to listen. A little noise came from his left. Probably Chet, Frank thought, but to make sure, he hid himself inside a large, hollow log and waited.

What he saw made his heart pound. A grim-faced Indian was stepping from behind a tree, a bow clutched in his left hand. Five white-feathered arrows poked out from the quiver slung over his shoulder. They were the same as the arrow that had struck Mr. Hardy!

In a panic Frank wondered where the rest of his party were, and hoped they would spot the Indian before he let the arrows fly!

CHAPTER XX.

Captured!

the Indian stopped, as if his sixth sense had detected a human being, and carefully scanned the area. When he failed to see anybody, he stalked on through the woods.

Frank wriggled from his hiding place and followed. Keeping a safe distance from the Indian, Frank tracked him through the dense timberland.

Suddenly the Indian wheeled around. Frank, watching his every move, ducked behind a bush just in time. The man looked left and right. Then he put his ear to the ground. Finally satisfied, he set off again, this time at a ground-covering lope.

Frank matched the Indian's powerful strides. When they had gone about a mile, a trail seemed to appear out of nowhere.

"I wonder where this leads?" the boy thought.

The question was answered a few minutes later. The Indian slowed down to a jog and emerged into 172.

173 a clearing. Frank, breathing heavily from the long run, concealed himself behind a tree.

In front of him lay a small Indian village! Adobe huts stood here and there around the fringes of the open s.p.a.ce. In the center were several small workbenches, around which a dozen Indians were working. The man whom Frank had traced disappeared into one of the huts.

"Gosh," Frank said to himself, "this is some surprise! No Indian reservation is supposed to be within a hundred miles of Crowhead. This must be a bunch of renegades!"

Creeping around the edge of the camp, the boy tried to make out what the Indians were doing. He could not tell from their conversation, because the men spoke in their native tongue.

As Frank moved closer, he noticed that one Indian, seated on the ground beside a low bench in the shade of the trees, appeared to be the boss of the other workers. He went now and then to examine the finished products. He carried some of them back to his bench.

Frank watched for a chance to get nearer. When the man walked to the middle of the clearing, the youth quickly stole to his bench.

On it lay leather belts, watch straps, a silver-cased wrist watch, and several silver crooked arrow tie clasps!

174 Frank stared in amazement. Had he found the headquarters of the gang?

Maybe this was the reason Arrow Charlie had not wanted Mr. Hardy to come to Crowhead! Whatever these Indians were up to had a direct connection with the gas-filled cigarettes.

Frank scurried into hiding seconds before the leader returned. Then he hurried back toward the place where the searchers had agreed to meet.

The boy had taken note of landmarks along the way to the Indian camp. Nonetheless, it required all his knowledge of woodcraft to find his way through the trackless forest. Finally he neared the point where he had crawled into the hollow log.

Suddenly he heard a noise, like somebody thras.h.i.+ng through the underbrush. Could the Indian be returning? Had they followed his trail?

"They wouldn't be making all that noise," he reasoned.

Confident that the sound did not come from Indians, Frank stealthily made his way toward it. Peering from behind a tree, he let out a low gasp.

"Chet!" he called softly. "For Pete's sake be quiet!"

Chet looked up, startled at the unexpected voice.

"Wh-where did you come from?" the stout boy puffed.

"I heard you kicking around like a lost dogie,"

175 Frank chided. "You'd better be quiet. There are Indians in these woods."

"Indians!" Chet exclaimed. "First a bear and now Indians!"

"A bear?"

"Yes. A big one just chased me."

In a hushed voice, Frank told him about the hidden Indian camp, and what the men were making. Chet's eyes bulged.

"Let's g-get out of here!" he cried. "Wh-where's my pony? I'm going!"

Despite Frank's efforts to restrain his friend, Chet broke away in a run.

"Stop!" Frank demanded in a hoa.r.s.e whisper. "You'll get lost again."

Hardly had he uttered this warning, when the tw.a.n.g of a bowstring resounded among the ponder-osa pines. An arrow whizzed through the air and embedded itself with an ominous thud in a tree trunk alongside Chet.

Instantly two Indians appeared, running toward Chet, who was frozen with fright.

Apparently they had not seen Frank, but the dark-haired boy dashed forward to protect his friend.

The Indians gave a whoop on seeing the second boy. The taller one, well over six feet, ran toward Frank, while the other continued in Chet's direction.

Frank braced himself for the onslaught. The 176 Indian, a wiry man with bulging muscles, grabbed Frank in a viselike grip.

In a split second Frank broke the grip with judo. The amazed Indian hesitated for a moment, just long enough for Frank to clamp a terrific headlock on him. The Indian struggled, grunting some m.u.f.fled words, as Frank applied more and more pressure.

But a different scene was taking place alongside the tree where Chet was standing. The Indian who tackled him knocked the wind out of the stocky youth. Chet's judo was useless by the time he had regained his breath.

"Help, Frank, help!" Chet cried.

The Indian sat astride the boy like a cowboy on a bucking bronc. Taking a thong from his belt, he tied Chet's hands behind him, then went to the aid of his companion.

Frank had pinioned his adversary, at the same time watching every move of the other man. When the second Indian was nearly atop him, Frank let the first one go and threw the oncoming one over his shoulder. The man landed with a thud, then bounded up and flung himself at the boy.

In the ensuing struggle, Frank fought like a tiger. It took both Indians to hold the boy down. Finally they managed to tie Frank's hands, and then led him to where Chet was lying.

177 Chet's teeth were chattering. "S-sorry I let you down," he said.