CHAPTER X
The River Chase
immediately Frank gunned his motors, and the red-and-white craft sprang forward in the water. But the sudden, powerful roar had aroused the suspect's attention. Catching sight of the boat racing toward him, he slipped from view behind some rocks.
By the time the young detectives reached the spot, the man had disappeared completely. All they discovered was a small green motorboat moored to a pole that had been driven into the river bottom.
"Think it's his?" Frank asked, perplexed. "Maybe we'd better land and go after him. He couldn't be far away yet!"
Tall, irregular cliffs rose within a few yards of the water's edge in this wild spot. The shore was strewn with huge boulders that had broken
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away from the cliffs at some time in the past.
Joe shook his head. "We'd never find him in this maze of rocks. He probably knows his way around, too. Let's sit it out here. He'll have to come for the boat sooner or later."
"Unless," Frank pointed out, "he gets somebody else to come. And it could be the boat isn't his."
"Let's take the chance. I know it was the bellman. I had a good look at his face."
Already their boat had begun to drift. Carefully Frank maneuvered it back upstream. When they were in position just out in the river from the abandoned motorboat, Frank and Joe each slipped an anchor overboard.
"Out here, we can keep our eyes on those cliffs," Frank noted.
"Good idea," his brother approved. "Funny we haven't seen the bellman climbing up somewhere!"
"There's probably a trail leading to the top that's invisible to us from here," Frank replied. "Watch out for anybody spying from above!"
For about an hour the vigilant youths watched both rocks and cliffs carefully. Finally Joe Hardy decided to relax. "May as well enjoy ourselves," he said.
From their fishing box he took a bright-colored plug, which he attached to one of the casting rods. "Here goes for another big bassl"
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Joe flipped the plug into likely spots along the shore. No unwary fish followed the wiggling lure back to the boat.
His brother laughed. "Too fancy. Let me show you how it's done." Digging into the bait pail, Frank came up with a long, lively night crawler. "Now, Joe, you use the artificial lure and I'll try this fellow. We'll see who gets a bass first."
"Okay, Isaak Walton!" Joe accepted the challenge.
But the fish did not seem to find the night crawler any more attractive than the fancy plug. Now it was Joe's turn to laugh.
"Just like detective work," he commented. "Sometimes you wait hours for a bite."
At that moment, out of the corner of his eye, Frank caught sight of the white shirt and blue dungarees of a man stepping from behind the rocks on shore. He told his brother, adding in a low voice, "Keep right on fishing."
Next time Joe made a cast in the man's direction. Though he seemed only to be watching his plug, he was really looking the newcomer over. "Not the bellman," he said in an undertone.
The strange man did not seem to be interested in Frank and Joe, either. He removed his shoes, waded out to the moored boat, climbed in, and untied the painter. Drifting slowly, he wound up the starting cord and gave a quick
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pull. Then, with his small motor put-putting, the man steered down the river.
Meanwhile, Frank and Joe had reeled in their lines and hauled in their anchors. "He may be planning to pick up the bellman," Joe whispered. "Let's keep him in sight."
With their powerful twin outboards, there was no danger of the man's outrunning them. Frank kept between fifty and a hundred yards behind the other boat.
After a while the stranger, glancing behind him, slackened his speed. Frank slowed up, too. In a minute the man cut his motor altogether. Turning, he waved the boys forward with his arm.
"No, thanks I" Instead of passing, Frank cut his motor, too.
"Wise guys!" the man shouted angrily, menacing with his fist. "Looking for trouble, are you?"
"We just want to talk to the passenger you're going to pick up," Frank replied calmly.
"I ain't goin' to pick up no passenger. So get on your way!"
"Is that so?" Frank returned. "I think we'll hang around, anyway, and make sure."
Furious, the man took the starting cord and whipped his motor into life again. Calmly, Frank did the same.
"How far will he go?" Joe wondered.
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The man chugged on steadily without taking notice of the Hardys again until both boats entered the wide expanse of water above Laguna Dam.
In the middle of the reservoir, the surly stranger cut his motor again. When he saw that Frank did the same, he turned on the boys in a rage.
"I'll yell for the cops!"
"Don't bother," Joe broke in. "Here comes a police launch now!"
Frank turned and caught sight of the big police cruiser traveling swiftly across the water in their direction. As the launch bore down on them he heard the boat of the bad-tempered stranger pick up speed. Frank turned quickly. The suspicious motorboat was racing toward the Arizona shore. Even as the police came alongside, they saw the man leap from the boat, dash up the beach, and disappear.
Then Frank and Joe noticed that one of the policemen had been watching the strange man through binoculars. "It's that stolen motorboat, all right!" he announced to his fellow officer.
"He beat it when he saw us coming," the second policeman answered.
"Did you say that boat was stolen, Officer?" Frank called out.
"Right. We've been looking for it all day."
"We have reason to believe the thief is prob-
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ably a member of a gang wanted by the police," Frank said.
Briefly and clearly Frank and Joe related their discoveries in the Grafton case to the two startled officers. "And we're sure this motorboat was going to pick up the fake bellman!" Joe finished.
The officer in charge sized up the situation quickly. "This looks like serious business. You boys had better proceed downriver according to your plan. We'll start a search here for this boat thief and your phony bellman. They couldn't have gone far. When you get to Yuma, check in at police headquarters for news."
In another moment the police launch was roar-
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89
ing toward the Arizona shore, while Frank and Joe steered for the boat docks on the California side.
Again Frank questioned the group of fishermen, loungers, and truckers on shore about Graf-ton and Wetherby and the three known members of the gang, but without success. Then Joe added a description of the surly boat thief, but nobody recognized him, either.
"Well, if they've been here, they sure kept out of sight," observed Joe, after the boys had launched their boat again below the dam.
"Don't be too sure," his brother cautioned. "They may have been here. These people could
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even have seen them. The trouble is, they don't remember. Most people don't fully develop their powers of observation. After all, they're not detectives!"
"That's true," agreed Joe, who had taken over the tiller once more. "Say," he added suddenly, "have you noticed how dark it's getting? I can hardly make out the ripples that mark the snags and sand bars."
The blurred forms of birds dipped and swooped over the water in search of insects. Only when they were silhouetted against the pale, luminous sky could the boys see them clearly. Bats flew about, veering sharply with their awkward, fluttering wings.
"Time to pitch camp," said Frank. "We were up early, and we've had a long day sleuthing."
Gently, Joe ran the nose of the boat up to a sand bar that made a pleasant beach. Frank leaped out carrying an anchor, and Joe followed with the rucksack containing food and cooking utensils.
The boys kindled a cheerful fire with bits of white, dry driftwood. Soon the pleasant sound of sizzling pork chops and their sharp, appetizing aroma filled the air. Joe, the cook, squatted on his haunches before the fire, turning the chops in the fry pan, toasting and buttering bread, and putting on water for their coffee. Meanwhile, Frank
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opened a can of applesauce and another of vegetables.
Tired from their long day, the young detectives leaned comfortably against a driftwood log and ate their supper from tin plates. Firelight flickered on their faces and threw shadows over the surrounding rocks.
"Now for dessert," said Joe happily, skewering a marshmallow to toast over the dying fire.
Later, as Frank spread out their sleeping bags, he remarked, "We'll be glad to be inside these bags toward morning. It'll be damp right next to the water."
Before turning in, Joe Hardy baited a strong line, attached it to a stout stick, and cast it into the river. "Night is a good time for catfish 1" he said. "Let's see what we have in the morning!"
The boys crawled into their bags and slept soundly on the soft sand. Early the next morning they breakfasted upon the big catfish that Joe had hauled in on his night line.
"Tastes pretty good, for such an ugly customer!" Frank marveled.
Two hours later the boys docked their motor-boat at Yuma, Arizona. A short walk from the river brought them to police headquarters.
"So you're the Hardy brothers!" the desk sergeant greeted them. "No news on your boat thief and his accomplice up at Laguna Dam, I'm sorry
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to say. Looks as if they've slipped through our fingers."
Disappointed, Frank and Joe returned to their boat and headed down the river once more.
"Anyhow, we know they've been using the river," Joe figured. "The only thing to do is stick to our plan. Maybe we'll run into Grafton or Wetherby or some others involved in this mystery."
"I hope they let us through!" Joe said as they neared San Luis on the Mexican side.
"Why shouldn't they?" returned his brother. "We aren't smugglers!"
A uniformed customs official came to meet them. "Buenos dias," the aduana inspector said. "You would like to visit our country? Have you some proof of identity with you? Visitors' permits, perhaps?"
"We sure do." Frank and Joe handed over their permits.
When the aduanero saw the names on the cards, he frowned, bobbed his head up and down, and said stiffly, "Sorry, but you will not be allowed to come into Mexico!"