Part 5 (1/2)
”It's for another reason,” Frank put in. ”He wants us to go to New Mexico. Our cousin Ruth Hardy, who owns the Crowhead Ranch out there, is having a lot of trouble.”
”How'd you like to come with us, Chet?” Joe burst out suddenly.
”Yippee!” Chet exclaimed. ”Slap my chaps and call me cowboy! I'll get my stuff together right away-blankets and frying pan, and a side of bacon.”
”Wait a minute.” Frank laughed. Then he 48 winked at Joe. ”It'll have to be short rations for you, Chet. Have to slim down for hard riding on the range.”
”Frank's right,” Joe took up the needling. ”A horse would break his back toting you around!”
”Aw, quit your kidding,” Chet pleaded.
Just then the voice of lola sounded from the porch. ”Refreshments are ready,” she called.
Frank and Joe held Chet back for a moment. Then they dashed ahead of him to the porch.
”Oh, h.e.l.lo, Gallic,” Frank said, seeing another girl with lola Morton.
Gallic Shaw was lola's best friend and, so far as Frank Hardy was concerned, was as nice a girl as any fellow would like to know.
”Hi, boys!” Gallic responded cheerfully. ”Help yourself to lemonade and cakes.”
”Take it easy now, Chet,” Joe warned. ”Remember, you're on a diet!”
”I'll start tomorrow,” Chet said.
While they ate, Frank, Joe, and Chet talked and joked with the girls. Then the conversation turned to the mystery the Hardys had run into at Slow Mo's garage.
”I know you can find the answer,” Gallic said, looking at Frank. ”You always do.”
The telephone rang and Mrs. Morton answered it ”It's for you, Frank,” she said.
49 Frank went inside, spoke a few words, and came back to the porch.
”It was Slow Mo,” he told Joe. ”He's dug up some new information and wants to see us.”
”How'd he know you were here?” Chet asked.
”Aunt Gertrude told him where he'd probably find us,” Frank said. ”Hate to break up the party, but we ought to go.”
The two girls and Chet walked out to the Hardy's car and waved as Frank and Joe went down the driveway and headed for Pleasantville. As they came to a stop in front of the old man's garages Slow Mo ambled out to meet them.
”More funny business goin' on around here,” he announced.
”What happened?”
”Some smart aleck tried to take that car last night,” he replied. ”But I fooled him.”
”How?” Joe put in.
Slow Mo scratched his whiskers and grinned. ”Well, he got in a window, but when he tried to open the garage doors my burglar alarm went off and scared him away!”
”Good for you!” Frank said. ”When did you put the alarm in?”
”Oh, a long time ago,” Slow Mo replied. He looked a little sheepish. ”I never thought to turn it on 'til last night.”
50 The boys went into the garage and looked around. The mystery car had been moved halfway across the floor, as if the intruder had taken it that far before stopping to get out and open the doors.
”Did you find any clues?” Frank queried.
”Nothin',” Slow Mo said, ” 'cept the fellow must be a chicken farmer.”
”What makes you think so?” Joe asked.
”He left a chicken feather on the seat of the car,” he replied. ”Here, take a look at it.”
The man reached an oily hand into his pocket and drew out a white feather, now somewhat smudged.
”Brother!” Joe exclaimed. ”What a clue!”
”A clue?” Slow Mo looked puzzled. ”Never thought of that. 'Taint nothin' but a chicken feather to me.”
Frank and Joe thanked Slow Mo for the information and headed back to Bayport.
”1 think we have something here,” Frank said as the boys hummed along the highway.
”This feather sure looks like the one on the arrow that wounded Dad.”
After parking in front of the police station, the boys hurried inside. The chief was not there, but the sergeant in charge obligingly let them examine the arrow again. Frank compared the feathers.
”Look, Joe!” he said excitedly. ”They match!”
”Then the guy who dropped this at Slow Mo's 51 may be the one who shot Dad,” Joe exclaimed. ”We've got to find him.”
At the mention of Mr. Hardy, the sergeant p.r.i.c.ked up his ears. ”Too bad about him,” he declared mournfully. ”I know how you must feel.”
”Too bad about what?” Frank said quickly.
”Haven't you heard?” the officer asked in surprise. ”The arrow that shot your father was poisoned. If he should die-”
Without waiting for another word, the boys raced to their car and drove to the hospital in record time. When they reached their father's room, they found him very ill. Mrs. Hardy sat holding her husband's hand.
”Your father was poisoned by that arrow,” she said to her sons, a sob in her voice. ”The doctors are doing all they can to counteract the poison.”
Mr. Hardy was too weak to speak, but he smiled faintly at the boys.
”You'd better go now,” Mrs. Hardy said. ”I'll phone the house if I need you.”