"No boat," Fleetfoot replied. "Me look all along sh.o.r.e, see nothing."

"How about Robbie Robbins, the man who flies the whirlybird?" Joe asked. "Was he with them?"

Again Fleetfoot shook his head. "No. Man who flies whirlybird is young and tall. These men older. Not so tall."

135 "Then my dad couldn't be one of them, either," Ted put in quietly. "He's six-foot-two,"

Thoroughly aroused by the events of the past hour, the boys were too wide awake to think of crawling back into their sleeping bags. For the next few minutes they excitedly discussed the mysterious goings-on across the river. Frank and Joe's conviction grew stronger that the ghostly search party might be looking for traces of the fallen moon rocket.

After listening with keen interest, Fleetfoot suggested that they break camp immediately and push on upriver.

"Why?" Ted queried. "Do you think those men suspected we were over here?"

Fleetfoot shrugged. "Me not know. But maybe they find out in morning. Then we have trouble."

"Fleetfoot's right," said Frank. "It'll be safer to clear out now, before they get wise to us.

Come on! Let's head for those Indian grave houses. I have a hunch that's where we'll find the real key to this mystery!"

The others agreed. After putting on their clothes and rolling up their sleeping bags, the boys piled their gear back in the canoes. Ted had already been informed of Jess Jenkins'

story about the ancient Indian burial ground. Before shoving off, the Hardys also related the story to Fleetfoot.

"Me hear about that place." He nodded. "Fleet-foot like to see. I help you find it."

136 "You've already helped us a lot," Frank said gratefully, clapping the young Indian on the back.

Once again the Haida boy broke into his infectious grin. "You right," he agreed proudly.

"Fleetfoot skook.u.m skook.u.m Injun!" Injun!"

The four now carefully covered all traces of their camp with leaves and brush. Then they launched their canoes in the water and quickly climbed in. Soon they were paddling upriver through the darkness at a brisk clip.

Dawn found the canoeists many miles farther up the Kooniak. Halting for breakfast, they decided to refresh themselves first with a swim.

"Br-r-rl It's a regular ice bath!" Joe shuddered, after diving in.

"What's the matter? Can't you take it?" Frank joked, splattering him with a sheet of water.

Ted Sewell roared with laughter as the taunt developed into a water duel between the two Hardys. Fleetfoot, meanwhile, was plunging and darting like an otter, coming up every now and then to shake his long, black hair out of his eyes.

After five minutes all of the boys were glad to hurry back on dry land, where they toweled themselves to a brisk glow. Having donned their clothes, they ate a quick meal. Then they embarked once more to continue their journey.

An hour later Fleetfoot paused in his paddling and pointed to stone boundary markers on both 137 banks of the stream. "Now we in Canada," he told the others. "This where redcoats live."

"I guess you mean the Royal Canadian Mounted Police," Frank replied.

"That right," Fleetfoot said.

The boys scanned the forest with eager interest. Though now in mountain country, they were again entering an area of dense wilderness. Both banks of the river were heavily timbered and overgrown with tangled green underbrush.

"Guess they don't need an immigration office at a wilderness place like this," Joe remarked with a smile.

Several miles east of the boundary markers, the boys saw a screaming horde of birds wheeling and circling over the right bank of the river. Gulls, terns, and grebes filled the air with their raucous cries.

"Hey, there's a blue heron!" Joe exclaimed as the graceful creature rose above the treetops, flapping its wings.

"Why all the birds?" Frank wondered aloud.

"Must be a salmon sp.a.w.ning ground near," Ted conjectured.

"That right," Fleetfoot said. "We see it very soon."

Presently they reached a point where the right bank of the river opened into a shallow cove. The backwater was swarming with salmon. Trout and 138 walleyes, too, could be seen darting among the shallows.

"Wow! A fisherman's paradise!" Joe gasped. "Chet should be here!"

Every few moments one of the birds flocking overhead would swoop down and seize a fish in its beak.

"Birds eat young salmon," Fleetfoot explained. "Other fish eat salmon eggs, too."

"It's a wonder any survive," Frank remarked.

"They do, though-millions of 'em," said Ted. "Old Mother Nature sees to that."

"Mother Nature and the Fish and Wildlife Service!" Joe remarked wryly.

The river became more and more shallow as they continued paddling upstream. Soon the canoes sc.r.a.ped the gravel bars that stretched from bank to bank.

"We make portage," Fleetfoot announced. "Near headwaters now."

"Wait a minute," Frank said slowly. He was gazing at what seemed to be a dried-up creek bed, branching off to the west. "Joe, do you remember those two bends in the river we pa.s.sed back a ways?"

"Sure. Why?"

"I believe this may be the spot shown on the map in the knapsack we found. That had a line branching off above two loops, just like that dry creek over there."

139 Joe's eyes widened with recognition. "You're right, Frank!" he said excitedly. "I'll bet this is the place! And maybe this is the creek Jess Jenkins was talking about that leads to the grave houses!"

"Let's find out," Frank returned cautiously.

Beaching the canoes, the boys unloaded their gear and covered everything carefully with stones and brush. Then they struck inland. Much of the creek bed was filled with reeds and waist-high gra.s.s. Heavy timber lined both banks.

A mile of walking brought them to a wide clearing which was becoming overgrown.

"Look! There they are!" Joe cried out.

The grave houses which Jess had described Stood at scattered points about the area.

"This is it, all right," Frank declared, grinning. "The Indian burial ground!" Most of the small log structures were half-rotten and falling apart with age.

"Come on! Let's see what's inside them!" Joe exclaimed. He ran to a rickety structure and stepped inside. "Oh!" he whispered. "Look at that!"

Frank, Ted, and Fleetfoot also stopped short and stared at the macabre spectacle.

Gray, crumbling bones lay scattered beside a shallow open grave in the dirt floor. Fleetfoot stared at them fearfully. Then his eyes roved to a moldy wooden chest, which stood open nearby. It had apparently been lifted off the grave.

140 Joe glanced inside the chest and announced that it contained only a stone knife and a few small trinkets.

"Someone's been here before us," Frank muttered.

"Maybe this is one of the grave houses the prospectors looted back in Jess Jenkins'

time," Joe suggested.

Frank shook his head. "I'm sure the grave hasn't been open that long."

One by one, they checked the other grave houses in the area. All had been rifled.

"Guess we're too late." Ted Sewell sighed.

"Maybe not," Joe said hopefully. "There's another one over there, among the trees. The door hasn't even been opened. Let's take a look."

The boys hurried over to inspect it, and found that the door gave way easily to the first blow from a rifle b.u.t.t. Inside, the dirt floor was untouched, and on it was a wooden chest, similar to the first, falling to pieces with age. A few streaks of blue and red paint still clung to its rotting surface.

"Hurry! Open it!" Ted blurted out.

Frank whipped out his knife. As he inserted the blade under the lid, the others watched breathlessly, wondering what they would find inside.

CHAPTER XVII.

Buried Treasure the lid of the old chest creaked as Frank pried it open. Then Joe let out a whistle of awe.

"Jumpin" fishhooks! Will you look at thatl"

The chest was heaped with jade necklaces, copper arm bands, delicate ivory figures carved from walrus tusks, and Oriental bowls fashioned of hammered metal. The boys' eyes bulged as Frank scooped out piece after piece and held it up for inspection.

"I'll bet this stuff's worth a fortune!" Ted gasped.

"Museums would probably pay plenty for it," Frank agreed.

"Look!" Joe seized one of the jade trinkets. "It's the same bird that was carved on the piece we found in the knapsack."

"I guess that clinches our deduction about the treasure," Frank said, after carrying the piece out into the daylight so he could examine it more carefully. He added wryly, "We started out on this case as sleuths. But what with that dinosaur bone you spotted, Joe, this seems to be turning into a scientific expedition!"

Fenton Hardy had often impressed on his two sons their responsibility for safeguarding any valuables which turned up during a case. Remembering this, Joe asked, "Frank, what are we going to do with this treasure? We can't just leave 'em here."

"I agree," Frank said. "If we do, they may be stolen before the authorities can pick them up."

"Why not take the chest with us?" Ted asked.

"We might be robbed," Joe objected. "There's too much danger of a brush with the gang."

"Besides," Frank pointed out, "I doubt if we have the right to carry such treasure out of British Columbia, even if we planned to turn it over to the Canadian authorities later."

After discussing the problem from every angle, the boys decided to bury the chest somewhere away from the grave houses. Then, at the earliest possible opportunity, they would notify the Canadian Mounties of their find.

Both Joe and Frank still were concerned about the code message they had intercepted in the singing wilderness. In case any of the gang might be spying on them, they insisted on combing the 143 trees and brush around the burial ground. Even Fleetfoot's keen eyes, however, failed to detect any trace of an enemy.

Satisfied that no one but themselves had seen the treasure, Frank chose a tall cedar as a marker for their cache.

"This should be easy to find again," he said. "It's much taller than any of the other trees around here."

"Okay," said Ted. "Let's get the chest."

Joe and Fleetfoot, meanwhile, had started back to the canoes to fetch a camp spade and some oilskin. When they returned, the boys dug a hole alongside the cedar, wrapped the chest in oilskin, and after burying it, carefully replaced the earth. This they covered with brush.

Before leaving, Ted suggested that they make a final search of the area to be certain there was no grave house which they might have overlooked.

"Good idea," Joe said eagerly. "We might find more treasure."

Fanning out on both sides of the creek bed, the boys forced their way through the heavy thickets and peered among the dense groves of evergreens. A low call from Joe brought the others hurrying to his side. He was standing at a point where the forest thinned out into an area of semi-swampland.

"Look!" he pointed to the ground. The soft earth showed a clear trail of footprints made by 144 several men. Two of the sets of prints showed the same circle-and-star heelmarks which the Hardys had seen before.

"The gang's been here all right," Frank said in a low voice.

Not far away was a trampled area which looked to the young sleuths as if it might have been the scene of a meeting. From this spot, most of the prints led back toward the river.

One set of prints, however, headed off in a different direction.

"Let's follow this set," Frank suggested.

The boys proceeded cautiously, alert for any danger. Beyond the swamp area, the wilderness thickened again, with tangled underbrush pressing so closely on every side that single file became necessary.

Taking the lead, Joe pushed on through the dense thickets. Behind him came Fleetfoot, then Ted and Frank.

Presently the forest thinned out somewhat, and Joe halted in surprise. Just ahead, partly screened by the trees, stood a cabin.

Apparently the noise of crashing through the underbrush had been heard by the occupants, for the cabin door suddenly opened and a man burst out, pointing a rifle in their direction.

He had on the striped trousers and boots of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, but instead of the regulation tunic, he wore a checkered sports shirt.