145 "Halt!" the man cried. "I see the three of you! Don't move!"

Just then a second man appeared in the cabin doorway. He was tall, bearded and emaciated, and was trailing a chain from one ankle.

"Dad!" Ted gasped. "That other guy's no Mountie-he's a phony!"

In his excitement Ted would have rushed forward, in spite of the uniformed man's leveled rifle. Joe, however, grabbed his arm and held him back.

In a low whisper Joe called to his brother, who was still concealed from the view of the rifleman. "Sneak up on him from the rear, Frank!"

Without another word, the older Hardy dropped on his hands and knees, worked his way back to denser cover, and made a circle of the cabin. In a few minutes he approached it from the rear as the gunman barked: "Okay, you boy heroes! Move forward with your hands high!"

By this time Frank was peering around the corner of the cabin. Joe moved forward, very slowly, giving his brother time to act.

"Come on, there!" the man cried angrily, "I ain't got all day!"

Frank, meanwhile, tiptoed up behind the man, hardly daring to breathe, lest he give himself away. Joe, Ted, and Fleetfoot looked on tensely as they approached, hands in the air.

146 Frank was now directly behind the phony Mountie!

"Ha-ha," the thug jeered. "The boss said I might get company. Now step-Ugh!"

The words choked off suddenly as Frank crooked one arm around the man's windpipe, and s.n.a.t.c.hed the rifle away with the other. The man whirled and fought like a wildcat, but Frank wrestled him to the ground. Joe and Fleetfoot, rushing forward, quickly helped to subdue the scoundrel.

"All right! On your feet!" Frank snapped, stepping back and covering the "Mountie" with his own rifle. Muttering, the prisoner obeyed.

Ted, meanwhile, was having a joyful reunion with his father. "I can hardly believe it's you, son!" Mr. Sewell said huskily, as he and Ted hugged each other. "This is too good to be true!"

"It is is true, Dad! And we'll soon have that chain off!" true, Dad! And we'll soon have that chain off!"

Frank ordered the impostor to surrender the key to Joe, who quickly unlocked the shackle from around Mr. Sewell's ankle. The wildlife expert then told his story. He had discovered the same "singing wilderness" which the boys had come across later.

"I couldn't figure out who was broadcasting," Mr. Sewell related, "but I decided to report the matter to Juneau. Before I could do so, several men jumped me from behind. They brought me 148 upriver in a boat, and then marched me inland to this cabin. I've been chained up here ever since."

Frank wanted to ask if Mr. Sewell had heard the gang mention anything about the lost moon rocket, but decided against it. "No sense letting our prisoner in on what we know," he thought. Turning to Fleetfoot, he directed, "Take this fellow away from the cabin and keep him covered, will you?" The Indian nodded, borrowed Ted's rifle, and herded the captive out of earshot.

Then Frank turned back to Mr. Sewell. "We believe this gang may be led by foreigners, but that phony "Mountie" speaks like an American. Any idea who he is?"

Mr. Sewell shook his head. "I don't even know the fellow's name. The other men called him 'Watchdog.' However, from his accent, I'd say he comes from Chicago!"

The Hardys gave Mr. Sewell a quick summary of the whole case to date, including their finding of the Indian treasure at the burial ground. The woodsman was astounded, but could offer no solution to the mystery.

"The men who captured me were careful not to say anything which might give me a clue," he explained. "However, I once overheard them mention the word 'totem.' "

"Meaning what, do you suppose?" Joe asked. "A totem pole?"

149 "Probably so. Perhaps they're using one as a landmark."

"It may mark the spot where they've cached the loot from the Indian grave houses,"

Frank conjectured.

Ted's father had been fed little more than sc.r.a.ps of food during his captivity, and was obviously in need of nourishment. The boys, too, were growing extremely hungry, so they prepared a meal from the gang's supplies in the cabin.

Afterward, they started back toward the river with their prisoner. Twice during the trek Watchdog tried to escape, but each time the boys quickly forced him back on the trail.

They were halfway to the river when a strange, shrill birdcall suddenly shattered the silence of the forest.

"Hey! Where'd that come from?" Joe exclaimed as he and the others looked around, scanning the branches of the nearby trees.

Mr. Sewell was particularly puzzled. "I've never heard a birdcall like thatl" he declared. "I wonder-"

His words broke off at a shout of dismay from Frank. "The prisoner! He's gone!"

CHAPTER XVIII.

The Totem's Secret frank and Joe glanced about in consternation. Watchdog had vanished as suddenly as the strange birdcall had stopped!

"Where'd he go?" asked Ted, bewildered by the unexpected turn in their luck.

"Search me," Joe replied sheepishly.

Frank now was red-faced with anger. "It was a trick! We were caught flat-footed!"

Mr. Sewell had to concur. "Watchdog is a ventriloquist," he told the chagrined boys. "He used to practice at the cabin to pa.s.s away the time."

"I get it!" Joe exclaimed. "He projected that birdcall, and while we were gawking around, he sneaked off!"

"And we fell for it," Ted said glumly.

But Fleetfoot seemed unperturbed. As everyone glanced about for a sign of their escaped captive, the Indian boy announced confidently, "Me find him." He scanned the bushes on all sides. The ISO.

151 Hardys looked too, but could find no sign of the fugitive.

Then suddenly Fleetfoot straightened up and pointed to the right. "Bad man go that way.

See footprints."

The youth started off at a quick lope, Frank and Joe following at his heels. Ted and his father hurried along behind them. The searchers moved quietly, every sense alert.

"I hope Fleetfoot knows what he's doing," Frank said over his shoulder to Joe. "This might be a plan by the gang to ambush all of us."

As he spoke, the Indian boy stopped and raised his right hand. The searchers came to a halt. Fleetfoot beckoned them forward and pointed to a ma.s.sive rock formation which loomed up on one side of a creek bed. At the foot of it was a black, gaping hole, obviously the entrance to a cave.

"Is that where he went?" Frank asked. The Indian boy showed his white teeth in a smile that said "Yes."

"How are we going to flush him?" Ted wanted to know.

Frank was worried that the cave might have an exit as well. "I'll scout around back of those rocks to see if there's a way out."

Frank had gone only three feet when a hoa.r.s.e cry emitted from the opening in the rocks!

The eerie sound made the hair stand up on the back of Joe's neck. Even Fleetfoot was startled.

152 The weird cry issued forth again. Frank and Joe screwed up their courage and advanced closer to the black hole.

All at once the head and shoulders of a man appeared. Crawling on all fours, he scrambled out of the cave like a beaten animal.

"Watchdog!" Frank yelled.

The fugitive sprang to his feet and rushed forward in headlong flight. As Frank and Joe converged upon him, Watchdog tripped on a root and fell violently to the ground with a thud.

"Got you!" Frank cried. He grasped Watchdog's arms and held them behind his back.

Then, just as suddenly, Frank sprang off his prisoner. "Whewl" he exclaimed, sniffing.

"Skunk!"

"How right you are!" Joe made a face and held his nose.

In spite of the gravity of the situation, everyone except the prisoner, who lay half stunned and gasping for breath, burst out laughing.

"There comes friend!" Fleetfoot pointed to the cave entrance. A small black animal with a white streak down his back poked his nose out, looked about disdainfully, and walked off sedately into the underbrush.

"Mr. Polecat deserves a medal!" Joe said, doubling over with mirth.

"But what about Watchdog?" Ted grinned. "How can we travel with a smell like that?"

153 Hearing his name, the prisoner pulled himself up to a sitting position and glanced groggily about.

"You-you got to help me," he said weakly. "I can't wear these duds any longer."

"Come on. A bath will do it," Frank said. He and Joe led Watchdog to a nearby creek.

"Jump in," Frank ordered, unable to suppress a wry smile. "Clothes and all."

Watchdog obliged. He dived into the water and splashed about, at the same time emitting uncomplimentary remarks both about the skunk and his captors.

"Be careful what you say," Joe called, obviously enjoying the thug's discomfiture. "Or we'll put you back in that cave."

"I'll get even for this." Watchdog glowered, as he stepped from the creek and wrung the water from his clothes.

"We didn't plant the skunk there," Ted needled their prisoner.

Mr. Sewell could not suppress a grin as he added, "You certainly picked the wrong hiding place!"

Frank then turned to their prisoner. "Just to see that you don't try any more tricks, we'll keep you close to us!"

"Hey, not too close," Joe begged, as Frank pulled off his belt and tied Watchdog's hands securely behind him.

154 "Now listen," Frank told him sternly, "we'll travel single file. You stay five paces behind me-Joe, you keep about the same distance behind this guy."

Anxious not to lose any more time, the group proceeded to the river at a brisk pace.

Here the canoes were uncovered and reloaded. Frank retrieved his belt while Joe rebound the prisoner's hands with rope. Then he was placed in the bottom of one of the canoes and covered with a piece of tarpaulin, in case other members of his gang should appear along the way.

"We ought to report what's happened," Joe said. "Do you think we can raise Juneau on the radio?"

Frank set to work immediately, but after hoisting the aerial, he could get only static over his headset.

"Terrific interference," he told Joe. "Sounds as if there's some electrical device here in the woods."

"Like what?" Ted asked.

"Perhaps someone else has a powerful radio," Mr. Sewell put in.

Joe winked at his brother. "Maybe a dentist has an office nearby," he said.

Frank gave his brother a thump on the arm. "Stow the corny jokes, brother!"

The lighthearted att.i.tude of the Hardys continued after they had launched their canoe into 155 the stream. With Ted and his father paddling alongside them, Frank and Joe fairly shot along with the rapid current.

"Boy, this is what I call fun!" Joe exulted as they sped through the foaming rapids.

A short time later Joe cried out, "Good-by Canada. h.e.l.lo, Alaska!"

They crossed the boundary line at a rapid clip and mile after mile went by under the swift stroke of their paddles. At seven o'clock they beached their canoes long enough to eat supper.

"Frank," Joe said, his eyes dancing, "you can hand feed Skunkie Boy over there. I wouldn't advise untying him again."

"I caught him, so I guess I'm stuck with him." Frank grinned and moved over to where the prisoner lay in the canoe.

"Sit up," Frank said. "I'll feed you your beans. Watch your manners."

Watchdog chewed glumly as Frank fed him hit supper.

"If you want room service during the night,'" Frank jested, "just push the b.u.t.ton."

The sinister outline of Devil's Paw looming in the distance, however, brought the boys back to awareness of their grim situation.

"Are we going to camp here tonight?" Ted queried.

After a hasty conference, both the Hardys and Mr. Sewell decided against such a move.