"Well, Chet's in good country for sawing logs," Frank quipped quietly as the brothers slipped on sweaters and left the room.

At the desk in the lobby Joe asked directions to 22 the seaplane dock. It was a five-minute walk. When the boys arrived there they were surprised to see a huge floating dock which lay low in the water. Two seaplanes lay alongside it at the foot of a steep wooden ramp. Behind the floating dock was a large stationary one, set on tall wooden pilings.

"Wow!" Joe remarked. "The tide here must rise to about twenty feet. It's at ebb now."

"Right. And at flood tide these docks must come about level."

Walking briskly, the brothers descended the ramp and talked with a mechanic servicing one of the seaplanes.

"Is a fellow named Ted Sewell around?" Frank asked. He was told that Ted had been there the day before, but so far that day had not shown up.

"We'll come back later," Frank told the mechanic.

The brothers walked along the waterfront, where rows of fishing boats thrust up a forest of masts.

"I guess that people in Alaska either sail or fly," Joe said.

"With no roads to speak of, they have to," Frank pointed out. "You can't very well drive a car into the bush."

The boys made several more inquiries about Ted Sewell, but he had not been seen that day. They also asked a dock guard about renting a 23 motorboat to take them to Tony's camp on the Kooniak River.

"Sure, you can rent one easily," the watchman told them. "But you'll have to wait till morning and talk to the owners."

After walking up a steep hill the Hardys found themselves in front of the Alaska Historical Museum, which was open that evening. They went inside and studied the exhibits.

Besides mounted birds and animals, there were Indian and Eskimo jewelry and wood carvings, bright-colored blankets, and baskets woven of fine rye gra.s.s.

"Look at this!" Joe said, pointing to a paper enclosed under gla.s.s. It was a photostat of the United States Treasury check to Russia for $7,-200,000 for the purchase of Alaska.

"And think of all the gold that has been mined here since then," Frank remarked. "Some bargain!"

They left the museum and wandered about the city for a while, then returned to the dock.

"Eight o'clock and the sun is still high," Joe marveled.

"We're almost in the land of the midnight sun," Frank said. "The clerk told me the sun won't set until eleven p.m."

The air was quite cool and held a faint aroma of fresh-caught fish mingled with the tang of mountain pines. As they stood on the dock, a motorboat came put-putting toward them. Its 24 lone occupant was a grizzled old man. His face was heavily whiskered and he wore a sea captain's cap.

"You fellers lookin' for a boat to rent?" he shouted up to them.

Frank nodded. "That's right. How did you know?"

"Watchman told me," the old man explained. "I'll hire this 'un out cheap. Come on down an' look it over. I'll even take you out for a spin."

The Hardys agreed eagerly and climbed down the nearest ladder to a pile of rocks near the water line. As they were about to board the boat, two shadowy figures loomed out from under the dock, grabbed the boys, and pinioned their arms in a viselike grip.

"A trap!" Joe shouted. "Help!" "Help!"

His outcry was silenced by a blow on the head. Both boys were knocked unconscious.

CHAPTER III.

Waterfront Search.

frank was the first to revive. His feet were numb with cold, and he was biting on a thick wad of cloth. When he tried to move, his muscles ached painfully.

As his mind cleared, Frank realized he was bound and gagged. Then he remembered the grizzled old boatman and the sudden a.s.sault. His attackers had roped him to one of the wharf pilings!

A few feet away Joe was gagged and tied to another dock timber. He moaned as consciousness returned.

Suddenly Frank realized their feet were dangling in the icy water. Already the waves were lapping above their ankles. The tide was rising, and the slimy dock pilings showed the high-water mark was more than a foot above their heads!

Frantically the two boys scanned the harbor.

The only movement in sight was the sail of a fishing boat far out beyond the breakwater.

Who would notice their plight in the semidarkness under the dock?

Some time later, back at the hotel, Chet awoke, from his nap. With a mighty yawn, the stout boy heaved himself out of bed.

"Getting dark out," he noticed, switching on the bedside lamp and glancing at his wrist watch. "Wow! Five after eleven 1 Wonder if Frank and Joe are back yet?"

Chet opened the connecting door and peered into the Hardys' room. Their beds were empty.

Alarmed, Chet hurried down to the lobby and inquired at the desk. After checking the key rack, the hotel clerk a.s.sured him that the Hardys had not returned.

"Now what do I do?" Chet wondered desperately. After a moment's thought he decided that the most likely place to pick up their trail seemed to be the waterfront. Perhaps they had met Ted Sewell there.

Striding along quickly, Chet made his way to the docks and paced along the seaplane base and rows of fishing boats.

"Frank! Joe!" he called. There was no an> swer.

Then Chet noticed a watchman lounging against a shed, smoking his pipe.

27 "Have you seen two young fellows around here?" Chet asked.

The watchman frowned and scratched his jaw. "Oh sure! I remember now. There was two lads here a couple o' hours ago. Asked me about rentin' a boat."

"Any idea where they went?"

The watchman gestured with his pipe. "They strolled out there on the dock. That's the last I seen of "em."

Chet walked out on the dock to scan the harbor. Perhaps, he thought hopefully, his companions had hired a boat and gone out for a spin. But there was no craft in sight on the darkening waters.

As Chet stood wondering what to do next, he heard a m.u.f.fled noise. b.u.mp! . . . b.u.mp! b.u.mp! . . . b.u.mp!

The sound seemed to come from under the dock. Getting down on his hands and knees, Chet peered over the side of the dock, but he could make out nothing in the heavy gloom.

"Frank! . . . Joe!" he called again.

In response came a series of frantic whimpering noises. The eerie sounds sent a chill down diet's spine! He jumped to his feet and ran back to the watchman's shed. "Someone's trapped under the dock!" he cried out.

"You must be imaginin' things, sonny."

"Oh, no, I'm not!" Chet insisted. After a brief 28 argument, he talked the watchman into launching a small dory. Still grumbling, the man rowed out along the pier while Chet aimed a flashlight among the wooden pilings.

Presently Chet gasped, "Frank! Joe! There they are!" By now, the water was up to the boys' chests.

The watchman's eyes popped. "Great jumpin' Jehoshaphatl" he cried.

After jockeying the boat into position, the watchman whipped out his jackknife and went to work on the ropes. Chet helped him. Finally they freed the two youths and hauled them aboard.

Both Frank and Joe were numb with cold. Their teeth were chattering so hard that at first neither could speak.

The watchman rowed ash.o.r.e quickly and hustled the brothers into his shed, where Chet wrapped them in blankets. The watchman heated some milk on his potbellied stove. As Frank and Joe gulped the nourishing liquid, their strength slowly returned.

"What happened?" Chet asked, when they were able to talk.

Frank told how the whiskered old boatman had lured them into an ambush. "I didn't get much of a look at the men who grabbed us, but I'd say they were slender and about medium height."

"Right," Joe added. "That's all I could make out, too. Their faces were masked."

"That old feller was lyin'," the watchman de29 clared. "No one asked me if you two lads were lookin' fer a boat to rent."

"He may have trailed us and overheard our conversation," Frank said. "Or maybe it was just a shrewd guess."

If the man had had been guessing about their need for a boat, Joe reflected, this might been guessing about their need for a boat, Joe reflected, this might mean he knew the Hardys were going to the Kooniak River.

"Want me to call the police?" the watchman asked sympathetically.

The young sleuths exchanged glances, then shook their heads. "We'll let it go till morning," Frank replied. "The police probably couldn't do much tonight, anyhow, and we both need a good rest."

Early the next morning the boys breakfasted at the hotel, then went to Juneau Police Headquarters. The sergeant who took their report was a former Seattle policeman, who knew Fenton Hardy by reputation.

"I'll send a man down to the docks with you," he said. "Maybe he can help you spot that boatman."

A short, heavy-set detective, named Phil Grant, made a tour of the boat dock and seaplane base with the three boys. Grant, who was well acquainted around the waterfront, asked numerous people if they knew anyone who fitted the Hardys' description of the boatman. No one recalled such a person.

30 "Looks as if we're up against a blank wall," the detective remarked as they halted on the wharf.

"I'm beginning to think those whiskers and the cap were just a disguise," Frank commented.

"Same here," Joe agreed. "In fact we can't even be sure he was an old old man. He might man. He might have been wearing a gray wig."

Detective Grant shook his head doubtfully. "If so, we haven't much to go on, but we'll keep working on the case. I'll let you know if we turn up any clues."

"Thanks. We'll do the same," Frank told him.

Chet looked around nervously after the detective walked away. "Do you suppose those crooks are still trailing us?" he asked.

"Don't get jumpy." Joe chuckled. "I doubt if they'd try anything in broad daylight.

Seriously, Frank, what do you think their game is?"

His brother shrugged. "Too early to answer that question yet. We'll know more after we've talked to Tony. But I'd say those guys who attacked us are part of a well-organized gang trying to scare us off this case."

Chet shuddered. "W-w-well, they're doing a good job so far as I'm concerned."

"For a guy who's scared you're doing a great detective job, Chet," Frank remarked.

"You saved our lives," Joe reminded the stocky youth.

The grat.i.tude and praise gave Chet courage.

31 "Okay, fellows," he said. "Let's find Ted Sewell this time."

Again the three boys strolled out on the dock, inhaling gusts of the briny northern air. The harbor was bustling with activity as the fishing boats put out for the day's work. Shouts echoed across the water as the skippers barked orders to their crews.

Joe pointed to a motorboat slicing straight toward them. At the wheel was a husky blond youth about sixteen years old. "I wonder if that's the fellow we're looking for?"

Frank called to him as he drew alongside the dock. "Are you Ted Sewell?"

"That's right," the boy replied. "You fellows must be Frank and Joe Hardy and Chet Morton. Tony sent me to get you."

The three boys watched as the blond youth made his boat fast and scrambled up the ladder. They liked his friendly, open face.

"Sorry I didn't meet you yesterday," Ted apologized. "Motor trouble." As he spoke, the young skipper pulled a note from his pocket and handed it to Frank. It was in Tony Prito's handwriting and read: Dear Frank and Joe: This will introduce my friend, Ted Sewell. He's a swell guy and you can trust him completely. Please come out to my camp on the 32 Kooniak River as soon as you can. Be seeing you soon, I hope.

Regards, Tony "Okay," said Frank, folding up the letter. "How soon can we leave?"

"Soon as you fellows are ready," Ted replied.

"We'll need some camping gear," Joe pointed out.

"Maybe Ted can come along and show us a place to buy our outfits."

"Sure. Be glad to."

"How about grub?" Chet put in anxiously. "Will Tony have enough for all of us?"

Noting Chet's rotund physique, Ted grinned. "Don't worry! You'll eat fine!"