"What say we try it over on the side of the valley again?" Frank suggested. "That bear's probably found himself another snack by now."

"We hope!" hope!" Joe quipped. "But okay. It can't be any worse than this." Joe quipped. "But okay. It can't be any worse than this."

Back on dry land, the boys found the going easier, in spite of the tumbled rocks and heavy underbrush. Nevertheless, the hours of steady trudging proved a grueling ordeal. By the time they reached the gravel road connecting with the Glacier Highway that led to Juneau, the Hardys were exhausted.

"Whew! What I'd give to be hitting the sack right now!" Joe groaned, sprawling full length on the ground.

"Let's hope we don't have to wait long for that car," Frank said, with a glance at his wrist watch. The time was eight minutes before 7:00 P.M.

By nine o'clock the car promised by Robbie had not arrived. "Joe, it'll be dark in two more hours," Frank said uneasily. "I think we should start walking toward town. Doesn't look as though that car is going to show up."

"Okay. But I'd sure like to know what's behind the delay!"

66 Wearily the boys set out. The sun went down and gradually dusk began to gather. A plane droned overhead, followed by a weird bird screech from the forest. Otherwise, the Alaskan wilderness seemed wrapped in silence. On and on the boys trudged, with the same harrowing thought in mind: Had Robbie fallen victim to the Hardys' enemies, bent on preventing their rescue?

CHAPTER VIII.

Salmon Raid though becoming more tired and footsore every minute, Frank and Joe plodded on toward Ju-neau. Finally they reached the outskirts of the city, where the boys flagged a taxi.

"You fellows look bushed," the driver remarked as they climbed in. "Where to?"

"The seaplane base," Frank said.

Arriving at the dock, they questioned a guard about Robbie Robbins. He told the Hardys that both the pilot and his helicopter were gone. "Robbie took a pa.s.senger with him," the watchman reported. "Told me he was going to pick up two boys on Mendenhall Glacier."

The Hardys stared. "But we were told the copter was laid up for repairs!" Joe exclaimed. "A plane dropped us a note to that effect."

"Robbie did have some trouble with his steering rotor," the watchman conceded, "but that was five hours ago. Say, are you the two fellows he was talking about?"

"That's right." Frank declared. "The note said that he'd send a car for us, but it never showed up. Neither did the copter."

"How'd you get to Juneau?"

"We walked."

The dock guard shoved back his cap and scratched his forehead. "That's funny." A troubled frown spread over his weather-beaten face. "Hanged if I can figure it out! Didn't you sight his copter on the way?"

The boys shook their heads, and Joe asked, "Who was his pa.s.senger?"

"A man," the watchman replied, "but I didn't get much of a look at him, only from a distance. By thunder, I hope nothing's happened to Robbie! He may have had an accident!"

The Hardys were equally concerned, although they refrained from mentioning their fears of foul play. "Any chance of sending out a plane to look for him?" Frank asked.

"Sure! The bush pilots around here always keep a search plane on stand-by." Much perturbed, the watchman bustled into his booth and made a phone call to arrange for an immediate take-off.

Realizing there was nothing more they could do for the time being, the Hardys hurried to 69 the Baranof Hotel and checked in for the night. Too tired even to think of food, the brothers tumbled into bed.

The next morning Frank and Joe returned to the seaplane dock. To their dismay, there was still no news of Robbie, nor had his helicopter been sighted.

"We'd better notify the police," Frank decided. "Then I vote we head back to the island."

At police headquarters Detective Grant jotted down the details of their story and promised to send out an alert to all authorities in the state. "We still have no lead on that gang who ambushed you fellows at the dock," he added. "But if Robbins has met with foul play, it may be the work of the same group."

After promising to keep in touch, the boys left headquarters, pausing outside to discuss their plans. "We'll have to get ourselves a motorboat," Joe decided.

"And a canoe, too," Frank suggested. They had little difficulty renting a powerful, trim-looking craft. The owner also provided a st.u.r.dy canoe, which they attached by a towline to the motor-boat. The brothers embarked and headed down the Gastineau Channel. Eager to reach the island, Frank ran the boat at full power for most of the trip.

As they neared the mouth of the Kooniak, 70 the distant sound of gunfire reached their ears.

"Shots!" Joe exclaimed. "Tony and Chet must be in trouble!"

Frank nodded grimly. Jerking the throttle wide open, he sent the motorboat roaring ahead through the choppy water. Its bow leaped clear of the waves, showering the Hardys with spray.

As they rounded a point and turned into the river, another rifleshot cracked-then another!

Frank and Joe stared in dismay. A man, in a small speedboat driven by a companion, was sniping at the occupants of the island. Tony and Chet had apparently dodged for cover among the trees. Meanwhile, three boatloads of fishermen were hauling in wriggling ma.s.ses of salmon with huge nylon seines.

"Those crooks!" Joe gritted between clenched teeth. "They couldn't bribe Tony, so now they're using bullets to keep him out of action while they pull off their salmon raid!"

"Even those seines they're using are against the law!" Frank added. Suddenly he whipped the boat around in a fast turn. Joe, startled, exclaimed, "Hey, what's the idea?"

"We can't stop them singlehanded," his brother pointed out, "but maybe we can get help. I don't think they've spotted us yet."

"We can't go all the way back to Juneau," Joe objected. "There isn't time!"

"No, but I'm hoping this boat may be 71 equipped with a radio," Frank said. "Take a look in the rear locker!"

Joe did so and let out a jubilant yelp. "You're right! A two-way set! I'll warm 'er up!"

In a few moments he had the set sputtering and crackling. Not knowing the proper frequency for either the Juneau police or the Fish and Wildlife Service, Joe left the tuning untouched while he issued a few trial calls over the microphone. Almost immediately a ham operator responded.

"This is Luke Burton near Ketchikan," the voice said. "Come in, please."

Joe explained the situation, and Burton replied, "Poachers, eh? Just stand by and I'll raise Juneau in a hurry. They'll have the law down there so fast those guys won't know what hit "em!"

The boys cruised out of sight beyond the point to await developments. Burton was as good as his word. Presently the drone of aircraft was heard, and two seaplanes came swooping down to a splash landing in the mouth of the river.

Joe gave an exuberant whoop. "Let's get in there and watch the fireworks!"

Grinning, Frank steered the boat back into the Kooniak. Armed enforcement agents were already covering the poachers with carbines and barking out orders through megaphones. Sullenly the fishermen emptied their seines, then brought their boats alongside the waiting planes.

The speedboat, hemmed in between the water72 fall upstream and the patrol planes at the mouth of the river, was also forced to surrender. An agent went aboard each of the fishing craft, and the speedboat was taken in tow.

"Are you the fellows who radioed the alarm?" the officer in charge asked the Hardys as Frank maneuvered within speaking distance.

"We contacted a ham near Ketchikan," Joe explained through cupped hands. "He relayed word to Juneau!"

"Nice work!" the man called back. "Come on ash.o.r.e and we'll see what these poachers have to say for themselves!"

As the Hardys approached the island, they were relieved to see Tony and Chet running to greet them.

"You fellows all right?" Frank asked, as he and Joe climbed out on the little wooden dock.

"Sure, thanks to you two!" Tony replied. "But things were getting mighty hot with those bullets kicking up dirt around us!"

"I thought it was curtains for us!" Chet gasped, still shaking with excitement.

"Why didn't you radio for help when those guys first showed up?" Joe asked.

"I tried to," Tony explained, "but another radio kept jamming my signal. I judge it was a powerful set and not far away. After that, the snipers started shooting at us and we headed for the trees. I didn't get another chance to send."

73 Meanwhile, the enforcement agents were herding the poachers ash.o.r.e for questioning.

There were nine in the group, including the two from the speedboat. Unshaven and rough-looking, in dungarees and wool jerseys, they faced their captors with sullen expressions.

The agent in charge, who knew of the previous attempt to fish the Kooniak, asked Tony, "Ever seen any of these men before?"

The stream guard studied them with an uncertain frown. "No, sorry, but I don't recognize any of them."

One hulking fellow, evidently the ringleader, spoke up, "You can't pin anything else on usl This the first time we ever fished around here!"

"Your last time too!" the agent snapped.

"What about those bullets that were fired at Tony's tent?" Frank put in. "Maybe we can make a ballistic comparison," he suggested to the chief agent, hoping that one of the group might be panicked into confessing.

But the sniper snorted scornfully, "Go ahead and compare! Them bullets won't fit my my gun!"

The poachers also denied having any part in Robbie Robbins' disappearance, or in jamming Tony's transmitter. The latter claim seemed borne out by the fact that there was no radio equipment in any of their boats capable of jamming a broadcast signal.

After the prisoners and agents had left, the four 74 boys gathered around the campfire to talk over the events oE the past two days.

"I'll make us some cocoa and hot dogs," Chet volunteered. "A fellow needs something to keep up his strength after an experience like that!"

"At least it hasn't affected your appet.i.te," Joe teased. "Not that anything could!"

Tony reported that he and Chet had had no trouble up to the time the raiders appeared.

Then Frank and Joe told about their visit to the Haida village, their adventure on the glacier, and their forced trek into Juneau. Their two companions listened with keen interest. Tony was especially intrigued to learn about the Indian boy's report of seeing two strange white men in a canoe.

"Those fellows must must be mixed up with the gang," Tony remarked, "because they never be mixed up with the gang," Tony remarked, "because they never showed themselves in the open around here."

"Maybe they didn't come this far down river," Chet put in.

"Where else would they be going?" Joe argued. "Frank and I didn't spot any camp between here and the Indian village. And we looked hard!"

"What puzzles me is that short-wave jamming," Frank mused. "Try your set now, Tony, and see if you get a clear signal."

Tony did so, and was able to contact Juneau without any difficulty. After the boys had finished their hot dogs and cocoa, they strolled toward the north end of the island.

75 "I'd sure like to know if those salmon poachers had anything to do with the jamming,"

Frank went on.

"They had no equipment," Joe reminded him.

Frank admitted this, but added, "It's too much of a coincidence that the jamming was timed just when they made their raid."

Conjecturing broke off suddenly as Tony yelled, "Look!" and pointed downstream.

A lone figure, standing upright in a canoe, was about to plunge over the falls!

CHAPTER IX.

Fleetfoofs News in seconds the foaming rapids would sweep the canoeist to disaster!

"His boat'll be swamped!" Joe gasped. "Come on! Let's help him!"

Casting anxious glances over their shoulders, the boys raced back to the dock to launch their own canoe. But they halted in amazement as the other craft took the plunge over the falls like a graceful sea bird!

"Hold it!" Frank called out. "That fellow doesn't need help!"

"It's Fleetfoot!" Joe exclaimed.

Balancing himself with his paddle, the Indian lad shot through the spray and landed, still upright, at the foot of the falls. Then, with a few rapid strokes of his blade, he propelled himself toward the island.

"Whew!" Chet gulped, mopping beads of perspiration from his forehead. "That Indian must have wings!"

The boys hurried down to the sh.o.r.e to greet Fleetfoot, who was already beaching his canoe.

"You really gave us a scare, Fleetfoot," Frank told him.

"You mean when I shoot rapids?" The Indian boy grinned. "No scare! White water is fun!

Sometime I teach you how."

In spite of the ease with which he had shot the falls, Fleetfoot seemed to be bursting with inner excitement. "Me have message and have come for whirlybird ride!" he informed Frank proudly.