"I'm sorry, Fleetfoot," Frank explained. "You may have to wait for your ride. The copter is missing, and so is the man who makes it fly."

The Indian lad's face darkened with disappointment. "You mean-you break promise."

"Now hold on, Fleetfoot," Frank said gently. He put his hand on the boy's shoulder and looked him straight in the eye. "I'm speaking the truth. Yesterday, after we left your village, Robbie, the pilot, went to Juneau and picked up another man. All we know is that he flew away and never came back."

Fleetfoot stared first at Frank, then at Joe, as if trying to read their minds. He said nothing.

"We'd like you to help us find him," Joe 78 urged. "If you do, I promise he'll give you that ride."

This seemed to convince the Haida lad. "All right," he said slowly. "Fleetfoot believe you." After a short pause, he added, "Me see whirly-bird yesterday."

The Hardys' eyes flashed. "You mean you saw it again, again, after we left your village?" Frank after we left your village?" Frank asked eagerly.

"Bird fly over village. Go that that way," the Indian said, pointing northeast. way," the Indian said, pointing northeast.

Joe looked at his brother and whistled. "Toward the Canadian border!"

"Wherever they went, I'll bet Robbie didn't fly there willingly." Frank frowned. "His pa.s.senger may have forced him deep into British Columbia. They even may have crashed in the wilderness."

Joe mulled this over. "I think your first guess is right, Frank," he conceded. "This gang we're up against probably doesn't dare take any chances on the police catching up with them. I'll bet they're holding Robbie prisoner."

Frank snapped his fingers. "Do you suppose Mr. Sewell is being held prisoner too-by the same gang?"

"I'll bet you're right," put in Tony. "From what I hear, Mr. Sewell was an experienced woodsman. A tenderfoot might run into trouble in the wilderness, but not an expert who's been working here for years."

79 Frank went on thoughtfully, "If this gang is is a foreign group looking for that lost moon a foreign group looking for that lost moon rocket, they could probably use a man like Mr. Sewell to help guide them."

"Could be," Joe spoke up. "But for all we know, Robbie's pa.s.senger might have been a United States scientist who hired him to make an aerial search for the rocket; or a detective or FBI agent trailing the gang."

Suddenly Frank remembered that Fleetfoot had come with a message. Turning back to the Indian boy, he asked, "What is the news you have for us?"

Fleetfoot smiled proudly. "Me see same two men on river again last night."

"Did you follow them?"

"Fleetfoot follow part way," the boy said. "They go upriver past Devil's Paw into British Columbia. Fleetfoot cannot go there. It is against law for my people to go into Canada. Me think maybe those men break law too. Maybe they steal something and run away."

The Hardys received this new information with keen interest. Frank patted the Indian boy on the shoulder. "Many thanks, Fleetfoot. You've done good work. If you find out anything more, please let us know. And I promise you'll get that whirlybird ride as soon as Robbie shows up!"

The Indian youth grinned. "I find out more, then come back!" He shoved his canoe into the 80 water, leaped aboard nimbly, and waved farewell. "Klahowya!" "Klahowya!"

The boys watched as Fleetfoot paddled across to the mainland with a few deft strokes, then beached the canoe and hoisted it on his head and shoulders for the portage around the falls.

As the Hardys headed back to camp, they considered their next move. "We sure can't cover all this bush country without a helicopter," Frank reasoned. "Our best bet is to return to Juneau to see if we can line up another whirlybird. Maybe the Fish and Wildlife Service can help us."

Joe fell in with this plan, adding, "There might be some news about Robbie, too."

Leaving their canoe on the island with Chet and Tony, the Hardys started back to Juneau in the rented motorboat. The skies, which had been blue and clear when they embarked, gradually darkened with scudding storm clouds.

"We're in for a blow," Joe observed as the water turned leaden gray in color.

"Maybe we can outrun it," Frank said, immediately increasing speed. However, as they left Admiralty Island astern, the wind grew to gale force. It lashed the waves into mountainous breakers, hurling spray high into the air. The Hardys' boat, battered by wind and water, was almost swamped.

81 Joe bailed frantically. "Can we make sh.o.r.e?" he gasped.

"Not a chance!" Squinting in the teeth of the gale, Frank fought to keep the boat on course. "If we try leaving the channel, we'll pile up on the rocks for sure!"

The rain held off for almost half an hour. Then lightning flashed and a peal of thunder seemed to split the heavens wide open, sending down a drenching torrent.

The boys, already soaked to the skin, redoubled their efforts to keep the boat from swamping. They bailed in shifts, one taking a turn at the wheel while the other scooped out bucket after bucket of water.

The storm pursued them up the Gastineau Channel, but gradually abated as they neared Juneau. Both boys were shivering and utterly exhausted when they finally tied up at the dock. By this time it was past 10 p.m. and almost pitch dark.

"Wow! What a battle!" Joe exclaimed, squeezing water out of his shirt.

"Guess we may as well check in at the hotel," Frank advised. "We can't do anything before morning."

The boys had a hot supper in their room at the Baranof, then turned in and slept until seven the next morning. After a hasty breakfast of bacon 82 and eggs, they hurried down to the seaplane base. When they learned that there was still no news of Robbie Robbins they were disappointed.

"Is there any other copter around here beside Robbie's?" Frank asked the dock guard.

"Not in Juneau," the guard informed them.

"Let's query the Fish and Wildlife Service," Frank suggested. "Perhaps they can get us a whirlybird from Ketchikan or Skagway."

Their visit to the government office, however, proved to be futile.

"Nearest copter's at Anchorage," the agent said. "We tried to charter one ourselves, but the pilot's tied up for the next three weeks."

Before returning to the island, Frank and Joe also checked with Detective Grant at police headquarters. The Hardys told him they planned to search the upper reaches of the Kooniak for traces of the foreign gang, as well as for Sewell and Robbins. "Will we need permission from the Canadian government?" Frank asked.

"Yes," the detective replied, "but I think I can arrange it." Picking up the telephone, he called the Canadian consulate and quickly got an okay. Their permission was extended to include Fleetfoot, as well as Chet and Ted Sewell, in case the latter two decided to accompany the expedition.

"Thanks a lot," Frank told the detective as they shook hands. "One other thing. Can you give 83 us any tips about traveling in British Columbia?"

"Never been up that way myself," Grant replied, "but I'll tell you someone who should know. He's an old-timer named Jess Jenkins. You'll find him at the Alaska Pioneers' Home in Sitka."

The brothers boarded a small commercial plane and within an hour were on the lawn that surrounded the Pioneers' Home in the former Russian capital of Alaska. They found Jess Jenkins sunning himself on a bench in front of the building.

The old fellow proved to be a lean, bewhisk-ered sourdough who had mined gold in both Canada and Alaska.

"Sure," Jenkins said, when questioned by the young sleuths, "I know what's up there in British Columbia! But I warn you, it's even more dangerous than a hoppin'-mad Kodiak bear!"

CHAPTER X.

The Sourdough's Clue danger ahead? Frank and Joe seated themselves on either side of the old sourdough so as not to miss a word of his warning.

"Ah, them was great days," Jenkins reminisced. "We figgered it might pan out almost as rich as Joe Juneau's strike."

The Hardys flashed each other puzzled glances. "What would pan out?" Frank asked.

"We don't follow you."

"Why, this gold strike I'm tellin' ye about," Jess replied. "Over into Canady, it was.

Seems two fellers come down the Kooniak, luggin' full pokes. Pretty soon the story spread around about them stumblin' on these gravel bars, up some little crick, where the color was runnin' forty dollars to the pan!"

"When was this?" Joe put in.

"Well, let's see. Nigh on fifty years ago, I reckon." The old sourdough fell silent for a moment. Finally he went on, "Anyhow, folks in Juneau got all het up, hearin' about this new strike. So a bunch o' us boys, we packed up our gear an' hightailed it over into British Columbia to stake out claims."

"What happened?" Frank pressed curiously.

"Trouble, that's what happened!" Jess retorted. "And that's what I'm warnin' you boys about. We found the spot, an' then got chased right out again by a bunch o' wild Injuns!"

"Why?" Joe asked.

" 'Cause this crick where the gold was supposed to be, it run right past a sacred Injun burial ground. Seems as how all their ancestors had been buried there for hundreds an'

hundreds o' years. They knew we'd start sinkin' shafts all over the place, an' they didn't take to that idee. So naturally we had to clear out."

"You never went back?" Frank asked.

"Nope. We figgered we'd rather hang onto our scalps fer a while. But some o' our boys got a peek at one o' them graves."

"You mean they dug one up?" Joe said.

"Well, no. What I mean is they got a peek at one o' the grave houses. Little bitty log houses, they are, 'bout six by ten feet. Seems that's where they stored the Injun's weapons an' other gear over his grave. All gone now, I reckon. Ain't even any Injuns livin' in them parts any more."

86 The old sourdough rambled on, talking about his experiences in the wilds of British Columbia, then the Yukon, and finally reminiscing about various gold camps in Alaska. The Hardys listened attentively, but at last felt they must break away.

"Come again any time, boys," Jess told them, giving each a hearty handshake. "Always glad to talk about the old days!"

Frank and Joe walked away thoughtfully from the Pioneers' Home. "Was there really really a a gold strike up there?" Frank mused.

"Do you doubt it?"

Frank frowned as they walked toward the seaplane basin. "Old Jess said two prospectors came down the Kooniak with full pokes, and a report got spread around about their finding gold. But it could have been an exaggerated story."

"So?"

"Maybe they didn't really strike gold after all. They could have looted those grave houses of valuable Indian jewelry and ornaments."

"And then traded them off for gold?" put in Joe, sensing the drift of his brother's reasoning.

"Yes, and when rumors started about how they made their haul, it touched off a gold rush."

"I'll bet you're right!" Joe said enthusiastically. "That might explain the jade trinket we found in the knapsack!"

"Exactly," Frank agreed. "Furthermore, some87 one may have recently stumbled on the burial ground again and unearthed more ancient treasure."

They had a half-hour wait for the return flight to Juneau, so Frank and Joe sat on a bench at the base of a huge totem pole that overlooked Sitka Harbor.

"Only one thing doesn't fit in with your theory," Joe said after a few minutes of silence.

"What's that?"

"Where would those old Indians have obtained jade? It comes from Asia, mostly."

"True enough," Frank said. He added, however, that many scientists believe the Indians came originally from Asia. If so, they might have brought their tribal treasures with them.

"In that case," Joe exclaimed excitedly, "the jade ornament may be valuable scientific evidence!"

Joe's exuberance was interrupted by the distant drone of motors. A plane was arriving from Juneau and would take off on the return trip in a few minutes. After the incoming pa.s.sengers had debarked, the Hardys took their seats.

Five minutes later the plane was air-borne. It skimmed over the mountainous islands of the coast and landed on Gastineau Channel with the grace of a widgeon. The brothers hastened to the hotel for their belongings, then purchased a 88 large quant.i.ty of fresh supplies. They hauled them down to the dock, loaded them into the motorboat, and headed back to the island.

On arriving, they found Chet and Tony had been frantic with worry during the night.

"We were afraid you might have cracked up in the storm!" Tony said.

"Besides, we had a scare of our own!" Chet added.

"What happened?" Frank asked.

Tony explained that they had heard the sound of paddles close to the island, shortly after the storm abated. Tony had flashed his searchlight but failed to pick out any canoeists or other boatmen in the darkness.

Joe grinned. "Sure you weren't hearing things?"

"We weren't sure then, but we are now," Chet retorted firmly. He ducked into the pup tent for a moment, and came out holding a well-worn paddle. "Take a look at this. We found it on the beach this morning."

The Hardys examined it. There were no clues to the owner, although the paddle had obviously been hand-carved. "Indian workmanship," Frank speculated. "Perhaps Fleetfoot can identify it."

Then Joe went on to tell of their plan to explore farther along the Kooniak. "We feel sure that the gang must be operating somewhere up-river," he said. "And the only way to find out what 89 they're after is to look for ourselves. I'm hoping we can locate Robbie and Mr. Sewell, too."

Tony received this news with a doubtful expression. "That could be plenty dangerous,"

he pointed out. "Suppose you run into another ambush?"

"They're not apt to lay a trap for us unless they know we're coming," Frank replied. "If we watch our step and keep our eyes open, we may be able to spot their camp without being seen."

"Especially since we're taking Fleetfoot with us," Joe put in.