Heading for Trouble
“Something queer about this business,” said Frank Hardy, as the three
boys went back toward their ice-boat. “I don’t see why he should be so
anxious to keep visitors off his old island. We weren’t doing any harm.”
“He’s a crab!” declared Chet. “Who is he, anyway?”
“I think his name is Jefferson,” said Joe. “Elroy Jefferson. I’ve heard
that he owns Cabin Island.”
“Jefferson,” said Frank reflectively. “I’ve heard that name before.”
“Of course you have. He’s an antique dealer. Sort of queer old codger,
from all accounts. We saved his automobile for him, don’t you remember?”
“Oh, now I know where I heard his name!” exclaimed Frank. “You’re right.
He lives in a big house up the Shore Road.”
“Sure. His car was one of those stolen when the auto thieves were busy
on the Shore Road. We found it in the cave when we rounded up the gang.”
The incident to which Joe referred was the climax of one of the numerous
mysteries solved by the Hardy boys. The brothers, who were introduced to
our readers in the first volume of this series, entitled: “The Hardy
Boys: The Tower Treasure,” were the sons of a celebrated American
detective, Fenton Hardy by name, and had already won considerable fame
for themselves in and about their home city of Bayport by reason of
their success in solving a number of mysteries that had baffled the
local police.
Frank and Joe, although still in high school, were anxious to follow in
their father’s footsteps. Fenton Hardy was a hero to them. For many
years he had been connected with the detective bureau of the New York
police department, where he had earned such distinction that he was able
to resign and move to Bayport, there to accept cases as a private
investigator. Internationally famous, he was frequently called in to
solve mysteries that had been given up by the police in all parts of the
country, as well as accepting other assignments in which police action
was not desired.
Already the two boys showed that they had inherited much of their
father’s ability. They were sharp, observant and intelligent enough to
draw shrewd deductions from small clues.
In the volume immediately preceding the present story, “The Hardy Boys:
The Secret of the Caves,” the lads tackled a mystery that even Fenton
Hardy had not been able to solve, the disappearance of an aged college
professor, and had eventually found the old man after a series of
thrilling adventures on a lonely part of the Atlantic coast.
“So that’s Elroy Jefferson, is it?” said Frank. “Pleasant sort of
customer, isn’t he? He didn’t treat us very well, considering we saved
his automobile for him.”
“Perhaps he doesn’t know you,” suggested Chet.
“That’s possible. I remember now. He was in Europe at the time of the
car-stealing affair.”
“Perhaps this chap isn’t Mr. Jefferson at all,” put in Joe. “He may have
sold the island.”
“Well, whoever he is, I don’t think much of him. What did he think we
were going to do? Burn down his cabin?”
Chet laughed. “I guess he doesn’t want his nice, pretty island all
tracked up. Well, I suppose there’s nothing for us but to go home. It’s
getting late, anyway.”
The boys scrambled into the ice-boat. Before they started off, however,
Frank looked back up against the lonely cabin, silhouetted at the top of
the cliff against the dreary winter sky. The man who had driven them
away was nowhere in sight.
“I can’t get it out of my head that there’s something strange about this
business,” he said. “I’d like to know why he was so anxious to chase us
away.”
“Aw, you see a mystery in everything,” scoffed Chet. “He’s just a cranky
old chap who likes to show his authority. I’ll bet he even tries to boss
the rabbits and the snowbirds on the island. Let’s go!”
The ice-boat moved slowly away from Cabin Island and the boys soon
forgot their disappointment in the exhilaration of swift flight across
the ice.
They swept out of the cove, around the rocky point, out into the bay.
Far ahead of them lay Bayport, its towers and spires shining in the
sunset. It was getting colder, and the wind stung their faces to a rosy
glow.
“If we go camping in the holidays!” shouted Frank, “I guess Cabin Island
is off our list, at any rate.”
“It would be a mighty fine place to camp,” said Joe regretfully. “It’s
too bad Mr. Jefferson is such a crank. A good-hearted chap would let us
live in his old cabin during the holidays.”
“Well,” remarked Chet, “this particular chap isn’t at all good-hearted,
so I suppose we’ll just have to hunt up another camping spot.”
The boys were silent. Cabin Island would have been an ideal place for
their outing. It would be difficult to find another cabin as well
constructed and so near Bayport.
Suddenly, Chet pointed ahead.
“Look at that ice-boat!” he exclaimed. “Must be a crazy man steering
it.”
Away in the distance they could see a large craft, twisting and turning
in an erratic fashion. It would speed in a straight course for a hundred
yards or so, then it would commence to zigzag crazily, at times veering
over until the sail was almost level with the ice.
“He’ll break his mast or his rudder,” opined Frank. “Then he won’t be so
smart, when he finds himself stranded about three miles from town. A
chap who will handle a boat like that doesn’t deserve to have one.”
However, the other craft seemed to be standing up under the senseless
strain being imposed on it. It was a larger boat than that of the Hardy
boys, and it was able to withstand mishandling that would have wrecked a
smaller craft.
The boys did not alter their course, for they were some distance to
leeward and under ordinary circumstances would not pass within shouting
distance of the big boat. However, as they sped on, Frank saw that the
other craft had ceased zigzagging and was now bearing toward them. Its
huge sail was full and it was gathering speed.
“That big boat can certainly travel!” exclaimed Chet.
“I’ll say it can. If he doesn’t change his course that chap will travel
right into us.”
As the big boat drew nearer the boys saw that there were two men on
board. Frank mentally checked over the various ice-boats he had seen on
the bay and thought he recognized the approaching boat as belonging to
Tad Carson and Ike Nash, two young men of unsavory repute in the city.
They were loud-mouthed, insolent fellows who had never been known to do
a day’s work, and it was a mystery how they had managed to raise
sufficient money to buy the ice-boat in which they were now amusing
themselves.
“He’d better change his course,” said Joe nervously. “He’s heading right
toward us.”
“Not if I know it,” said Frank. “If he won’t change, then I will.”
He bore down on the tiller and their ice-boat swung around out of the
path of the other.
Then, to their amazement and consternation, the lads saw that the big
craft had also swung around and that it was still hurtling forward at
terrific speed.
“They’re going to run us down!” shouted Chet, in alarm.
The big boat was only fifty yards away. The lads could see Ike Nash at
the tiller, his mouth open in an ugly grin.
In another moment, the big craft would crash broadside into the small
boat, and so great was its speed that the Hardy boys’ boat would
certainly be wrecked beyond repair and it was possible that the boys
themselves might be seriously injured.
Then they saw Ike bear down on the tiller again, evidently trying to
avert the catastrophe at the last minute. It had been a crude practical
joke on his part, to frighten the lads.
Then he looked up, his face frightened, and shouted.
The tiller had not responded!
The big ice-boat did not change course. It was booming down on the
smaller craft at terrific speed!
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