The Mark on the Door (5 page)

The Hardys and Chet took turns standing guard during the night. In the morning Frank donned a suit of clothes Marcheta gave him, then ground some white chalk into powder and sprinkled it into his hair.

“Very clever,” Marcheta commented with a grin. “Your hair is now almost as white as mine.”

Next, Frank pulled a bit of stuffing from a worn chair, whitened it with chalk, and fashioned a mustache and a goatee for himself. A straw hat completed the disguise.

“You've done a terrific job,” Mr. Hardy said.

“Thanks, Dad. Keep your fingers crossed. I hope it works.”

“Just one question,” Joe interposed. “Whoever's watching the hacienda must know that there are five of us here. Won't it look suspicious if we don't all leave together?”

“I'm hoping he'll think that two of us stayed behind to nab him if he shows himself,” Frank explained. He pulled the brim of the straw hat low over his eyes. “I'm all set to go! Hope this disguise works!”

The three boys hurried out of the house and made a beeline for their car. As they sped away, Joe, who was behind the wheel, glanced into the rear-view mirror and saw a man leap out from behind a tree.

“At least one villager is interested in our departure,” Joe said. “I wonder if he's our man.”

“We can't take the time to find out,” Frank answered, and removed his disguise. Within the hour they arrived at the airport and quickly located Jack Wayne.

“Hi, fellows!” the pilot exclaimed. “You'll be glad to hear the plane's radios are working again. There was a defective circuit breaker in the system.”

“Good,” Joe replied. “We're going to need you and the plane.”

The Hardys described their plan for the eve ning to Jack. When they had finished, the pilot told them how to set up the rendezvous point.

“Find a long, level stretch of ground. Make sure there are no obstructions near the spot. Then aim the headlights of your car in the direction you want me to land. Once I'm lined up, the plane's landing lights will show me the way.”

“Try to make your departure as inconspicuous as possible,” Frank said.

“I'll file a flight plan back to Brownsville, Texas,” Jack replied. “That should confuse anyone who's curious. I can always cancel it later.”

The boys drove into the city for a leisurely lunch. Then they went to their hotel to wait until dark. It was well into evening when Frank, Joe, and Chet joined Mr. Hardy and Señor Marcheta at the hacienda.

“Your disguise worked like a charm,” the detective told Frank. “Shortly after you left, a man with a coiled bullwhip in his belt rode off on a horse. He certainly was in a hurry, judging by the amount of dust he was kicking up.”

“We'd better get out of here,” Joe warned. “He might decide to come back.”

The Hardys and their companions got into the car and took the road leading north from Vivira. Soon Senor Marcheta pointed to flat areas of land flanking both sides of the narrow road.

Frank pulled the car to a stop and got out, followed by Joe and Chet. Together, they searched for a suitable landing spot, and found one that was flat and as smooth as a table. Frank returned to the car and maneuvered it to point in the direction Jack Wayne was to land.

Several hours passed before the droning sound of a plane's engine was heard. Frank switched on the headlights, then flicked them on and off several times. Minutes later the plane's landing lights illuminated the area ahead, and the craft touched down in a gentle landing.

Jack Wayne taxied the plane in and Mr. Hardy and Senor Marcheta climbed aboard. Soon they were airborne. Chet and the young detectives watched as the plane disappeared in the night sky.

The Hardys and Chet drove back to their hotel in Mazatlan and turned in for several hours of sleep. After breakfast they went to the police station and asked for the name of the fisherman who had sighted the submarine.

The officer in charge told them that the report had not been kept on file and he himself had never seen it. He suggested, however, that they inquire along the docks.

The boys hastened to the area and made some inquiries. They had little success, until a Mexican youth, about Joe's age, approached them.

“Señores,” he said, “excuse me, please, but I understand that you are looking for the fisherman who saw a submarine.”

“That's right,” Joe answered.

“My name is Tico,” the Mexican boy extended his hand in greeting. “The man you seek is Senor Ricardo. He is now fishing and will not be back for two or three days.”

The Bayporters introduced themselves and Frank asked if Tico knew anything about the fisherman's report.

“Only that he says he saw a submarine. I believe him, for I am sure that I have seen it too.”

“You've seen a sub?” Chet blurted. “When? Where?”

“My father, who is also a fisherman, and I took our boat up the coast as far as Ensenada del Pabe lion about two weeks ago,” Tico explained. “On the way back I was certain that I saw what looked like a submarine in a cove.”

“Why didn't you report it?” Frank asked.

“I had too small a glimpse of it to be sure what I saw,” the youth replied. “It was nearly sunset, and my father insisted the shadows were playing tricks with my eyes. I forgot about it until Señor Ricardo said he saw a submarine a few days ago.”

“You speak very good English,” Chet commented.

“Thank you,” Tico said with a smile. “My father sends me to a fine school in Mexico City. He does not wish me to become a fisherman, but perhaps a lawyer. I study English.”

Frank thought for a moment. “Do you think you could find that cove again?”

“Yes—yes, I think I could do this,” Tico assured him. “The cove is best reached by boat. Unfortunately my father is away fishing, and I'm on my own for about a month. We have a small craft with an outboard that will serve our purpose. The journey will take about four or five hours.”

“Good. Wait here for us,” Frank said.

The Hardys and Chet first went to the Mazat-Ian shopping district to buy clothes suitable for their intended expedition. By the time the boys returned to the dock, Tico was in his boat, ready to depart. They hopped in, and the Mexican boy set off.

Frank and Joe marveled at the scenery along the coast. It was extremely craggy, and geysers of white foam shot up from the sea splashing against the jagged rocks.

Soon the wind became more brisk. The surface of the water grew choppy, and Tico had to increase the power to keep from drifting toward shore.

“It's blowing up a storm!” Joe warned. “We'd better beach this boat!”

“Too rocky!” Frank disagreed. “The boat would be smashed to pieces.”

As the small craft was being tossed violently about, the motor mount suddenly pulled free from its fittings. The entire unit disappeared into the water!

“Caramba!”
Tico cried.

Frank and Joe found two paddles stowed underneath the seats. They grabbed them and made a valiant effort to keep the boat away from the craggy shore. But their attempt was futile. Despite their frantic paddling, the boat continued to be swept toward the jagged rocks!

CHAPTER VI

JoE's paddle suddenly was ripped from his hands by the raging sea. The small boat was carried to the crest of a wave, and went skimming down the lee side toward the jagged rocks.

“Hang on!” Frank shouted as water spilled over the gunwales.

Suddenly the craft capsized and the four boys were tossed into the sea.

“Swim for it!” Frank cried. “Head for—!” He swallowed a mouthful of brine and coughed violently as he struggled through the maelstrom.

For a while the boys bobbed like corks in the turbulent sea, progressing for a few strokes, then being tossed back again. With arms flailing, they finally made it. Frank and Joe were the first to be hurled onto solid ground. Chet came next, fol lowed by the Mexican youth.

Tico lay panting for a few minutes. “I am happy to see that everyone is all right,” he finally said.

“Sorry about your boat,” Joe remarked.

“It could not be helped,” Tico said philosophically. “Do not worry.”

The boys walked a short distance inland. There the wind was less brisk, and a warm sun began to send shimmering waves of heat up from the bleached sand and rocks.

“It's very desolate around here,” Frank observed. “Where are we?”

Tico took a moment to orient himself. “We are not far from the cove I spoke about,” he said. “It is less than an hour from here on foot.”

“No sense in turning back as long as we got this far,” Joe commented.

The boys agreed to continue on. With the Mexican youth in the lead they trekked ahead, and arrived at their destination in the time Tico had predicted.

“There it is!” he exclaimed. “I know by that tall point of rock. It looks over the cove.”

They slowly worked their way down a steep incline of rock to the shore. At once the young sleuths began searching the area for clues.

“If a sub was here,” Chet said, “you'd never know it. There's not a trace of anything but fish!”

He held his nose and pointed to a half-eaten sea trout that had been washed ashore.

Frank, passing a large rock nearly buried in the sand, noticed deep scratches on its surface. “Take a look at this, fellows,” he called out.

“Hm! Looks like some kind of heavy objects were dragged over the ground,” Joe stated as he studied the marks.

“Notice that they continue,” Frank replied, “in a straight line toward that big boulder at the base of the incline.”

As the boys began walking toward the spot, a shot suddenly rang out! Then another! Splinters of rock sprayed in all directions.

“Jumping jackals!” Chet yelled. “Hit the dirt!”

Frank and Joe whirled to look up at the high rim of rock surrounding the cove. Two men, one taller than the other, mounted on horses, were silhouetted against the sky. Each carried a rifle, aimed in the boys' direction.

Two more bullets struck nearby as the boys scrambled along the craggy shore of the cove.

“Quick!” Frank ordered. “In here!”

Followed by his companions, he darted into a narrow crevice. It led up the side of a steep hill, and eventually opened into a place which served as an excellent vantage point. From there, the boys could look up and see their attackers clearly.

“Why did those men shoot at us?” Joe hissed angrily. “Are they bandits?”

Chet crouched low behind a rock. “I'm not curious enough to go out and ask them,” he declared.

“Everybody be quiet!” Frank commanded.

They watched as the two men, dressed in ragged clothes and sombreros, got off their horses and scurried down the rocky incline to the cove.

“They're coming after us!” Tico whispered nervously.

“There are many crevices along the shore,” Frank muttered. “Let's hope they don't find the right one.”

Minutes ticked by slowly as the men searched. Once they came uncomfortably close to the boys' hiding place. The taller man, his voice barely audible in the distance, said something to the other in Spanish. Then, apparently giving up the search, they climbed back up the rocky incline to their horses.

“Did you hear what that fellow said?” Frank asked Tico.

“It was difficult, but I heard most of what he said,” the Mexican boy answered. “He told the other man that we were scared off by the shooting. They think we have run far from here by now.”

“I wish I was far from here,” Chet mumbled.

Frank suddenly pointed toward the men. “Look!” he blurted. “They're not getting on their horses and leaving. They're just sitting on the groundl”

“What are they up to?” Joe queried.

“Waiting for us to come back,” Chet said ruefully.

“Maybe they're not waiting for us at all,” Frank said. “But whatever the reason, we'll have to stay here till they leave.”

Huddled in their hiding place, the boys spent several agonizing hours under the hot sun. By now their clothes were practically dry. But they were hungry, thirsty, and exhausted by the intense heat. Even after sunset the armed men maintained their vigil.

“Are they going to sit there all night?” Chet grumbled. “I want something to eat!”

“When it is very dark,” Tico said, “perhaps we can sneak away without being seen.”

Frank now appeared less anxious to make an immediate getaway. “I'd like to stick around a little while longer and see what those two guys are up to,” he announced. “We might learn something interesting.”