The Clue of the Screeching Owl Read Free Page A

washing the dishes. “Who screamed? The witch? Oh, great! I’d forgotten all about her! Did Captain Maguire hear her, too?”
    â€œCould be, Chet,” Frank answered seriously. “And the notations about the dogs—according to the story, the witch was a dog-killer, remember?”
    â€œSay, what about that kid, Bobby Thompson, who was crying?” Chet broke in. “Is his name down there?”
    Quickly Frank checked. “No, and that happened only last night. I wonder if that means Captain Maguire wasn’t here last night and maybe all of today?”
    â€œPossibly,” Joe answered. “My hunch is that this witch-and-dog business was what Captain Maguire wanted to see Dad about!”
    â€œCould be,” Frank agreed. “And I’m afraid he’s met with trouble. We’ll start a search for him tomorrow as soon as it’s light enough.”
    â€œWhich means we’d better turn in and get some sleep.” Chet yawned. “Well, fellows, shall we flip coins to see who gets the bunk?”
    â€œYou take it, Chet.” Joe laughed. “Frank and I will spread our sleeping bags on the floor.”
    The bright gasoline lanterns with their constant, gentle roaring sound were turned off. Their mantles, resembling empty tea bags, glowed orange for a moment, then the cabin was silent and dark. Weary from the long drive and the evening’s activities, the boys slept soundly.
    But in the middle of the night they were rudely awakened by a fearsome sound. The three campers lay rigid, with eyes wide open, waiting tensely for the sound to be repeated.
    Abruptly it came. The night outside was rent by a long, full-throated scream—like that of a woman in terror. It seemed to come from the depths of the hollow behind the cabin.
    As the scream died away, Chet whispered, “Do you suppose Captain Maguire heard that last night and went to investigate?”
    â€œI don’t know,” answered Frank, jumping up. “But a scream’s a scream. It sounds as if someone is in serious danger. Slip on your shoes and trousers, and let’s go!”
    Minutes later, the trio, led by Frank, were hastening down the steep wooded path into the hollow. The boys’ flashlight beams caused weird shadows to fall on the huge boulders and dense brush. Tree roots and small protruding rocks made the unfamiliar path tricky and dangerous.
    They saw no one, and finally their progress was barred by a rushing mountain torrent.
    â€œThis is as far as I got earlier!” Frank shouted above the sound of the water. “Guess we’ll have to risk it now.”
    â€œLet’s go!” Joe forged ahead into the stream.
    The crashing white water exploded against the boy’s body. The impact caught him off balance. Frank and Chet, following his progress with their flashlight beams, saw him stagger, then go down underneath the relentless, rushing cascadel

CHAPTER III
    An Eerie Trail
    â€œDON’T lose sight of Joe! Keep both beams trained on him!”
    With these words, Frank Hardy thrust his flashlight into Chet Morton’s hands. Then he plunged into the boiling torrent himself.
    The freezing water crashed against his hips with the force of a football tackler. Joe, apparently unconscious, already had been carried several feet downstream. Cautiously Frank inched across, groping for footholds on the treacherous bottom.
    â€œBetter to move slowly than to risk a fall now!” he thought.
    In a moment, guided by Chet’s flashlights, Frank reached his brother. He was lying unconscious against a rock; his head just out of reach of the water.
    Frank braced his feet carefully and stooped. In a moment he straightened up, with Joe’s limp form held firmly across his shoulders in a fire-man’s carry.
    â€œOver here, Frank!” Chet called anxiously, lighting the way.
    Frank lurched through the raging water to the bank, where Chet helped lower Joe gently to