The Clue of the Screeching Owl Read Free Page B

the ground.
    â€œIs—is he breathing?” gulped Chet, who was pulling off his shirt to use as a towel.
    â€œHe’ll be all right. Nasty crack on the head, that’s all,” Frank answered tersely.
    He indicated a bloody mark on Joe’s temple. Then he swiftly stripped off his brother’s soaking clothes. Meanwhile, Chet rubbed Joe’s body briskly with his big woolen shirt.
    In a moment Joe was blinking in the glare of their flashlights, and grinning weakly into their anxious faces. “Say, take the light out of a fellow’s face,” he protested feebly. “And what have you two done with my clothes?”
    Chet took charge. “Never mind your clothes. Just put that shirt on to keep yourself warm. You Hardys are going straight back to the cabin to dry out by the stove. Whoever was doing the screaming down here can wait until tomorrow.”
    There was no more screaming during the night. In the morning, sunshine had already flooded the little clearing before any sign of activity was to be seen around the captain’s cabin.
    Inside, Frank and Joe were still sleeping soundly. From the kitchen came the clink and rattle of dishes and the unmistakable aroma of pancakes and sausages.
    Clang! Clang! Chet Morton appeared in the doorway pounding on a metal pan with a big wooden spoon. “Breakfast, gang! Up and at ‘em! It’s almost ten o’clock!”
    On the floor, two khaki sleeping bags stirred. Two heads popped into view.
    â€œOh-h-h—my aching head,” Joe moaned and sat up. “Captain Maguire hasn’t shown up, has he, Chet?”
    â€œAin’t nobody here but us pancakes,” the stout boy replied cheerfully as he re-entered the kitchen. “And if you two don’t get a move on there won’t be any of us pancakes—or sausages—left for long, either!”
    Chet’s threat was enough for the Hardys. They were ravenous after their exertions of the night before and wasted no time getting to the breakfast table. In half an hour the trio, refreshed, was ready for a thorough search of Black Hollow.
    Before starting, Frank slung the leather case containing his powerful binoculars around his neck.
    â€œI’m taking these, just in case.”
    Frank led the way down the steep, twisting path while Joe brought up the rear. Once they were under the huge, closely growing trees, very little of the bright sunlight above filtered down to them. The dark, somber evergreens made an almost impenetrable umbrella over their heads. All the time they kept looking for signs of Captain Maguire.
    â€œIt’s easy to figure how this place got the name Black Hollow,” Joe remarked.
    The absence of wind in the well-protected valley made an unnatural stillness. Not a leaf stirred. Furthermore, no small animals seemed to be moving. Joe’s voice had a peculiar loudness and made all three a bit uneasy.
    â€œWait!” Chet Morton halted abruptly. “What’s that?” All three listened intently. At the same time, their eyes surveyed the surrounding woods.
    â€œJust the call of a crow,” Joe said sheepishly. “Must be a mile away, at least.”
    When the trekkers reached the rushing torrent, Joe unslung a coil of stout Manila rope from his shoulder. Working rapidly, the brothers rigged a lifeline for future passages by securing one end of the rope to a stout tree on the bank.
    Once across, the search party continued their descent. Soon the sound of the turbulent stream was left behind. The eerie silence again surrounded them.
    Once more Chet stopped. “Listen!”
    â€œWhat now?” asked Joe with some impatience.
    â€œI thought I heard something rustling.”
    Tor Pete’s sake!” Joe grinned at Chet. “It’s your dungarees’ legs rubbing against each other. Come on! We’ll never get to the bottom of this hollow.”
    The trio resumed its way down the trail.
    â€œHold it!”