The Alaskan Adventure (4 page)

“Maybe Frank and I should do a little poking around,” Joe suggested. “Since we're not from around here, maybe people will talk more freely.”

David grinned. “You're right—nobody will pay any attention to a couple of
cheechakos.
”

“That means newcomers, right?” Frank asked. “I remember it from a guidebook I was looking at.”

“Right,” David told him. “And once you've wintered over at least once, you become a sourdough. That comes from the old-time prospectors who made bread from a mixture of flour and water and sourdough starter instead of yeast.”

“Speaking of bread,” Mona said, “would you mind picking up a few supplies at the general store?” Mona began to clear the teacups from the table. “Here's the list.”

“No problem,” Joe told her. “That'll give us a good excuse for getting into conversation.”

A few minutes later the Hardys left the cabin
and started down the path. They hadn't gone very far when a tattered figure in a torn red cap and filthy green parka popped up in front of them.

“You fellows moving in here?” he demanded.

Joe recognized the old prospector they had seen right after their arrival in Glitter. What was his name—Lucky? He didn't look lucky.

“No,” Frank answered. “We're friends of David Natik's, up on a visit.”

“You looking for gold?” Lucky asked, his head bobbing up and down.

“No, we're here for the race,” Joe explained. “The Iditarod.”

Lucky glared at him. “You like gold, don't you? Everybody likes gold—gold dust, gold flakes, gold nuggets. I've found them all.”

Joe decided to humor him. “That's great,” he said. “But we're more interested in the Iditarod. The dogsled race.”

“I know all about the Iditarod,” Lucky snapped. “David and Gregg are running in it this year. That's a big deal for Glitter, but there's lots of bigger deals, if you know where to look for them.”

“Oh? Where's that?” Frank asked.

Lucky tapped his finger against the side of his nose. “That's a secret,” he said. “I know a lot of
secrets. What about nuggets? You like gold nuggets? Just be careful whose nuggets you put your hands on.”

Frank told him, “We're not looking for gold. We're just here to—”

Before Frank could finish his sentence, Lucky turned and walked away. Then he shouted over his shoulder, “Lots of different kinds of gold. You hear that?”

Joe looked over at Frank. “What was that all about?” he asked.

“Gold,” Frank replied. “And, like the man said, everybody likes gold, but there're lots of different kinds. I'd say we ought to keep that in mind. Come on, let's see who else we run into.”

Joe looked around as they walked through the town. There was a lot of atmosphere to soak up. Two little boys with eyes like black marbles stared at them from the small window of one of the cabins. It occurred to Joe that he and Frank were as exotic a sight for the townspeople as they were to them. A little farther on, an old man whose face had deep wrinkles walked by, bent almost double from the stack of firelogs roped to his back. Two huskies near the door to a cabin rose up and bared their teeth as the Hardys walked by.

“You know,” Joe remarked as they neared the
general store, “I thought this theme park idea sounded nutty when David told us about it. But I'm starting to understand why a lot of people might want to come here. It's different.”

He and Frank stepped onto the porch of the store and pushed the door open. A bell tinkled, then tinkled again as Joe pushed the door closed behind them.

The general store looked exactly as he had imagined it would. A black potbellied stove stood in the middle of the room, with a couple of battered wooden chairs drawn close to it. The walls were hidden by wooden shelves loaded with canned goods, clocks, hammers, oil lamps, and a hundred other items. Big cloth sacks of flour, rice, and animal feed were stacked in the corners. A tall wooden cabinet with no doors held piles of parkas in all colors, thick woolen shirts, long Johns, gloves, socks, and red plaid caps. Near the back were bales of furs, which had been brought in by trappers.

The man who stepped out from behind the counter fit right into the scene. He was about fifty, tall, skinny, and bald, wearing a blue-and-white-striped apron over a shirt and tie.

“You'll be David Natik's friends from New York,” he said. “I'm Jake Ferguson. What do you need today?”

Frank handed him the list Mona had drawn up, and Jake began taking items down from the shelves.

“Terrible thing about that fire,” he said as he climbed a stepladder to reach some canned goods. “It just shows how important it is to have proper protection. Too bad the town can't afford to have some decent firefighting equipment. Now, if ThemeLife comes in—”

“Are you in favor of the ThemeLife plan, Mr. Ferguson?” Joe asked.

“Call me Jake, son,” the man replied. “And as for this big controversy, I guess I'm neutral. I'm a storekeeper. I'll let the others in town battle it out. Whatever they decide is fine with me.”

“Oh,” Frank said. “From what you said about firefighting equipment, I thought  . . . ” He let his voice trail off.

Jake gave a little laugh. “Oh, I can't deny that Curt Stone makes some good arguments. His company's done this sort of thing all over the place. They know what pulls people in. They come into a town and emphasize the things that make people want to visit.”

He broke off as the bell over the door sounded. A weathered man in a worn parka came in and asked Jake for twenty-five cents' worth of candy from the big jar on the counter.

Jake served him and put the five nickels in his cash drawer. After the man left, he said, “You take Ralph Hunter, who was just in. He's got four kids to feed. If the plan goes through, there'd be new jobs and extra money for people like him.”

“Is he voting for ThemeLife?” Frank asked.

Jake paused and looked away. “He's not a good example, I guess,” he said, shaking his head. “No, Ralph makes it pretty plain he isn't going to vote yes. But you could argue that he should, for his own good.”

While Jake packed Mona's order into two cardboard cartons, Joe and Frank admired a glass case filled with traditional Athabascan handicrafts. “Those are real collector's items,” Jake said. “Very expensive. Anything you're interested in?”

Frank laughed. “Just looking, thanks.”

Jake totaled the bill and said, “I'll put it on the Windman account. Come see me again. Maybe I'll have something you want to take home as a souvenir.”

“Thanks, Jake,” Joe said as he and Frank picked up the two cartons of groceries.

When they went outside, Joe saw Curt coming toward them. He waved and smiled. “Well, we
cheechakos
meet again. I hear you went for a dogsled ride. That must have been exciting.”

“It was great,” Joe said.

“Jake has everything, doesn't he?” Curt said. “Even opinions about this and that. It's a wonder he doesn't put a price tag on those, too.”

“He was talking about your plans for Glitter,” Joe said.

“I hope he had good things to say,” Curt replied. “I'm trying to help this town, and it could use help.”

“Your company would make a lot of changes, wouldn't it?” Frank asked.

Curt nodded. “Sure. Changes for the better. People are a little nervous about change. I don't blame them. But it's my job to persuade them that they
need
ThemeLife.”

“Persuade them how?” asked Joe.

“Why, by explaining the advantages to them,” Curt replied. “You'll have to excuse me. I'm due to call in to the home office, and the only way to do that is to use Jake's two-way radio. That's one of the things about Glitter we'll change—we'll bring in modern communications.”

Curt went into the store. Joe and Frank headed down the street to the cabin. They hadn't gone far when they heard an anguished cry. They whirled around. Ralph Hunter was on his knees next to a longboat near the river. With another loud cry, he buried his face in his hands and fell forward.

Frank and Joe set the cartons on the ground and dashed down the icy slope toward the riverbank. Frank scanned the area for some clue to what had happened. There was a crumpled tarp on the ground next to Hunter. It looked as if he had just taken it off the boat. What had he found to cause him such pain?

When they were a few yards away, Joe called, “What's wrong? Can we help?”

Hunter looked up at them and pointed to the bottom of the longboat.

Frank and Joe peered inside. The aluminum hull was riddled with holes from bow to stern.

Hunter shook his head. “It's no good to me
now,” he said. “I might as well throw it away. What am I going to do come spring?”

Frank estimated that twenty or thirty holes had been punched in the hull. “Who did this?” he asked.

Hunter shook his head again.

A crowd was gathering, drawn by Hunter's cries. At the sight of the damage they murmured to each other. Frank couldn't make out what they were saying.

“I came down and took the cover off, and this is what I found,” Hunter said, staring down at the damage. “This boat is all I've got in the world. I depend on it for fishing, once the ice breaks up. How am I going to feed my family now?”

Joe got down on one knee to study the destruction. “Frank,” he said, without looking up, “it looks as if this was done with a spike. The holes were punched from inside the boat. Look how clean the edges are.”

Frank knelt down and looked at the holes. “You're right,” he said. “Whoever did it had to take the cover off first. Pretty risky, unless he did it at night. And in that case, you'd think someone would have heard the hammering.”

He straightened up and looked around. Aside from the general store, there were only two cabins nearby. One of them looked closed up, but
the other had a faint trail of smoke rising from the chimney.

“Mr. Hunter?” Frank said. “When was the last time you looked at your boat?”

Hunter blinked a couple of times. He seemed a long way off. Frank guessed that he was thinking about the lean summer to come for him and his family.

Frank repeated the question.

“Why, a few days ago,” Hunter said. “I don't know . . . Sunday, maybe?”

“You took the tarp off, and it was okay then?” Joe asked.

“That's right,” Hunter replied.

Frank asked, “Can you think of any reason someone might want to harm you?”

Hunter got to his feet. “I don't like all these questions,” he said. “Everybody's asking me something. Who do I think'll do better in the Iditarod, Gregg Anderson or David Natik? What kind of salmon season do I think we'll have this year? How do I plan to vote at the town meeting? And now you. It's too much.”

Frank and Joe stood up, too. “Who's been asking you these questions?” Frank asked. He didn't have much hope that he'd get an answer.

Hunter shook his head. He picked up the tarp and draped it over the longboat. Frank couldn't
help thinking that there wasn't much point in protecting the ruined boat.

The crowd of onlookers was beginning to break up. A couple of people came over to Hunter to talk about what had happened. The rest drifted back into the town. Frank noticed one woman go into the nearest cabin.

“Come on,” he muttered to Joe. “It's time for us to do a little detecting.”

Frank led the way to the little cabin and knocked on the door. The woman opened it.

“What is it?” she asked, looking puzzled.

Frank introduced himself and Joe, then said, “We're trying to find out what happened to Ralph Hunter's longboat. Did you hear any hammering the past few days? Especially at night?”

“Hammering?” the woman repeated. “No, I don't think so. I heard Jake Ferguson out chopping wood a couple of nights ago.”

“Is that unusual?” asked Joe.

“I guess it is,” she said slowly. “He usually takes care of his woodbox in the daytime. And now that I think of it, he usually uses a chainsaw.”

“Did you see him? Or just hear the sounds?” Frank asked.

She shrugged. “I didn't go look. Why should I? Oh—do you think what I heard was somebody wrecking Ralph's longboat?”

“It's possible,” Joe replied.

“I can't believe it,” the woman said, shaking her head.

“Thanks for your help,” Frank said. “If you think of anything that might point to who did the damage, will you let us know?”

The woman promised, then closed her door.

Frank and Joe stopped by Jake's store. In response to Joe's question, Jake told them that he hadn't been chopping wood. He hadn't heard anything like that, either, but his bedroom was upstairs at the back, away from the noises of the street.

The Hardys went back and picked up the grocery cartons and started up the hill toward David's family's cabin.

Frank looked around at the empty, snow-packed trail and the tightly closed cabins, and started to laugh. “ ‘Noises of the street'?” he asked, quoting Jake. “Like what—a lonesome elk taking a midnight stroll?”

“It
is
funny,” Joe agreed. “But it means that whoever wrecked Hunter's boat could be pretty sure no one would see him do it. Do you think this connects with the fire at Peter's place and the log somebody heaved through the window?”

“If it doesn't, it's quite a coincidence,” Frank replied thoughtfully. “When people live in tight quarters like this, cut off from the rest of the
world all winter long, it can lead to grudges and feuds that go on for years. Maybe somebody finally cracked and decided to get back at all the people he hates.”

“I wonder how Hunter gets along with that guy Willy,” Joe said. “I bet David can tell us. In a place like this, everybody knows everything about everybody.”