045 The Mystery of the Spiral Bridge by Franklin W. Dixon

Author:Franklin W. Dixon [Dixon, Franklin W.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Joe thanked Radley and signed off. Then he thought in surprise “So that’s why Willy’s not on the job today—he’s lookout for that con bunch.”

Joe secreted the short-wave radio in his clothes and started to climb out from under the bridge. Suddenly he stopped short. Nearly concealed behind an empty cement bag were three sticks of dynamite! Joe examined them gingerly. They were not as yet connected with any detonating device.

“So that’s next on the gang’s list—blow up the bridge!” Joe thought, picking up the sticks. Just then he heard the familiar birdcall whistle used by the Hardy boys to warn each other.

Before Joe had a chance to move, Robert Angan scrambled down the slope. He glared angrily at Joe. “So you’re one of the guys making trouble for us!” Angan said, and snatched the dynamite sticks. “Where’d you get these?”

Joe pleaded innocence, explaining that he had gone under the bridge to cool off during the break and had spotted the explosives there.

“That’s a great story,” the foreman snorted. He hid the dynamite sticks in his shirt so that the others would not notice them. Then he marched Joe directly to the project shack. Bond Deemer was working on some papers.

Angan produced the explosives. “Caught Jensen here with it.”

Deemer was speechless for a moment, then he stormed, “You sneak. You’ll go to jail for this.”

“But I had nothing to do with this dynamite!” Joe protested. “Remember, I just started work yesterday. Somebody else put these sticks under the bridge.”

“Listen, Jensen,” Angan said, “I had you pegged for a troublemaker the minute you showed up here.”

Deemer’s anger had receded. He tapped his pencil and looked thoughtfully at Joe. “We can’t afford to lose men on this job. Angan, I believe the kid’s telling the truth about the explosives.”

“Okay,” said Angan, pacing nervously. “It’s your responsibility, Deemer. But one false move” —he pointed at Joe—“and you’re through!”

This time Angan assigned Joe to learn to run a grader machine. “So I can keep you in sight,” he said.

Later, the foreman approached Frank. “You there, Teller!” he called. “I want you to learn how to handle a pan.” He pointed to a huge high-wheeled earth-carrying machine stopped beside the road and Angan called up to the driver, “Yancy, teach this kid how to operate it, then he can spell you.”

Frank climbed on to the monster machine, the rubber tires of which were taller than he. He found Yancy to be a bluff individual, sun-tanned, with bulging arm muscles and a broad face.

The machine started to bounce along, and Yancy readily explained its mechanics to Frank. After the machine had dropped a load of dirt by the side of the road, Yancy turned to his new assistant. “You got an easy job, kid. You must know the baron.”

“Who?” Frank could have bitten off his tongue. From that moment on, Yancy said not a word and it was all work and no talk.

Several times Frank tried to start a friendly conversation, but with no luck.

At the end of the day’s work, the Hardys met beside the swift-moving stream to wash up.

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