Hardy Boys Mysteries - 028 The Sign Of The Crooked Arrow by Franklin W. Dixon

Author:Franklin W. Dixon [Dixon, Franklin W.]
Language: eng
Format: epub

CHAPTER XIII

The Whizzing Arrow

hank guffawed at Joe’s bad spill but made no attempt to subdue the rearing horse.

It was Pye who rushed in and grabbed the animal’s bridle, yanking him and his crashing hoofs away from the boy.

With a cry Frank had dismounted and rushed to his brother. But Joe picked himself up and brushed the dirt from his jeans.

Hank’s laughter suddenly turned into an angry frown as he saw Terry, the singing cowboy, approaching with two other horses.

“Who told yo’ to bring ‘em?” he shouted.

The little cowboy grinned, at the same time letting forth in a high tenor voice: Yo’ can’t ride a bronc The very first day Yippity-yay. Yippitay-yay!

114

The Whizzing Arrow 115

“Shut up!” Hank bellowed. “Yo’re not gettin8 paid for singin’.”

“I’m only tryin’ to make the boys feel at home,’” Terry said.

“Leave that to me,” the foreman snarled.

He turned to Pye, who had led the mean horses back into the corral.

“Look here, Indian,” he snapped. “Get these tenderfeet to work ridin’ fence.”

“Me savvy,” Pye replied. “Take other men along, too?”

“I can’t spare any good men,” Hank sneered at the Indian. “Now get goin’!”

The foreman strode off, leaving the boys with Pye. He offered to saddle the new mounts, but Frank and Joe cinched their own.

Pye mounted a little pinto and the three started for the fences.

“Boys good riders.” Pye grinned in surprise, seeing the ease with which the Hardys handled their mounts.

“We’ve done some riding back East,” Frank replied.

“Nice paint you got there, Pye,” Joe said admiringly.

Pye and his horse moved in perfect rhythm. It looked as if he and the little animal had been born riding together.

116 The Sign of the Crooked Arrow

“Him fine horse,” the Indian said proudly. “Him know two language-white man and Nav-aho.”

With that he spoke an Indian word. The pinto stopped and dropped to his forelegs. Then Pye spoke in English. The pony arose and started off again.

Pye looked at the boys gleefully. “See?” he said. “Pony ver-y smart. Never go to school, either.”

The boys laughed. “What’s his name?” Frank asked as they cantered along.

“Cherry,” the Indian replied. “Cowboy make fun with Pymatuno. Call Pye and horse Cherry Pye.” The friendly Navaho grinned until his eyes almost disappeared.

The country over which the three rode was rough and scrubby. Here and there a few cattle grazed on the green patches which dotted the terrain.

Pye’s admiration of the boys’ horsemanship was unbounded. Finding that they showed no signs of fatigue, he urged them toward the northern fence line of the ranch.

“Nice up there,” he said. “Long time ago Indian live there.”

As they neared the boundary, Frank thought he heard the distant hum of a motor. He called his brother’s attention to it.

The Whizzing Arrow 117

“Sounds like a plane,” Joe remarked, scanning the sky.

They knew that occasionally a transport passed over the area, flying at a very high altitude. But this one was low.

“There’s plane,” Pye declared, pointing over a wooded section a few miles ahead of them.

A small craft suddenly appeared and skimmed over the treetops.

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