The Mystery of Cabin Island by Franklin W. Dixon Read Free Book Online Page B

and flashed the light downward. The beam revealed a stranger, barely conscious, his legs pinned beneath the limb of a fallen pine tree.
    The man had gone face downward and his right cheek was crunched into the snow. Joe scrutinized him, but could not place the man from what he could see of his features.
    â€œFrank! BIS! Chet!” Joe called out again. “Here, by the boathouse!”
    Meanwhile, Joe attempted to free the victim, but all his strength could not budge the heavy branch. To lift it, the whole tree would have to be levered.
    â€œI’ll just have to wait for the others,” Joe realized, panting. He crouched alongside the man, trying to shield him from the biting wind and the snow.
    At last Joe saw the dim glow of flashlights moving down the slope. “Over here!” he called. “Hurry!”
    â€œJoe!” came Frank’s voice above the wind. “I can see your beam now! We’re coming!”
    Biff and Chet were close behind Frank, and the three soon reached Joe and the stranger.
    â€œWho is he?” Chet puffed excitedly.
    â€œI never saw him before,” Joe replied. “See if you fellows can hoist this branch a bit so I can pull his leg free.”
    While Joe continued to shelter the man, the others laboriously managed to raise the tree limb.
    â€œOkay—that’ll do it!” Joe said, easing the victim free. “Now let’s get him to the cabin pronto.”
    As gently as possible, the Hardy boys lifted the stranger and started up the slope—Joe supporting the man’s head and shoulders, while Frank carried his legs. Chet and Biff went on ahead to light the way and forge a trail through the drifting, deepening snow.
    Inside the cabin, Frank and Joe placed the limp form on the sofa. “The poor fellow may be in shock from exposure and pain,” Frank declared. “Chet, bring some blankets. No—don’t prop him up, Biff! Keep his head low.”
    â€œShall we try to take off his jacket?” Joe asked.
    â€œNo,” said Frank. We don’t want to move him too much. I’ll just loosen the jacket.“
    Frank did so and also pulled off the man’s boots and cap. The stranger’s hair was bristly and carrot-colored. His round face was blanched, but its rough, weather-beaten features, thickly peppered with freckles, gave him the look of an outdoorsman.
    The boys covered their patient with blankets and took turns rubbing his hands and feet to stimulate the circulation. “He’s mighty pale!” Chet whispered fearfully.
    â€œWhat do you suppose he’s doing out here on a night like this?” Biff asked.
    â€œWe’ll have to wait until he’s able to tell us,” Joe replied, and added, “I wish we knew if there are any bones broken.”
    â€œWe can’t get him to Bayport until this storm lets up,” Frank said ruefully.
    Presently the man began to stir and attempted to mumble something. “Take it easy. You’re all right,” Joe said soothingly.

    As gently as possible, the Hardys lifted the stranger
    The victim began to make weak, convulsive motions, and his mouth twitched. Finally he gasped, “Message—Hardys!”
    Frank and Joe exchanged glances of astonishment. Why had the man spoken their name?”
    The stranger, with a painful effort, articulated, “Must bring—message—to—Hardy boys!” Utterly exhausted, he lapsed into unconsciousness.
    â€œA message!” gulped Chet. “From whom?”
    Frank shook his head. “I’ve never seen this man before.”
    â€œWe’d better learn about the message,” Joe declared. “It must be urgent!”
    The Hardys gently explored the victim’s pockets, but found nothing. “We’ll have to wait until he can tell us,” Frank finally conceded.
    â€œTrying to speak may have been too much for him,” Joe said with concern. The man’s breathing had become