Mystery of the Desert Giant Read Online Free Page A

Blythe, where the boys would stay, the Hardy boys were surprised by the soft, warm air currents playing about their faces. Although it was nearly sundown, there was not a hint of moisture, not a trace of dew in the air.
    â€œI thought the desert nights would be cool,” Joe remarked.
    â€œNot in summer,” Smith replied. “On a night like this you can sleep outdoors with no bedroll and not get a chill. Do you plan on sleeping in the desert?”
    â€œLater. We’ll stay in town tonight,” Frank answered.
    â€œThen here’s where you want to stay,” Cooper said.
    The convertible turned into the driveway of an attractive new motel. The building itself was white and shaped like a horseshoe. The quivering blue water of a swimming pool danced in the open space, and now and then spray leaped into the air as someone dived.
    â€œLet’s camp here,” Chet agreed, piling out of the car. “They have a swell-looking restaurant!”
    The boys took a room on the second floor, located in the curved section of the horseshoe. Lugging their rucksacks, they mounted the outside staircase. Ten minutes later they were in the pool. After dressing, they enjoyed a dinner that satisfied even Chet’s appetite.
    The next morning Frank proposed that the boys visit the offices of the Daily Enterprise, Blythe’s only newspaper, and read up on the Grafton story.
    â€œAccording to Dad, two of a detective’s best friends are the newspaper and the police,” the young sleuth remarked.
    Later, after the three had studied clippings in the Enterprise’s morgue, Joe said, “Nothing new here—only that Grafton and Wetherby landed near the giant effigy outside Ripley.”
    â€œWhere’s their plane now?” Chet asked.
    â€œLet’s see ... taken to Riverside County Airport by the authorities. We’ll ask Gene Smith to let us look at it later,” Frank suggested.
    â€œNow,” said Joe, as they left the building, “let’s try the detective’s other best friend—the police.”
    Fenton Hardy’s reputation as an investigator was known even to the small Blythe police force. The chief greeted Frank and Joe warmly, but could give little new information.
    â€œYou know as much about Grafton as we do,” he admitted. “Wetherby once lived here in Blythe. But that doesn’t prove anything, either.”
    Temporarily discouraged, the young sleuths strolled down Hobsonway, the town’s main street, discussing the situation.
    â€œTell you what!” Joe suddenly proposed to his brother. “You be Willard Grafton, and Chet and I will be Clifford Wetherby!”
    â€œWha-a-t?”
    â€œI mean, you pilot the plane, and Chet and I will be passengers. We’ll make the same flight they did. We’ll see the same things from the air. We’ll land in the same place. Maybe then we’ll learn some answers.”
    â€œLet’s hope we don’t disappear in the same way!” Chet muttered.
    â€œYou’ll never disappear, Chet,” Frank needled. “There’s too much of you to hide.”
    The stout boy made a pass in self-defense. “What say we have lunch before we start?”
    After a quick meal the boys were driven by one of the motel employees to Riverside County Airport. The sun blazed upon the white buildings and the bright-colored wing surfaces of the standing aircraft. Frank and Joe wore their comfortable wide-brimmed hats, and Chet sported a new straw sombrero he had purchased.
    â€œWhew! Talk about heat,” Chet complained. “Do you know it’s 108 degrees in this sun? I just checked the airport thermometer.”
    â€œCheer up,” Joe replied. “I’ve read that the desert sand gets as hot as 165 degrees, and we’re in for some walking!”
    Chet groaned. “Why don’t we go back to that nice motel and take a siesta? That’s what the Mexicans do in this