The Haunted Fort by Franklin W. Dixon Page A

borrowing the limousine,” said Frank. “A canoe would be fine—but the fire took care of that.”
    â€œGuess we’ll have to rent a boat,” Joe said.
    When Mr. Davenport heard of the boys’ quandary, he called them into his study.
    â€œWe can’t have you detectives grounded,” he said. “How would you like to use a Colonial bateau?”
    â€œA what?” Chet asked.
    He smiled. “A bateau was a boat used during the French and Indian campaigns.” Mr. Davenport explained that the wooden craft, resembling a modern dory, had been used by the English as well as the French for carrying supplies and for scouting. The original bateaux were up to forty-five feet long; later, they varied in length.
    â€œSounds great!” Joe broke in. “But where can we get a bateau?”
    â€œMy carpenter, George Ashbach, has a keen interest in historical boats. Out of curiosity, he put together a bateau last year. Doesn’t use it much, but I understand it’s navigable. I’m sure he’d be glad to let you boys borrow it.”
    â€œSuper!” Chet exclaimed.
    The elderly Southerner beamed. “Mr. Ashbach will be finishing up—my—er—job today. I’ll talk to him.”
    â€œAre you building something?” Joe asked.
    A devilish gleam sparkled in the patron’s eyes. He smiled, but gave no answer.
    That evening, as dusk fell, the boys sat on the bank, wondering whether they would hear the eerie drumbeats again.
    â€œI’d like to know if that French flag was lowered at sundown,” Joe commented.
    â€œBy the same ghost, maybe,” Frank said, grinning.
    Chet was not amused. “Aw, fellows!” He shivered. “Can’t we talk about something-er-cheerful ?”
    The only sound was lapping water, ruffled by a chilly breeze. Chet glanced out over the lake to the grayish islands, huddled like waiting phantom ships. Dim lights were visible across the water, but to the south, where the fort lay, all was black.
    Suddenly Chet stiffened. Out on the water, about fifty yards from where the boys sat, something broke the surface, then disappeared !
    Rooted to his place, Chet blinked and looked again, his eyes as big as half dollars.
    â€œWhat’s the matter?” Joe asked. “Do you—?”
    He broke off with a gasp as all three stared in disbelief.
    A speck of white showed on the dark water. Then an immense, curved black shadow loomed larger and larger, gliding, waving toward them.
    Chet stuttered with fear as the shadow drew near. It had a long neck and a huge glistening head, gaping jaws and long sharp teeth!

CHAPTER XII
    A Strange Tomahawk
    JUMPING up, Chet screamed. “A sea monster!”
    In a burst of foam, the phantasmal creature sank beneath the surface and again emerged, its white eyes gleaming above moving jaws.
    Frank and Joe dashed along the bank until they were abreast of the weird figure. It seemed at least thirty feet in length!
    â€œIt’s a serpent!” Joe cried out.
    They watched for the monster to surface. Then a subdued, drawling laugh broke the silence. Chet, terrified, had caught up to the brothers. The three stopped short as two figures emerged from the nearby woods.
    â€œMr. Davenport!” Joe burst out, recognizing one of them.
    â€œFrank! Joe! Chester!” The art patron grinned. “I reckon I must ask your forgiveness for being victimized by my Crown Lake monster!”
    He introduced the tall, lean man with him as Mr. Ashbach, the Cedartown carpenter.
    â€œYou mean that thing we just saw was artificial?” Joe asked.
    The carpenter chuckled. “Joe,” he said, “we had to test it on somebody, and we figured you young detectives were as tough a test as anybody.”
    Mr. Davenport nodded. “Now you know what my building project is!”
    Still mystified, the boys noticed wires in the men’s hands trailing off into the water. They began reeling