The Clue of the Screeching Owl by Franklin W. Dixon

fellows and Mr. Donner here, we’ll have eight, and that’s pretty good. Sorry I couldn’t get hold of a good dog to take along.”
    â€œThat’s all right, Sheriff,” Chet spoke up. “We have Mystery!”
    â€œOur beagle,” Joe explained hastily.
    â€œSearch party?” repeated Donner. “That sounds terribly official to me, Sheriff!”
    Sheriff Ecker shot a quick look at the smiling Donner. “Did the boys tell you what’s up?”
    â€œWell, they did say something about their captain friend being missing. He probably just went for a long hike in the woods. I’d no idea it was so important that the sheriff personally would lead a search party in these out-of-the-way parts,” he added, smiling.
    Sheriff Ecker frowned, obviously reminded of other urgent matters. Joe and Frank glanced at each other—would the man change his mind about conducting the search? But Ecker merely said:
    â€œI’d like you to come along, Mr. Donner, since you know the hollow so well.”
    â€œBy all means,” agreed the big man. “But now that you are here, come in and have a look at my little retreat, Sheriff. It’s over a hundred years old. I was just telling the boys that it used to be a hide-out for runaway slaves.”
    Hospitably, Donner conducted Ecker through the cabin, while the boys waited. Joe went to introduce himself to the three deputies.
    Chet, meanwhile, accompanied by the frisky young puppy, wandered over to the three-cornered sheep pen and peered inside. Frank stayed near the door of Donner’s house. He stared thoughtfully at the ground. Something shiny that lay deep in the tall meadow grass caught his eye. Unobserved by the others, he stooped down, examined the object, and slipped it into his pocket, just before Donner and the sheriff appeared.
    â€œReady to go, boys?” Donner boomed.
    The group now formed under his direction. Donner had put on a dapper felt hat with bright-colored trout flies hooked in the band. With an amused grin he was stuffing a long-barreled target pistol with a fancy pearl handle into his belt.
    â€œNow I feel like a real deputy,” he joked. Frank and Chet took their places with Joe.
    â€œNow, my husky young friend,” Donner went on, gripping Chet’s shoulder, “suppose you come up front with your dog. Black Hollow has two kinds of terrain, woods on the bottom and rock on the sides. We’ll take the woods first, and the rocks later.”
    Quickly the searchers were told by Sheriff Ecker to fan out in order to cover as much ground as possible. Each person was to keep the man to the right of him in plain sight, and was responsible for the area between them.
    Chet, with Mystery eagerly sniffing and straining at his homemade leash, was placed near the center, slightly in advance of the rest. Sheriff Ecker stationed himself on the left wing, and Frank and Joe had the extreme right. Donner took the middle, so he could call directions. In this order the party advanced into the thick woods on the hunt for Captain Maguire.
    The tangled undergrowth, dim light, and the numerous trees growing densely together made progress difficult and slow.
    â€œSheriff!” Donner called out. “There’s a little gully over near you. Check it. Maguire may have fallen into it.”
    In a minute the report came back, “Nobody there!”
    Another time the woodsman sang out jokingly, “You—Joe Hardy—you’ll be coming to a hollow tree. Better look and see if your friend’s inside!”
    Joe smiled faintly, but he was beginning to be annoyed at Donner’s rather lighthearted approach to the affair. “Treats the whole thing like a lark,” the young sleuth thought.
    All the while his keen eyes scanned the ground, bushes, and heavy undergrowth. Frank and Chet also were constantly on the alert.
    The search continued through the gloomy hollow. All at once, Mystery gave a