The Hooded Hawk Mystery by Franklin W. Dixon

there’s nothing wrong with us that some food and a night’s sleep won’t cure.”
    â€œYou bet,” Frank spoke up, also trying to make light of their ordeal. “Anything left from the fish fry?”
    â€œCome and get it!” Iola said.
    While they were eating, the boys told the others of their strange experiences in the woods. Chet’s father said that he would try to find out if Mr. Smith had posted the warning signs and why.
    â€œTomorrow we’ll go back and investigate the place, anyway,” Joe declared.
    The Mortons and Callie begged the boys to be on their guard.
    The following day was a cold and dreary one for August, but after breakfast Frank declared he felt well enough to further investigate the woods near the Morton farm. He proposed that they take Ahmed along on their exploration.
    â€œIf we do run into a group of Indians, his knowledge will come in mighty handy.”
    Joe agreed. “I’ll phone him. You get the car.”
    Ahmed, amazed to hear about the incident with the goshawk and the attacks on the boys, was eager to go. The boys asked Mrs. Hardy to keep an eye on the falcon, then set off in the convertible to pick up Ahmed at his bungalow. The rug dealer was hardly seated when he said tensely:
    â€œIf you have really found the hideout of these despicable smugglers and can bring them to justice, India will never be able to repay you.”
    Remembering the small pouch he had found in the woods, Frank pulled it out of his pocket and handed it to Ahmed. “I picked this up in the woods yesterday. Do you think it might be a clue?”
    Ahmed’s eyes narrowed as he scrutinized the bag and its contents. Then he said cryptically, “I believe this is indeed a clue in your search. These are betel nuts. Only lower-caste Indians chew them.” Ahmed turned to Frank. “The person who attacked you and your friend may be one of the smuggled men or a servant to an Indian of wealth.”
    The Hardys looked at each other. The kidnapped Tava, perhaps? He was indeed one of great wealth. They wondered whether to tell Ahmed of Tava’s disappearance, but decided not to do so unless it became necessary. “At least we should ask Mr. Delhi’s permission first,” they reflected.
    A short time later Frank turned the car into the Morton driveway and Chet joined them at the barn. The foursome set out for the woods, taking a different route from the trail they had followed the previous day which Frank thought was closer. But a new obstacle presented itself—a long, impenetrable wall of vines and branches.
    Ahmed paused and studied the barrier carefully. “These vines and branches,” he said, “have been woven together by master craftsmen. Whoever had this constructed is indeed anxious to keep out strangers.”
    â€œI’ve never seen anything like it,” said Frank. “Have you, Ahmed?”
    â€œYou have heard tales of the beaters who go out to stir up the tiger and the wild boar? They often use this weaving technique to make sure the animals will not escape while the hunter is moving in with his elephant, or the pig-sticker with his lance.”
    â€œWhat we need is a machete!” Joe remarked.
    Ahmed and the three boys picked up stout pieces of fallen tree limbs and started to beat their way through. Now and then they stopped to listen for sounds that might indicate trouble. But apparently they were alone in the woods.
    Presently a disturbing thought came to Frank. “It looks,” he said, “as though we may have frightened our attackers away from the woods permanently.”
    Joe nodded but made no comment. Finally the searchers broke through the thick mesh of vines, spotted a fairly well-marked trail, and went ahead.
    They walked for some time, searching carefully for clues, but saw nothing suspicious. Presently the foliage began to thin out. Frank held up a hand for silence. Then, dropping to his knees,