Free Night of the Werewolf by Franklin W. Dixon Page A

wolves were accounted for, Virgil hastily moved the jeep so as to block any further escape through the hole in the fence. Then, using tools and wire from a repair kit mounted on the back of the vehicle, he and the boys wired the ripped fencing back in place. There was no doubt that it had been cut deliberately.
    â€œWho’d do such a thing?” Frank asked.
    â€œYou’d be surprised,” Virgil said wryly. “I’ve had all sorts of trouble ever since I started my wolf farm. Most people hate wolves and think they should all be wiped out.”
    â€œMaybe they would be, if it weren’t for people like you and your wife,” said Joe.
    Alec Virgil smiled and nodded. “Yep, Mary and I love the critters. When the mother wolves bring out their pups to show us every spring, the little ones are rather like our own grandchildren.”
    He explained that the she-wolves burrowed underground dens in which to raise their litters. At night, the wolf “families” were kept in separate pens or runs, instead of ranging freely over the whole preserve.
    â€œWhich gives you double protection against a break-out?” Joe remarked.
    â€œThat’s right. Good thing, too, with this werewolf foolishness going on. I don’t intend to give people around here any excuse to blame those so-called werewolf attacks on my critters!”
    â€œHow come we didn’t hear that whistle you blew?” Chet asked as they drove back to the house. “Was it ultrasonic?”
    â€œYep, it’s inaudible to human ears, but my lobos hear it! Usually it’s the signal for feeding time, but they’re trained to respond any time I whistle.”
    â€œHey!” Frank suddenly snapped his fingers. “That may explain it!”
    â€œExplain what?” Joe inquired.
    â€œWhat happened Saturday night at the Bayport Diner! Look, Mr. Virgil blew that ultrasonic whistle for his wolves to come, and he used the meat as an extra scent lure.”
    â€œSo?” Joe looked puzzled.
    â€œMaybe that phony werewolf we saw was trained like an attack dog, and its owner swiped my jacket as a scent guide to clue it in to our group!”
    â€œI’ll bet you’re right!” said Joe, catching on. “He let the animal sniff your jacket so it would know to attack you when we came out of the diner. Then Chet and the others rushed to help us, and he blew an ultrasonic whistle to call his critter back.”
    â€œWhat are you talking about?” Alec Virgil asked.
    After they went into the house again to finish their doughnuts and coffee, they explained what had happened, and Virgil agreed that Frank’s theory was a very likely one. Joe inquired about the stuffed wolf that had been shown in the newspaper photo. “I don’t see it anywhere,” the boy remarked.
    â€œI sold it—or thought I did,” Alec Virgil replied. “Turned out to be just another dirty trick.”
    He explained that he had received a phone call after the picture appeared in the Hawk River Herald. The caller, pretending to be a wealthy donor, said he wanted to buy the wolf and present it as a gift to the Mountain View Natural History Museum.
    â€œThat lobo had been a special pet of Mary’s and mine,” Virgil went on, “and we hated to part with it. But the caller offered us a thousand dollars.”
    Since the wolf farm existed on occasional grants and donations from animal lovers and the admission fees paid by sightseers, meeting the monthly bills was often a struggle. So the couple finally agreed to sell their beloved specimen.
    â€œA truck came and picked it up,” Virgil told the boys, “and the driver left a check which turned out to be worthless. When I called the museum, the curator knew nothing about it and said he had never received the wolf.”
    Later, back at the cabin, the boys were about to sit down to an early supper when the telephone rang. Joe answered and