Danger on Vampire Trail (11 page)

After Frank had driven about a mile, Biff said, “Vampire Trail is up ahead to the right.”

Frank slowed down. Dense foliage hung over the trail which showed scant evidence of use. Years ago it probably had been used as a logging road.

Joe was surveying the area to the left. The hills sloped gradually to a spot sheltered by a screen of pine trees.

“Let's camp up there,” he suggested. “That's plenty private.”

“Good idea,” Biff agreed. “Then we can keep an eye on Vampire Trail.”

“Okay,” said Frank. He turned left and drove across the shoulder of the road, then carefully wound his way upward among the trees and low bushes. When he stopped, they were about fifty feet from the road, looking down at a thirty-degree angle.

“Boy, we're hidden and yet we can see everything!” Chet chortled.

He and Biff offered to set up the camper, while Frank and Joe rode the bike back to the trailer park to continue the search for Whip Lasher. When purple shadows began to creep into the meadow, the Hardys decided to return to their campsite.

Chet was busy with the skillet when they arrived. “We had a nice quiet afternoon,” he stated. “A little snooze and plenty to eat.”

“Did anyone go up Vampire Trail while we were gone?” Joe asked.

“No,” Chet replied.

Biff, who had hiked through the woods with Sherlock, had nothing to report either besides sighting four startled deer.

Shortly after they had gone to bed, the boys heard the put-put of a trail bike. Frank and Joe scrambled out of their sleeping bags and ran to look through the pine trees down to the road below.

“It's going up Vampire Trail,” Joe said.

The bike's lamps bobbed and swerved along the rough, twisting trail. Finally the light disappeared from view.

“Come on, Joe. Let's follow.”

It was agreed that Chet and Biff would guard the trailer while the Hardys went up the mountain. They dressed hurriedly, took their flashlights, and started up the trail. The sound of the bike's motor grew fainter.

After several hundred yards, Frank paused. “Joe, listen. Do you hear anything?”

Except for the rhythmic song of the peepers the woods were silent.

“The bike has stopped,” Joe declared. “In that case, we've got to be very carefuL Let's not walk together.”

They split up, Frank taking the left side of the trail, Joe the right. They moved along quietly, using their flashlights as sparingly as possible. Occasionally they signaled each other by winking the lights briefly.

The trail became steep. Frank climbed over a low boulder and slipped. With a grunt he landed on his stomach. Had there been another outcry at the same time? Frank was not sure. When he regained his footing, he flashed to signal Joe. There was no return blink!

Frank's heart pounded. Dared he risk discovery by calling out to his brother? He flashed again. Still no response.

Frank crawled to the opposite side of the path and began a methodical search—from the edge of the trail twenty feet into the dense woods and back again. “Joe, where are you?” he whispered hoarsely.

All was silent. Frank reasoned that if he continued to search alone he, too, might be assailed by the unknown enemy. It would be more practical if Biff and Chet joined in the hunt.

Frank hurried to the trailer and told the others what had happened.

“What if the vampire bats got Joe!” Chet cried.

“Sherlock will find Joe,” Biff said.

He let the dog sniff the boy's sleeping bag. Then they set off. This time they did not take the precaution of dousing their ftashlights. Speed was essential.

After a while Frank said, “It was right about here that I slipped.”

“Look, there's Joe!” Biff exclaimed.

The boy lay in the middle of the trail. Hearing the others, he sat up groggily. Sherlock went up and licked his face.

“Joe, what happened?” Frank asked as he and Biff helped his brother to his feet.

“Remember when you slipped?” Joe said. “Just then I heard a rustling behind me. I was kayoed by a blow across my back.”

“Was it a bear?” Biff inquired.

“No. Whoever walloped me carried me up here to the middle of the trail.”

“Let's look at your neck,” Chet said. He shone his light on the open collar of Joe's shirt.
There was a red welt!

“What'd I tell you?” Chet quavered. “The vampire bat struck again!”

Joe regained his strength gradually. By the time they reached the foot of the mountain, he was matching strides with the other three. Back at the camp, Chet applied medication to the welt.

It was hard to settle down for the night. All were too excited about what had happened. Frank said, “Somebody must be camping on the trail.”

“That's what I think,” Joe agreed. “It might be a hideout for Whip Lasher and the other credit-card crooks.”

“That's right;” Biff said. “They're sportsmen, aren't they?”

“Great sports!” Chet muttered. “When they hit you and you're not looking!”

The boys listened for an hour, but there were no sounds of the trail bike returning.

“If it's up there, we're going to find it!” Joe vowed.

“You can say that again,” Frank said.

After breakfast the next morning Frank decided to report the attack on Joe to the forest ranger, Herb Johnson. He and Biff cycled to Blackfoot Meadow, but the ranger was not at the information booth. On the counter were maps of the area. Frank took one.

As he turned to show it to Biff, his eyes lighted on a fringed buckskin jacket. The man wearing it was hurrying across an open area toward a trailer parked among the trees.

“That could be Whip Lasher!” Frank exclaimed. “Come on, Biff!”

But instead of going to the trailer, the man in the fringed jacket waved at a car driving past. It stopped to pick him up, then drove out of the park toward Snowcap.

Frank and Biff ran to their bike, jumped on, and followed. It irked Frank that he had not gotten a look at the man in the buckskin jacket. He gave the cycle full throttle and it gained on the car ahead.

Suddenly the motor began to sputter. They slowed down and came to a halt beside the road.

“Oh nuts!” Frank said. “It would conk out just now!”

“Sounds as if there's dirt in the fuel line,” Biff said. He opened a small tool kit slung under the seat and soon found the source of the trouble. “Dirty gasoline, just as I thought,” he added.

Quickly he cleaned the fuel line, then the boys set off again. By the time they reached Snowcap, the trail had been lost completely.

“No telling where they went,” Frank said as he stopped on the main street.

“My guess is that Mr. Buckskin is right here in Snowcap,” Biff said.

“Could be. Let's take a look around.”

The boys walked up and down the streets. Although they saw several men wearing buckskin, none was the notorious Whip Lasher.

Frank decided to take this opportunity to question local merchants about the Magnacard. Going from one shop to another, he asked discreetly if the owner had any trouble with Magnacard holders and presented Lasher's picture.

He was told that some clients had Magnacards, but there had been no swindles. At Burn's Jewelry Shop, however, the proprietor said he would take no more Magnacards.

“Did you get stuck?” Biff asked.

The jeweler nodded. “Someone bought a big sapphire from me on a Magnacard which proved to be fake.” A hard look came over his face. “When I get hold of that crook, he's going to pay for it!”

“You'll have to leave that up to the police,” Frank said. He pulled out Lasher's photo. “Is this the man?”

Burn studied it intently. “No.”

“Can you describe the swindler?”

“Well, his face was round, too. Like this fellow in the photograph. But his hairline was higher. He was dark-haired and not very tall.”

“What was the name on the Magnacard?”

“Minks. John Minks.”

“By the way,” Frank went on, “where do you buy your sapphires?”

The man seemed startled by the question. He forced a smile and replied, “That's my professional secret!”

 

 

 

 

On the way back to their camp Frank called out over the rushing wind, “What do you make of this, Biff?”

“Strange that Burn wouldn't tell us where he got the sapphire. Maybe he bought it from Fingers!”

“I wonder where Fingers got those stones.”

“So do I. As far as Minks is concerned,” Biff said, “no doubt he's one of Lasher's gang.”

They decided to stop at the state park grocery store to buy some bottles of soda. As they turned into the entrance, they saw Joe leaning against the Hardys' car.

Frank stopped. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for Chet and Sherlock,” Joe replied with a look of exasperation. He explained that they had driven the car into camp after Frank and Biff had not come back, thinking they might need some help.

“What happened to you?” Joe asked. “We couldn't find you anywhere.”

Frank told about the latest developments, then added, “So now Chet's lost?”

“Don't worry,” Biff said. “He must be around somewhere. Just ask the campers if they've seen a left tackle with a hound dog.”

They followed Biff's suggestion. Several people indicated that they had seen Chet near the psychedelic trailer! The trio walked up to it and Joe knocked on the door.

“Come in,” Chet called out. They entered.

There sat Chet in Prince Cuthbert's chair. On his head was the jeweled helmet. Beside him on a velvet cushion lay Sherlock.

“Chet, are you out of your ever-loving skull?” Joe demanded.

Chet grinned benignly. “Lower your voice when speaking to royalty,” he said with a wave of his hand.

“What's this all about?” Frank asked.

“I'm minding the trailer while His Highness is out on an errand. And you know what he's giving me for doing it?”

“No, what?”

“Half the city of London!”

“You're in the money,” Joe quipped. “What are you going to do with half of London?”

“Quit ribbing me. You know that old geezer doesn't have all his marbles.”

“I'm beginning to have my doubts about you, Chet,” Frank said. “What's all this business with the fancy helmet?”

“I was wondering what it feels like to be a descendant of King Arthur,” Chet replied.

“Aside from all that nonsense,” Joe said, “I don't trust the prince.”

“I think he's harmless enough,” Frank put in.

The Hardys and Biff left Chet and resumed their search for Whip Lasher, on the chance he had returned to the campsite. Two hours later they went back to Prince Cuthbert's trailer. Chet was impatient.

“He said he'd be back soon,” the boy moaned, glancing at his watch. “I didn't know he was going to
abdicate!”

Biff laughed. “In that case, that makes you the lord and master!”

Just then the door handle turned and the prince entered. “Sorry—so sorry,” he said.

“You took a long time,” said Chet, removing the jeweled headpiece. “Where were you?”

“In Snowcap.”

“Oh,” Joe said. “Were you hobnobbing with American aristocracy?”

“No, none of that,” Prince Cuthbert replied testily. “I was trying to sell some gems to a jeweler.”

Frank asked quickly, “Are they sapphires?”

“Yes. How did you know?”

“Just a guess. Did you sell them?”

“My venture ended in complete failure,” the prince replied. “The jeweler said he had plenty of sapphires.”

“What a pity,” said Joe, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. “My mother wants a sapphire for her birthday. Let's see what you have to offer.”

Cuthbert took a pouch from his pocket and dropped several stones into the palm of his hand. They were uncut, the kind that Fingers had in his guitar.

Joe studied them carefully, then looked the prince straight in the eye and asked, “Where did you get these?”

“I bought them at a bargain.”

“From whom?” Joe pressed.

“Three lads I met here at the park,” Cuthbert answered. “They were an odd assortment.” The eccentric went on to describe the Terrible Trio perfectly.