Read Hunting for Hidden Gold Online
Authors: Franklin W. Dixon
Hunting for Hidden Gold (9 page)
Frank threw a glance over his shoulder just in time to see Slim staggering to his feet. The man's face was livid with fury.
“Jake!” he bawled at the top of his lungs. “The Hardy kids are gettin' away!”
His voice trailed off and was lost against the wind. Moments later a rifle crack echoed, but by now the boys were well out of range.
“Did you spot the men's horses?” Joe called.
“Up the mountainside, I think,” Frank yelled back. “We'd better not count on a big lead!”
The boys pushed their mounts hard, taking desperate chances along the rocky declivities. No sounds of pursuit reached their ears, and gradually Frank and Joe slowed their pace.
In about twenty minutes they topped the ridge overlooking Lucky Lode and rode down the trail into town. As their horses clip-clopped along the main street toward Hank's cabin, Frank asked, “Did you hear what that fellow Slim said about taking us to Windy Peak?”
“I sure did,” Joe returned. “It could mean that's Al's hideout. Let's search there.”
Frank nodded. “It'll be an overnight trip. We'll need supplies.”
The boys were surprised to find a battered blue station wagon parked in front of their cabin.
“Doc Whitlow's here,” Hank explained when they went inside. “He's in with your pa now.”
“Is Dad worse?” Frank asked, concerned.
“Not exactly, but he spent a kind o' restless night. And this mornin' he felt like he was runnin' a slight fever. So I fetched the doc.”
Minutes later the physician, a young man with a brown beard, emerged from Mr. Hardy's room.
“Nothing to worry about,” Doc Whitlow announced. “Apparently your father overexerted himself yesterday and irritated the fracture.”
“He shouldn't have worked on the wall,” Frank said.
“I gave him something to ease the pain,” the doctor said. “He's sleeping now.”
Doc Whitlow declined Hank's offer of lunch, saying he had to get back to his office in the nearby town of Bear Creek. After he had left, Hank prepared a meal of beans and frankfurters and sat down to eat with Frank and Joe.
“You boys just missed seein' Bob Dodge,” he remarked.
“When was he here?” Joe asked.
“Just a while 'fore you two showed up. Sayâyou boys look like you been through the mill. What happened?”
The Hardys related all that had taken place the night before, as well as the entrapment at Brady's Mine and their narrow escape from the two gang members, Slim and Jake. Hank, too, was puzzled by the Shadow of the Bear reference. The boys asked him to pass on a full report to their father.
“You mean you won't be around to tell him?”
“We're going up to investigate Windy Peak,” Frank replied. “The sooner the better.”
A worried look spread over the Westerner's leathery face. He urged the boys to be extremely cautious, now that the gang was clearly trying to get rid of them. He agreed to provide supplies for the trip, however, and to lend them his mare Daisy for use as a pack horse. Soon the boys were ready to start.
“What's the easiest way to get up Windy Peak, Hank?” asked Joe as he tightened the cinch.
“There ain't no easy way this time o' year,” the man replied. “You'll have to take an old Indian path called Ambush Trail, up near Brady's Mine. Starts about half a mile north o' the mine entrance. But watch your step.”
“Bad going?” Frank put in.
“Plenty bad. Even in summer, that trail's full o' narrow ledges and hairpin turns. Now it'll be lots worse. We had a freak thaw early this month that probably loosened quite a few boulders. Some places you'll be on icy ledges lookin' straight down the side of a cliff.”
Hank's warning proved to be fully justified. At first the trail seemed fairly easy, but as they left the timberline behind, the path narrowed and wound confusingly in and out among the rocky outcrops on the face of the mountainside.
“I'll bet even the Indians got lost sometimes on this snaky trail,” Joe remarked wryly.
On their left the mountain towered sheer above them, with precariously poised boulders and crusted drifts of snow. Half-dislodged clumps of earth and rock projected from the cliffside.
“This would be a bad place to get caught in an avalanche,” Frank observed.
Joe gulped. “Whew! Don't even think it!”
Presently the boys saw horseshoe prints in the snow. Apparently the riders, whoever they were, had cut in from some side path.
“At least we seem to be on the right trail,” Joe said tensely.
“Probably members of the gang,” Frank cautioned. “We'd better keep a sharp eye out.”
The prints faded out presently as the path became more glazed and rocky. Soon the trail narrowed so much that the boys were forced to proceed single file. Both gulped as they glanced down the cliff at the icy river below.
Joe was close behind when Frank turned a sharp corner on the trail and reined to a halt. Ahead was a huge barrier of snow, rocks, and logs.
“Must have been an avalanche,” Joe said.
Frank moved forward for a better look. “Maybe not,” he commented. “Those logs don't look like windfallsâthey could have been cut by men. Anyhowâour trail is blocked.”
After sizing up the situation, Frank and Joe decided to risk skirting the curve of the hillside, which seemed less steep at this point.
“Maybe we can get back on the trail somewhere beyond the barrier,” Joe said hopefully.
Dismounting, the Hardys started cautiously downward. Frank went first, leading his horse and Daisy. Joe followed with his mount.
For a while the footing seemed fairly sure. The Hardys had negotiated their way around part of the slope when Frank suddenly felt the ground shifting beneath his feet.
“Look out, Joe!” he cried out. “There's loose shale under this snow!”
A spatter of stones and earth went clattering down the mountainside. As the brothers scrambled for safer ground, their mounts became panicky, neighing and pawing wildly for a foothold.
The horses' bucking dislodged still more shale. The next instant, the horses and the boys went slipping and sliding downward in the landslide. All three of the animals went over on their sides in a swirl of flying hoofs.
Frank and Joe were half stunned as they tumbled on down the mountain. Below was an icy creek. Suddenly they were sailing through the air.
Crash!
...
Crash!
...
Crash!
The Hardys and their horses shattered the ice and disappeared below the surface of the mountain torrent!
CHAPTER XI
Shadow of the Bear
THE icy shock of the water stung the Hardys back to full consciousness. They flailed their arms and legs wildly, fighting to get to the surface.
Frank broke water first, gasping for breath. His heart skipped when he saw nothing but the half-frozen river, the struggling horses, and the steep-sided canyon. Where was Joe?
Then his brother bobbed to the surface nearby. “Thank goodness,” Frank murmured.
Neither boy had breath to spare to make himself heard above the roar of the rushing current. The ice extended outward from both banks, but near the center, the water was surging along in full torrent. With every passing moment, Frank and Joe were being swept farther downstream.
Joe pointed to the horses. The two saddle animals were breaking their way through the ice, gradually swimming and floundering toward shore. Daisy, the elderly pack mare, loaded down with supplies, was having a more difficult time.
“She may drown!” Frank thought fearfully.
He and Joe summoned all their strength and swam toward the frantic animals. In a few minutes their own horses managed to reach the bank. Daisy was rolling her eyes, whinnying and snorting with terror. But Frank and Joe were finally able to steer her to safety through the broken ice.
At last the boys staggered out of the water and flopped down on the rocky, snow-covered bank. The saddle horses stood shaking themselves farther up the shore, and Daisy trotted on to join them.
“Wow!” Joe took a deep breath. “What a day for a swim!”
“Joe, we're pretty lucky, at that.” Frank got up. “We'd better see about the supplies.”
“And a fireâif we can make one,” Joe added.
Both boys were shivering and blue with cold. They hurried toward the horses. At least half the provisions and gear strapped to Daisy's back had come loose and had been carried away.
“Let's get out of sight first,” Joe suggested. “Someone may be spying on us from up on the mountain.”
“Right!” Frank agreed. “I'm sure now that the barrier on the trail was no accident.”
The brothers led the horses toward some sheltering timber. Just beyond the trees they discovered a rocky recess in the mountainside. Here they grouped the horses and proceeded to survey the state of their supplies.
“Well,” Joe said, “at least it's not so bad as it might have been.”
Most of their provisions were gone, as well as their tent and other camp equipment. But they had blankets, towels, spare clothing, fishing gear, compass, matches, and some food. Luckily, everything had been packed in waterproof wrapping.
“I'm sure glad we still have that compass,” Frank remarked, as the boys unsaddled the horses and used the towels to rub down the animals.
“You bet,” Joe agreed. “If we should lose our bearings in this wilderness with our food so low, we'd really be in a jam.”
“You build a fire, Joe,” Frank suggested, “while I get out dry clothes for us.”
After donning fresh clothing in the warmth from the crackling flames, and drying their windbreakers, the Hardys soon felt more comfortable. Their horses recovered rapidly and began to nibble the shrubs and winter-dry brush sticking up through the snow.
Frank stepped out of their rocky niche and shaded his eyes toward the sun, which was already red and low in the sky. In another half hour it would be out of sight behind the mountains.
“Too late to do much traveling now,” said Frank. “We may as well camp here and strike out for Windy Peak early in the morning.”
“Okay, Frank. I'll try some fishing. That looks like a trout stream.”
He put their collapsible fishing rod together and headed off among the trees toward the bank of the river.
“Watch your step on that ice!” Frank called.
As Joe disappeared from view, his brother took out their precious compass. Using the setting sun as a reference, he checked the action of the needle to see if any magnetic ore in the range might be affecting it. The deviation, if any, seemed to be very slight.
“It's a cinch we'll never get back up the cliff to the trail,” Frank thought. “At least not here. We'll have to follow the river and try to find some place where the canyon walls are not so steep.”
“Frank! Frank!” It was Joe calling from the river. “Help! Frank, help!”
“The ice!” Frank thought. “Joe's broken through!”
Laying the compass on a flat rock, the older Hardy dashed toward the river. To Frank's amazement, Joe was in no danger. But he was sprawled flat on the ice, clinging desperately to the rod and trying not to lose the prize catch he had hooked. The fish had sounded and was bending the rod almost to a U-shape as it fought to escape.
“Quick! Give me a hand!” Joe shouted.
Frank flat-footed gingerly out onto the ice, grabbed the line, and began hauling in.
“I guess we're breaking all the rules for game fishing,” he called back with a chuckle, “but this is one fellow we can't risk losing!”
The fish put up a furious struggle that roused the boys' admiration, but they finally managed to reel in a huge cutthroat trout.
“Boy, what a swell catch!” Frank cried. “There's our supper!”
“First fish that ever decked me,” Joe said, grinning. “But then it's the first time I've ever tried trout fishing on ice.”
Back at camp, Joe set about cleaning the fish while Frank built up the fire. Suddenly Joe heard his brother gasp.
“What's wrong?”
“The compass!” Frank exclaimed. “I left it right here on this flat rock. Now it's gone!”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive. I put it exactly where this pine cone is. Wait a minute! That wasn't here before!” Frank broke off and picked up the pine cone. An exasperated look spread over his face. “You know what, Joe? A pack rat has been here!”
“I'll bet you're right!” Joe declared. “The rat picked up the compass because it's bright and shiny, and left the pine cone in its place.”
The Hardys looked at each other gravely. Any other time the situation might have been funny, but right now the compass was vital to them. Without it, they might never find their way safely out of the wilderness.
“Come on! Let's look for it!” Frank urged. “I remember reading that pack rats will often drop a prize if something else catches their eye.”
The boys began a systematic search, pacing back and forth around the camp in widening circles. At last Frank detected some faint rodent tracks in the trampled snow and soon spotted a shiny object in the cliffside brush.
Frank pounced on the compass with a cry of relief. “Whew!” he exclaimed. “What a break!”
“Better keep it in your pocket from now on,” Joe advised.
The trout, cooked over heated rocks, made a tasty dish. After the meal, the boys felt more cheerful. As they huddled around the campfire in their blankets, Frank said thoughtfully, “Tomorrow's the day for Big Al's meeting.”
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