Hunting for Hidden Gold

by Franklin W. Dixon

  “He must be holed up among those rocks,” Frank said. “Probably waiting for us!”

  He had hardly finished speaking when Joe clutched his brother’s arm and pointed. “Look! There he is!”

  Big Al had suddenly appeared, clawing his way to the very top of the jutting boulder!

  “He’s trapped!” Frank cried out triumphantly. “Let’s get him!”

  CHAPTER XVI

  Cliff Hideaway

  “YOU’LL never take me alive!” screamed Big Al.

  He had reached the top of the huge boulder and now stood waving his arms against the leaden sky. The outlaw was jumping around as though half-crazed.

  “Try to get me!” he challenged.

  As Frank and Joe sped into the jumble of rocks, they lost sight of their quarry momentarily. They could hear Big Al still yelling, then suddenly there was silence.

  “Wonder what happened?” Joe panted. “Did—”

  He was interrupted by a long-drawn-out scream which gradually trailed off. Then there was silence.

  Dashing from the rocks, the boys came around a corner. Before them was the huge boulder.

  “He’s gone!” Joe panted.

  “But where?”

  There was no place for Big Al to have run except down the rocky trail on which the boys had been.

  “He must have jumped over the edge!” Joe yelled. The Hardys ran to it. They could see most of the canyon floor below them. There was no sign of a body.

  “He must have gone down!” Frank said, puzzled. “But where is he?”

  The boys looked closely again in the waning light. There was no one in sight.

  “I wonder—” Joe said slowly. “Even if Big Al did go over the side, he may have known a safe way to slide to the bottom, and there might be some hiding place—”

  Frank agreed. “Big Al’s pretty tricky. He could have figured out some way to escape.”

  As the light failed, the brothers strained their eyes to peer into the darkness, but could detect no niche, crevice, or cave in which to hide.

  “Well,” Frank murmured at last, “there isn’t much we can do tonight. I sure hate to think Big Al is roaming around here loose.”

  Joe looked toward the sky. It was dark now and they were a long distance up Windy Peak. “What’ll we do, Frank?” he asked.

  “The only thing we can do,” said his brother, “is spend the night here. Tomorrow we might manage to find some trace of Big Al. I want to know if he’s dead or alive.”

  “I do, too!” Joe exclaimed.

  “We’ll have to make camp,” Frank said, “but first we’d better do something about our horses.”

  “Yes, and Big Al’s, too,” Joe added, pointing toward the outlaw’s fine roan that was still ground-hitched.

  The boys gathered the three animals together, rode back to the fork, and secured the horses to rocks.

  “These old fellows will provide us with a good warning system,” Frank remarked.

  “How?” his brother asked.

  Frank explained his idea. “We’ll leave them here and go part way back along the trail to make camp. If Al is alive he’ll have to come past here, since all three trails meet at this spot. He’ll want his roan, anyway. The horses would be sure to whinny and waken us.”

  “Good scheme!” said Joe. “We’ll camp at the Rock Motel!”

  “Every comfort and all for free,” Frank joked.

  The boys ate, fed the horses, then carted their bedrolls and meager supplies to a sheltered spot and quickly spread out the blankets. Though the brothers were tired, sleep was slow in coming.

  “I can’t help wondering if Big Al is tricking us again,” Frank said uneasily as he was finally drifting off.

  He dreamed several times about the outlaw and tried to figure out why he and Joe had not seen Big Al’s body in the gorge. Both boys slept fitfully through the night.

  As the blackness of the sky began to lighten with the coming of dawn, they got up and ate a cold but nourishing breakfast of oranges, oatmeal cookies, and egg flakes. Refreshed, the boys walked toward the edge of the cliff over which Big Al had disappeared.

  “We may be able to see something more in the daylight,” Joe remarked.

  Frank had been staring into the gray, lowering sky. “I doubt if there’s anything to see,” he observed.

  “What do you mean?”

  Frank scanned the sky once more. “I think we’ve been fooled again,” he answered. “If there had been a body down in the gorge, there’d be carrion birds flying around.”

  “Of course,” said Joe.

  “I wondered about it last night, but thought maybe because it was so late there wouldn’t be any birds at work. But some would be here this morning, if there was anything to attract them.”

  “Let’s look over the edge again,” Joe suggested.

  The brothers dropped to their stomachs and crept as close as they could to the rim. By leaning well over it, they could look almost to the base of the cliff.

  “See anything, Joe?”

  “Not a thing.”

  Suddenly, from far below, came the rattle of small pebbles. A great black raven flew out of the precipice.

  “There must be a nest in the cliff!” Joe cried out.

  The boys edged forward over the rough stones. They held on as tightly as possible before leaning over to locate the nest.

  “There it is!” exclaimed Frank.

  Below them in a recess that nature had torn in the cliffside was the bird’s nest and alongside it enough room to give a man shelter.

  “That was Big Al’s hiding place!” Frank said grimly. “He swung down there to the left and probably got away during the night.”

  Frank and Joe crawled back from the cliff’s edge until they could stand up in safety.

  “He fooled us all right,” said Frank. “I wonder how long it was before he left here.”

  “Maybe,” Joe suggested, “it depended on the horses. I’ll bet he waited until just before dawn and then stole them!”

  Frank was angry. “Of course. His horse would know him, and since the three animals have been together and gotten to be friends, none of them would whinny an alarm. I should have realized that.”

  The boys dashed for the fork. Their guess had been right! The horses were gone! And taken up the steeper branch!

  “Al did trick us!” Frank chided himself.

  “Now he’s really got us in a spot,” murmured his brother. “Do we head for home or trail him?”

  “Trail him,” Frank decided promptly. ‘We’ll have to walk, of course.”

  “Can we make it up there?” Joe sounded worried.

  “I don’t know, but we’ll have to try.”

  The brothers huddled in the shelter of a rock to discuss the situation. What lay ahead? They realized it might be a long and treacherous climb —perhaps another night without hot food and proper shelter. They noticed it was growing colder and that was a bad sign too. It was not only going to be uncomfortable for the Hardy boys, but they could easily freeze to death!

  “Come on, Joe!” Frank said resolutely as he started up the steep trail. “We’re not going to let Big Al get away!”

  Joe joined his brother and together they started the climb along this part of Ambush Trail. The turns were abrupt and the wind whistled sharply. Once Joe had to snatch Frank back when the wind nearly blew him over the edge.

  For hours the boys toiled along the trail, following the string of horseshoe prints. During the afternoon, the marks made an abrupt turn that opened onto a plateau. It was almost completely surrounded by jagged outcroppings of rocks. The boys ducked down out of the strong wind which had swept the area almost clean of snow.

  Suddenly their eyes bulged as they spotted a small cabin that lay nestled in the center of the little plateau! From its chimney came a thin wisp of smoke.

  “Somebody’s here!” said Joe excitedly, and instinctively began to run.

  “Wait!” Frank warned. “It might be Big
Al. We’d better approach cautiously. Say, Joe—look !”

  On a ridge beyond the cabin was a single weather-beaten pine tree.

  “The lone pine!” Joe exclaimed.

  “Yes,” said Frank, “and if it is, that building might be Mike Onslow’s cabin—now occupied by Big Al!”

  CHAPTER XVII

  The Secret Listener

  As THE boys paused uncertainly, pondering their next move, the cabin door opened. A tall, white-haired man strode out and waved to them.

  “Hi there!” he called. “Looking for shelter?”

  The boys gasped as they recognized him.

  “It’s Mr. Dodge!” Joe exclaimed.

  “Can we trust him?” Frank muttered. “If he is in cahoots with the gang, Big Al may be in there, waiting to jump us.”

  Joe shot his brother a quick glance. “If we run for it, they may come after us shooting!”

  “Guess we’ll have to play this by ear,” Frank said in a low voice. “Better pretend we don’t suspect anything—but be ready to act fast if we spot a trap.”

  The Hardys walked toward the cabin.

  “What are you doing up here, Mr. Dodge?” Joe asked when they drew closer.

  A bewildered look came over the man’s face. “Dodge?” he repeated. “My name is Dawson—Bart Dawson. I worked a claim up here with Mike Onslow and the Coulson brothers.”

  The boys stopped short in astonishment.

  “That’s right,” Dodge went on. His manner seemed strange. “I—I’d better explain,” he added. “Come on inside and I’ll tell you the whole story. Maybe you boys can help me.”

  Frank and Joe looked at each other. Both had a hunch as to what Dodge was about to tell them.

  “Okay, let’s go,” Frank murmured to Joe.

  The brothers entered and Dodge closed the door. The cabin had a “lived-in” appearance. There were cans of food and other supplies on the shelves, and a pile of firewood beside the potbelly stove.

  “Sit down, boys.”

  Frank and Joe found chairs, but Dodge remained standing. He sighed and ran his fingers through his thick shock of white hair, as if he scarcely knew how to begin. He had a livid, swollen bruise on his right temple.

  “Can you lads imagine what it’s like to wake up suddenly and not know where you are or how you got there?” the big man said at last. “To have a complete blank in your memory?”

  “A blank twenty-five years long?” Joe put in.

  Dodge looked startled. “I don’t know how you guessed it, son, but you must be just about right. Last time I recall, I was a young man with red hair and a beard. Also I was very skinny. But now when I see myself”—he gestured toward a small cracked mirror—“my hair’s white, I’m years older, and I’m much heavier.”

  “Do you recognize us?” Frank queried.

  The man shook his head. “No—and I’ve been wondering why you called me Dodge.”

  “Because you’ve been going under the name of Bob Dodge,” Frank replied.

  “Same initials—B.D.—but a different identity,” Joe added.

  After introducing himself and his brother, Frank went on, “You spoke about waking up suddenly. Where?”

  “In some woods near a cabin,” the man answered. “Felt as if I’d hit my head—or been hit —and there was a big swelling on my temple. Do you fellows know what happened?”

  “You were conked with a flashlight,” Joe told him.

  Frank leaned forward and asked, “Can’t you remember anything about a fight inside a cabin?”

  Bart Dawson frowned in deep thought. Finally he shook his head. “No. I tried to figure how I’d got to the woods, but nothing came back to me.”

  “What did you do next?” Frank said.

  “Well, I staggered out of the woods. It was dark, but I was close to someone’s cabin. I knocked on the door, but—no answer.”

  “Is that any reason to steal two horses?” Joe asked accusingly.

  Dawson flushed. “You seem to know all my actions. I guess it was pretty highhanded, helping myself like that. But believe me, I intended to bring them back.”

  “Just why did you take them?” Frank asked. “If you were confused, you could have gone into town for help.”

  “I guess so,” Dawson admitted. “But the main street was dark and no one seemed to be stirring. Besides, I—well, I’d have felt pretty foolish waking people up and confessing I was mixed up.

  “All I knew,” the man went on, “was that my name was Bart Dawson and I had to find my partners fast. It seemed terribly urgent for me to get back up here to our cabin on Windy Peak. There were two horses in the stable, so I helped myself to ’em and hit the trail. I took the pack horse,” he added, “because it was carrying blankets and a few supplies which I figured I might need in case I got lost and had to camp in the open.”

  “When did you arrive here?” Frank asked.

  “Yesterday afternoon. The place was empty, but there was some food.”

  Frank and Joe concluded this was the gang’s hideout.

  “When I saw myself in the mirror,” Dawson went on, “I realized how many years must have gone by.” His voice broke. He slumped down on a bunk and put his head in his hands. “If you boys can fill me in at all,” he said, “I’d sure appreciate it.”

  Frank and Joe explained to Dawson that under the name Dodge, he had been operating a successful armored-car business in Helena for ten years. Where he had been before that, they did not know. The boys also told him how he had engaged their father, Fenton Hardy, to run down a gang of robbers and how his sons had been brought into the case. Frank ended by telling Dawson about his fight with Burke at Hank Shale’s cabin, and how a trap had been baited for Burke later, which resulted in the capture of Slim and Jake.

  The white-haired man on the bunk shook his head hopelessly. “Thanks for telling me this, boys. But I still can’t remember a thing about my life as Bob Dodge.”

  “What’s the last thing you do remember?” Joe pressed him.

  Slowly Dawson began to relate how he and his partners had been besieged in this very cabin by Black Pepper’s gang.

  “We heard about that from Mike Onslow,” Frank put in. “He’s a trapper now, back East. The two Coulson brothers are dead.”

  Dawson swallowed hard. “I’m sorry to hear that.” After a moment he continued, “Anyhow, I remember taking off in the plane and heading north. But after three or four minutes the engine failed—and the ship crashed.”

  “You couldn’t have gone far in three or four minutes,” Joe said thoughtfully.

  “No, that’s right,” Dawson agreed, frowning. “I think I came down in the big valley beyond Lone Tree Ridge.”

  “Then what?” Frank asked.

  Dawson got up from the bunk and paced back and forth. “The plane hit hard and cartwheeled over into a sort of little gully somewhere along the valley floor. I must have blacked out for a while. When I came to, I had a terrible pain in my head.”

  “You walked away from the wreck?” asked Joe.

  “Yes. I was worried about Black Pepper getting the gold and the fact that Mike Onslow and the Coulson boys had entrusted it to me. Don’t know how I managed, weak as I was, but somehow I got the sacks of gold out of the plane.”

  “What did you intend to do?” Frank inquired.

  Dawson rubbed his head painfully. “I’ve been concentrating on that ever since I arrived at the cabin,” he replied. “I recall knowing I couldn’t lug the gold very far, and that I wanted to hide it in a safe place. Some landmark in the valley must have reminded me of an old abandoned mine called the Lone Tree diggings.”

  “Is that where you took the gold?” Joe asked.

  “It must have been,” Dawson said. “Anyhow, I remember finding a tunnel opening—and at the end of the tunnel a big excavation with bluish dirt walls. That’s where I hid the gold.”

  “Can you remember anything more?” Frank urged.

  “Not much. Guess I tried to reach help. But i
t was bitter cold and snowing and I must have lost my way. Seems as if I wandered for a long time—plodding along blindly, falling, getting up, and staggering on. After that, everything’s a blank.”

  “The crash and the terrible hardships you went through must have brought on amnesia,” Joe said.

  “And the blow Burke gave you that night triggered your mind into recalling the past,” Frank added.

  “Incidentally,” Joe put in, “we’re pretty sure that Black Pepper and the gang leader Big Al are the same man.”

  Dawson frowned again. “You said I was running a business up in Helena,” he murmured. “In that case, why was I hanging around Lucky Lode? Your father was handling the detective work.”

  “We wondered about that ourselves,” Frank admitted. “In fact, it made us suspect that you might be in with the gang. But maybe you were trying to dig up your past. I have a hunch this territory around Lucky Lode could have rung a bell in your mind.”

  Suddenly all three were startled by the whinny of a horse. Frank and Joe leaped from their chairs and dashed outside, followed by Dawson. A man on horseback had just emerged from a clump of rocks and brush. He was headed toward the ridge.

  “That’s Big All” Joe cried.

  A thought flashed into Frank’s mind. Around the windward sides of the cabin lay an area of drift snow. Frank ran toward it. As he had feared, fresh tracks were visible leading toward and away from the lean-to shed at the back.

  “He was here!” Frank called angrily. As the others joined him, he pointed to the prints in the snow. “I’ll bet Big Al was hiding in the shed! He must have heard everything!”

  The Hardys and Dawson hurried into the shed. Joe’s saddle horse and Daisy, the pack mare—the animals Dawson had taken from Hank’s cabin—were peacefully munching hay at the feedbox. Dawson was mystified, but Frank and Joe quickly reconstructed what must have happened.

  “The gang’s been using this cabin as their hideout,” Joe said. “Big Al must have reached here just before we did. When he saw the smoke, Big Al figured he’d better scout the situation.”

  “Right,” Frank agreed. “He circled around the cabin toward that clump of brush, left the horses there, and sneaked up from the rear.”