“I’ll bet he was in the lean-to when we arrived,” Joe added. “That means he heard everything through the wall—including what Mr. Dodge—Dawson—told us about the place where he hid the gold!”
“And now Big Al’s on his way to find it!” Frank exclaimed.
The Hardys ran toward the clump of rocks and brush. Among them, well out of sight of the cabin, were the two horses Big Al had stolen from the boys. The outlaw had abandoned the extra animals when he galloped off.
“We’ll go after him!” Frank decided.
The boys rode the horses back to the cabin. Dawson was eager to accompany them in pursuit of the gang leader, but the Hardys thought it more important that he return to Lucky Lode immediately and tell their father the turn of events.
“Dad and Hank and the sheriff will be worried sick about us by this time,” Frank said. “Besides, Mr. Dawson, that knock on the head may cause some aftereffects—you should see a doctor.”
After some persuasion, Dawson agreed, although the leaden sky foreboded bad weather.
Frank and Joe quickly collected some supplies from among the provisions in the cabin. In doing so, they discovered a powerful flashlight with a blue lens—evidently the signal light beamed from the cemetery—and a complete list of the gang members, with jotted notes on how to contact them, including Hopkins’ group in Chicago.
“This should give the police all they need to smash the gang for good!” Joe exclaimed, handing the papers to Dawson.
Snow was falling as the boys mounted their horses. Dawson was ready to hit the trail for Lucky Lode with the other horses. After a final farewell Frank and Joe galloped off.
The snow was gradually obliterating Big Al’s tracks. By the time the Hardys had topped the ridge and were riding down into the valley below, the outlaw’s trail had disappeared.
“A tough break,” Frank murmured, “but at least we know the general direction he’s taking.”
An hour later they reached level ground. The sky was darkening now under a heavy overcast and wind was roaring down the valley at gale force. The brothers hunched low in the saddle as driving gusts of snow stung their faces.
Frank took the lead while the boys threaded their way among boulders and brush that studded the valley floor. Here and there drifts were accumulating and the horses’ legs sank deep into the snow at every step. Soon the snow was swirling so thickly that Frank could see only a few yards ahead. Had they made a mistake, he wondered, in pressing ahead through the storm?
“Looks as though we’re in for a real blizzard, Joe!” he yelled. “We’d better find shelter!”
Hearing no answer, Frank swung around in the saddle—then gasped. Joe was nowhere in sight !
“Joe!” Frank screamed against the wind. “Joe! Where are you?”
There was no reply.
CHAPTER XVIII
North from Lone Tree
FOR a moment Frank was panic-stricken. He shouted Joe’s name, but the howling wind drowned his voice.
Snugging his chin inside his turned-up coat collar, Frank slouched in his saddle and waited. Minutes dragged by. Again and again he called his brother’s name, but no answering cry reached his ears. Darkness was closing in rapidly now, and Frank was half numbed from the icy blast of the storm. His heart sank with every passing moment.
“It’s hopeless,” Frank decided at last. “If I sit here much longer, I’ll freeze. I must get out of the driving wind and snow.” Frank urged his horse in the general direction of the mountainside.
Presently through the swirling snow, a shapeless, rocky mass loomed in front of him. Frank guided his horse along the base of the rock, and after several minutes of plodding, found a spot that was partially sheltered by overhang. He dismounted and drew his horse in out of the blizzard.
Frank clicked on his flashlight and shone it about the area. Fringing the rock face were brownish clumps of brush—dry and brittle beneath their coating of snow.
“These will do for a fire,” Frank thought. “And it might signal Joe!”
He broke off enough of the brush to make a small pile and took out his waterproof case of matches. He struck one, then a second. Both blew out, but the third one caught. Cupping the flame in his hand, Frank held it against one of the broken twigs. In a moment the dry wood began to smolder. Bit by bit, Frank nursed the ember into a fire and soon had a roaring blaze going.
“It won’t last long, though,” he reflected as he warmed his face and hands.
By now the circle of firelight was strong enough to reveal a fallen tree several yards away. Frank managed to break off some branches and brought them back to augment his supply of firewood.
“If only Joe were here!” he thought.
Shivering, Frank walked out into the darkness. “Joe!” he shouted, his voice straining. Then again, “Joe! ...”
Frank listened intently. Suddenly his heart leaped. He had heard a cry!
Frank began yelling frantically. Several moments later a horse and rider took shape out of the snowy darkness. Frank rushed to meet them and guided Joe’s frost-rimed mount back toward the welcome glow of the firelight.
He shouted Joe’s name, but the howling wind drowned his voice
Joe himself was white from head to foot. He climbed wearily out of the saddle, shook himself off, and hunkered close to the flames while Frank attended to his horse.
“Whew!” Joe gave a long sigh of relief as the warmth of the blaze restored his numbed circulation. “Good thing you built this fire, Frank. I was about ready to give up.”
“I was hoping you might spot the light,” Frank said. “How did we get separated?”
“My carelessness,” Joe confessed. “I was looking around for signs of Big Al and sort of trusting my horse to follow yours. First thing I knew, you were nowhere in sight.”
The boys blanketed and fed their horses, then opened a can of beans and had a warm supper.
“Wonder if Big Al’s lost in the storm, too?” Joe mused drowsily.
“Probably,” Frank replied. “If he’s smart, he’ll find some kind of shelter.”
“He may already have found the mine tunnel where Dawson’s gold is hidden,” Joe pointed out.
“Let’s hope not!”
There was a long silence as the two brothers crouched close to the fire, listening to the roar of the storm. Gradually their heads drooped. It was an uneasy, uncomfortable night. Frank and Joe managed to sleep, off and on, but as the fire died down one or the other would get up and forage for more wood.
With the first clear light of dawn, the brothers were awake and preparing to hit the trail. The snow had stopped sometime during the early morning. Now the whole valley lay covered in a ghostly blanket of white.
“What’s our next move?” Joe asked as the boys ate breakfast.
“I think our best bet is to look for the lost plane,” Frank suggested. “The mine tunnel can’t be too far from there.”
Joe shook his head pessimistically. “Don’t forget, Big Al’s gang has been looking for it for a long time with no luck.”
“But they had nothing to go on,” Frank argued. “Of course Dawson’s plane fell into a gully—so it might not be too easy to spot.”
“That’s true,” Joe said thoughtfully. “Let’s see if we can get some idea of where it came down. According to Dawson, he headed north and was in the air only three or four minutes!”
The Hardys made a rough calculation, based on the probable speed of a single-engine plane of old vintage. Then, using their compass and taking a bearing on the lone sentinel pine atop the ridge, they started off toward the area where they estimated the crash might have occurred.
The horses could move only at a slow plod. Their forelegs sank knee-deep into the snow at every step. Frank and Joe—their breaths steaming in the subzero atmosphere—were forced to control their impatience.
The search continued for several hours. By late morning, both boys were discouraged. Joe, who was in the lead, reined in his horse.
“Seems pretty hopeless, if you ask me,” he said, swinging around in his saddle. “Maybe we should—”
Joe broke off with a gasp. As he turned, his eyes had suddenly detected something protuding from the snow in the distance.
“Frank!” Joe pointed off through the clear, cold air.
Frank’s eyes widened as he too saw the object. “You’re right! Let’s go check!”
Turning their horses, the boys rode toward the spot. Even before they reached it, they could make out the skeletal wing tip of a plane sticking up from a snow-choked gully.
“That’s the wreck, all right!” Frank exclaimed jubilantly. “No wonder Big Al and his gang never saw it! Those trees along the edge of the gully would screen it from the ridge!”
The boys halted to discuss the next step in their search.
“The mine tunnel must be somewhere in the mountainside,” Frank reasoned. “And it must be on this side of the valley. The other side’s miles away—Dawson couldn’t have carried the gold that far.”
“Which still gives us a lot of ground to cover,” Joe said.
The two boys rode toward the edge of the valley where the ground began to slope steeply upward.
“Dawson probably wasn’t in shape to climb very far after the crash,” Frank said. “So let’s concentrate along the lower slopes.”
The boys decided to turn left and skirt the mountainside for at least two miles. If their efforts proved fruitless, they would then retrace their steps and try the other direction.
Deep drifts and tangled underbrush made the going difficult. Several times the Hardys were disappointed. What looked like a hole in the mountainside proved to be only the shadow of trees or some rocky outcropping.
But suddenly Frank gave a cry of excitement and pointed. “There’s an opening for sure, Joe.”
The dark recess was only partly screened by a clump of underbrush. The two boys dismounted, ground-hitched their horses, and scrambled up the slope. They pulled aside the snow-laden brush and Frank shone his flashlight into the hole.
As the yellow beam stabbed through the darkness, Joe murmured, “This looks more like an ordinary cave than a mine tunnel.”
“But there is a tunnel back there,” Frank replied.
In the rear wall of the cavern, about fifty feet or more from the entrance, they could make out another hole which evidently led deep into the mountainside.
“Okay, let’s take a look,” Joe urged.
The boys entered the cave cautiously and walked toward the inner passage. Frank stopped as he heard a faint rustling noise to their left.
“Hold it, Joe.”
His brother turned quickly. A pair of glowing eyes glinted at them from the darkness.
Frank’s flashlight revealed an enormous gray wolf! Standing stiffly, the animal glared at the intruders, baring its teeth in a low growl.
Other noises reached the boys’ ears. Frank swung his flashlight around and a dozen pairs of wolves’ eyes shone in the glow like burning coals.
“Good grief!” Frank’s voice was a hoarse whisper. “We’ve walked straight into a den of wolves!”
CHAPTER XIX
Wolf Prey
FoR a moment the Hardys were paralyzed with fright.
Joe swallowed hard and whispered, “Can we make a break for freedom?”
“We can try.”
At the first step, however, the huge timber wolf nearest them gave a savage snarl. The fur on its back bristled stiffly.
Frank muttered, “One false move and that lobo will go for us. This pack acts hungry.”
There was a patter of feet in the darkness. The glowing eyes from the dim recesses circled closer. The wolves were gathering around the boys, cutting off escape through the cave entrance!
Frank could feel drops of cold perspiration trickling down his skin. “Snap on your flashlight, too, Joe. That may help hold them back.”
Joe played the beam slowly back and forth, while Frank used his.
The wolves slunk restlessly to and fro. Their lolling tongues gave them a wickedly grinning appearance, but they were wary of the lights. Now and then, as a gaunt gray form was caught in the full radiance of a beam, the animal would leap back into the shadows.
It was dear that the flashlights could not hold the beasts at bay for long. As the wolves paced back and forth, the circle was being drawn gradually tighter.
“Watch it!” Joe exclaimed suddenly.
The leader of the pack was advancing straight toward Frank, who stabbed his light full into the wolf’s greenish eyes. The brute shrank back, its ears laid flat to its head. A vicious growl issued from its throat.
Instinctively the Hardys moved a step backward. The pack seemed to sense the boys’ fear and pressed its advantage, forcing the Hardys to retreat still farther.
“Into the tunnel!” Frank told his brother.
“It may be a blind alley,” Joe warned.
“We’ll have to risk it—there’s no other way out.”
Inch by inch, the boys backed toward the tunnel opening.
“It’s not wide enough for both of us,” Joe said tensely, flashing his light quickly behind them.
“Then you go first,” Frank ordered.
They were only a few yards from the tunnel now. Joe began working his way into position behind his brother. The wolves edged closer still, growing bolder, as if they sensed that their victims were trying to escape.
Suddenly the leader gave a vicious snarl and shortened his distance from the boys with a quick leap forward. Again Frank focused his flashlight squarely into the huge beast’s eyes—but this time the wolf refused to shrink back. Frank’s heart hammered as he saw the bared fangs and slavering jaws. Any instant it would leap in for the kill!
“Quick! A rock!” Frank gasped.
Joe looked around desperately and snatched up a heavy, jagged stone. He hurled it with all his might at the wolf. The rock hit the beast squarely in the head and the wolf collapsed, with blood oozing from the wound.
A chorus of low growls rose from the pack. The wolves seemed cowed by their leader’s downfall, but their nostrils had caught the scent of blood.
“Run for it!” Frank yelled.
Joe turned and plunged into the narrow passageway. Frank followed but more slowly, keeping his light aimed back at the wolves. The pack was gathering around its downed leader, sniffing and growling at the carcass.
Suddenly Frank heard a cry from Joe. It faded abruptly somewhere in the distance.
“Joe! Are you all right?” Frank glanced around hastily but saw only darkness.
A loud snarl drew his attention back toward the main cave. Glowing eyes were peering into the passage as if the wolves were nerving themselves for a renewed attack. Frank backed away fast, hoping to keep them dazzled with the flashlight beam.
Suddenly the ground seemed to end. His foot encountered only empty space!
The next instant Frank was plunging downward through a narrow hole. Instinctively he doubled up and a moment later landed hard amid dirt and rubble.
Frank was breathless from the jolting shock. Luckily he was still clutching the flashlight. He rolled quickly to his feet and played the beam around. A surge of relief swept over him.
Joe was lying on the ground only a few feet away. He, too, had fallen through the hole, but apparently had retained enough presence of mind to roll clear before Frank fell on him.
“Whew!” Joe was struggling for breath. “Had the wind knocked out of met” As Frank helped him to his feet, he asked, “What about those wolves?”
“Guess they won’t bother us down here,” Frank replied. He shone his flashlight up the hole, which seemed to be a natural chimney in the rock, but he could see nothing.
Meanwhile, Joe was examining the area into which they had fallen. This too appeared to be a passageway, but larger than the one they had ducked into while escaping from the wolves.
“Frank—look!” Joe exclaimed.
“What’s th
e matter?”
“Timbering!” Joe’s beam picked out a few moldy uprights and crossbeams, still in position at intervals along the passage despite years of disuse. “This place is a mine tunnel!”
“You’re right!” Frank’s voice quivered with excitement. “This must be the tunnel of the Lone Tree diggings that Dawson told us about!”
“Feels like cold air coming from over there,” Joe said, glancing toward his right. A curve of the tunnel prevented them from seeing more than ten yards in that direction, but Joe reasoned, “The entrance must be at that end.”
Frank agreed and added, “So the chamber with the bluish dirt walls would be the other way. Come on. Let’s find out!”
Shining their flashlights ahead, the Hardys plodded on. The tunnel was wide enough for them to proceed side by side, but at times they had to duck their heads to avoid bumping them on a crossbeam or a low-hanging clump of rock. Presently the boys’ excitement grew as they noticed blue-gray streaks appearing in the earth of the tunnel walls.
“There it is!” Frank cried suddenly.
Far ahead, dimly revealed by the glow of their flashlights, the tunnel opened out into a wider cavern. The boys sprinted forward eagerly. As they burst into the underground chamber, Joe gave a low shout of triumph.
The walls of the cavern were veined with bluish clay!
“This is the place, all right!” Joe exclaimed.
The Hardys excitedly shone their flashlights around the chamber. Several rusty picks and shovels lay scattered about, abandoned by the miners who had worked there many, many years before. The floor of the cavern was hard-packed, but in a few moments Frank and Joe discovered a heap of earth which looked as though at some time it had been dug up, then replaced.
“Grab a shovel, Joe!” Frank said. “I’ll bet this is where Dawson buried the gold! Let’s see if it’s still here!”
Both boys set to work. Though the spot was not rocky, the digging was difficult. Frank exchanged his shovel for a pick and began loosening the earth. Then he switched to a shovel again and helped Joe scoop out the dislodged dirt and gravel. After several minutes the Hardys were streaming with perspiration from the exhausting job.
Hunting for Hidden Gold Page 11