Just then a powerful beam of light flashed into the eyes of the trio. Two men carrying rifles appeared. “Okay, you guys. On your feet. Reach for the stars!”
There was nothing to do but obey.
It was only when they stood up that Frank became aware of Joe’s absence. “Good boy,” he thought. Joe’s escape was the only hope for rescue!
The three were escorted to the fire, gun muzzles prodding them in the back. As they approached, they got a better look at Pick.
His high forehead was crowned by disheveled blond hair. His eyes looked green in the flickering firelight, which threw sinister shadows on his pocked face. His stubbly chin was thrust out defiantly.
“Only three! I said there would be four!” Pick yelled to the guards.
“We found only three,” one of the men replied.
“So I see!” Pick’s eyes blazed. “You—the other boy—come out of your hiding place! There’s not a chance of you getting away. My men have been spying on you kids for the last half hour.”
In a lower voice he told the three captives, “The trail is tightly guarded and the only way out is a sheer drop of a thousand feet over that rock wall.”
The trio remained silent.
Pick glanced at his wrist watch and again bellowed, “Every minute you hide out will mean that much more time in the bat cave!”
“The bat cave? What’s that?” Frank spoke up.
“Pretty curious, aren’t you?” said Pick. “Curiosity killed a cat, and it’s going to kill a lot more!”
“In that case,” Biff put in, “you’ve nothing to lose if you tell us what this is all about.”
“Yes,” said Chet. “After all, we don’t want to die ignorant.”
Pick let out a yell of delight. “Ignorant? You all were pretty ignorant to come snooping around here. What are your names?”
The boys told him.
“The other Hardy kid is the one that’s missing,” Pick said to his men.
“That’s Joe,” Lasher volunteered, groveling for favor.
“Shut up!” Pick glowered at the man, then turned his attention back to Chet.
“Some people are just born unlucky,” he said. “But since you want to know all about it, I’ll tell you.”
He went into a long discourse, waving his arms and punctuating the strange story with sarcastic bursts of laughter.
He and his men were engaged in the illegal mining of sapphires. They had discovered an abandoned digging on land which was now government property. The only way up to the mine, outside of scaling the cliff, was by Vampire Trail.
“So we waylaid unwelcome campers,” Pick said, “and scared everybody off.”
“With your vampire bats,” said Frank. “But they only live in Central America!”
Pick gave a gleeful laugh that reverberated through the rock-walled clearing. “I got them from a buddy of mine in Nicaragua. Smuggled them into the country.”
In one part of the mine, he said, there was a thermal cave, where bats could live comfortably. Occasionally he let some of them out on the trail to frighten people away, but the poor mammals died quickly when exposed to the cold mountain air.
“But what about the marks on our necks?” Chet asked.
“First we bopped you kids, then nipped you with a pair of pliers.”
“Look, Pick, why don’t you let us go?” Frank said. “We were only out to get those credit-card crooks.” The young detective was trying to stall for time so Joe would have a chance to get help. “Incidentally, what’s your beef with them, and what about Fingers’ gang?” he asked.
“Now that’s quite a story,” the gang leader replied. He explained that Elkin Burn, the town jeweler, was one of the outlets for his sapphires. The Terrible Trio had helped him work the mine but had been caught stealing so he fired them.
“Pick, we don’t have a grudge against you,” Frank said.
“I’m sorry, kid, truly sorry.”
“Then you’ll let us go?” Chet asked.
“Of course not.” A savage look came into the man’s eyes. “You know too much. Sometimes the innocent must suffer with the guilty.”
“Meaning what?” Frank asked.
“I’ll have to drop you all into the flooded mine shaft. But first Mr. Lasher goes into the bat cave.”
“Don’t, please!” Lasher begged, crawling over to Pick.
The miner gave him a kick. “Get out of here, you crumb! You double-crossed Burn with that phony credit card. Now you’re going to get it!”
Lasher pleaded, “Let me go! I can make a lot more money with those credit cards. I’ll turn it all over to you!”
“Too late!” Pick said. “You’re going in with the bats!”
“But I can’t stand bats!” Lasher cried. “They drive me crazy!”
“Good!”
Lasher sprang up and made a dash toward the edge of the clearing. A gun barrel was smacked hard against the back of his neck and he fell in a heap.
“Don’t put him in the bat cave until he recovers,” Pick ordered. “We’ll play the rest of our little game after we catch Joe Hardy.”
When Joe had heard Pick’s first threat he had unstrapped his rucksack and crawled toward the edge of the cliff. He lay in the tall grass, praying that no one would find him. If there were only some way down!
In the light of the moon which now shone through a rift in the heavy clouds, he could see that there was no means of escape, except perhaps with mountain-climbing gear.
As Joe peered down into the abyss a tiny point of light caught his eye. Eagerly he leaned over as far as he could without falling off. A small fire glowed at the base of the cliff.
“A campfire!” Joe thought. “If I only could attract the attention of whoever’s there!”
He picked up a few pebbles and dropped them over the cliff. Then he covered himself with brush and tall grass, hoping that Pick’s men would not discover him.
Joe fell into a deep sleep. When he awakened, the sun was rising. He peered over the cliff and was amazed by what he saw.
A mountain climber was halfway up the rock wall! He was using pitons and every available handhold.
The man lifted his head and Joe recognized him immediately. Fritz Burger!
Still half concealed, the boy beckoned. Burger saw him and Joe motioned the Austrian to be silent.
At the same time one of Pick’s men, who had begun to search again at dawn, was working his way closer to the edge of the cliff. Joe lay perfectly still, watching fearfully through the thick blades of grass.
Methodically the man beat the bushes, coming closer and closer to Joe’s hiding place.
“On the next pass,” Joe thought, “he’ll step right on me!”
Just then a hound bayed in the distance. The searcher stopped and listened. The dog bayed again and the man wheeled around in the direction of the miners’ camp.
CHAPTER XX
The jackpot
FEARING trouble, the guard raced to the camp. His legs flew as he traversed the tall grass and low bushes. Suddenly he stumbled and fell headlong.
Uttering an oath, the man picked himself up and glared at the object he had tripped over. It was a rucksack. Stenciled on it was the name J. Hardy.
The man scooped it up. As he approached the camp he saw Sherlock the bloodhound fawning over Biff Hooper.
“Down! Get down, Sherlock!” Biff said.
“So that bloodhound followed you,” Pick said to Biff. Seeing the guard running toward him, the gang leader barked, “I told you to find Joe Hardy!”
“He got away, Boss, but I found this!” The man held up Joe’s rucksack.
A foxy look came into Pick’s eyes and he smiled at the clever thought which crossed his mind.
“Bring that hound here!” he ordered.
Biff took the dog by the collar and led him over to Pick.
The miner held the dog’s nose to the rucksack, then said, “Now go and find Joe Hardy!”
Frank and Chet, their
eyes bloodshot from an anxious, sleepless night, cried out in protest.
“What’s the matter?” Frank said. “Aren’t your men clever enough to find my brother without a hound?”
“Maybe not,” Pick replied. He added with a sneer, “I think your brother got away—for good!”
“Like falling over the cliff.” Burn chortled. “It wouldn’t surprise me, Pick.”
“We’ll find out soon enough,” the miner replied. “No need to hurry. Rustle up some chow first.”
Pick’s men produced a portable stove from inside the tunnel and prepared breakfast.
“Don’t we get something, too?” Chet asked.
“You’ll have no need for food,” Pick retorted with a wicked grin.
“But—but—even a condemned man gets a last meal!”
“The kid’s got a point,” said Burn.
“What do you say, Lasher?” Pick asked.
The Magnacard swindler turned his ashen face away. His hands trembled.
“Lasher’s not hungry,” Burn needled. “Neither are his two cronies.”
“We are,” Frank spoke up. “Make my eggs once over lightly.”
“Some spunk these kids have,” said Pick.
The three boys ate leisurely, and Frank kept glancing at his watch when all had finished. Pick wiped his greasy hands on his shirt and announced that the search for Joe Hardy would be renewed.
“Sherlock will lead us to him,” he said. Tying a rope around the dog’s collar, he let the canine sniff around the area. Finally Sherlock picked up the trail.
With Pick beckoning to them devilishly, the boys followed the dog toward the edge of the cliff.
Sherlock strained at the rope and walked right up to the rim. Frank’s stomach felt like a lead weight. Had Joe fallen into the abyss during the night? Suddenly he spied two objects on the ground close to the cliff edge. He knelt down to shield the spot from the view of Pick and his men.
Biff, too, had seen the piton and the ring! Devices used by mountain climbers! Frank realized that Joe had miraculously escaped. Now they must play for time until help could arrive!
“Say your prayers if you want,” Pick said and turned to his henchmen. “One less Hardy boy to deal with.” Then he snarled, “Okay, bring ’em all back. We’ll finish the elimination.”
The three prisoners were prodded to the camp, where Lasher, Mungo, and Farkus sat around in dejected silence. A shout came from one of the men who had been guarding the approach to the miners’ camp. He marched up the trail pushing a disheveled figure before him.
“Prince Cuthbert!” Chet called out in amazement.
The prince’s helmet crown was askew and his robes were tattered. Chet and Frank hurried to his side.
“Chet—and Frank! I thought I’d never find you. Where’s Joe?”
“Never mind the gab,” Pick cried out. “Who is this nut?”
“Sir?” Cuthbert squared his shoulders and looked Pick straight in the eye. “I came to say good-by to my friends. I set off hoping to avoid a tearful farewell, but turned my caravan about.”
Cuthbert spoke to the boys. “I found your trailer tent with Sherlock guarding it. So I let the poor dog loose hoping he would lead me to you—and so he has!”
Pick’s men looked on, smiling and twirling their forefingers at their heads.
“What impudent fellows!” the prince continued. “Let us return to your trailer. A cup of steaming hot tea will be in order.”
Chet shook his head in disbelief. “You mean you came all the way back to say good-by to us?”
“Not only that,” Cuthbert replied. He thrust his hand inside a satin cummerbund, pulled out a sapphire, and gave it to Frank. “This is a gift for Mrs. Hardy. When Chet told me it was her birthstone I took this sapphire from the pouch and put it in a safe place. Fortunate that I did, otherwise the robbers would have gotten this one too.”
“Thanks,” Frank said. “You’re very thoughtful, Prince.”
“Not at all.” Cuthbert bowed. “Now will you introduce me to these uncouth friends of yours?”
The gang members laughed heartily at this remark and the prince’s face showed his annoyance. “That one looks familiar,” he said, pointing to Burn.
“Of course. You’re the man who wanted to sell me those sapphires,” the jeweler sneered. “Instead, one of Pick’s men and I broke into your trailer and got them free.”
“Shut up, Bum,” Pick growled. “And that goes for this old lunatic, too!”
“Indeed,” Cuthbert shot back, curling one of the points of his mustache. “I see you are not used to royalty!”
“So that’s it!” Pick said cynically. “You think you’re a king or something.”
“A prince,” Cuthbert corrected him. “Descended from the line of King Arthur.”
“Excuse me, Your Highness,” Pick said, bowing mockingly. “We can use some royalty. It might add legality to what we’re going to do here.”
“And what is that?” asked the prince, straightening his crown.
“An execution! That’s what. We’ll give a royal execution to these three kids and Lasher’s crew. Now, won’t that make it legal?”
“Please don’t hurt the prince!” pleaded Chet.
“Of course not. We’ll let him go. Who’d believe his babblings, anyhow?”
“Desist,” Cuthbert said, “or my archers will fall upon you, not to mention my knights in armor!”
In a low voice Frank said, “Keep it up, Prince. We need as much time as possible.”
Cuthbert turned on him coldly. “You don’t believe me?”
“Well,” Frank said quietly, “I thought you were kid—”
“Cut the nonsense,” Pick interrupted. He motioned to his men. “Lasher goes to the bat cave right now.”
Two of the miners seized the swindler, who began screaming and kicking as he was carried into the tunnel. His wails of anguish were fading in the distance when three shots rang out in quick succession.
“Don’t move. Drop your guns and stay where you are!” The strident voice came over a bullhorn and five State Police officers appeared. Behind them was Joe Hardy.
“Joe!” Chet cried in relief.
Pick’s eyes popped and his jaw dropped as if he were looking at a ghost. His guards threw their guns to the ground.
With Joe was the Austrian mountain climber, Burger. Frank realized what had happened. Burger had rescued Joe!
“Search the tunnel! Hurry!” Frank cried out, pointing.
One of the troopers hurried forward, pistol drawn. He returned a few minutes later with the two guards and Lasher.
Pick was tight-lipped, but his inner fury showed in his blazing eyes. Finally he blurted, “You Hardys ruined my racket!”
“And the Magnacard caper, too,” one of the troopers said, while the others were rounding up the prisoners. They were all advised of their rights.
Mungo and Farkus readily admitted their guilt in the credit-card swindles. Whip Lasher made a full confession. He admitted that it was he who had followed the Hardys in the beginning of their camping trip and had let the air out of their tires.
“A real prankster,” one of the troopers commented. “Well, you won’t be playing any tricks for a long time to come.”
It was Lasher, too, who had fire-bombed the boys’ camper. Farkus had been with Lasher at the Mountain Dogie Store.
Just then a report came in over the police portable radio which one of the troopers was carrying. The Terrible Trio had returned to Denver and had been picked up. They were being charged with malicious mischief. Mungo’s pals at the Badland Reservoir Marina headquarters had also been arrested.
Joe Hardy apologized to Prince Cuthbert for suspecting that he had any connection with the criminals.
Chet was very superior about it. “Can’t you tell a good guy when you see one?” he asked.
“Thank you, Chet,” Cuthbert said with a broad smile. “Now I must wend my way through the mountains. My travels eventually will
carry me back to the land of my ancestors.”
The police looked on in amazement as the eccentric shook hands with the boys and took his leave.
“Be sure to give my compliments to your dear mother,” the prince called over his shoulder.
Frank fingered the sapphire in his pocket and promised to convey the message.
The handcuffed prisoners were marched down Vampire Trail and put into State Police cars.
As the four boys walked to their camper, Joe asked, “All set to go home now?”
“Go home?” Biff exclaimed. “Why, we’ve hardly started our camping trip!”
“That’s right,” Chet added. “I vote for a little more fishing. And don’t forget, we have some reward money to split up.”
“You’re right on both counts,” Frank said. “Ill telephone Dad and tell him we solved the case. Get lunch ready, Chet. Joe and I will go to Blackfoot Meadow to make the call.”
As the Hardys rode off on the motorbike, Biff scratched Sherlock’s ears. “I’m glad the mystery of Vampire Trail has been solved, old boy,” he said.
But the carefree days which followed proved to be only a short respite for Frank and Joe. Almost immediately upon their return home, they would be faced with another challenging mystery, The Masked Monkey.
Danger on Vampire Trail Page 11