Farming Fear

by Franklin W. Dixon

  Joe had fallen behind after giving Frank a boost, but caught up quickly as the runaway machine turned.

  “There’s no key to turn it off!” Frank called. He pulled the choke out, and the engine slowed a bit. He tried the control pedals, but nothing happened. “Both the gas and brake are stuck!”

  “Help me up and I’ll pull the distributor plugs,” Joe shouted back. The tractor was an older machine with an open-sided engine case, which made some of its wiring accessible.

  Frank extended one hand to Joe while continuing to drive with the other. Joe swung up beside his brother, then reached forward toward the tractor’s nose. But the younger Hardy’s thick gloves made it difficult to seize the correct cables. After fumbling twice, Joe finally grabbed hold and pulled the wires from the distributor cap with a firm jerk.

  With that, the runaway tractor sputtered to a halt. Frank and Joe sighed with relief. “Another minute, and I’d have figured out how to work the clutch on this thing,” Frank said apologetically.

  “Another minute, and you’d have been in that pond there,” Joe said, pointing to a nearby snow-encrusted waterhole.

  Frank nodded. “Thanks for pulling the plug,” he said. “These old machines are trickier to operate than modern ones.”

  He and Joe lowered themselves to the ground, and Bernie came over and ran excitedly around their feet.

  As the brothers caught their breath, Chet, Iola, and a man the Hardys didn’t recognize came running from the barn toward them. The stranger was tall and lean, with a thin face and balding head. He was dressed in grease-stained overalls, a plaid flannel shirt, and scuffed black boots.

  “I am so sorry,” the man blurted as he and the Mortons caught up to the brothers. “I was working on the tractor and it just got away from me.” He puffed out white clouds of breath into the snow-dappled air.

  “This is Bill Backstrom,” Chet explained. “He’s one of our local farmhands. He lives just up the road.”

  “Just about the only local hand,” Backstrom said. “A lot of the hired help don’t like these cold, Bayport winters. I do most of the farm’s mechanical work. Thanks for keepin’ this from becomin’ a real mess.”

  Joe and Frank shook hands with him. “No problem,” Joe said. “We never shy away from a little excitement.”

  “What in the world is going on out here?” shouted Grandpa Morton’s voice. He came dashing out of the farmhouse’s back door with Grandma right behind. They both looked worried and angry.

  “We had a bit of an accident,” Backstrom replied. “I was workin’ on ol’ Bess when she up an’ leaped out the barn door.”

  Both Grandma and Grandpa Morton crossed their arms over their chests and raised their eyebrows at him.

  Backstrom turned red. “Don’t ask me to explain it, ‘cause I can’t,” he said. “A lot of strange things have been goin’ on around here recently.”

  “What do you think might have happened?” Grandpa Morton asked.

  “Well, nothin’ I was doing should have caused the tractor to barrel off that way,” Backstrom replied. “It could be that someone got into the barn and messed with the machine somehow—jammed the throttle open or something.”

  “They jammed the brake, too,” Frank added.

  “Or maybe it just got iced up,” Grandpa replied. “That seems a more reasonable explanation. There’s plenty of snow and ice around here nowadays.” Bernie barked loudly, as though agreeing with his master.

  “Could be, I suppose,” Backstrom said. “That part of the barn ain’t too well heated. I better take ol’ Bess back inside and get her fixed. Better fetch my coat first, though.” He hurried back into the barn to retrieve his jacket.

  “Sometimes I think that man would forget his own head if it weren’t attached,” Grandma Morton said. The others chuckled.

  “No harm done, I guess,” Grandpa replied. “I’m glad you boys managed to get the tractor stopped before it hurt anyone or broke anything up.”

  “Let’s get back in the house before we all freeze,” Grandma said.

  “What about the tractor?” Joe asked.

  “I figure if it got away from Bill and ran out here, he can run it back in,” Grandma Morton replied.

  As they all turned to go inside, a blue, late-model sedan rumbled up the driveway.

  Grandpa Morton frowned. “Well, it figures she’d show up,” he said.

  “Who?” the four teens asked simultaneously.

  “Gail Sanchez,” Grandma replied, mirroring her husband’s frown, “the lady from the farm supply company.” She sighed. “She’s seen us, so I suppose we can’t pretend we’re not home.”

  “Why would you pretend not to be home?” Frank asked.

  “Well, she wants us to switch to her company,” Mr. Morton explained, “and she’s a bit pushy.”

  “More than a bit,” Grandma added.

  The car stopped near the group, and a fashionable brunette in a fur-trimmed coat got out. She took off her dark glasses and smiled at the Mortons.

  “Well, what do we have here?” she asked. “A family reunion?”

  “Close enough, Ms. Sanchez,” Grandpa Morton replied. “What can we do for you today?”

  Ms. Sanchez flashed a perfect smile. “It’s not what you can do for me, Dave,” she said. “It’s what I can do for you.” She looked around the property appraisingly and quickly spotted Backstrom, who had returned from the barn and was working on the tractor. “I could set you up with a new tractor, for one thing.”

  “We like our old tractor, thank you,” Grandpa replied.

  “But it’s practically a dinosaur,” Ms. Sanchez said. “Really, I could get you very affordable payments on a much nicer one.”

  “Ms. Sanchez,” Grandma Morton said, “we’ve been with our farm co-op for thirty years—”

  “Then it’s high time you had an upgrade to something more modern,” Ms. Sanchez said. “You’d be amazed what my company can do for you. You can even order supplies over the Internet.”

  “And have ’em delivered by a computer?” Grandpa retorted wryly.

  Ms. Sanchez looked momentarily flustered. “Well, of course not,” she finally replied. “But it would be a lot more convenient than driving into town. Tell you what. I’ll drop by with some more information in the next day or two.”

  “You’re welcome to visit,” Grandpa said, “but we still ain’t interested.”

  “Oh, I’m sure you will be,” Ms. Sanchez said confidently. “See you soon.” She climbed into her new car and headed back down the driveway to the road.

  “ ‘Pushy’ is the word I’d use to describe that woman,” Joe said.

  The Hardys and the Mortons went back inside and warmed up for a while. Grandma Morton fed them hot chocolate and more cookies as they sat by the fire and chatted. Despite some careful prodding by the Hardys, the Morton grandparents avoided mentioning any difficulties with the farm.

  After their snack, the four teens did some household chores before dinner. They heard the tractor start up while they were working, and went to the window in time to see Bill Backstrom drive Bess slowly back into the barn. Bernie ran rings around the tractor, barking playfully as the machine rolled along.

  Dusk came early to Bayport during the wintertime. Upon finishing their chores, the teens set the table and the Morton grandparents served a hearty farm dinner: chicken and dumplings with carrots and peas, and apple cider. A third course of cookies for dessert left everyone feeling very well fed.

  After washing the dishes, they all retired to the Mortons’ living room and played games in front of the fireplace. Grandpa Morton quickly got a nice blaze going. Both Frank and Joe challenged Grandpa to chess, but neither brother managed to win. Grandma trounced Chet and Iola at Chinese checkers.

  All four teens headed for bed shortly after nine P.M. The Hardys retired to their guest bunks on the second floor while Chet and Iola went to their usual rooms.

  “I’m worn out,” Joe said, stifling a yawn.

/>   “And we didn’t even do much regular farm work today,” Frank commented. “Tomorrow will probably be even tougher.”

  “I think stopping a runaway tractor, helping to clean the house, and doing the dishes is enough for our first day here,” Joe replied.

  Frank yawned. “I guess so.”

  In less than twenty minutes, both brothers were sound asleep. But soon they woke with a start. At first, neither Hardy realized what had woken them up. The clock near their bunk read five past midnight. It was pitch black, inside and out.

  Suddenly a piercing scream broke the silence.

  Joe dropped quickly from his upper bunk to the floor. “That was Iola!”

  3 Shadows in the Darkness

  * * *

  Frank leaped down beside Joe.

  “Come on!” the younger Hardy said. Despite being barefoot and in their pajamas, both brothers dashed out the bedroom door. They flew down the stairs to the first floor, and skidded to a halt outside Iola’s door. Chet, wrapping a bathrobe around his body, arrived just behind.

  “Iola, are you all right?” Joe called, knocking on the door. Grandma and Grandpa Morton, both in nightshirts, quickly appeared beside Joe.

  Iola’s door swung open and she appeared in the doorway, clutching a robe around herself. She looked frightened.

  “What’s the matter?” Frank asked.

  “I . . . I saw someone lurking outside,” Iola blurted. She pointed toward a window overlooking the backyard and barn.

  Joe immediately crossed to the window and gazed out. Grandma Morton had come with a flashlight, and she promptly handed it to Joe. They turned off the lights so they could see outside. “I don’t see anyone,” he said, pointing the flashlight beam on the snow. Peering at the ground outside, he added, “No sign of any footprints, either.” He turned the lights in the room on again.

  “He wasn’t right outside my window,” Iola said. “He was sneaking around between the house and the barn.”

  “Bill Backstrom, maybe?” Frank suggested.

  “Bill should be home and in bed by now,” Grandma replied.

  “Well, if it was anybody else, Bernie would be barking his head off,” Grandpa Morton said. “He’s a good watchdog.”

  “Maybe you imagined it?” Chet said. “With the snow blowing around, and the shadows from the nearby trees . . .”

  “Chet Morton,” Iola shot back angrily, “I am not imagining things! I definitely saw someone skulking around the backyard.”

  “Well, there’s no one there now, sweetheart,” Grandma Morton said sympathetically.

  “Let’s check it out,” Joe suggested to Frank. Both Hardys headed for the back door. They swiftly donned their boots and coats in the mudroom, took the flashlight, and hurried outside.

  Blowing snowflakes danced on the night wind, though no new snow was actually falling at the moment. Frank and Joe took a bearing from Iola’s window, and then traced her line of sight across the driveway and over toward the barn.

  “This is no good,” Joe said, frustrated. “With all the traffic on the driveway today, there’s no way we’ll find any decent prints here.”

  “Not in this light, anyway,” Frank agreed. “This flashlight is pretty weak. Maybe tomorrow morning we can turn something up.”

  “Yeah, maybe,” Joe replied, but he sounded doubtful.

  The four Mortons, all with coats bundled over their nightclothes, met the brothers outside as the Hardys returned to the house.

  “Find anything?” Iola asked hopefully.

  “It’s too dark,” Frank replied.

  “And too cold to be prowling around even if there were anything to see,” Grandma Morton cautioned.

  “We’ll check tomorrow, when the light’s better,” Joe said. He put a sturdy arm around Iola’s shoulder.

  “What about you, you old dust mop!” Grandpa Morton bellowed irritably to the nearby doghouse. He bent down and peered into the front opening, looking for Bernie.

  Inside, the old sheepdog slept soundly.

  “Well, I’ll be . . . ,” Grandpa said. “Imagine this bag of fur sleeping through all this commotion!” He reached down and pulled on Bernie’s collar.

  Bernie lazily opened his eyes and peered out from beneath his gray and white bangs.

  “Some watchdog!” Grandpa scolded. “Come on! Get up and earn your keep.”

  Reluctantly, the dog stood and shook himself. He blinked sleepily and gazed around the group.

  “Don’t be so hard on him, Grandpa,” Iola said. “He looks tired.”

  “Well, now all of us are tired, ‘cause ‘man’s best friend’ here’s been sleeping on the job,” Grandpa replied.

  Grandma tried not to snicker. “I’ll get him some fresh water,” she said. “His bowl is frozen over.”

  “Maybe you better make it coffee,” Chet quipped.

  They all laughed. Grandma freshened Bernie’s water, then all the Mortons went back inside and returned to bed. Joe and Frank sat up awhile and kept watch outside the kitchen window.

  Spotting nothing unusual, they finally gave up and returned to bed as well. The last thing they saw before creeping back upstairs was Bernie, sitting in the snow outside his doghouse, gazing patiently into the night.

  • • •

  Dawn came early on the Morton farm. Winter was a slow season for them, but there were still plenty of chores to be done.

  The family ate a hearty breakfast of pancakes, bacon, and eggs. No one mentioned the incident from last night, but Joe and Frank could tell that the intruder wasn’t far from anyone’s mind.

  After breakfast the Hardys and their friends set to their chores. The brothers volunteered to help Chet and Iola take care of the animals. On their way to the barn, the four teens passed Bernie, who seemed too tired to play.

  They found Bill Backstrom inside, still working on the malfunctioning tractor.

  “Hey, Bill,” Chet said as they headed toward the back of the barn, “were you working here late last night?”

  “How late?” Backstrom asked.

  “Around midnight,” Frank replied.

  “Nope,” Backstrom said. “I headed home around nine. That was plenty late enough for me. Say, which wires did you mess with when you stopped the tractor yesterday?”

  “Just the distributor wires,” Joe said.

  Backstrom shook his head. “Well, somehow the starter got crosswired. Maybe that’s why ol’ Bess went haywire yesterday.”

  “Could a small animal have stripped the starter wires, causing the short circuit?” Frank asked.

  “Not likely,” Bill replied. “’Course, sometimes animals do crawl into the machinery—especially when it’s cold and the engine is warm. But I’ve yet to meet a varmint who could hotwire a tractor.” He sighed and rubbed his balding head. “I’ll figure it out eventually.”

  “Good luck,” Joe said as he and the others headed toward the pens in the barn’s addition.

  As they walked, Chet whispered, “Iola and I can handle these chores, if you guys want to do some investigating.”

  Frank shook his head. “It’s still not light enough to get a good look around.”

  “Besides,” Joe added, “what would your grandparents say if we left you to do the chores alone? They’d probably put us in the doghouse with Bernie.”

  “No they wouldn’t,” Iola replied. “They knew this would be vacation time for you. They wouldn’t compare you to that lazy old dog.”

  “Bernie isn’t really that old,” Chet said. “He’s only six. I’m surprised he fell asleep like that.”

  “Maybe he wore himself out chasing the tractor,” Joe suggested.

  “I guess,” Chet replied. “But Grandpa was right when he said Bernie’s usually a good watchdog.”

  “Even if he is,” Frank said, “we’d better keep our own eyes peeled—just in case.”

  The brothers and their friends milked the cows, groomed the horses, and then cleaned the stalls. By the time they’d finished, the morning
sun was creeping toward high noon. The air had grown warmer, too, melting off some of the snowfall.

  “If we’re going to look for tracks,” Joe said, “we better do it before they all melt away.”

  All four of them circled around the barn, checking for anything out of the ordinary. Their own footprints and those of Bill, the Morton grandparents, and Bernie made quite a confusing mess. Finally they discovered two sets of tracks leading away from the back of the barn toward the woods on the north side of the property.

  “It looks like that’s the way the intruder came,” Frank said.

  “And left,” Joe added. “One set of prints in each direction. I don’t think these were here when you gave us the tour yesterday.”

  Iola nodded. “So either someone dropped by while we were working . . .”

  “Or, I’d say we’ve found your phantom, Iola,” Frank said, finishing her thought.

  Frank stooped down and picked something out of one of the impressions in the snow. It was a small metal circlet about an inch wide.

  “What’s that?” Joe asked.

  “It looks like it might be part of a horse’s tack,” Iola said.

  Chet shook his head. “It’s not big enough, or stout enough.”

  Frank thought for a moment, turning the ring over in his hand. “I think it’s a grommet from a chin strap.”

  “Like a from a motorcycle helmet,” Joe said.

  “Or motorcycle boot strap,” Frank agreed. “Whoever made these tracks must have lost it.” He tucked the ring into one of his jacket pockets.

  “Let’s see where the tracks lead,” Joe suggested.

  “Can we grab some lunch first?” Chet asked. “After this morning’s chores, I’m starving.”

  “Chet’s right,” Frank said. “And tracking through the snow and rough terrain will be tough. We’ll need all the energy we can get. Since whoever made those footprints is long gone, we might as well stoke up first.”

  The others agreed, and they all returned to the house. Frank made toasted bologna and cheese sandwiches for everyone, while Chet made hot cocoa. Joe and Iola set the table and called the Morton grandparents to eat, then ferried food out to Bill Backstrom. The teens brought Bernie inside and fed him, as well.