Hunting for Hidden Gold Read online

  Everyone was silent and thoughtful for a moment. Then Joe asked Mike Onslow, “Have you any ideas as to where Dad might look for the criminals he’s after?”

  The woodsman chuckled dryly. “Son, there’s a heap o’ places he might look—awful big country out Montana way. Them mountains is full o’ spots for a gang to hole up in.” The trapper frowned. “One likely place was in the Lone Tree area—a box canyon part way up Windy Peak. Accordin’ to rumors, that was Black Pepper’s hideout.”

  The Hardys were excited by this information. “Thanks for the tip,” said Frank. “It’s tough luck, your getting shot tonight. It wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t started out to see us. But maybe we can make up for it.”

  “Right!” Joe chimed in. “When we’re out West, we’ll try to find a clue to Dawson and your missing gold.”

  “That’s kind of you, boys,” said the trapper, “but I don’t think there’s much use. If Dawson really stole that gold, there wouldn’t be much left after twenty-five years. All the same,” he added spunkily, “if you’re willin’ to try, I’ll help you if I can.”

  Onslow scratched his head and was thoughtful for a moment. “Don’t know if it’ll do any good, but I’ll draw you a map of our claim.”

  “That’ll be a starting point, anyhow,” Frank said.

  While the boys packed the Hardys’ gear, Onslow drew a map for Frank and Joe. “Here’s where the claim was,” he said, marking an X. “This region was called the Lone Tree area because of a giant pine which stood all by itself on a cliff. Every body out there knows Lone Tree,” he added.

  As Joe tucked the map into his pocket, someone pounded on the door. It was Lenny. “Are you ready?” he asked, panting. “The jeep’s fixed.”

  Frank told him about finding Onslow with the gunshot wound. Then the boys improvised a stretcher, and Frank and Joe carried the injured trapper out to the jeep. While they were placing him on the back seat, Tony, Chet, and Biff collected and stowed the Hardys’ gear. A few moments later Lenny started the engine and they took off.

  “So long!” Frank and Joe called from the jeep.

  “Good luck!” chorused Chet and the others.

  When Lenny reached town, he drove straight to the local doctor’s office. Despite their hurry, the Hardys waited to hear Dr. Knapp’s report after the bullet had been removed.

  “He’ll have to stay off that leg and have nursing care,” Dr. Knapp advised as he washed his hands. “He ought to go to the hospital.”

  “I have no money for that,” Mike spoke up. “I’ll look after myself.”

  “No, you won’t,” Frank said with a smile. “We’ll take you back to Bayport with us.”

  “You bet!” his brother added. “Mother and Aunt Gertrude will like having somebody to fuss over.”

  The injured man protested that he did not want to be a nuisance, but the boys won their point. After picking up their car at the garage, they drove all night and arrived in Bayport at dawn. Quietly they carried Onslow up to their room. Then Frank awakened his mother and explained what had happened. She smiled understandingly and soon she and Mr. Hardy’s sister, Gertrude, were welcoming the woodsman warmly.

  “You look as though you’re in need of a good meal,” Miss Hardy stated. She was a tall, spare woman with a tart tongue but a warm heart.

  “We’ll fix something right now,” agreed the boys’ slim, attractive mother.

  As Frank and Joe hurried downstairs after the women, Aunt Gertrude clucked disapprovingly. “Flying around in airplanes, traipsing about the Wild West chasing outlaws! You boys are headed for trouble again.”

  “We hope so, Aunty.” Joe laughed as his aunt sniffed and bustled into the kitchen with Mrs. Hardy.

  Frank called the airport to check on their plane time and reported to Joe. “We have one hour to shower, dress, drive to the airport, and buy our tickets.”

  “We can take our camping gear just as it is,” said his brother.

  The boys wasted no time getting ready, and soon were on their way. They pulled up in the parking lot outside the air terminal with ten minutes to spare. Frank paid for their tickets and checked the baggage through to Cold Springs, the closest airport to Lucky Lode. Meantime, Joe wired their father.

  As the brothers sank into their plane seats, Joe exclaimed with a grin, “We made it!”

  “But we have to change at Chicago and Butte,” Frank reminded him.

  As soon as the plane was airborne, a hot breakfast was served. After eating, the boys napped for a couple of hours. When they awoke, Joe took out the map Onslow had drawn.

  “It shows the area around the claim,” he remarked, studying it closely. “But not how to get there from Lucky Lode.”

  Joe was replacing the sketch in his wallet, when the pilot’s voice announced that they were coming into Chicago’s O’Hare Airport. After deplaning, Frank and Joe checked at the airline ticket counter. A clerk told them that the plane they were to board would be three hours late in taking off.

  Just then a quiet voice behind them asked, “Are you the Hardy boys?”

  The brothers turned to face the speaker—a well-dressed man in dark clothes. “Yes, we are,” Frank replied.

  “My name is Hopkins,” the stranger said. “I’ve had word from your father that I’m to give you some important reports. Unfortunately, I didn’t have time to stop by my office to get them, so I’ll have to ask you to come there with me.”

  Frank looked at Joe. They had never heard the detective mention Mr. Hopkins. The man smiled. “I’m glad to see you’re cautious,” he said. “But I assure you this is on the level. Your father called me this morning.”

  The boys realized they did not know all Mr. Hardy’s associates. It was possible the man was telling the truth. Both Frank and Joe reasoned that Hank Shale could have mentioned Mr. Hopkins over the telephone, but they had missed it because the connection had been so bad.

  “Whom is Dad staying with?” Frank asked as a test.

  “Hank Shale,” Mr. Hopkins replied promptly. Then he added seriously, “The reports are very important, boys.” Frank and Joe knew they would have to risk accompanying him.

  “All right,” Frank said. “Let’s go.”

  “My car and chauffeur are right outside,” Mr. Hopkins told them, walking toward the door.

  The brothers followed him to a large black sedan parked at the curb. The chauffeur leaned back and opened the rear door. The boys climbed in. Mr. Hopkins seated himself in front.

  Suddenly, as the driver started the motor, both rear doors opened and two big, tough-looking men slid in, one on each side of the Hardys.

  Instantly Frank and Joe realized this was a trap. Joe reached across to the dashboard in a desperate effort to switch off the engine. The two thugs pushed him back roughly.

  “None o’ that!” one snarled as the car shot away from the curb. “From here on you kids’ll take orders from us. Don’t argue or we’ll shut you up in a way you won’t like!”

  CHAPTER III

  Shortcut to Peril

  FRANK and Joe gritted their teeth, furious at hav ing walked into a trap. The two thugs kept an iron grip on the boys.

  “Where are you guys taking us?” Joe asked angrily.

  Hopkins turned around in the front seat and gave a nasty sneer. “You’re both going on a little trip. You’ll soon find out where.” He added gloatingly, “We knew that you’d show up at the airport today.”

  He now addressed one henchman, a flashily dressed fellow. “Robby, gag these kids if they squawk. And you, Zeke, let them see what you’ll use on them if you have to.”

  Zeke, who was wearing a brown suit and shirt, opened his huge hand and revealed a small blackjack. Without a word he gave the boys a threaten ing look and closed his hand again.

  The car moved smoothly through traffic and the boys’ captors never loosened their grasp. After a long ride, the car reached a wide, store-fronted avenue in one of the Chicago suburbs. Slowing up, it turned down a side stre
et and pulled into the driveway of a very old house near the corner. The driver parked in back and the four men hustled the Hardys inside. They went upstairs to an open hallway protected by a railing.

  “Get in there!” Zeke ordered, and pushed the boys into a room near the head of the stairs. There was one window with the shade drawn and a table.

  “What’s this all about?” Frank demanded.

  Hopkins ignored the question. “Empty your pockets!” he barked.

  Zeke opened his hand, disclosing the black jack. Realizing that resistance was pointless, the brothers obeyed.

  “You won’t need this stuff,” Hopkins said, as tickets, money, and keys were laid on the table.

  Going through Joe’s wallet, Hopkins found the map which Mike Onslow had drawn. Hopkins gave the boys a hard look. “Where did you get this?”

  “What do you want with us?” Frank countered.

  Hopkins’ eyes glittered menacingly. “So you won’t talk about the map. Well, you will later.” He folded the map and put it into his pocket. “The boss’ll be interested to hear about this,” he said to his companions. “Now tie up these smart alecks.”

  With a sneer the driver of the car pulled several lengths of heavy cord from his pocket. Robby bound the Hardys’ wrists behind their backs, while Zeke began tying their ankles together.

  As his henchmen finished, Hopkins snapped, “I have to get downtown. Nick, go out and start the car.” When the chauffeur left, Hopkins said to Zeke and Robby, “Don’t forget—I’ll need one of you a little later.”

  “How about me?” Robby asked hopefully.

  “You’ll do.” Hopkins glanced at his wristwatch. “There’ll be a taxi here to pick you up at noon—twenty-three minutes from now. Be ready.”

  As Hopkins moved toward the door, Joe asked hotly, “How long are you going to keep us here?”

  “Until your father drops the case he’s on.”

  After a short interval there came the sound of a car driving away. Within seconds Zeke said to Robby, “Let’s go downstairs and eat some lunch.”

  “And leave these boys?” Robby asked. “Zeke, you’re crazy. They might get loose.”

  A crafty look came into Zeke’s eyes as he gazed at a closet. It had an old-fashioned wooden latch.

  “We’ll lock ‘em in there,” he said. “If they try to bust out, we’ll hear ’em and come runnin’”

  “Okay,” Robby agreed. “And for safety we’ll lock the hall door.”

  Frank and Joe were dragged into the closet and the latch was secured. The men left the room. At once the Hardys began trying to free themselves. Frank managed to back close to his brother, and with his fingers, work at Joe’s wrist bonds.

  “We sure pulled a boner,” Frank said grimly. “Dad told us before he left that the gang he’s after is widespread.”

  “What puzzles me,” Joe replied, as he finally extricated his hands from the loosened ropes, and untied Frank’s wrist cords, “is how they knew we were heading for the West?”

  Frank shrugged as he and Joe freed their ankles. “We’ll find out later. Right now we must escape.”

  Joe was already feeling around the closet. On a hook hung a slender metal coat hanger. “I’ll try this,” he said. “The door crack by the latch is pretty wide. Hurray! The hanger goes through!”

  It was only a matter of moments before the wooden latch had been pushed upward, and the boys stepped out of the closet. They pocketed the tickets, money, and wallets, which were still on the table.

  Joe whispered, “The hall door won’t be so easy.”

  Frank had tiptoed to the one window in the room. He pushed aside the shade and looked down onto a shabby backyard adjoined by empty lots.

  “Too far to drop down there,” he muttered. “We’ll just have to rush those men when they come back.”

  The next instant came the sound of heavy footsteps pounding up the stairs. Joe stepped to one side of the door while Frank crouched in the center of the room.

  The key turned in the lock and the door burst open. Frank charged forward, butting Zeke squarely in the stomach. The blow sent the man reeling across the hall against the hallway railing. Zeke toppled over it backward with a shriek of panic and would have plunged to the floor below had he not grabbed one of the rails.

  Enraged, Zeke’s partner seized Frank by the shoulder and swung him around for a punch. Joe rushed out through the doorway. His fist landed hard on the back of Robby’s skull and the man collapsed in a heap.

  “Come on! Let’s go!” Frank exclaimed.

  Zeke snarled and tried desperately to pull himself back up over the railing as the two boys dashed downstairs and out the front door. To their relief, they saw a taxi waiting at the curb, its motor idling.

  “Boy! We timed things just right!” Joe exclaimed gleefully.

  The driver, a thin-faced, hawk-nosed man, looked at the boys in surprise as they yanked open the car door and climbed in.

  “O’Hare Airport,” Frank ordered. “Fast as you can make it!”

  The driver threw the car into gear and pulled away from the curb. Frank and Joe looked back at the house. As the taxi reached the corner and swung onto the avenue, the boys caught a glimpse of Robby rushing from the house.

  “I’ll bet he’s mad enough to chew nails!” Joe thought with a chuckle.

  “I’d like to see Hopkins’ face when Robby reports what happened,” Frank whispered.

  “Can’t you go any faster?” Joe asked the driver. “We have to catch a plane.”

  The taxi driver glanced at the Hardys in his rearview mirror. “Sure. I’ll take a shortcut.”

  He turned right at the next corner. After threading his way through several narrow side streets, the driver came to another avenue. Here he swung right again.

  The Hardys were puzzled. Although the side streets had slanted and twisted somewhat, it seemed as if they were now heading back in the same direction from which they had come! Joe was about to protest when Frank clutched his arm.

  He pointed furtively to the taxi driver’s identification card. The photograph on the card showed a chubby man with a small button nose. He looked nothing like the hawk-featured driver.

  Joe gulped as he realized that this driver was an impostor—most likely one of Hopkins’ thugs! The boys had escaped from Zeke and Robby only to fall straight into the clutches of another member of the gang!

  CHAPTER IV

  A Painted Warning

  THE Hardys looked at each other, speechless. No wonder the taxi driver had seemed surprised! He must have guessed they had escaped from Zeke and Robby. But he had not dared risk any strong-arm tactics in full view of the neighboring houses.

  Probably, Frank thought, he had driven around to gain time while figuring out his next move. Maybe the driver, too, had glimpsed Robby and was circling back to the house for help.

  Joe wondered, “Could we tackle this hood without causing an accident? I’m afraid not.”

  As if reading his brother’s mind, Frank scribbled a note on his plane-ticket envelope:

  Hop out at first stoplight!

  Joe nodded tensely. Two blocks later a traffic signal loomed. It was just changing to yellow. The driver tried to beat the light, but an oncoming car made a left turn, blocking his way, and he had to slam on the brakes. Frank nudged his brother toward the right-hand door and Joe jerked it open.

  “Hey! What’s the idea?” the driver snarled as the boys leaped out. “Come back!”

  Frank and Joe sprinted across the street. Reaching the curb, they glanced back. The driver was still snarling at them, but they could not hear what he was saying. Then the light changed and he was forced to move on in the surge of traffic.

  “He may try a U-turn!” Frank said. “Let’s go!”

  “Wait! Here comes another taxi!” Joe exclaimed. They flagged it down and jumped in. “O’Hare Airport! Step on it!” Frank ordered.

  As the taxi sped off, the boys watched out the rear window. But no one was in purs
uit.

  “Whew!” Joe said, giving a sigh of relief. “Good thing you spotted that identification photo!”

  Frank nodded. “That thug must have stolen the car from the real driver—and not just to trap us,” he whispered. “I’ll bet it was to be used for pulling another job!”

  “Right! That’s why Hopkins told Robby ex actly when it would arrive—they may be planning a carefully timed holdup!”

  It was only a few minutes before takeoff when the boys dashed into the air terminal. Frank made a hasty call to Captain Jaworski of the Chicago Police, an old friend. Frank quickly explained what had happened and told the chief their theory that the gang might be planning to use the stolen taxi for some crooked job.

  “The name on the real driver’s identification card was Ira Kleeder,” Frank added.

  “Good enough. We can get the license number from the taxi company. And thanks for the tip!”

  Joe, who was standing watch outside the telephone booth, rapped on the glass and pointed frantically to his wristwatch. Frank rang off, and the boys raced to the loading gate.

  “We nearly left without you,” the stewardess said as she welcomed them aboard the plane. The Hardys smiled and found seats.

  Soon they were airborne. The two boys settled back as the plane headed west.

  “I’d sure like to know how Hopkins got word we were on our way to Lucky Lode,” Frank mused.

  “The gang out there must have informed him,” Joe said. “Remember—he even knows that Dad is staying with Hank Shale.”

  “Another thing,” Frank went on, “why should they be interested in that map? Is there some connection between Onslow’s claim and the gang? We’d better ask Mike to send us another map.”

  “I can remember it pretty clearly,” Joe assured him, then added soberly, “Why didn’t Dad call us himself? I hope he’s not hurt.”

  Frank nodded, troubled. Lunch was served aboard the plane. Afterward, the boys dozed.

  At Butte they were wary, staying close to other passengers as they changed planes. No one bothered them, however. Soon they were winging their way in a two-motored craft over the frozen ridges of the Rockies toward Cold Springs, the small airport serving Lucky Lode.