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  There was an awkward silence, which Stan finally broke. "I'm sorry I can't cooperate more. But I promise you, that meeting was not important. Now, tell me what you did find out today."

  Frank and Callie quickly related their adventures to the attentive environmentalist. When they'd finished, Stan nodded thoughtfully and said, "All this is very interesting, but I see what you mean when you say it's inconclusive. Personally, I have a very bad feeling about Mike Stavisky. But then we Greens have had so many run-ins with him.

  "As far as my assistant, Vance Galen, goes ..."

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  Stan grimaced. '*I guess it's hard to tell who's crazier, him or Mike," he admitted. 'Tonight I had to order him to stay in town to keep him from attacking those reporters out front. You can make up your own minds about these characters. Edgar faxed me background checks on both of them, plus one on Rafe Collins."

  He tossed Joe a stack of papers and returned to his desk chair. Joe scanned the first page. "Galen's rap sheet shows a few arrests. But they're all for disorderly conduct at protest marches. Nothing serious."

  'Try the next one," Frank said.

  Joe picked up the next page in the stack. ''Mike Stavisky's file," he said. After a moment's reading he added, "It's pretty much like Galen's, really, except that Stavisky's a vet. He was hit with a few public-nuisance-type charges right after his discharge from the military. Then just years of work in the lumber business right around here."

  Joe flipped to the next page. "Rafe Collins," he read. He scanned the small type for a moment. "Robbery. Assault. Assault. This is not a nice man."

  "What's his job record?" Frank asked.

  Joe scanned the data. "Grocery clerk, mechanic. Nothing to do with logging."

  "Then why did Johnson hire him?" Callie wondered.

  "I can tell you that," Stan said. "The rumor is that Johnson hired Collins to keep the employ-

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  ees in line. That's Johnson's idea of employer-employee relations."

  *'I heard that rumor, too," Frank told him. ''But I don't know what it has to do with Buster Owens."

  "For starters, why would Johnson hire a goon like him if he wasn't up to something shady?"

  "Wait a minute." Frank's eyes lit up. "Is there anything more you can tell us about the Forest Service contract? If Johnson gets that contract all of Buster's employees would go to work for Johnson—or at least that's what Johnson said."

  Stan flinched. Joe watched curiously as the older man cleared his throat, then spoke slowly, in a low voice. "The Forest Service contracts are extremely valuable to mills because without them, loggers are forced to cut private lands only. Private landowners are usually only interested in a quick profit, so they don't replant their forests properly, and mill owners don't get as good a harvest. You know about the contract Buster and Johnson were competing for."

  "Yes, but I guess we didn't realize just how important a contract could be," Frank answered.

  Joe sat and slowly shook his head. Could Bo Johnson have wanted the Forest Service contract badly enough to kill for it?

  "Vance Galen did see Collins's car near Horizon just before the explosion," Callie reminded them softly.

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  Frank nodded. ''But we don't have proof. If only we could look through Johnson's office."

  "How can you do that?" Stan asked.

  Joe knew what Frank was thinking. And he could see by Callie's expression that she knew, too.

  "No," she said in a low voice. "You're not thinking of breaking into Bo Johnson's office—"

  "You'd better not," Stan Shaw spoke up. "If Johnson caught you he'd—"

  "It's okay, Stan," Frank said. "We don't have to decide right now." But Joe knew that, dangerous or not, Johnson's office was next on the agenda.

  "Anyway, it's too late to do anything now," Joe said, stretching his arms and yawning. The reporters' voices had faded away outside. Joe guessed they'd given up and gone home.

  "Let's get some sleep," Frank agreed, grinning innocently at a suspicious Stan Shaw. "We'll talk about it again tomorrow."

  "About time you got up," Callie remarked the next morning as Joe stumbled into the kitchen, sat down at the table, and began ladling bacon and eggs onto his plate. "Stan's already checked in with the sheriff and had a talk with the home office, and Frank and I are ready to start the day. What's your contribution?"

  "I'll be the driver," Joe suggested, pouring himself a large glass of juice. "And give those reporters out there the slip."

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  "Well, hurry up," Frank said, glancing at Stan. "It's nine-thirty, and we need to get to the general store in time to interview some of Ow-ens's crew."

  Joe nodded. He knew Frank's remark had been meant to put Stan's mind at ease. Frank and Joe intended to search Johnson's mill that day, but Callie had insisted they not tell her uncle.

  Frank had agreed that Stan would worry too much, and besides, the environmentalist's reluctance to confide in them completely about his relationship with Buddy Owens had made Frank wonder what Stan was hiding.

  The day's plan, Joe had learned the night before, was simple. They were to arrive at Bo Johnson's lumbermill just as the trucks arrived with the first deliveries of the day. They would park the jeep outside the mill's fence. While Frank talked to the guard about applying for a job, Joe and Callie would search any logging trucks parked outside for hard hats and safety goggles. The Hardys and Callie would borrow enough lumberjack equipment to look like real loggers. Then they'd drive to the back of the mill property and cHmb over the fence, and they'd be in.

  That morning, Joe observed, the three of them seemed to be operating under a lucky star. They evaded all the reporters and before noon found themselves in the woods bordering the back of Bo Johnson's mill.

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  ''Now we put on the goggles and hats," Calhe announced, pulling her hair up into a pony tail and covering it with the yellow hard hat. ''Remember—don't talk to anyone. All we want to do is search the office, have a look around the mill grounds, and get out fast."

  "Okay," Joe said skeptically, slipping his goggles on and adjusting the hard hat to fit his head. "I just hope we make it through this. I'm not eager to get on familiar terms with Rafe Collins's fists."

  "Neither are we," Frank assured him, fitting his hat to his head and peering through the chain-link fence at a small shack set far back from the other buildings.

  "That must be where they keep the dynamite they use for blasting snags and stumps," Joe guessed, pointing at the shed. "They'd keep it out here in case of an accidental explosion."

  "Right," said Frank. "Maybe I should borrow a stick while we're here. It might match what was in Stan's truck."

  "Aren't you getting a little ahead of yourself?" Joe asked. But one look at Frank's face told him where his brother was headed.

  "Okay," he said. "Gallic and I can look for the office."

  Frank gave Callie a boost over the seven-foot fence, then climbed over himself. Joe followed quickly.

  "We'll meet back here in half an hour," Frank

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  said to his brother, ''whether or not we find anything. Agreed?"

  Joe gave Frank the thumbs-up sign before he and Cailie hurried off.

  It took almost fifteen minutes for Joe and Cailie to discover that Bo Johnson's office was inside the main building of the mill. As they moved among the giant pieces of equipment inside, no one seemed to notice them.

  Joe had never been in a working lumbermill before and was fascinated by the enormous wood chipper. As big as a small house, the chipper had an enormous mouth that was fed by a long conveyer belt on which workers tossed wood scrap and bark.

  The roar the chipper made as it ground the scrap to bits was so loud that it drove all rational thoughts out of Joe's head. He was glad Cailie had spotted the office and was already moving toward it.

  As Joe moved along beside the convey
er belt, one of the goggled workers called out to him, ''Hey, kid!"

  Joe froze in his tracks and turned to face the man with heavy cotton gloves who was ripping branches from a pine trunk.

  "You new here?" the man shouted over the noise.

  Joe nodded. "I just started today," he yelled back.

  "That so?" The worker turned to a man work-

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  ing beside him. 'The lay-offs must be over if Johnson's hiring again.''

  Joe thought fast. "I'm just here for inventory," he shouted. *'It's only temporary."

  Just then someone farther down the line bellowed out something. Joe and the other workers spun around to see what was wrong.

  ''Punch the button! Punch the button!" a man was shouting, waving his arms at the others and pointing toward the gaping entrance of the chipper.

  Joe swiveled around, then gasped. A body, lying half on and half off the conveyer belt, was partially hidden by the piles of debris. Joe peered through the dusty air at the unmoving figure.

  "Frank!" he shouted, and raced for the mouth of the horrible machine.

  The chipper could suck in massive pieces of wood and reduce them to splinters in mere seconds. Frank would be next, Joe realized as he raced the length of the conveyer belt. A large red emergency-stop button was placed prominently at the end of the belt, but Joe knew that he'd never get there in time. I have to! he told himself. Or Frank will be killed!

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  12

  ' 'Frank !" Joe screamed.

  Frank's eyes fluttered open, and the entire room burst into motion. The mill workers who had been frozen, staring in shock, suddenly scrambled for the emergency button. The cavernous building was filled with screams and shouts.

  The man closest to the button slammed his fist against it. The chipper ceased to grind, and the mill became silent. Slowly Frank moved and sat up.

  "Frank!" Joe shouted, racing to his brother's side.

  "What happened?" Joe gingerly touched a nasty cut on Frank's jaw. "Somebody got you good."

  "Search me," said Frank, still dazed. "1 was just about to climb into that shed when some-

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  body spun me around and a fist was rammed into my face. It happened so fast 1 didn't even see who did it/'

  Frank was interrupted by a loud voice nearby. ''Who are these people?" the voice demanded.

  Frank looked up to see Bo Johnson, his features drawn into an angry grimace as he surveyed the scene.

  ''You don't work here," Johnson said. "You're trespassing!"

  "You're right, Mr. Johnson," Frank agreed, hoping for inspiration. "We sneaked in on a dare. We always wanted to see what a real lum-bermill looked Hke."

  "Well, you certainly have," Johnson snapped, obviously still furious. "You kids can't wander onto private property with dangerous machinery and then expect to be protected by the law. I want you off my property at once!"

  Johnson glanced around, then snapped his long fingers at a pair of beefy workers. "Get them out of here," he ordered. "But confiscate those hard hats and goggles first. And, boys, if 1 ever see you on my property again, I'll call the sheriff before I come out to hear your lame excuses!"

  As Frank and Joe were marched out of the sawmill, they looked everywhere for Gallic. She was nowhere in sight. Frank hoped she had escaped while the crew had been distracted.

  As they walked, Frank recognized several faces from the Sportsman's Pool Hall and the

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  crowd at the Horizon fire. Then he noticed someone more surprising. "Look over there," he said to Joe.

  "Freddy Zackarias," Joe said, following Frank's gaze. "I thought he was just fired from Horizon."

  "Well, he got a job here pretty quick," Frank said. "Maybe too quick."

  "Shut up, you two," their guard growled, giving Frank a shake. "You can talk all you want when you get out of here."

  When they reached the front gate, the guards demanded the borrowed equipment back. Frank and Joe handed over the hard hats and goggles happily.

  "And stay out!" the first guard added as the boys walked through the gate. Frank turned and gave the guard a thumbs-up sign.

  "All right," he said to his brother as they walked down the road to their jeep. "Now we figure out how to rescue Callie."

  "No need," a voice called out.

  Frank peered past a lumber truck to their jeep. Callie was sitting in the backseat, smiling out at him.

  "Callie! How'd you get here?" Frank asked.

  "You guys provided the perfect distraction," she said. "As soon as I saw you were okay, I slipped inside the office when no one was looking. I had a couple of minutes all to myself."

  "Did you find anything?" Joe asked as the boys climbed into the jeep.

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  ''Yeah/' she said. '4 did. In fact, 1 think it tells us what Uncle Stan wouldn't tell about Buster."

  ''Oh, yeah?" Frank backed the jeep out. "Don't keep us in suspense."

  As Frank steered the jeep down the mountain road, out of sight of Johnson Lumber, Callie passed a sheaf of papers up to Frank and Joe.

  "What's this?" Joe asked, examining the top page.

  "A plan," said Callie, grinning like the Cheshire cat, "to completely reorganize a logging operation, including new equipment designed to cut new-growth timber—"

  "New-growth timber?" Frank asked.

  "Most mills are designed to cut tall, old trees, like Douglas firs," Callie explained briefly. "But they're the ones that the Greens want to save most. The loggers say it costs too much to have their equipment redesigned to cut up smaller trunks—or new growth—from replanted land," she went on. "But this plan describes a way to work it so everyone's happy—especially the Forest Service."

  "The Forest Service?" Frank perked up, meeting Callie's gaze in the rearview mirror. "You mean this is a plan to win the Forest Service contract."

  "Exactly," Callie said excitedly. "It has specifications on the new equipment and how long it would take to pay for itself—assuming that the company wins the contract. And it describes

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  how to leave pockets of undisturbed forest with no added cost. And it tells how the mill can replace the trees it cuts down by getting the federal government to provide seedlings and planting expertise for free. And if the mill is willing to replant, the Forest Service guys are super-happy. So happy, in fact, they would probably agree to award an exclusive contract to all their forest land to the company that can offer these guarantees."

  *'Buster's and your uncle's plan," Joe said.

  ''Exactly," agreed Callie. ''And it has my uncle's mark all over it. A perfect compromise that makes everyone happy."

  "Everyone except Bo Johnson," Frank pointed out.

  "Right." Callie leaned forward between the two front seats. "Johnson obviously got hold of a copy of the plan somehow—"

  "Freddy Zackarias," Joe said quickly. "He was fired for going through Owens's office, and today we saw him hanging around Johnson's mill."

  "Johnson must have realized that if Owens won that contract, he would be forced out of business," Frank interjected. "He couldn't let that happen and he killed Owens."

  "It's more likely that he paid Collins to do the actual dirty work for him, though. Where to now?" Joe asked.

  "The Crosscut Guardian's offices," Frank said. "We need proof. I'd like to make prints

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  from the photos I took near the bulldozer yesterday and compare them with the prints from around Buster's truck."

  "Step on it, Frank," CaUie said. "I smell a solution coming."

  Frank glanced, amused, at his passenger. **Yes, boss," he said, and pressed down on the accelerator. "After the detective work you did, your wish is our command."

  "There you are!" Ronnie Croft said when the Hardys and Callie trooped into her office through the back door fifteen minutes later. "1 was wondering what happened to you. The
town's loaded with reporters, all demanding that I produce Stan Shaw for nonstop interviews."

  "We saw a couple outside here," CalHe said. "That's why we came in the back way. Last night they were all outside Uncle Stan's house. Fortunately, we were able to give them the slip when we left his house this morning."

  "Now—don't tell me—you want to use my darkroom," Ronnie said.

  "Actually, yes," Frank replied. "We need to make some more prints in a hurry. We think we might be near a solution to the case."

  "In that case, help yourselves," Ronnie said eagerly. "But on one condition."

  Frank hesitated on his way to the darkroom. "What's that?"

  "If you do solve this case, and Stan Shaw's no longer a suspect, and every reporter in this

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  town wants to interview you and Callie and

  Joe—''

  ''Yes?" Callie asked, grinning.

  "You have to give me an exclusive interview."

  "It's a deal," Frank said with a laugh.

  In the dim amber light Joe and Callie peered at the row of photographs Frank had just printed. "Do you see anything yet?" Callie asked Frank.

  "I'm not sure." Frank finished focusing the negative, turned the enlarger off, and slipped an eight-by-ten sheet of photographic paper over the enlarger's base. Then he turned on the en-larger light for a number of seconds, switched it off, and transferred the paper to the first vat of chemicals.

  "This one seems promising," he said as he moved the photograph into the tray of fixer. "As soon as you hang it up we'll turn on the lights and take a closer look."

  Five minutes later, Frank was standing on a stool in the now brightly lit room, peering at the photographs through a magnifying glass. Ronnie, Callie, and Joe were flanking him, trying to make out details in the prints.

  "I still don't get it," Ronnie said impatiently. "What exactly are we looking for?"

  "Something unusual in one of the bootprints," Joe explained. "If he finds a unique pattern in a print from near the bulldozer and can match it with a print from beside Owens's car, then that