The End of the Trail Page 8

  “It didn’t take them long to catch up,” Joe said.

  “Probably took a shortcut,” Frank said. “They guessed where we were headed.”

  “Well, they can’t hurt us now,” Joe crowed. “We’ll be out of town in no time.”

  Even while Joe was saying those words, one of the two brothers pulled his motorcycle up alongside the truck; just outside Joe’s window. He gave Joe a nasty look.

  “Try to stop us now!” Joe yelled, returning the look.

  “Don’t encourage him,” Frank said. “Those guys are still dangerous.”

  Sure enough, the motorcyclist raised a crowbar and swung it straight at Joe’s window.

  “Yow!” Joe cried, ducking. “That’s not playing fair.”

  The crowbar hit the window hard but bounced off. The glass didn’t break.

  “Whew!” Joe said, relaxing again. “This thing has bulletproof glass. We’re safe!”

  “Don’t get too comfortable,” Frank said. “He can still do some damage with that thing.”

  The biker swung the crowbar again, this time at the hood of the truck.

  “He’s trying to get at the motor,” Joe said. “You don’t suppose he can break the hood open, do you?”

  “I don’t know,” Frank said. “And I hope we get out of here before we find out.”

  A second blow from the crowbar set the hood vibrating. It looked as if it were about to pop open.

  “I think I’d better get rid of this guy fast,” Frank said, “before he causes serious damage.”

  Frank maneuvered the car toward the right side of the road, trying to cram the biker up against the trees. The motorcyclist saw what Frank was up to and put on his brakes, dropping behind the rear of the truck.

  “Ha, that scared him away but good,” Joe said, giving Frank the thumbs-up.

  Suddenly there was a pounding noise from Frank’s side of the truck. The other brother had pulled up on the left while Frank and Joe had been concentrating on the one to the right. He took a hard whack at the other side of the hood.

  “They’re double-teaming us!” Frank said.

  Joe dug around under his seat. “Aha! I’ve found something that might help.” He pulled out a crowbar like the ones the Brookburn brothers were using.

  “Okay,” Joe said to his brother. “Crowd the guy on your side off the road so the other brother will pull up by my window.”

  “Whatever you say, little brother,” Frank said.

  Frank angled back to the left, and the biker on that side dropped behind the truck. Not surprisingly, the biker on the right pulled up again.

  This time Joe was ready. He rapidly rolled down his window and held the crowbar outside. He gave the brother on his side a stiff whack across the chest.

  “Oof,” the biker sputtered as the air came rushing out of his lungs. His bike hit a tree, sending him spiraling into the woods. The bike itself bounced back and hit the truck, then toppled over.

  The second Brookburn, behind the truck, didn’t dodge in time. He hit his brother’s overturned motorcycle at full speed and flipped head over heels, landing flat on the road.

  “Ha!” Joe cried. “I don’t think those guys will be bothering us again. They’ll have headaches for a month.”

  “Yeah, well, let’s worry about what’s happening right now,” Frank said. “How soon until we’re off this gravel road and onto some real pavement, Rhonda?”

  “Not long,” Rhonda said. “There’s a bridge not far ahead that leads out of town. Another mile or so past that, you’ll hit the main highway.”

  “Yahoo!” Joe cried. “We’re almost out of here!”

  Frank turned around a bend. “There are a lot of twists and turns in this road,” he said. “It’s almost like we’re going in a circle.”

  “Look,” Joe said. “Up ahead. I see a vehicle in the road. Maybe we can get help.”

  Frank felt a surge of hope, but it died almost immediately when he recognized the car.

  It wasn’t anybody who was likely to rescue them. It was the limousine with Bill McSavage and Quentin in it.

  The Hardys and their friends really had gone in a circle. And now they were heading straight back to town!

  14 A Bridge Too Far

  Frank hit the brakes, but the truck skidded for another hundred feet on the gravel. Bill and Quentin stepped out of their car and smiled as the truck came to a stop. Quentin cocked his rifle for emphasis.

  Another vehicle edged up beside the limo—a police car. It stopped and Sheriff Brickfield climbed out, patting his gun holster menacingly.

  “And things were going so well there for a moment,” Joe said with a sigh.

  Sheriff Brickfield walked up next to Frank’s window. “I think you boys had better step out of that vehicle. I’m going to have to arrest you for car theft.”

  Frank looked at him angrily as he opened the door. “Car theft? We weren’t the ones who stole this truck. Bill McSavage and his friends stole it!”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bill said. “I have no idea where that truck came from. Looked to me like you boys had it hidden away in my barn.”

  “We had it hidden away?” Joe shouted. “Boy, you’ve got a lot of nerve! Not only did you steal an armored truck full of millions of dollars in cash, but now you’re blaming it on us? We were taking it to the authorities!”

  “Save it for the jailhouse,” Sheriff McSavage said. “Now, I hear you have some more folks with you. Are they hiding in the back?”

  “Not hiding,” Frank said. “Just going along for the ride.”

  Quentin walked to the back of the truck and opened the door. Phil Cohen came stumbling out on wobbly legs.

  “Gee, do you think you guys could drive any worse?” he asked shakily. “I feel like I’ve been inside a blender for the last fifteen minutes.” He noticed Quentin standing there with a rifle in his hands. “Wait a minute, what’s this guy doing here? I thought we were getting out of town.”

  Jack Mason climbed out after Phil. “You again, Quentin?” he said. “I dislike you more every time I see you.”

  “The feeling is mutual,” the man said with a smile.

  Jack helped Loraleigh out of the truck. “Oh, no. We’re still here,” she said.

  Biff pushed a crutch over the edge and used it to leverage his way back to the ground. “At least we tried,” he said.

  “There’s a jail right up the street. It’s old but it does the trick,” Sheriff Brickfield said. “I think we can all walk there. Even the kid on the crutches.”

  “But we didn’t do anything,” Joe said. “You must know something about what’s going on in this town!”

  “Oh, I’m sure he knows something about it,” Frank said. “I bet you’ve been involved in this crime all along, haven’t you, Sheriff?”

  Sheriff Brickfield frowned. “Are you accusing me of being derelict in my duties as an officer of the law?” he asked.

  “You bet I am!” Frank said.

  “Remind me to throw away the key after I lock you up,” the sheriff said, but he didn’t seem particularly upset.

  “You don’t have to be shy, Paul,” Bill McSavage said to Brickfield. “These boys already know so much that we might as well tell them the rest. Everybody in town that we could trust was part of the plan, and we’re all splitting the cash from the robbery. Of course, there were a few people that we couldn’t trust.” He gave a meaningful glance at Jack and Rhonda.

  “So what are you going to do with us now?” Jack asked. “Keep us locked up in jail forever? That jail isn’t even big enough for all of us.”

  “It is if we cram you into the cells tight enough,” Sheriff Brickfield growled.

  “Besides,” Bill said, “that’s not really where we intend to keep you. We had planned to bury the truck after we had moved all the cash out of it. There’s no reason we have to bury it empty.”

  “Does he mean what I think he means?” Biff asked.

  “Yeah, I think he do
es,” Frank said.

  “You’ll never get away with it,” Joe proclaimed.

  “If there’s any justice in the universe,” Jack Mason said, “I’ll come back to haunt you for the rest of your life.”

  Bill snorted. “You’ve already haunted me since you left the casino. Trying to be my conscience.”

  “It was a dirty job,” Jack said, “but somebody had to do it. Guess I didn’t do it well enough.”

  “Insulting me to the last, Jack?” Bill said.

  Joe noticed something out of the side of his eye while everyone else was watching the confrontation between Bill and Jack. Sheriff Brickfield had left the front door of his police car open, and there was an open pair of handcuffs on the floor in front of the driver’s seat. Joe carefully edged around in back of the sheriff, dipped down as gracefully as he could, and picked up the cuffs. Then he edged away again.

  Frank noticed what Joe was doing. He turned to the sheriff and said quietly, “You know, you really shouldn’t leave a gun sitting on the front seat of your car like that.”

  The sheriff looked startled. “Gun? What gun?” He turned and rushed back to the car.

  As quick as a magician pulling a scarf out of someone’s ear, Joe grabbed the sheriff’s right arm and snapped a cuff on his wrist. He snapped the other cuff to the outside of the car’s window frame. Then he grabbed the sheriff’s gun from its holster. Brickfield was taken totally by surprise.

  “What did you just do to me?” he yelled, struggling in vain to get free.

  “Get him out of those handcuffs!” Quentin commanded, aiming his rifle at Joe. “And drop that gun!”

  Biff lunged forward, using one of his crutches as a lever, and tackled the servant in the midsection. Quentin and Biff fell to the ground in a tangle, the rifle flying from Quentin’s hands. Meanwhile, Joe tossed the sheriff’s gun to Jack Mason for safekeeping.

  Bill McSavage’s face turned red, and he started to yell something. But then he glanced at his car and realized that his own gun was still in the front seat. A look of fear crossed his face.

  Jack Mason smiled. “Shoe’s on the other foot now, Bill,” he said. “Looks like you won’t be burying us in that truck after all.”

  “You’re not out of town yet,” Bill said.

  Jack turned to Joe. “Sheriff Brickfield should have some more handcuffs in that car. Think you guys could grab a couple and put them on Bill and Quentin?”

  “I’d be happy to.” Joe beamed.

  “Count me in,” Frank added.

  Biff rolled off Quentin. “Owww! I think I hurt my leg again!”

  “It wasn’t much fun having you land on top of me, either,” Quentin said.

  Rhonda knelt next to Biff. “You’ll need medical attention, but it’ll have to wait until we get out of town.”

  Biff grumbled but could hardly disagree. Being in pain seemed a lot less important than getting away from Morgan’s Quarry.

  Joe handcuffed Bill McSavage to one door of the old limousine while Frank handcuffed Quentin to another.

  “Where are the keys to these things?” Frank said. “We’d better take them so these guys can’t follow us again.”

  “Right there,” Jack Mason said, pointing at Sheriff Brickfield’s belt.

  Joe grabbed for the keys, but Sheriff Brickfield swatted him with his free hand.

  “Oh, no, you don’t!” Frank said, grabbing the sheriff’s arm in both of his hands. Joe unclipped the key chain and put it in his pocket.

  “We’re ready to go,” Frank said, grabbing the sheriff’s gun and Bill’s and Quentin’s rifles. “Everybody back in the truck.”

  “Can you promise to drive a little better this time?” Phil Cohen said, climbing into the back with the confiscated guns.

  “I’ll try,” Frank said. “But the roads out of town are pretty bumpy.”

  Once everybody was in the back, Joe closed the doors. Then Frank, Rhonda, and Joe got into the cab. Frank revved up the engine and put the truck in gear.

  “Okay,” he said. “This time we’ll take the left fork in the road.”

  “I’m really sorry about what happened,” Rhonda said. “I leave this town so rarely that I actually forgot which road to take. Can you forgive me?”

  “Of course,” Joe said. “You’ve helped us out since we’ve been here. And you’ve been great to Biff.”

  Frank hit the accelerator and headed out of town again. This time, when they reached the fork in the road, he headed to the left.

  The road was a little smoother, but the ride was still bumpy. Frank could have sworn he heard Phil Cohen yelling at him from the back of the truck, but through the armor he couldn’t tell what was being said.

  The trees opened into a clearing. A wooden structure loomed up ahead.

  “The bridge?” Joe said.

  “Yes, that’s the bridge,” Rhonda said.

  “Then we’re almost out of town,” Frank said.

  “You know,” Joe said, “maybe you were right when you said we shouldn’t get too excited before we’re completely out of this place. I’ve got a bad feeling.”

  Frank slowed as he approached the bridge. It didn’t look especially rickety, but it was obviously old and he wanted to cross it as slowly as possible. He eased the truck onto the wooden surface.

  Each plank made a groaning noise as they passed over it, but the bridge seemed to be solid. Joe held his breath but was prepared to let it out in a sigh of relief.

  Then everything seemed to spin in a circle in front of them. The bridge was tilting to the left. The truck slid to one side and hit the wooden guardrail, which snapped in two like the fence they had driven through earlier.

  Then the truck fell off the bridge and plummeted toward a small stream below!

  15 Stream of Unconsciousness

  Frank awoke to the splash of cold water across his face. Where was he? He figured he must have lost consciousness for a while.

  He was lying on his left side, a heavy weight on top of him. He turned his head to see both Rhonda and Joe lying on top of him. They were all in the cab of the truck, but it had been rotated ninety degrees. Water was flowing through every tiny crack in the vehicle.

  “Hey, you guys!” Frank shouted, spitting water from his mouth as he spoke. “Get off me before I drown!”

  “Huh?” Joe said. “What happened? Oh, yeah, we took a header on the bridge. Well, not a header exactly..

  “Just get off of me!” Frank shouted again. “And get out of this truck! Fast!”

  Rhonda moaned. Joe reached up and opened the passenger side window, which was now directly above them. He pulled himself up on the edge of the window, then reached down to pull Rhonda up after him. Frank pushed from below as Rhonda groggily allowed them to drag her out of the truck.

  The three of them crawled out of the window and jumped to the water below. The truck was lying on its side in the middle of a shallow stream about twenty feet wide.

  “Now what do we do?” Joe said. “How are we going to get this truck out of here?”

  “Let’s get everybody out of the back first,” Frank said, opening the rear door. Phil Cohen came tumbling out, landing in the water with a splash.

  “I take back what I said,” Phil groaned. “That was just mildly lousy driving before. This was really bad driving!”

  Loraleigh and Jack clambered out after him. Biff took a little longer to maneuver. He was barely able to use the crutches now because he was in so much pain.

  “What happened?” Loraleigh asked.

  “Looks like the bridge finally collapsed from old age,” Rhonda said.

  “No,” Jack Mason said. “It wasn’t old age. Look over there.”

  He walked to the bridge. A large section in the middle had broken off and was tilting precariously to one side. At the points where it had broken away from the rest of the bridge the wood had a cleanly sawed look.

  “Somebody deliberately cut the bridge so that nobody could get across it,” Jack said. “Probab
ly those Brookburn boys. They wanted to make sure there was no way you boys could leave town.”

  “So what are we going to do with the truck?” Joe asked again. “Pull it out of here by hand?”

  “Maybe we should just walk to the highway,” Frank suggested. “We can hitch a ride to the nearest town.”

  “No,” Rhonda said. “That would take too long. By then Sheriff Brickfield will be out of those handcuffs and coming after us.”

  “That’s true,” Jack said. “Someone will notice him missing and will unlock the cuffs. They’ll let Bill and Quentin go, too.”

  “Then we’ll pull the truck out ourselves,” Frank said. “Come on, everybody. If we all lift together, maybe we can get it upright so we can drive out of the water.”

  “I’d like to help, guys,” Biff said, “but I’m afraid I’ll have sit this one out.” He limped to one bank of the river and sat on a large rock, laying his crutches beside him.

  Everybody else gathered along the top of the truck and reached into the water, gripping the lower edge of the roof as tightly as possible. On Frank’s command, they began to lift.

  The truck began to budge. Little by little, as everybody strained, it rose slowly until it was about two feet out of the streambed. Then nobody could lift it any farther. Finally, their arms fatigued, the group eased the truck back into the stream.

  “It’s no use,” Jack Mason said. “We’ll never get this thing upright without help.”

  “Well, where are we going to find help in the middle of the woods?” Frank asked.

  His question was answered by the sound of galloping hooves coming up the road from the town. Chet Morton appeared at the head of the collapsed bridge, atop the muscular horse from the farm.

  “Hey, you guys tried to leave without me!” he yelled at the group.

  “Sorry,” Joe said. “We had to save the group, and you were impossible to find. I thought you were going to take that horse back to the barn hours ago.”

  “I wanted to, but Formby couldn’t stand to be parted from me,” Chet answered sheepishly. “So what are you trying to do? And why are you standing around in the middle of a river?”