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  THE HARDY BOYS CASEFILES

  means the same person was in both places. And that means—"

  ''Once you match the bootprint to someone's boot, you have a good chance of being able to name the murderer." Ronnie tossed her hair back over her shoulder.

  "I hope you find something," Callie said anxiously. 'There's only one more day till that arson report comes back. And since it seems pretty certain that that dynamite is from the same batch that was planted on Uncle Stan, he'll probably be arrested immediately."

  "Joe, look at this," Frank said suddenly, pulling back from one of the photographs and hurriedly unclipping it. He handed the magnifying glass to Joe, then climbed down from the stool and strode over to the filing cabinet in the corner, where he'd left extra prints from the earlier printing session.

  Frank grabbed one of the earlier photographs and brought it over beside the new one. "Compare them," he said to his brother, barely able to control the excitement in his voice.

  Slowly and deliberately, Joe peered through the glass at first one photograph, then the other. He turned to his brother and said with a gleam in his eyes, "I think you did it, Frank.

  "See," Joe explained to Callie and Ronnie, "there are three hobnails missing in a little triangle down on this side." He pointed to the boot-print in the newer photo. Then he moved the magnifying glass over to the older print. "And

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  here it is again. Three missing nails in exactly the same place."

  ''Frank!" Callie looked up from the magnifying glass, her face alight with excitement. "You really did it! Now if we can find the boot to match these prints. Uncle Stan's practically free!"

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  13

  Frank and Joe gathered up the photographs and stacked them into piles.

  "I have a feehng we'll find those boots on Rafe Collins's feet." Joe handed his stack to Frank.

  ''You might have some trouble persuading him to take them off/' Callie pointed out.

  "Collins did the dirty work for Johnson, and Johnson may not have been fooled by our act at the mill," Joe pointed out. "He might have sent Collins after us already."

  "We need to get Uncle Stan's advice. He knows these people best," Callie said. "Besides, I want to ask him why he kept his plan with Owens a secret."

  Joe turned to Ronnie, who was standing, silently taking everything in. "You really think Bo

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  Johnson's responsible for Owens's death?" she demanded excitedly.

  Frank held up a hand to stop her. *'Remember that interview. Well, if you're quiet, you get it. If you tell, you don't."

  She held the back door open for them, and they sneaked back out into the cool afternoon air.

  Stan Shaw gave a low whistle as he looked over Frank's stack of photos in his kitchen less than half an hour later. "These are great pictures, Frank," Stan said. ''And it's a good thing. They might save me."

  "The trouble is, we still have to find this boot to prove who committed both crimes," Frank said excitedly.

  "Rafe Collins isn't the type who'll let us examine his footwear," Joe pointed out wryly. "And we're practically positive that Collins is our

  guy."

  "My suggestion, then, is to give these photographs to the sheriff," Stan said. "He could have Collins brought in for questioning and impound his logging boots as evidence."

  "We will," Callie assured him. "But first we need to do a few things to make our case as foolproof as possible."

  "Like what?" Stan asked, accepting a tuna sandwich that Joe had made.

  "Like ask you why you refused to tell us about the Forest Service plan you had worked

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  out with Buster Owens," Frank said, taking a sandwich and joining Stan and Callie at the table.

  Stan's gaze switched to Callie.

  "We found a copy of the plan," she explained nervously. "In Bo Johnson's office."

  Stan slammed down his sandwich. "You were in Johnson's office? You could have been killed!"

  "We had to go. Uncle Stan!" Callie protested. "You wouldn't tell us what you and Owens were meeting about. And it did turn out to be important!"

  Stan stared at his niece for a moment. Then his gaze dropped to the table. "I should have told you. The only reason Buster was willing to change over to conservation-friendly equipment was to put Johnson out of business. Actually that was all right with us because all along, Johnson has violated just about every environmentally supportive law on the books. He really would shave these mountains clean and leave nothing but stumps. Buster wasn't much better at first, but at least he was willing to try—especially if it hurt Johnson. His only requirement for taking the risk was that I not say a word until it went through. He was afraid that his loggers would quit and join Johnson if they knew."

  "But after he died, why couldn't you tell us then?"

  Stan shook his head. "I wanted to. But I didn't want to squeal. 1 was hoping Millie would

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  come around to her father's way of thinking, and I didn't want her to lose her crews. Please believe me—I never imagined that the plan could have anything to do with Buster's death. Is there any other evidence that Collins might have committed the murder?"

  "Yeah," replied Joe. "Your assistant, Vance Galen, spotted CoUins's car, that old red Caddie, near Buster's truck just minutes before the explosion took place."

  Stan's eyes widened. "Why didn't he tell me?"

  "He's afraid of Johnson and Collins," Callie said. "And he thinks the sheriff won't believe him."

  "I need to speak with him," Stan said, reaching for the phone. "He's in grave danger if Collins or Johnson is guilty and they even suspect that Galen knows. I'm afraid they're not the only ones around here who would be relieved to see him go."

  Stan dialed Galen's number, but no one answered. Finally Stan replaced the receiver in its cradle.

  "He might just not be answering his phone," Frank pointed out. "He was pretty spooked last time we saw him."

  "I say we pay him another visit," Joe decided.

  "You're right," Callie said.

  "Can you distract those reporters?" Frank asked Stan. The older man nodded.

  "We'll be back in an hour or two," he told

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  him. ''And if we're not, send someone, like the sheriff, to find us."

  "I wonder if the bulldozer will still be there," Callie said from the backseat as the jeep powered up the road on Stoner Mountain.

  Joe stared out at the road. "I doubt it. Didn't Walter Ecks say he'd return it to the equipment yard?"

  ''I kept an eye out for strangers," Frank remarked. 'That guy in camouflage who attacked Joe might still be— What's that?" he interrupted himself as he was staring out the window.

  "What?" Callie swiveled around to look.

  "There was a truck parked on a logging road leading off into the woods," Frank said, turning around as well. "Yes, there it is!" he added as a truck came into view in the distance. "I think we're being followed!"

  "Don't get paranoid." Joe glanced in his rear-view mirror. "We're not the only people allowed to drive on this mountain, you know."

  "Yeah, but how many local folks lie in ambush for our jeep to pass by?" Frank pointed out. "Speed up," he added. "Let's do some ambushing ourselves. If it's nobody we know, at least we'll have gotten to Galen's place a little faster."

  "Whatever you say." Joe pressed his foot down on the accelerator.

  The jeep bolted up the mountain. It flew over

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  a bump in the road and rounded a comer practically on two wheels.

  Joe glanced into his rearview mirror again. 'They're lost," he reported. ''If they were ever found, that is."

  "Turn off there," Frank ordered, pointing to a barely visible logging road.

  "Aye-aye, sir." Joe slammed on the brakes and made a sharp right turn onto the muddy road. The jeep swerved wildly. Joe pumped the brakes a
gain and the jeep made a 180-degree skid to face the main road.

  Moments later the truck appeared, driving very slowly up the mountain as though the driver was searching for something. "Here he comes," Frank said in a soft voice. "When I give the word, block the road."

  Joe kept his eyes on the truck. When Frank said, "Now," Joe slammed the car into gear and punched the accelerator.

  The jeep roared out of the woods like a wild animal, heading straight toward the slow-moving truck.

  Through the truck's windshield, Joe could see Freddy Zackarias scream. Frantically, the logger spun the steering wheel. But he lost control, and the truck careened off the side of the road and onto the cliff beside it.

  "Is he hurt?" Callie asked as Joe pulled up next to the truck and hopped out. Freddy, in camouflage, sat inside, rubbing his forehead.

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  ''Bruised a little," said Joe. ''But compared to what we've been through lately, it's nothing."

  "End of the line, Freddy," Frank was saying as he leaned in the window of the truck. "Hey, what's this?"

  Frank reached past Freddy to retrieve something from the seat beside him. "Look," he said, holding a walkie-talkie up for Joe and Callie to see. "It says 'Property of Johnson Lumber' right here on the back."

  "What do you want?" Freddy asked. He was glaring, but Joe saw fear in his eyes.

  "Answers," Joe replied. "Why were you following us?"

  "I wasn't. I was just going in the same direction," Freddy said.

  "Uh-uh, Freddy," Frank replied, leaning his arms on the window frame of Freddy's truck and peering inside. "Somebody's been reporting our movements to Bo Johnson, and that somebody is you."

  "I don't know what you're—" Freddy began defensively.

  "Save it," Joe snapped. "We know you're Johnson's spy. How long have you been on our tail today? Since we left the sawmill?"

  "You can't prove anything!" Freddy shouted at them.

  "If I were you, I'd be scared they'd bump me off because I knew too much," Frank added.

  "And if you helped Collins kill Buster Owens, that makes you an accessory to murder," Callie

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  pointed out. '*I wonder how many years you'll get?"

  "Ready, gang?" Joe asked, satisfied. As soon as Frank and Callie were back in the jeep, he stepped on the gas. Freddy's truck disappeared as the jeep rounded a bend.

  "He might go right back to Collins and Johnson and tell them what we said," Frank remarked as they neared the top of the mountain.

  "Great," said Joe. "How will that help us?"

  "It might spook Collins and Johnson into doing something careless," Frank replied. "And then maybe we can catch them in the act."

  "Are you sure we want to risk that?" Callie asked. "Stan was pretty worried that those guys would figure out what we were up to."

  "Too late now," Joe pointed out. "If we didn't want them to know what we were up to, we never should have shown up at Bo Johnson's mill."

  "Finally, we're at Walt Ecks's house. Straight grade to Vance's place. Now if we can just—"

  Joe never heard the rest of Frank's sentence. In that instant a shot rang out.

  "Duck!" Callie screamed.

  Before Joe could even react, a bullet shattered the windshield.

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  14

  As Callie screamed, Frank pushed her head down and then ducked under the dashboard himself. He felt the jeep veer wildly to the right and lurch into a nearby field.

  ''Joe?" he yelled as the jeep rolled to a stop. There was nothing but silence.

  "Joe!" Frank shouted as he reached over the gearshift for his brother.

  ''Yeah, yeah. I'm okay."

  Frank sank back, relieved.

  "But I think I got some glass in my forehead."

  "You're lucky," Callie said from behind Joe's seat. "Somebody isn't kidding around."

  "And we're sitting ducks," Frank added. "Joe, when I give the word, throw open your door, then you and Callie slide over and get out the passenger-side door."

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  "What about our playmate with the rifle?" Joe asked.

  "He should be shooting at your door," Frank explained. "It's our only chance, so let's do it. Ready? One, two, now!"

  Frank knew his ruse had worked when the sniper put several rounds through the driver's door. By the time the gunman realized his error, Frank, Joe, and Callie had already scrambled into the underbrush beside the road.

  "Who is that guy?" Callie whispered, clutching Frank by the arm as they crouched in the bushes, trying to catch their breath.

  "What difference does it make?" whispered Joe, who hid a few feet from them.

  Frank heard three shots ring out. The ground only five feet from their hiding place exploded. Callie stifled a shriek and huddled closer to Frank.

  "That was too close," Frank said, feeling himself break out into a clammy sweat. "Move into the woods. Fast!"

  Frank crawled on hands and knees to where the forest began. Glancing back to make sure Callie was right behind him, he dove into the darkness of the trees, then got to his feet and ran.

  Despite the afternoon sun, it was dark beneath the trees. After only fifty yards Frank tripped over a trailing vine. Callie, right behind him, tripped over Frank, and Joe tripped over them

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  both. Lying still, Callie whispered tensely, ''Okay. What do we do now?"

  ''We could try splitting up and attacking the guy from two different directions," Joe suggested.

  "What are we going to attack him with?" Frank asked impatiently. "Rocks?"

  Before Joe could reply, Frank heard shots ring out from somewhere up the road. "Wait," he whispered in the silence that followed, "wasn't that a different gun?"

  The crack-whiz! sounds of the second rifle's shots were answered by the familiar boom of the sniper's hunting rifle.

  "It sounds like a gun battle!" Frank said, bewildered. "What's going on?"

  "Maybe it's the sheriff," Callie suggested. The three of them listened a moment longer. The gunmen were definitely shooting at each other.

  "Let's circle back to the road," Joe suggested.

  "Right," Frank agreed. "But be careful. We don't want to get caught in crossfire!"

  Frank crept behind Callie through the thick woods as she followed Joe. When they reached the bushes that lined the road, ihey paused to make sure the coast was clear.

  Just as Joe started to lead them out onto the road, a car came tearing around the bend in the road. Joe froze.

  "Joe!" Callie squealed helplessly.

  The car slowed and the driver's head appeared through the windshield. To Frank's relief he recognized the face.

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  "It's Walter!" he said to Callie. ^'Walter Ecks!"

  Walter pulled the station wagon off the road, and Joe, Callie, and Frank raced toward the doors and began climbing in. ''Watch out!" Frank said to Walter. ''There's a sniper out there!"

  "I know!" Automatically, Ecks ducked down to the floor along with the others. A moment later he said, "1 heard the shooting from my cabin! Is anybody hurt?"

  "We're okay, thanks," Frank replied as the four of them cautiously rose a little in their seats. Frank realized that there was a pump shotgun on the seat beside the driver.

  "Who was shooting at you?" Ecks demanded.

  "We don't know," Callie replied. "But we heard two guns. Did you fire?"

  Ecks's answer was drowned out by a wave of noise that suddenly surrounded the car. Before Frank knew what was happening, Walter Ecks was out of the station wagon, his shotgun aimed over the roof of the car at a very surprised Vance Galen. In one hand Galen held a .22 rifle.

  "Don't shoot!" Galen shouted. "It was me who drove the sniper off. Anybody hurt?"

  "No," Joe answered from inside the station wagon, "but our jeep got shot up."

  "Did you see the sniper?" Frank asked Vance.

  "Just a glimpse. It was somebody i
n camouflage perched in a tree." Galen made his way through the brush to the car. "1 never got a clear look at him."

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  *'You heard shots from your place, I guess," Ecks said suspiciously, lowering his own rifle very slowly.

  *'Yeah, so I came running. Then I saw your jeep and I knew something was up."

  Ecks looked in the car at the three shaken teenagers. *'Who'd want to go after you?" he asked.

  *'We think it has to do with Buster's murder," Frank told him.

  "Somebody must have figured we were coming to see you or Vance, and they wanted to keep us from asking questions," Joe added.

  Ecks sighed wearily. *'I think we'd better go see the sheriff," he said. ''We've got one fine person dead already. No use in more of us following."

  "You're right, sir." Frank turned pointedly to Vance Galen. "It's time we all talked to Ferris."

  "Will you talk to Ferris now, Vance?" Callie asked, her eyes searching his face.

  "Yes!" Galen said. "I've had enough of this violence!"

  "And, sir," Frank added to Walter Ecks, "you should tell him about the bulldozer being taken."

  Ecks nodded. "Sure, if you think it will help. I want to get the guys who killed Buster."

  "Why don't you take Vance into town?" Frank suggested. "Tell Ferris we'll be in soon."

  "Where are you going?" Galen asked.

  "Relax," Frank assured him. "We're going

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  out to find a piece of evidence that may just solve the case."

  ''Where are we going, Frank?" Joe asked as the two men drove off in Ecks's car.

  ''We're going to find Coilins's car," Frank replied. "Maybe there's something in it that will link Collins to the murder."

  ''How are we going to find it?" Callie asked. "Even if CoUins was the guy who shot at us, he could be anywhere by now."

  "My guess is that Collins headed for someplace where witnesses could vouch for his presence. A place like Johnson Lumber," Frank speculated. "He probably needs to tell Johnson what's happening, anyway."

  Joe frowned. "1 guess it's as good a place to look as any. But what if Collins's car isn't there?"