Hunting for Hidden Gold Page 9

“An amazing turn of events,” Mr. Hardy said.

  As soon as the meal was over, Hank and the boys went off to hire fresh mounts from the livery stable. They promised to pay the owner for the lost horse if it was not recovered. Hank started off for Bear Creek to meet the sheriff. Meanwhile, Frank and Joe rode to the general store.

  “Mornin’, boys,” Burke greeted them. Aside from his bruised cheek, he seemed to have suffered no ill effects from the fight.

  Frank read off a short list of supplies. One item was a carton of canned beans. When Burke brought it, Frank said, “We’d better divide the cans between our saddlebags, Joe. Could you lend me a knife to open the carton, Mr. Burke?”

  “Sure,” Burke took out a huge pocketknife and tossed it on the counter.

  As the storekeeper went off to get the rest of the items, Frank opened the knife. About half the main blade was broken off!

  The Hardys exchanged quick glances of triumph. The first part of Frank’s plan had paid off. Unless the broken knife was an amazing coincidence, Burke must be the man the gang called “Slip Gun”! Now to see if he would take the bait they were about to offer!

  As Frank had hoped, Burke was curious as to why the boys needed the supplies. “You fellas fixin’ to take a trip somewhere?” he asked casually as he totaled the bill.

  “Not too far,” Frank replied. “We’ll be camping in a canyon up the mountain a ways.”

  “And we’ll be coming back rich!” Joe added boastfully.

  Frank shot an angry look at his brother, as if Joe had spoken out of turn.

  “Rich?” Burke looked at the boys questioningly.

  “It was supposed to be a secret,” Frank grumbled, “but—well, I guess we can trust you after what happened last night.”

  “Sure! I won’t tell nobody,” Burke purred. “Well, one reason we came out West was to look for some lost gold that an old miner named Mike Onslow told us about,” Frank began.

  “He drew us a map,” put in Joe, “but it was stolen from us.”

  “Then yesterday we were out in a box canyon where there’s a certain rock formation that looks like a bear,” Frank went on. “We’d heard Big Al’s gang planned to meet there. We didn’t see the gang, but we did spot a clue to the whereabouts of the gold. And we have the location marked right here on a map we drew ourselves.”

  Frank pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket and tapped it significantly.

  Burke stared in amazement. “No foolin’! You really know where to lay hands on the gold?”

  The boys nodded gloatingly.

  “But please don’t say a word to anyone,” Joe cautioned. “We don’t want to start a gold rush out to that canyon before we’ve had a chance to uncover the treasure.”

  “Don’t worry, boys! Mum’s the word as far as I’m concerned.” Burke gave an oily smile.

  After stowing the supplies in their saddlebags, Frank and Joe rode out of town. Beyond the ridge they reined up at a sheltered spot agreed upon beforehand with Hank. Here the boys waited until they were joined by Hank and Sheriff Kenner. Then all four set out together, retracing the route the Hardys had followed when returning to town from the canyon the evening before.

  A brief search soon disclosed the opening in the hillside through which the gang had emerged from the canyon. The entrance widened into a high-arched rocky passage, big enough for riding two abreast. The passage ended directly below the bear-shaped rock.

  Once inside, Frank, Joe, and their two companions paused to consider their next move.

  Sheriff Kenner, a rugged-looking man with an iron-gray mustache, asked the boys, “What time do you figure the gang will show—assuming Burke took the bait?”

  “He jumped at it!” Joe declared confidently.

  “My hunch is,” Frank said, “they’ll wait until after dark and try to take us by surprise.”

  The group kept out of sight below the rocky overhang and Hank cooked lunch over a small fire. Meanwhile, the two boys searched for the broken knife blade. Joe soon found it.

  “This sure looks as if it fits Burke’s knife,” he said, handing over the blade to the sheriff.

  By the time darkness fell, the group had arranged a convincing-looking camp with two stone-and-brush dummies covered with blankets to resemble sleepers. Then the four retired with their horses behind a cluster of huge boulders.

  Time passed slowly. The campfire was renewed. Suddenly, above the soughing of the wind, the listeners’ ears caught the faint clop of horses’ hoofs. The riders were coming through the rocky passage. Frank, Joe, and their two companions swung quietly into their saddles. Sheriff Kenner whispered final orders.

  Moments later, three horsemen entered the canyon. There was sufficient moonlight for the boys to make out Slim and Jake. The third man, they guessed, was Big Al. Evidently Burke was not taking part in the raid.

  The three thugs paused inside the canyon. The dying campfire and the two blanketed dummies lay in plain view. Big Al hissed out an order. Slim and Jake charged forward, their horses breaking into a gallop. The gang leader followed at a more leisurely pace.

  “All right, let’s take ’em!” Sheriff Kenner snapped in a low voice. He and Hank spurred their horses from behind the boulders, while Frank and Joe waited, according to plan.

  “Don’t go for your guns! Just reach!” Sheriff Kenner yelled. At the same time, he fired a shot to show that he meant business.

  Slim and Jake reined up sharply. Their hands shot skyward in panic as the bullet whistled over their heads. Frank and Joe spurred their horses into action and sped from behind the boulders. At that same instant Big Al wheeled his horse in a wild dash for the passageway. The boys and Hank followed, but suddenly Hank’s horse stumbled and its rider went flying off. The Hardys stopped, and turned back to help him.

  “I’ll—be all right—boys. Nothin—broken! Just —got the—wind knocked out o’ me,” he called out.

  Reassured, Joe swung his mount in the direction of the escaping outlaw. “Big Al’s getting away! Let’s go after him!” he called to his brother.

  Frank needed no urging. Together, they galloped after the ringleader. With Slim and Jake to deal with, the sheriff was powerless to join the chase. He shouted a warning to the two boys, advising them to wait, but his cry was drowned by the thundering hoofbeats.

  The boys were already plunging through the tunnel in hot pursuit of the outlaw. In the darkness ahead they could hear the pounding hoofs of Big Al’s mount and see an occasional glint of sparks as its steel shoes struck the rocks.

  Presently a dim glow of moonlight showed the passageway coming to an end. For a time Big Al’s figure was clearly silhouetted. Then it was lost to view as he emerged from the passage and headed to the right along the foot of the hillside. In moments Frank and Joe were out of the passageway and turning their own horses in the same direction.

  “Big Al’s heading toward the same notch he and his men aimed for yesterday!” Frank called.

  For more than an hour the chase continued—over rocks, through dangerous gullies, then along a river winding through a narrow canyon. Suddenly Frank and Joe lost sight of their quarry as the canyon curved sharply. When the boys rounded the bend, they reined up in astonishment.

  Ahead, the canyon ended abruptly in a high frozen cataract. The outlaw had vanished!

  CHAPTER XV

  Underground Chase

  FRANK and Joe looked at each other in sheer disbelief, mingled with uneasiness. Except for the panting of their horses, not a sound broke the wintry silence of the canyon.

  “Could Big Al have rigged some kind of ambush?” Joe asked in a low, worried voice.

  “I don’t see how,” Frank murmured, scanning the terrain. “There’s no place for him and his horse to hide.”

  The cliff walls on either side were bare and precipitous. With the moon almost directly overhead, the snow-covered floor of the canyon was revealed with brilliant clarity. The narrow riverbanks were barren of brush. Aside from a few scattered
rocks —none big enough to afford cover—nothing intervened between the boys and the frozen waterfall.

  “Well, he must be here somewhere,” Joe said edgily. “His tracks will give us the answer.”

  Frank agreed. The boys dismounted and moved forward cautiously, leading their horses. Moonlight wrapped the scene in eerie loneliness. The boys kept their eyes and ears alert. Gradually they became aware of another sound—the muted roar of falling water, still flowing behind the glacier-like formation.

  The sound became louder as they neared the cataract. The majestic ice curtain glittered in the moonlight. It was fringed with great, jagged blue-white spears that hung down like stalactites.

  “I don’t get it,” Joe muttered. “Al’s tracks lead straight toward the waterfall!”

  As they proceeded, Frank took out his flashlight, and switched it on. He gave a cry of surprise.

  “Joe! He must have gone under the waterfall!”

  At the base of the cliff was a dark open space yawning between the curve of the falls and the rock face! It was large enough to admit a horse and rider. The boys moved closer for a better look and Frank probed the darkness with his flashlight.

  “Look! There’s an opening in the cliff wall!” Joe exclaimed. “It must be a tunnel!”

  “Or maybe just a blind cavern,” Frank said, switching off his flashlight. “Big Al could be waiting for us in there!”

  After a whispered conference, Frank groped his way behind the cataract. When he reached the opening in the cliff he quickly snapped on his flashlight again for a more leisurely examination. Presently he came back and reported to Joe. “It’s a tunnel, all right. No telling how far it goes —or where.”

  “No sign of Big Al?” Joe questioned.

  “Not in person, but there are wet tracks.”

  The two horses balked a bit as the boys took their bridles and attempted to lead them into the dark space behind the icy falls. Joe’s animal, which was in the lead, whinnied and reared when it felt the splattering spray, but it soon calmed under Joe’s reassuring hand.

  Inside the tunnel mouth the passage widened, giving the boys room to mount. Frank and Joe rode slowly forward, with Joe, in the lead, shining his flashlight.

  After several hundred yards the passage widened and the boys were able to ride side by side.

  “Must have been the bed of an old underground stream,” Frank guessed. “See how smooth the walls are worn.”

  Joe nodded. “We’d better speed up before Big Al gets too far ahead.”

  Urging their horses to a faster pace, they pushed on through the tunnel. At intervals the boys stopped and listened, hoping to catch some sound of their quarry. The fourth time they halted, a faint echoing sound of horse’s hoofs on rock reached their ears from somewhere ahead.

  “We must be getting closer!” Joe said tensely.

  Just how close was difficult to judge, since the enclosed passage with its smooth, hard walls might carry the sound almost any distance. The boys rode on steadily. When they paused to listen once more, the hoofbeats were no longer audible. But twenty minutes later Joe thought he could detect them again.

  “He may be far ahead of us,” said Frank. “Sound can be pretty tricky in here.”

  As the brothers continued along the tunnel, the chill, dank atmosphere gradually became warmer. Frank and Joe unzipped their heavy windbreakers.

  After a while it became necessary to rest the horses. The Hardys did not dare pause too long for fear of losing Big Al completely, and soon went on.

  The tunnel turned and twisted. The horses were nervous at first about proceeding, but gradually became accustomed to the experience.

  “It seems as if we’ve been traveling for hours,” said Frank. Presently he snapped on his flashlight to glance at his wristwatch. To his amazement, it was almost three-thirty in the morning! “Whew! Do you realize the night’s almost over, Joe?”

  “I sure do. The horses are bushed.”

  Gradually the boys became aware that the tunnel was sloping upward. The horses began to pant and labor from the steepness of the incline, and the Hardys had to rest them more frequently.

  “It’s getting colder in here,” Joe said with a sudden shiver. Both boys zipped up their jackets.

  “We must be getting close to the surface,” Frank said hopefully.

  Sometime later he was about to turn on his flashlight again when he paused. “Hey! The tunnel’s not so dark as it has been—or am I imagining things?”

  “You’re right!” Joe replied, with rising excitement. “I’ll keep my flashlight off for a while.”

  Soon the boys could feel cold air on their faces. The tunnel was lightening every moment, and presently a gray glimmer of daylight showed ahead. With joyful cries of relief, Frank and Joe urged their horses forward.

  In a minute or so, they had emerged onto a snow-covered mountainside. Rocks, scattered trees, and slopes all around them were bathed in the ghostly light of dawn. The Hardys leaped from their horses, stretched their tired muscles, and inhaled the fresh air deeply. Then they looked around and assessed their situation.

  “There are Big Al’s tracks,” Joe said, pointing them out.

  Frank nodded. “Fairly fresh, too—but he could be a good distance ahead of us.”

  “Any idea where we are, Frank?”

  “Not much, except that we’ve come clear through the mountain.” Frank grinned wryly. “I’m famished, Joe. How about you?”

  “Same here! Think we can take time to eat?”

  “May as well,” Frank decided. “No telling how long we’ll be on the trail. Lucky we didn’t unpack.”

  The boys fed their horses, built a small fire, and had breakfast. Then they swung back into the saddles and resumed their pursuit of the outlaw. His tracks led upward onto a beaten trail winding along the mountainside.

  When they reached the path, Frank reined in his mount and glanced toward a high, jutting rock formation farther up the mountain. “Know something, Joe?” he remarked. “I’ll bet this is a continuation of Ambush Trail.”

  Joe snapped his fingers. “You’re right! I remember seeing that rocky outcrop way in the distance, just before we fell into the river!”

  “If this is Ambush Trail,” Frank went on, “Big Al must be heading for their hideout on Windy Peak.”

  “That figures,” Joe agreed. “He thinks he’s shaken us by going through the tunnel.”

  The boys continued their pursuit throughout the morning. Around noontime, Big Al’s tracks left the well-defined path and disappeared upward among the higher rocks and brush.

  Joe groaned at the sight. “Good grief! How can we tackle that kind of ground when our horses are exhausted already?”

  Frank looked thoughtful as they slouched in their saddles and studied the terrain. “Maybe there’s no need to, Joe. I have a hunch this could be a dodge to throw us off.”

  “You could be right,” Joe said, brightening. “If Big Al’s heading for Windy Peak, he’ll probably have to come back to the trail eventually.”

  After talking the matter over, the Hardys decided to halt for lunch and a rest. Two hours later, feeling refreshed, they hit the trail again.

  It was late in the afternoon when the boys sighted the outlaw’s tracks once more, leading from the slope back down to the trail.

  “Your hunch paid off, Frank!” Joe exclaimed. “These tracks look pretty fresh, too!”

  Encouraged, the boys pressed forward with new energy. A mile farther on, the trail forked. One branch struck sharply upward. The other followed a more winding course along the curve of the mountainside. To their left stretched a shallow box canyon.

  Frank and Joe took the lower trail, since the prints showed that Big Al had gone that way. Gradually the path became little more than a rocky ledge, with frequent sharp turns and a sheer drop-off along the outer edge. The Hardys rode single file, with Joe in the lead.

  Suddenly a pebble clattered down from a rock jutting out just above their heads. Fra
nk shot a quick glance upward. “Look out, Joe!” he yelled.

  A rope with a wide circling noose was snaking down toward his brother’s head!

  Frank’s warning came an instant too late. The noose settled over Joe’s shoulders and jerked tight, nearly yanking him from the saddle.

  Frank spurred forward, white with terror. Someone hidden on the ledge above them was trying to drop Joe over the precipice! Frank managed to grab the taut rope just in time. Almost at the same instant, the unseen enemy let go of it. Joe would have gone over the brink, but Frank’s quick jerk on the rope pulled his brother back from the edge, and Joe dropped heavily onto the trail. Unhurt, he struggled to his feet and began extricating himself from the noose. In moments he was free.

  “There goes the rat!” Frank yelled as a figure burst from the ledge above and scrambled rapidly along the slope.

  Big Al!

  Instantly Joe was back in the saddle. The Hardys spurred forward in hot pursuit. The outlaw’s course was roughly parallel to the trail. Suddenly Big Al checked his stride long enough to send a large rock rumbling down the slope.

  “Hold it, Frank!” Joe warned.

  Both boys yanked their horses to a rearing, whinnying halt in the nick of time! A split second later the rock crashed onto the trail just ahead, rolled to the edge, and went over.

  The animals snorted with fear and stood trembling. Frank and Joe barely managed to spur them into motion again. Big Al was lost to view behind a clump of brush and jagged outcropping.

  The trail ahead bent sharply around a projecting shoulder of the mountainside. Joe caught a quick glimpse of Big Al outlined against the sky as he rounded the slope. Then he disappeared.

  The boys slowed their mounts to negotiate the dangerous hairpin curve of the ledge. As they came around to the opposite side of the shoulder, Joe reined in and signaled Frank to halt. Ahead stood Big Al’s riderless horse. The Hardys dismounted to scout the situation.

  “Where has he gone?” Frank asked tensely.

  “Search me,” Joe replied, looking around.

  Just past the outlaw’s horse the trail petered out and the terrain sloped upward in a jumble of giant rocks. Beyond them a huge boulder stood poised straight up like a pinnacle.