Hunting for Hidden Gold

by Franklin W. Dixon

  A spatter of stones and earth went clattering down the mountainside. As the brothers scrambled for safer ground, their mounts became panicky, neighing and pawing wildly for a foothold.

  The horses’ bucking dislodged still more shale. The next instant, the horses and the boys went slipping and sliding downward in the landslide. All three of the animals went over on their sides in a swirl of flying hoofs.

  Frank and Joe were half stunned as they tumbled on down the mountain. Below was an icy creek. Suddenly they were sailing through the air.

  Crash! ... Crash!

  The Hardys and their horses shattered the ice and disappeared below the surface of the mountain torrent!

  CHAPTER XI

  Shadow of the Bear

  THE icy shock of the water stung the Hardys back to full consciousness. They flailed their arms and legs wildly, fighting to get to the surface.

  Frank broke water first, gasping for breath. His heart skipped when he saw nothing but the half-frozen river, the struggling horses, and the steep-sided canyon. Where was Joe?

  Then his brother bobbed to the surface nearby. “Thank goodness,” Frank murmured.

  Neither boy had breath to spare to make himself heard above the roar of the rushing current. The ice extended outward from both banks, but near the center, the water was surging along in full torrent. With every passing moment, Frank and Joe were being swept farther downstream.

  Joe pointed to the horses. The two saddle animals were breaking their way through the ice, gradually swimming and floundering toward shore. Daisy, the elderly pack mare, loaded down with supplies, was having a more difficult time.

  “She may drown!” Frank thought fearfully.

  He and Joe summoned all their strength and swam toward the frantic animals. In a few minutes their own horses managed to reach the bank. Daisy was rolling her eyes, whinnying and snorting with terror. But Frank and Joe were finally able to steer her to safety through the broken ice.

  At last the boys staggered out of the water and flopped down on the rocky, snow-covered bank. The saddle horses stood shaking themselves farther up the shore, and Daisy trotted on to join them.

  “Wow!” Joe took a deep breath. “What a day for a swim!”

  “Joe, we’re pretty lucky, at that.” Frank got up. “We’d better see about the supplies.”

  “And a fire—if we can make one,” Joe added.

  Both boys were shivering and blue with cold. They hurried toward the horses. At least half the provisions and gear strapped to Daisy’s back had come loose and had been carried away.

  “Let’s get out of sight first,” Joe suggested. “Someone may be spying on us from up on the mountain.”

  “Right!” Frank agreed. “I’m sure now that the barrier on the trail was no accident.”

  The brothers led the horses toward some sheltering timber. Just beyond the trees they discovered a rocky recess in the mountainside. Here they grouped the horses and proceeded to survey the state of their supplies.

  “Well,” Joe said, “at least it’s not so bad as it might have been.”

  Most of their provisions were gone, as well as their tent and other camp equipment. But they had blankets, towels, spare clothing, fishing gear, compass, matches, and some food. Luckily, everything had been packed in waterproof wrapping.

  “I’m sure glad we still have that compass,” Frank remarked, as the boys unsaddled the horses and used the towels to rub down the animals.

  “You bet,” Joe agreed. “If we should lose our bearings in this wilderness with our food so low, we’d really be in a jam.”

  “You build a fire, Joe,” Frank suggested, “while I get out dry clothes for us.”

  After donning fresh clothing in the warmth from the crackling flames, and drying their windbreakers, the Hardys soon felt more comfortable. Their horses recovered rapidly and began to nibble the shrubs and winter-dry brush sticking up through the snow.

  Frank stepped out of their rocky niche and shaded his eyes toward the sun, which was already red and low in the sky. In another half hour it would be out of sight behind the mountains.

  “Too late to do much traveling now,” said Frank. “We may as well camp here and strike out for Windy Peak early in the morning.”

  “Okay, Frank. I’ll try some fishing. That looks like a trout stream.”

  He put their collapsible fishing rod together and headed off among the trees toward the bank of the river.

  “Watch your step on that ice!” Frank called.

  As Joe disappeared from view, his brother took out their precious compass. Using the setting sun as a reference, he checked the action of the needle to see if any magnetic ore in the range might be affecting it. The deviation, if any, seemed to be very slight.

  “It’s a cinch we’ll never get back up the cliff to the trail,” Frank thought. “At least not here. We’ll have to follow the river and try to find some place where the canyon walls are not so steep.”

  “Frank! Frank!” It was Joe calling from the river. “Help! Frank, help!”

  “The ice!” Frank thought. “Joe’s broken through!”

  Laying the compass on a flat rock, the older Hardy dashed toward the river. To Frank’s amazement, Joe was in no danger. But he was sprawled flat on the ice, clinging desperately to the rod and trying not to lose the prize catch he had hooked. The fish had sounded and was bending the rod almost to a U-shape as it fought to escape.

  “Quick! Give me a hand!” Joe shouted.

  Frank flat-footed gingerly out onto the ice, grabbed the line, and began hauling in.

  “I guess we’re breaking all the rules for game fishing,” he called back with a chuckle, “but this is one fellow we can’t risk losing!”

  The fish put up a furious struggle that roused the boys’ admiration, but they finally managed to reel in a huge cutthroat trout.

  “Boy, what a swell catch!” Frank cried. “There’s our supper!”

  “First fish that ever decked me,” Joe said, grinning. “But then it’s the first time I’ve ever tried trout fishing on ice.”

  Back at camp, Joe set about cleaning the fish while Frank built up the fire. Suddenly Joe heard his brother gasp.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “The compass!” Frank exclaimed. “I left it right here on this flat rock. Now it’s gone!”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive. I put it exactly where this pine cone is. Wait a minute! That wasn’t here before!” Frank broke off and picked up the pine cone. An exasperated look spread over his face. “You know what, Joe? A pack rat has been here!”

  “I’ll bet you’re right!” Joe declared. “The rat picked up the compass because it’s bright and shiny, and left the pine cone in its place.”

  The Hardys looked at each other gravely. Any other time the situation might have been funny, but right now the compass was vital to them. Without it, they might never find their way safely out of the wilderness.

  “Come on! Let’s look for it!” Frank urged. “I remember reading that pack rats will often drop a prize if something else catches their eye.”

  The boys began a systematic search, pacing back and forth around the camp in widening circles. At last Frank detected some faint rodent tracks in the trampled snow and soon spotted a shiny object in the cliffside brush.

  Frank pounced on the compass with a cry of relief. “Whew!” he exclaimed. “What a break!”

  “Better keep it in your pocket from now on,” Joe advised.

  The trout, cooked over heated rocks, made a tasty dish. After the meal, the boys felt more cheerful. As they huddled around the campfire in their blankets, Frank said thoughtfully, “Tomorrow’s the day for Big Al’s meeting.”

  “Right. I wish we could find the place.”

  “If only we knew what Shadow of the Bear meant,” Frank mused.

  In spite of the cold and their desperate situation, the boys slept well. The horses, too, evidently rested well during the night, staying close
together near the embers of the fire.

  Next morning Frank and Joe made a cold breakfast of oatmeal mush and dried apricots from their scanty supplies. Then they fed and saddled the horses, strapped their remaining gear on Daisy’s back, and headed downriver.

  The canyon turned and twisted along the curve of the mountainside, and the footing was treacherous. As they rode, the Hardys continually scanned the sides of the gorge, hoping to find a route out of the canyon. Twice they dismounted and tried to thread their way upward, leading the horses. But both times the cliff wall proved too steep.

  At last, however, the canyon opened out and the slope of the cliffs became more gentle. Relieved, Frank and Joe halted for another cold meal. Then they rode to higher ground and struck back across the rolling foothills of the mountain range in the general direction of town.

  Eventually they cut into a beaten trail. About midafternoon, the brothers swung over a rise on the rocky, snow-covered path and Frank reined up sharply.

  “Look!” he exclaimed, and indicated the area to their right.

  Looming against the sky was a huge, ungainly rock formation that crudely resembled a bear standing upright.

  “Al’s meeting place!” Joe breathed.

  Dismounting, the boys ground-hitched their horses out of sight behind a clump of boulders. Then they crept cautiously toward the huge rock formation. To their surprise, Frank and Joe discovered that it was poised on the rim of a small box canyon.

  The Hardys cautiously peered over the edge. The canyon was choked with drifted snow, from which protruded a few scrubby trees and brush. The view directly below was blocked by a shelving overhang of rock, about twenty feet farther down and extending along the cliff wall. The boys could detect no sign or sound of human beings.

  “Maybe we missed the meeting,” Joe murmured. “Or this isn’t the place, after all.”

  “I’ll bet it is,” Frank replied. “My guess is, the confab hasn’t been held yet.” He gazed across the canyon. “Let’s keep an eye on that bear’s shadow.”

  In the lowering sun the rock formation cast a formless shadow on the opposite wall. As the boys stood up, Joe remarked with a puzzled look, “That shadow doesn’t look much like a bear.”

  “True. But it might at some other time of day. Remember, Slim didn’t name any hour for the meeting. He just said, ‘Shadow of the Bear.’ ”

  “I get it!” Joe broke in excitedly. “Maybe the meeting is to take place when the bear shows up clearly on the canyon wall!”

  “And that ought to be when the sun drops a little lower,” Frank added.

  Joe asked, “Do you think the meeting will be down inside the canyon?”

  “Probably. Up here by this rock formation the gang would be too easy to spot.”

  “But this looks like a blind canyon to me,” Joe objected. “How’ll they get into it?”

  “There may be an entrance we can’t see from here. Let’s stay out of sight.”

  The boys found cover in a nearby cluster of rocks and brush. As the sun sank lower, the bear’s shadow across the canyon became more distinct and realistic.

  “Listen!” Joe whispered suddenly.

  From somewhere below came a clopping of horses’ hoofs—then a sound of men reining up and dismounting. The Hardys peered downward, but the rocky overhang of the canyon prevented them from seeing what was taking place.

  A murmur of voices came drifting up. The boys strained their ears and recognized Slim’s voice, but could not make out what he was saying. Then a harsh voice, unfamiliar to the Hardys, spoke out clearly:

  “You sure muffed things in Lucky Lode, Slip Gun!”

  “I couldn’t help it, Big Al,” returned a voice too muffled to identify.

  “One more job like that and I’ll—” the harsh tone faded to a threatening mutter.

  Frank and Joe could hardly keep from shouting for joy. They had found Big Al! If only they could dare to try capturing him!

  CHAPTER XII

  Big Al’s Orders

  THE only reply to Big Al’s scornful words was a brief, sullen mutter. It was so low that the Hardys could not distinguish whether the speaker might have been Burke or Bob Dodge.

  Frank and Joe exchanged a grimace of disappointment. If only the Lucky Lode spy would speak again, and more loudly! But evidently he was too cowed by his boss’s angry tone to put up an argument.

  “Stupid cluck!” Big Al continued to rant. “You had a chance to get rid of those kids—or at least scare ’em off this case. And what happens? You get so rattled you can’t even hang onto your own gun!”

  “Don’t worry, Al”—Jake’s voice cut in quickly, trying to placate the gang leader—“Slim and me took care o’ them brats.”

  “At Brady’s Mine?” the boss snapped back.

  “Well, no—not there. The crowbar stunt worked okay, but they ducked the cave-in and—”

  Jake’s explanation was cut short by another outburst from Big Al. Slim hastened to soothe him.

  “Jake’s tryin’ to tell you, boss—they’re both drowned.”

  “Drowned?”

  “Yeah. We figured they’d be comin’ along Ambush Trail, so we fixed up a roadblock to sidetrack ‘em and make ’em go lower down. The cliff shoulder along there is all loose shale, but it’s covered over with snow. Sure enough, they tried to worm around it and the ground gave way. Must’ve been a regular landside from the looks of it!” Slim chuckled with satisfaction. “Anyhow, they took a long fall and wound up in the drink, horses and all.”

  “You sure o’ that?” Big Al demanded suspiciously.

  “Sure. Jake and me came back to check and we could see the break in the ice where they went through. We even spotted some o’ their gear float-in’ downriver.”

  “Good! It’s about time.” Big Al sounded mollified by the news. “Those kids knew too much—and they were too smart to fool around with. They were makin’ monkeys out of all you guys!”

  “Aw, boss, we couldn’t help it if—” The rest of Jake’s whining protest was lost in the wind.

  “Shut up!” Big Al roared. “One thing’s sure —anything those kids knew, they’ve told their father. So he’ll have to be the next one to go. Slip Gun, you’re supposed to be handlin’ things in town. You take care of Hardy tonight. Get me?”

  “Yeah.” Only a single word—and again too low for the voice to be identified.

  Frank and Joe looked at each other, stunned. The gang had their father marked for death! They would have to return in time to warn him!

  “The weather’s gettin’ worse all the time, boss,” Slim put in. “How much longer do we have to keep searchin’?”

  “Listen, you!” Big Al’s voice was fierce. “I staked out that loot twenty-five years ago. And I aim to have it! We’re goin’ to keep lookin’ till we find the wreck of a plane. The stuff’ll be there, all right—and a skeleton with it.”

  “How do you know there’s a wreck?” Jake asked.

  “Don’t worry—I made sure.” Big Al gave an ugly chuckle. Again his rough voice drifted up to the listeners on the cliff. “Enough talkin’. Get these supply cartons cut open and load the horses. We’ll leave part of the stores cached here and take the rest up to the hideout.”

  From below came the sound of cardboard boxes being ripped open, and the mumble of the men’s voices. Suddenly Frank and Joe heard an exclamation of annoyance.

  “What’s wrong now?” Big Al snarled.

  “Looks like Slip Gun just broke his knife blade,” Jake replied.

  Before the unidentified man could add anything, the gang leader snapped curtly, “Never mind gripin’! Use your fingers!”

  Presently they could hear the men loading the horses. A few moments later the boys heard Big Al’s harsh tones: “You’ve all had your orders. Now let’s get gain’!”

  Horses’ hoofs started up on a rocky surface somewhere below—then faded bit by bit, echoing hollowly.

  Joe grabbed his brother’s arm. “There must be a pass
age from the canyon that leads out through the hill!” he whispered excitedly.

  “Right! We’d better get back to the trail and see if we can spot them!”

  Frank led the way as the brothers hurried back to the site from which they had first noticed the bearlike rock formation. Sprawling among the snow and rocks to avoid being seen, the Hardys gazed intently down the hillside.

  For a long while there was no sign of humans. The sun had vanished behind clouds, leaving a leaden, wintry sky. Nothing was visible below but the vast, rugged expanse of timber-clad wilderness.

  Joe fidgeted anxiously. “Those fellows can’t just disappear!” he muttered. “They’ll have to come out somewh—”

  Frank held up his hand for silence. “There they are!” he whispered.

  Far below and off to the right, four riders had emerged from a patch of brush on the hillside. They paused momentarily, then separated. Three of the men rode upward through a notch in the hills. The fourth headed off in the direction of Lucky Lode, leading an empty pack horse behind his mount.

  “That one by himself must be Slip Gun!” Joe groaned. “If only we had binoculars to see who he is!”

  “Maybe we can overtake him,” Frank said hopefully. “Anyhow, the important thing is to get to the cabin and warn Dad. Let’s go!”

  Quickly the boys got their horses, swung into the saddles, and started off along the trail. They watched for a safe place to descend the hillside and soon picked out a likely route. The downslope, even here, was steep and slippery, but their horses managed to negotiate it successfully.

  Minutes later, Frank and Joe picked up Slip Gun’s trail in the snow. By this time the spy was far ahead and lost to view among the timber.

  As the boys rode along, Joe fumed impatiently. “We’ll lose him if we don’t make better time!” he said, urging his horse to greater speed.

  “Take it easy, Joe,” Frank advised. “This ground is pretty rough going for the horses— they’re doing the best they can. It won’t help any if one of them breaks a leg.”

  Joe admitted the wisdom of his brother’s words, and they pressed forward at the best pace they could manage.