Danger on Vampire Trail

by Franklin W. Dixon

  Before leaving the public campsite, he put in a phone call to the Denver authorities, giving the location of the suspects’ trailer and car.

  Then the four took their car and the motorbike and returned to the trailer tent. After supper the Hardys decided to scout Vampire Trail, but with sufficient equipment to spend the whole night if necessary.

  “What can I do?” Biff asked.

  After a discussion it was decided that Biff should spy on the Terrible Trio. Chet, meanwhile, would remain and guard their camp with Sherlock.

  Frank and Joe took sleeping bags and a small amount of food.

  “Good luck,” Chet said. “And watch out for vampire bats!”

  The Hardys picked their way carefully up the treacherous path. Night had settled and an eerie silence pervaded the woodland, broken every now and then by the spine-chilling call of a hoot owL

  The boys had been trudging along for nearly an hour when an unearthly cry rent the black stillness of the forest. They hastened toward the place from which the sound had come. This time they stayed close together for their mutual protection.

  Suddenly Frank stepped on something squishy. He bent over, shone his light on the ground, and picked up a creature about three inches long. It had pointed ears and a horrid-looking face.

  “A vampire bat!” Frank hissed, dropping it to the ground. As he did, another shriek sounded down the trail!

  CHAPTER XV

  A Terrified Escapee

  HAD the cries come from a human being or from a trapped animal? The third time the Hardys heard the chilling shriek there was no doubt that it was the voice of a terrified man.

  Frank and Joe strained their eyes to see through the darkness. Suddenly they made out the figure of a man, lumbering along, wheezing as if his lungs would burst.

  Other footsteps sounded behind him, accompanied by muttered curses.

  “He’s being chased,” Frank whispered to Joe. “We’ve got to save him!”

  The boys sprang toward the startled man. Each seized an arm and they dragged him into the concealment of the forest and dived down behind a huge boulder.

  Joe put a handkerchief over the man’s mouth to mute his labored breathing. Seconds later two pursuers charged past them up the trail. The boys waited tensely until the angry voices disappeared into the night. When they felt it was safe, they shone their lights on the fugitive.

  His eyes rolled and he gasped for breath. Frank judged him to be about forty years old. He had a plump face and thin black hair covered his head in streaks. His jacket and trousers, of fashionable-cut, were ripped from his flight up Vampire Trail.

  “Who are you? What’s your name?” Frank asked.

  “Wait ... not ... now... later.”

  “He’s in no condition to talk yet,” Joe said. “Let’s take him back to camp.”

  The Hardys helped the man to his feet, lifting his arms over their shoulders. Thus supporting him, they half carried, half dragged him down Vampire Trail. Periodically they stopped and listened to make sure the man’s pursuers were not returning.

  When they came to Blackfoot Pass Road, the boys stopped. Leaving Joe with the man, Frank scouted the road for a hundred yards in each direction, making sure that no one was lying in wait. Then the Hardys assisted the stranger up the hill to their camp. Chet was wide-eyed with surprise when he saw them.

  “Make room on Biff’s bunk,” Frank told him. “This man is nearly dead from exhaustion.”

  The stranger gratefully accepted the boys’ kindness. After two pillows had been propped under his head, his breathing quieted to near normal. He began to answer questions.

  “My name is Farkus,” he said. “I’m a financier.” He rolled to one side, fumbled for his wallet, and showed identification.

  “What was going on up that trail?” asked Joe.

  Farkus said that he had been kidnapped by three men in Snowcap.

  “Why?” Frank inquired.

  “I don’t know. I think they were taking me up there to kill me!”

  Farkus explained that he had been transported in a car as far up the trail as possible. When it had stopped, he dashed out and started to scramble ahead. “If you boys hadn’t grabbed me, it would have been the end,” he concluded.

  The Hardys reasoned that the third man must have remained in the car, and had driven away before they had descended the trail again.

  Chet confessed that he had been asleep for a while and had heard nothing.

  Frank said, “Mr. Farkus, when you pull yourself together, we’ll take you to the police. Things are getting pretty rough around here.”

  Farkus sat up on the edge of the bunk, shaking. “No! No! You can’t do that!”

  “But it’s for your own protection, sir,” said Chet.

  The man pleaded not to be taken to the police. “Those kidnappers will kill me if they find out,” he said. “Let me handle it my own way. I’ll report it, but later.”

  Mention of the police seemed to have unnerved Farkus even more and Frank grew suspicious about the man’s protestations. Farkus’ hands moved around the bunk as if searching for a lost article.

  “What’s the matter?” asked Joe. “Did you drop something?”

  “No—no. I’m just afraid of spiders. That’s all,” the man replied.

  Frank and Joe stepped outside and discussed the stranger in low voices. “I think he has something to do with all those mysterious happenings on Vampire Trail,” Frank said.

  “On the other hand,” said Joe, “maybe he’s innocent. If he’s a financier, perhaps the kidnappers were holding him for ransom.”

  Their minds tired from speculation, the young sleuths prepared for bed. They woke up occasionally and looked at Biff’s bunk, half expecting that Farkus had gone. Near daybreak both boys fell into a deep slumber. They were awakened by the sound of sizzling bacon. Chet and Farkus were already up, and although the financier glanced about the woodland suspiciously, his face had lost the terror of the night before.

  “You picked a good camping spot,” he remarked.

  “Yes,” Chet agreed. “We can see what’s happening on the trail.”

  “Oh? You have a special interest in that path?”

  “Ow!” Chet cried as some grease spattered on his hand. “Not really—I mean, it’s just supposed to be a dangerous place, that’s all.”

  After breakfast Farkus stretched and yawned, saying that he would like to step outside for a breath of fresh air. Joe accompanied him.

  Inside the camper, Frank cautioned Chet not to say anything more about Vampire Trail. “This guy Farkus could be in with the crooks,” he said, adding, “The trail’s a lot more dangerous than you think. I found a dead vampire bat last night!”

  Chet, who was drying the skillet, let it clatter to the floor. “A real vampire bat?”

  “A dead one. It was a scary-looking thing.”

  “I don’t want to see any,” Chet quavered.

  Just then Biff came up the hill, pushing his trail bike. He was surprised to see Joe chatting with the stranger, and after being introduced, he went into the camper.

  “What goes with that fat guy?” he asked.

  Frank told him briefly what happened and said, “How about the Terrible Trio?”

  “Still there,” Biff replied. “I overheard them say that they’d stay for a while. So I thought I’d come back.”

  Frank nodded. Then he told Biff and Chet that he and Joe would take Farkus back to Snowcap.

  “Okay,” said Chet. “Meanwhile, we’ll take a ride down to the park campsite and see what’s going on.”

  The Hardys got into the front seat while Farkus slid into the back. As they passed the camping park, Joe, who was at the wheel, looked into the rear-view mirror. Farkus was hunched down in his seat as if to avoid being seen. The man kept silent all the way to Snowcap.

  “Well, here we are,” Frank said as Joe pulled up to the curb not far from Burn’s Jewelry Store.

  “Don’t—don’t stop here,” Fa
rkus begged. “Go down a little farther to my motel.”

  Joe continued on until Farkus pointed to a motel set back from the street. He pulled into the semicircular driveway.

  “Thanks,” Farkus said. He jumped out of the car and dashed into Room 14.

  Joe drove back onto the street and out of sight of the motel. He parked and the two walked back.

  “We’ll check on him,” Frank said. “Maybe his name isn’t Farkus and maybe he isn’t a financier.”

  The desk clerk in the motel office was friendly. He answered their questions, saying that Room 14 was rented to a man named A. Larson.

  “Thanks,” Frank said. “We thought it was someone we knew.” Outside, he took his brother’s arm. “Did you get that, Joe? A. Larson-the same initials as Archibald Lasher!”

  CHAPTER XVI

  Royal Trouble

  “WHAT do you know!” said Joe. “So our friend Farkus is possibly tied up with Lasher. Maybe he’s one of the gang!”

  “Let’s find a cop to make the arrest,” said Frank.

  The boys hurried up the main street, looking for a policeman. They could not locate one. Finally Frank said, “I wonder if there’s a police station in this town.”

  “Let’s ask someone,” Joe suggested. They stepped into a haberdashery, where the clerk looked them up and down.

  “We’re not here to buy anything,” Frank said. “But we’d like to know if there’s a policeman in Snowcap.”

  “Why? Did you run into trouble?”

  Frank did not reply. Instead he said, “You have a police station, don’t you?”

  “Hardly. The State Police usually takes care of our criminals—and bums.”

  “Don’t get snooty with us,” Joe said. “We’re campers.”

  The boys left the store and went into a tearoom several doors away. The woman at the cashier’s counter was polite and answered their questions.

  “Yes, Snowcap has one policeman,” she said. “He’s usually at the information booth a block away. The town, however, has no jail.” Beaming, she added, “We have very fine people here.”

  When they were on the street again, Joe snorted. “Fine people like Lasher and his cronies!”

  “And if we don’t find that policeman soon, they’ll get away!” Frank stormed.

  The town’s lone police officer was seated on a chair outside the information booth. Frank told him of their suspicions. Talking slowly, the officer agreed to accompany the boys to the motel. His gait was even slower than his speech. To the impatient Hardys it seemed like hours before they reached the motel.

  The policeman asked to see the occupant in Room 14.

  “There’s no one in there now,” the clerk said. “Mr. Larson and his friend left a few minutes ago.”

  “You mean there were two men in Room 14?”

  “That’s right. Mr. Larson and Mr. Farkus.”

  Frank pulled out Lasher’s photo. “Is he one of them?”

  “Yes. That’s Mr. Larson.”

  “May we look the room over?” Frank asked.

  The clerk shrugged. “As long as the law’s with you.”

  The officer stood by the open door while the Hardys looked around for clues. The wastebasket had been emptied. A search of the drawers and closets proved fruitless, too. Finally Joe glanced at the memo pad next to the telephone. Nothing was written on it, but the young detective’s sharp eyes noticed indentations on the paper. He tilted the pad up to the light, then set it back again.

  “Okay, nothing here,” he said as they stepped outside. They thanked the officer and left.

  Nearing their car, Joe said, “Frank, there was something on that pad!” He told of the indented letters. “They spelled Mungo!”

  “Wow! The entire gang may be meeting at that motel,” Frank said.

  “Which means we may be able to catch the whole bunch,” Joe said hopefully.

  “I doubt it. They’ve been warned by Farkus and cleared out.”

  Frank headed west. Halfway to Blackfoot Meadow the Hardys saw Biff Hooper racing toward them on the trail bike. He waved frantically and Frank stopped. Biff pulled over beside him. He lifted the visor of his riding helmet and exclaimed, “Something awful has happened!”

  “You look as if you’ve been in an earthquake,” said Joe.

  “It was more like a tornado. You should have seen the place.”

  “What place?” asked Frank. “For Pete’s sake, calm down and tell us what’s happened.”

  “Prince Cuthbert’s trailer—somebody raided it. They bound, gagged, and blindfolded the poor old guy and ransacked the interior.”

  “I wonder what they were looking for,” Frank mused.

  Biff shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe they thought his jewels were real!”

  The Hardys decided to visit Cuthbert and ask him a few questions. Biff followed them into the campground. When they reached the gaily painted trailer, they learned that the park police had already been there and left.

  The prince’s quarters were still in disorder. When the boys entered, he was trying to hang the pictures back on the tapestried walls. Then he adjusted his helmet, set his throne back on the small dais from which it had toppled, and seated himself.

  “I must not forget that I am royalty,” he said, “despite the adversities which have beset me.”

  “I’ve got to hand it to you,” said Biff. “You’re taking this mighty calmly.”

  The prince raised his hand. “I shall send word to my retainers. They will hasten from Europe and track down the assailants.”

  “Tell us what happened,” Frank said. “What were your attackers looking for?”

  Cuthbert said that in the middle of the night someone forced the door. Two men entered, and before he had a chance to sit up, they bound and gagged him. The prince had not seen them, because they blindfolded him before turning on the lights.

  “Did they take anything?” Frank asked.

  “Only those sapphires I had. That’s what amazes and confounds me. My crown jewels, worth much more, were untouched. Even the royal documents were overlooked by those scoundrels.”

  With Cuthbert’s permission the boys searched for clues but found none. Frank advised the prince to get a stronger lock for his door. Then the young detectives stepped outside and walked over to a Coke machine.

  “Who do you think robbed the prince?” Joe asked.

  “He must have told other people about those sapphires,” Frank said. “Perhaps Fingers and his gang came back to steal them.”

  They were finishing their refreshing drinks when Chet Morton approached at a trot with Sherlock on a leash.

  “Here, have a drink,” said Joe. He produced another bottle and handed it to the perspiring boy.

  Chet took a long swig, wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, and pulled something from his pants pocket. “Another clue,” he declared, handing a Magnacard to Frank. It was made out to John Minks.

  “So Farkus swindled the jeweler!” Frank exclaimed. “Burn’s description fits him, too! “Where’d you get this, Chet?”

  “In our camper. I was cleaning up the place and found it under Biff’s bunk. Figured our friend Farkus dropped it.”

  “I don’t think he dropped it,” Joe said.

  “What do you mean?” Chet asked.

  “I think he hid it when he showed us the identification in his wallet. Then he couldn’t find it again. Remember how he was looking around, saying he was afraid of spiders?”

  “That was a lot of baloney, all right,” Frank declared.

  “Anyway, it throws a different light on the mystery,” Joe said.

  The four discussed the new development. Perhaps Farkus had not been kidnapped at all. Maybe the two pursuers were enemies and he had been racing up Vampire Trail to reach the protection of his own gang!

  “That Magnacard bunch could have a hideout at the top of the mountain,” Joe stated.

  Biff snapped his fingers. “Maybe they manufacture the cards there!”

>   “Could be,” said Joe.

  Frank pocketed the charge plate and they returned to their car. Chet got in back with the dog, while Biff mounted the bike for the ride back to their camp.

  “It’s past chow time,” Chet complained.

  “Okay, you can whip something up real quick,” Joe said.

  The thought of juicy hamburgers made Chet’s stomach grumble. “Come on, Joe! Can’t you go a little faster? I’m dying of hunger.”

  The car hummed along the highway between the towering green walls of Blackfoot Pass. Finally they veered left up the hill to their campsite.

  “Boy, our trailer sure is well hidden,” Chet said as they neared the spot. “You can’t even see it from here.”

  Joe drove a little farther, then cried out, “I’ll say you can’t. It’s gone!”

  CHAPTER XVII

  An Unexpected Denial

  CHET fumed. “The Terrible Trio stole it, that’s who!”

  “Somebody sure doesn’t want us near Vampire Trail,” Frank remarked. He glanced about for a clue to the thief or thieves.

  There was nothing but tracks made by the wheels of their camper. Apparently it had been pulled down to the road before being hitched onto a car.

  “Where do we start looking?” Biff asked.

  Frank said there were three possibilities. The thieves could have driven east or west along Blackfoot Pass Road, or up Vampire Trail. The latter, however, showed no sign of fresh car tracks.

  “Biff, you and Chet ride the cycle back to Blackfoot Meadow,” Frank said. “Joe and I will drive west over the pass.”

  “Good luck,” Biff called out. “We’ll meet back here.”

  “Okay.” Frank stepped on the gas. As Blackfoot Pass Road ascended, the valley became narrower and more twisted. The boys checked both sides of the road for a sign of their camper, but in vain.

  Near the top of the pass was a turnout cut into a rock wall looming thirty feet high on the left. Much to Frank and Joe’s surprise, their stolen camper rested close to the base of the cliff!

  “Now who’d do a thing like that?” Joe asked.