The match guttered out, but not before Frank spotted an oil lamp on top of one of the drop cloths. He groped for it in the dark and sniffed at it. It smelled as if it still had some oil in it. He fumbled with a second match and managed to light the lamp.
He could see better now, but he still had no idea what the strange dark objects were. He lifted the drop cloth off one. Underneath was a slot machine. Was this something the McSavage family kept around the house for fun? Frank walked to one of the large covered objects and removed the cloth. Underneath was a roulette table. He pulled off several more cloths and found a blackjack table and two more slot machines. There were more large cloth-covered objects as far as he could see in the darkness. No way was this the McSavage family recreation room.
It all made sense, Frank thought. This place was a casino. That must be how the McSavage family made their money after Prohibition ended. In fact, old Angus McSavage had probably opened the casino as part of the speakeasy. The mansion had been filled with wealthy vacationers, and this was another way to separate them from their money. When the speakeasy closed, the casino must have become the family’s main source of income. The granite quarry had played out years before, and the farm was probably never more than a front.
But why had the casino folded? Frank thought about it for a moment. If he remembered his history correctly, casinos were illegal in most of the United States back in the 1920s and for many years afterward. An illegal casino as nice as this one probably didn’t have much competition in this area. Angus McSavage had the gambling market pretty much locked up.
In 1978 New Jersey had made casino gambling legal in Atlantic City, and that had probably drawn off most of the McSavage family’s customers. Anyone would have preferred going to a legal casino in New Jersey over an illegal one in the middle of the woods. The New Jersey casinos were probably easier to reach, as well. There weren’t any superhighways or airports to Morgan’s Quarry.
The loss of the casino had probably hurt the town as well. A lot of the citizens of Morgan’s Quarry probably worked in the casino and got a piece of the money that the McSavage family was bringing in. When the casino died, so did the town’s economy.
That still didn’t explain why nobody wanted the boys to leave town. The casino was obviously a thing of the past. There didn’t seem to be anything illegal going on here now.
Or was there?
Frank thought about the two men he and his friends had seen on the way into town carrying the large bag filled with money. The money couldn’t have come from the casino, which had obviously been closed for a long time. So where had it come from?
He could worry about that later. Before the lamp burned out, Frank had to find a way out of the basement—or he was going to be in a lot of trouble, just as Loraleigh had predicted.
• • •
Meanwhile, Joe was starting to get worried about his brother. He and Phil had gotten back into town after their tour of the McSavage farm. It had been pretty boring because it wasn’t much of a farm. Joe wondered how anybody could make a living from it. Only Chet had enjoyed their little excursion. He was still off riding the horse. Phil went to Mrs. Hibley’s to talk to the old woman about the history of Morgan’s Quarry.
Joe had expected to find Frank back at the mansion, but there was no sign of him. So he returned to Rhonda’s house, thinking Frank might have gone there. But neither Rhonda nor Biff had seen Frank. He stopped for a quick lunch at Mrs. Hibley’s. Phil had left, Mrs. Hibley said, to explore the old quarry site. He thought maybe he could find some fossilized trilobites. Frank wasn’t there, either.
That meant Frank must still be back at the mansion, and that meant something might have gone wrong.
Joe decided to pay another visit to Sugaree’s Shack. Maybe Loraleigh could give him some advice about locating his brother. She seemed like a pretty decent person, despite the cryptic remark she had made the day before about all of them winding up in trouble.
When Joe walked into the general store, Loraleigh had some customers, two wiry tough-looking men in their twenties, dressed in ragged jeans and T-shirts. They looked suspiciously familiar. Wait a minute, Joe thought. These are the two guys who were carrying that sack of money yesterday!
“Who are you lookin’ at?” one of the men asked sourly.
“Sorry,” Joe said. “I don’t mean to cause trouble.”
Loraleigh looked worried. “Joe, these are the Brookburn brothers. They work as farmhands up at Bill McSavage’s place.”
“Glad to meet you,” Joe said, extending a hand.
The brothers ignored Joe’s hand. “Well, we ain’t so glad to see you,” one of them said. “We don’t like strangers in this town.”
“Yeah, nobody invited you here,” the other one said.
Joe started getting angry. “And we don’t want to be here. This town is a lousy place to get stuck in.”
“This is our town,” the first brother growled. “Those are fighting words.”
“Yeah,” the second brother said. “Step outside. We’ll work this out.”
Joe began to get worried. He was a pretty good fighter, but these guys had serious muscles—and they had him outnumbered. The last thing he wanted was to get caught in a fight with them.
“No, thanks,” Joe said. “I think I’ll stay in here.”
“What are you, some sort of a little coward?” the first brother said.
“Yeah, I think you’re a coward,” the second brother said. “And I don’t like cowards.”
“You watch who you call a coward!” Joe snapped, his anger getting the better of him. “And I don’t like guys who pick fights with strangers!”
“Then let’s go outside,” the first brother said, advancing on Joe.
Joe began to get a little nervous. Maybe he should make a break for the door now—but the brothers were too close. They might beat him to the door—and then where could he go?
“Get moving!” the second brother said. Something flashed in his right hand.
Joe glanced down and saw that the man was holding a very long and very sharp-looking knife.
8 To the Rescue!
“No!” Loraleigh cried. “Please don’t do that!”
“Mind your own business, young lady,” the first brother said. “We’ve got to teach this young man a lesson.”
“Now step outside like we asked,” the second brother told Joe. “And then we’ll find out if you really are a coward.”
Joe backed toward the door, still looking for a way out. “This isn’t a fair fight.”
“Aw, now, ain’t that too bad,” the first brother said.
Joe pushed the door open and stepped out into the street. He was thinking of making a run for it, but one of the brothers stepped quickly to the other side of him so that he was surrounded.
“Which of us should fight him first?” the second brother asked.
“Maybe we should fight him together,” the first brother said.
The second brother smiled. “I like that idea.”
They moved in on Joe. With the first brother holding a knife on him, Joe looked around desperately for an escape route.
Suddenly hoofbeats thundered from behind Joe. Chet! Joe crouched and planted himself as Chet slowed Formby. As Chet rode by, Joe placed his hands on Formby’s rump and vaulted onto his back, throwing his arms around Chet for balance. The Brookburn brothers ran after them for a moment but quickly gave up the chase.
Chet rounded a corner, where they were out of sight of the Brookburn brothers.
“Thanks, pal,” Joe said. “You might have saved my life back there.”
“You looked like you needed rescuing,” Chet said. “Those guys look mean.”
“As mean as rattlesnakes,” Joe said. “Even meaner. After all, rattlesnakes are just acting in self-defense.”
“So where’s Frank?” Chet asked. “He’s usually your backup.”
“I don’t know,” Joe said. “Frank was snooping around that old mansion e
arlier, but now I can’t find him anywhere.”
“Maybe you should check out the mansion,” Chet suggested.
“My idea exactly,” Joe said. “But I’d like to know something about the place first. I was hoping Loraleigh could tell me something.”
“Well, here’s your chance to ask her about it,” Chet said.
Loraleigh was just stepping out the back door of Sugaree’s Shack. She looked up at Joe in astonishment.
“Oh, thank goodness,” she said. “You’re okay. I was just going to get some help.”
“Thanks,” Joe said, dismounting. “Do those guys always play so rough?”
“The Brookburn brothers are tough men,” Loraleigh said. “They have to be. They’re the only farmhands that Bill has, and they do a lot of hard manual work.”
“Does that work include pulling knives on innocent people?” Joe asked.
“No,” she said. “I’ve never seen them do anything like that. Get into a few brawls with their fists, maybe, but I’ve never seen them pull a knife.”
“Well, it looks like those ‘tough’ guys are moving up into the big leagues,” Joe said. “Probably get themselves thrown into jail real soon.” He changed the subject. “Listen, I think something’s happened to Frank. The last time I saw him was up at the McSavage mansion.”
Loraleigh’s face darkened. “That’s not good,” she said. “He—” She stopped herself, as though remembering there was something important she shouldn’t say.
“He what?” Joe asked. “Listen, Loraleigh, if there’s anything you know that will help Frank, you’d better tell me now.”
“There’s a storm cellar entrance on the east side of the mansion. Here’s the key.” She pulled a small key out of her jeans pocket and dropped it in Joe’s hand.
“Where’d you get this?” Joe asked.
“I sometimes deliver stuff right to Bill’s house,” Loraleigh said. “Don’t let him know where you got this key.”
“Believe me,” Joe said, “I won’t. Thanks a lot, Loraleigh.”
“Need a lift up to the mansion?” Chet asked.
“You bet,” Joe said. “It’s a long walk up the hill.”
The two took off up the road that led to Bill McSavage’s mansion. Chet dropped Joe in the nearby woods, where they weren’t visible from the front windows.
“Want me to come with you?” Chet asked.
“No, thanks,” Joe said. “I’m going to do some sneaking around. It’d be better if I did it by myself. Less conspicuous.”
“I’ll take Formby back to the barn,” Chet said. “Come on, boy!”
Chet rode away as Joe walked through the woods. Bill McSavage’s mansion was about a hundred feet away. Joe made his way through the trees, sneaking up on the mansion.
Sure enough, there was the door to the storm cellar, just where Loraleigh had said it would be. It was an old-fashioned cellar door made of wood, set into the ground with a small mound of weathered bricks around it. Apparently it led down into the basement. There was a rusty old latch in the middle of the door with a fairly new looking padlock holding it shut.
Joe looked up at the windows to see if anybody was watching. Then he darted across to the cellar door and slipped the key into the padlock.
The padlock was stiff, and for a moment Joe thought it might not open. He tugged on it until it finally gave.
The hinges were rusted so tight that Joe had to pull with all of his strength to get it to open even after unlocking it. Finally the door came open, a cloud of dust flying up. All he could see below was a pitch-black hole, barely penetrated by the sunlight.
Joe extended his foot gingerly inside and found the stone tread of a carved stone staircase. He turned around so he could back down the steep stairs, using his hands to balance himself. Slowly he began to descend, worried that he’d miss his footing.
The stairs went down about seven feet before Joe felt his foot touch the floor. The room was dark, with no sign of a light switch or light bulb. The sunlight from above was of little help. The room he was in was so dark that the tiny sliver of sun couldn’t begin to illuminate it.
He stretched out a hand and felt a stone wall. Okay, so this was the basement of the mansion, he thought. What could be down here?
Suddenly a hand gripped his shoulder and a gruff voice said, “Make another move, mister, and you’ve had it!”
9 Hay Ride
Joe spun around. To his relief, he saw that it was his brother, Frank, standing behind him. He had come to find Frank and rescue him, but Frank had found him instead.
“Boy, you scared me!” Frank cried.
“I scared you?” Joe gasped. “How would you like to have somebody sneak up behind you like that?”
“Been there, done that,” Frank said.
“So how did you end up down here?” Joe asked. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”
“I’ve got a quite a lot to tell you,” Frank said.
“You’d better,” Joe said. “I think you were right when you said that there were some strange things going on in this town.”
“Yep,” Frank said. “And I know what some of those things are.” Frank relit the oil lamp, which he was still holding. “I want to take you on a quick tour of this place.”
“What kind of tour?” Joe asked. “Is this a museum or something?”
“Sort of,” Frank said. “A museum of criminal activities from the past.”
“Wow,” Joe said. “Sounds like my kind of museum.”
Frank led Joe to where he had uncovered the slot machines and gaming tables. “Get a load of this stuff.”
Joe’s eyes widened. “This looks like something out of Las Vegas. But what’s it all doing here? Casinos are illegal in this area. And, as far as I know, they always have been.”
Frank told Joe what he had learned from the book upstairs and what he had figured out on his own.
“Ha!” Joe laughed. “I never believed that Bill McSavage was a farmer. And he practically killed Chet with that horse—deliberately, I’m pretty sure.”
“I think there are people in this town that want all of us dead,” Frank said.
Joe looked stunned. “But why?”
“I think there’s some kind of illegal operation still going on around here. And they think we know something about it,” Frank explained.
“But what do we know about...” Joe’s eyes began to gleam. “That money we saw those guys drop yesterday!”
“Exactly,” Frank said. “We weren’t supposed to see that. And that’s why they don’t want us leaving town. We might tell somebody about it, somebody who’ll figure out where that money came from.”
“But who is ‘they’?” Joe asked. “Who wants us dead?”
“Well, I’m guessing that Bill McSavage does, for starters,” Frank said.
“Yeah,” Joe said. “And the Brookburn brothers, too.”
“Who are the Brookburn brothers?” Frank asked.
“The guys who were carrying the money,” Joe said. “I had a kind of nasty encounter with them a few minutes ago. They seem to be Bill’s farmhands—and maybe his partners in crime, too.”
“I think Bill’s manservant is part of it,” Frank said. “Wait till you get a load of that guy.”
“Manservant?” Joe asked. “I thought manservants just existed in old novels.”
There was a creaking noise from above. Somebody had slid open the trapdoor that Frank had fallen through, and light was filtering down into the cellar. A pair of arms shoved a ladder through the hole.
“They exist for real,” Frank said. “And here’s the gentleman now.”
“We’d better move,” Joe whispered. “Fast.”
“Who are you talking to?” the butler bellowed from above. “Mr. McSavage wants to see you right now, young man, and if you’ve got somebody down there with you, you’d better get him here right now, too, if he knows what’s good for him!”
Frank and Joe took off for the cellar stairs that led
outside. Joe raced up first. As Frank climbed up after him, he looked back to see the butler leap off the bottom rung of the ladder—with a rifle slung over his shoulders.
“Get a move on!” Frank urged. “We’re being followed by a crazy guy with a gun!”
Joe climbed out onto the ground, and said, “Now what have you gotten us into? Here I was just trying to save your life!”
“You may have helped,” Frank said. “Now we’ve got to get away from here. But which way should we go?”
“Not back toward town,” Joe said, padlocking the cellar door closed. Seconds later there was a pounding from below, as the man tried to get out.
“We can make a run for the barn,” Frank said.
“Better than nothing,” Joe said. “Maybe we can hitch a ride on Chet’s horse.”
The brothers began running down the hill toward the barn. They could hear frantic noises from the mansion behind them. Just as they were about to pass beyond sight of the old house the front door opened and the servant and Bill McSavage came bursting out. They were both carrying rifles.
The barn door was partially opened, and the brothers slipped inside and looked around. The horse was nowhere to be seen, but there were two large piles of hay on the floor, one of them as large as a shed.
“Bill doesn’t have much of a farm, but he sure makes a lot of hay,” Joe said. “I wonder why he keeps such a big pile of it.”
“Just get inside it,” Frank said.
Joe gave the haystack a dirty look. “Looks worse than the campsites we slept in on the trail.”
“It beats getting shot,” Frank said, shoving his brother into the haystack. They both burrowed into the stiff bristles of dried grass, trying to disappear while still being able to breathe.
The End of the Trail Page 5
