Hunting For Hidden Gold Part 14

he said, "I'd sure appreciate it."

Frank and Joe explained to Dawson that under the name Dodge, he had been operating a successful armored-car business in Helena for ten years. Where he had been before that, they did not know. The boys also told him how he had engaged their father, Fenton Hardy, to run down a gang of robbers and how his sons had been brought into the case. Frank ended by telling Dawson about his fight with Burke at Hank Shale's cabin, and how a trap had been baited for Burke later, which resulted in the capture of Slim and Jake.

The white-haired man on the bunk shook his head hopelessly. "Thanks for telling me this, boys. But I still can't remember a thing about my life as Bob Dodge."

"What's the last thing you do remember?" Joe pressed him.

Slowly Dawson began to relate how he and his partners had been besieged in this very cabin by Black Pepper's gang.

"We heard about that from Mike Onslow," Frank put in. "He's a trapper now, back East. The two Coulson brothers are dead."

Dawson swallowed hard. "I'm sorry to hear that." After a moment he continued, "Anyhow, I remember taking off in the plane and heading north. But after three or four minutes the engine failed-and the ship crashed."

"You couldn't have gone far in three or four minutes," Joe said thoughtfully.

"No, that's right," Dawson agreed, frowning. "I think I came down in the big valley beyond Lone Tree Ridge."

"Then what?" Frank asked.

Dawson got up from the bunk and paced back and forth. "The plane hit hard and cartwheeled over into a sort of little gully somewhere along the valley floor. I must have blacked out for a while. When I came to, I had a terrible pain in my head."

"You walked away from the wreck?" asked Joe.

"Yes. I was worried about Black Pepper getting the gold and the fact that Mike Onslow and the Coulson boys had entrusted it to me. Don't know how I managed, weak as I was, but somehow I got the sacks of gold out of the plane."

"What did you intend to do?" Frank inquired.

Dawson rubbed his head painfully. "I've been concentrating on that ever since I arrived at the cabin," he replied. "I recall knowing I couldn't lug the gold very far, and that I wanted to hide it in a safe place.

Some landmark in the valley must have reminded me of an old abandoned mine called the Lone Tree diggings."

"Is that where you took the gold?" Joe asked.

"It must have been," Dawson said. "Anyhow, I remember finding a tunnel opening-and at the end of the tunnel a big excavation with bluish dirt walls. That's where I hid the gold."

"Can you remember anything more?" Frank urged.

"Not much/Guess I tried to reach help. But it was bitter cold and snowing and I must have lost my way.

Seems as if I wandered for a long time-plodding along blindly, falling, getting up, and staggering on.

After that, everything's a blank."

"The crash and the terrible hardships you went through must have brought on amnesia," Joe said.

"And the blow Burke gave you that night triggered your mind into recalling the past," Frank added.

"Incidentally," Joe put in, "we're pretty sure that Black Pepper and the gang leader Big Al are the same man."

Dawson frowned again. "You said I was running a business up in Helena," he murmured. "In that case, why was I hanging around Lucky Lode? Your father was handling the detective work."

"We wondered about that ourselves," Frank admitted. "In fact, it made us suspect that you might be in with the gang. But maybe you were trying to dig up your past. I have a hunch this territory around Lucky Lode could have rung a bell in your mind."

Suddenly all three were startled by the whinny of a horse. Frank and Joe leaped from their chairs and dashed outside, followed by Dawson. A man on horseback had just emerged from a clump of rocks and brush. He was headed toward the ridge.

"That's Big Al!" Joe cried.

A thought flashed into Frank's mind. Around the windward sides of the cabin lay an area of drift snow.

Frank ran toward it. As he had feared, fresh tracks were visible leading toward and away from the lean-to shed at the back.

"He was here!" Frank called angrily. As the others joined him, he pointed to the prints in the snow. "I'll bet Big Al was hiding in the shed! He must have heard everything!"

The Hardys and Dawson hurried into the shed. Joe's saddle horse and Daisy, the pack mare-the animals Dawson had taken from Hank's cabin-were peacefully munching hay at the feedbox. Dawson was mystified, but Frank and Joe quickly reconstructed what must have happened.

"The gang's been using this cabin as their hideout," Joe said. "Big Al must have reached here just before we did. When he saw the smoke, Big Al figured he'd better scout the situation."

"Right," Frank agreed. "He circled around the cabin toward that clump of brush, left the horses there, and sneaked up from the rear."

"I'll bet he was in the lean-to when we arrived," Joe added. "That means he heard everything through the wall-including what Mr. Dodge-Dawson-told us about the place where he hid the gold!"

"And now Big Al's on his way to find it!" Frank exclaimed.

The Hardys ran toward the clump of rocks and brush. Among them, well out of sight of the cabin, were the two horses Big Al had stolen from the boys. The outlaw had abandoned the extra animals when he galloped off.

"We'll go after him!" Frank decided.

The boys rode the horses back to the cabin. Dawson was eager to accompany them in pursuit of the gang leader, but the Hardys thought it more important that he return to Lucky Lode immediately and tell their father the turn of events.

"Dad and Hank and the sheriff will be worried sick about us by this time," Frank said. "Besides, Mr.

Dawson, that knock on the head may cause some aftereffects-you should see a doctor."

After some persuasion, Dawson agreed, although the leaden sky foreboded bad weather.

Frank and Joe quickly collected some supplies from among the provisions in the cabin. In doing so, they discovered a powerful flashlight with a blue lens-evidently the signal light beamed from the cemetery-and a complete list of the gang members, with jotted notes on how to contact them, including Hopkins' group in Chicago.

"This should give the police all they need to smash the gang for good!" Joe exclaimed, handing the papers to Dawson.

Snow was falling as the boys mounted their horses. Dawson was ready to hit the trail for Lucky Lode with the other horses. After a final farewell Frank and Joe galloped off.

The snow was gradually obliterating Big Al's tracks. By the time the Hardys had topped the ridge and were riding down into the valley below, the outlaw's trail had disappeared.

"A tough break," Frank murmured, "but at least we know the general direction he's taking."

An hour later they reached level ground. The sky was darkening now under a heavy overcast and wind was roaring down the valley at gale force. The brothers hunched low in the saddle as driving gusts of snow stung then* faces.

Frank took the lead while the boys threaded their way among boulders and brush that studded the valley floor. Here and there drifts were acc.u.mulating and the horses' legs sank deep into the snow at every step.

Soon the snow was swirling so thickly that Frank could see only a few yards ahead. Had they made a mistake, he wondered, in pressing ahead through the storm?

"Looks as though we're in for a real blizzard, Joe!" he yelled. "We'd better find shelter!"

Hearing no answer, Frank swung around in the saddle-then gasped. Joe was nowhere in sight!

"Joe!" Frank screamed against the wind. "Joe! Where are you?"

There was no reply.

CHAPTER XVIII.

North from Lone Tree FOR a moment Frank was panic-stricken. He shouted Joe's name, but the howling wind drowned his voice.

Snugging his chin inside his turned-up coat collar, Frank slouched in his saddle and waited. Minutes dragged by. Again and again he called his brother's name, but no answering cry reached his ears.

Darkness was closing in rapidly now, and Frank was half numbed from the icy blast of the storm. His heart sank with every pa.s.sing moment.

"It's hopeless," Frank decided at last. "If I sit here much longer, I'll freeze. I must get out of the driving wind and snow." Frank urged his horse in the general direction of the mountainside.

Presently through the swirling snow, a shapeless, rocky ma.s.s loomed in front of him. Frank guided his horse along the base of the rock, and after several minutes of plodding, found a spot that was partially sheltered by overhang. He dismounted and drew his horse in out of the blizzard.

Frank clicked on his flashlight and shone it about the area. Fringing the rock face were brownish clumps of brush-dry and brittle beneath their coating of snow.

"These will do for a fire," Frank thought. "And it might signal Joe!"

He broke off enough of the brush to make a small pile and took out his waterproof case of matches. He struck one, then a second. Both blew out, but the third one caught. Cupping the flame in his hand, Frank held it against one of the broken twigs. In a moment the dry wood began to smolder. Bit by bit, Frank nursed the ember into a fire and soon had a roaring blaze going.

"It won't last long, though," he reflected as he warmed his face and hands.

By now the circle of firelight was strong enough to reveal a fallen tree several yards away. Frank managed to break off some branches and brought them back to augment his supply of firewood.

"If only Joe were here!" he thought.

Shivering, Frank walked out into the darkness. "Joe!" he shouted, his voice straining. Then again, "Joe! . .

Frank listened intently. Suddenly his heart leaped. He had heard a cry!

Frank began yelling frantically. Several moments later a horse and rider took shape out of the snowy darkness. Frank rushed to meet them and guided Joe's frost-rimed mount back toward the welcome glow of the firelight.

Joe himself was white from head to foot. He climbed wearily out of the saddle, shook himself off, and hunkered close to the flames while Frank attended to his horse.

"Whew!" Joe gave a long sigh of relief as the warmth of the blaze restored his numbed circulation. "Good thing you built this fire, Frank. I was about ready to give up."

"I was hoping you might spot the light," Frank said. "How did we get separated?"

"My carelessness," Joe confessed. "I was looking around for signs of Big Al and sort of trusting my horse to follow yours. First thing I knew, you were nowhere in sight."

The boys blanketed and fed their horses, then opened a can of beans and had a warm supper.

"Wonder if Big Al's lost in the storm, too?" Joe mused drowsily.

"Probably," Frank replied. "If he's smart, he'll find some kind of shelter."

"He may already have found the mine tunnel where Dawson's gold is hidden," Joe pointed out.

"Let's hope not!"

There was a long silence as the two brothers crouched close to the fire, listening to the roar of the storm.

Gradually their heads drooped. It was an uneasy, uncomfortable night. Frank and Joe managed to sleep, off and on, but as the fire died down one or the other would get up and forage for more wood.

With the first clear light of dawn, the brothers were awake and preparing to hit the trail. The snow had stopped sometime during the early morning. Now the whole valley lay covered in a ghostly blanket of white.

"What's our next move?" Joe asked as the boys ate breakfast "I think our best bet is to look for the lost plane," Frank suggested. "The mine tunnel can't be too far from there."

Joe shook his head pessimistically. "Don't forget, Big Al's gang has been looking for it for a long time with no luck."

"But they had nothing to go on," Frank argued. "Of course Dawson's plane fell into a gully-so it might not be too easy to spot."

"That's true," Joe said thoughtfully. "Let's see if we can get some idea of where it came down. According to Dawson, he headed north and was in the air only three or four minutes!"

The Hardys made a rough calculation, based on the probable speed of a single-engine plane of old vintage. Then, using their compa.s.s and taking a bearing on the lone sentinel pine atop the ridge, they started off toward the area where they estimated the crash might have occurred.

The horses could move only at a slow plod.

Their forelegs sank knee-deep into the snow at every step. Frank and Joe-their breaths steaming in the subzero atmosphere-were forced to control their impatience.

The search continued for several hours. By late morning, both boys were discouraged. Joe, who was in the lead, reined in his horse.

"Seems pretty hopeless, if you ask me," he said, swinging around in his saddle. "Maybe we should-"

Joe broke off with a gasp. As he turned, his eyes had suddenly detected something protuding from the snow in the distance.

"Frank!" Joe pointed off through the clear, cold air.

Frank's eyes widened as he too saw the object. "You're right! Let's go check!"

Turning their horses, the boys rode toward the spot. Even before they reached it, they could make out the skeletal wing tip of a plane sticking up from a snow-choked gully.

"That's the wreck, all right!" Frank exclaimed jubilantly. "No wonder Big Al and his gang never saw it!