Hunting for Hidden Gold (13 page)

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. Frank shot a quick glance upward. “Look out, Joe!” he yelled.

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.

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.

“He must be holed up among those rocks,” Frank said. “Probably waiting for us!”

He had hardly finished speaking when Joe clutched his brother's arm and pointed. “Look! There he is!”

Big Al had suddenly appeared, clawing his way to the very top of the jutting boulder!

“He's trapped!” Frank cried out triumphantly. “Let's get him!”

CHAPTER XVI

“YOU'LL never take me alive!” screamed Big Al.

He had reached the top of the huge boulder and now stood waving his arms against the leaden sky. The outlaw was jumping around as though half-crazed.

“Try to get me!” he challenged.

As Frank and Joe sped into the jumble of rocks, they lost sight of their quarry momentarily. They could hear Big Al still yelling, then suddenly there was silence.

“Wonder what happened?” Joe panted. “Did—”

He was interrupted by a long-drawn-out scream which gradually trailed off. Then there was silence.

Dashing from the rocks, the boys came around a corner. Before them was the huge boulder.

“He's gone!” Joe panted.

“But where?”

There was no place for Big Al to have run except down the rocky trail on which the boys had been.

“He must have jumped over the edge!” Joe yelled. The Hardys ran to it. They could see most of the canyon floor below them. There was no sign of a body.

“He
must
have gone down!” Frank said, puzzled. “But where is he?”

The boys looked closely again in the waning light. There was no one in sight.

“I wonder—” Joe said slowly. “Even if Big Al did go over the side, he may have known a safe way to slide to the bottom, and there might be some hiding place—”

Frank agreed. “Big Al's pretty tricky. He could have figured out some way to escape.”

As the light failed, the brothers strained their eyes to peer into the darkness, but could detect no niche, crevice, or cave in which to hide.

“Well,” Frank murmured at last, “there isn't much we can do tonight. I sure hate to think Big Al is roaming around here loose.”

Joe looked toward the sky. It was dark now and they were a long distance up Windy Peak. “What'll we do, Frank?” he asked.

“The only thing we can do,” said his brother, “is spend the night here. Tomorrow we might manage to find some trace of Big Al. I want to know if he's dead or alive.”

“I do, too!” Joe exclaimed.

“We'll have to make camp,” Frank said, “but first we'd better do something about our horses.”

“Yes, and Big Al's, too,” Joe added, pointing toward the outlaw's fine roan that was still ground-hitched.

The boys gathered the three animals together, rode back to the fork, and secured the horses to rocks.

“These old fellows will provide us with a good warning system,” Frank remarked.

“How?” his brother asked.

Frank explained his idea. “We'll leave them here and go part way back along the trail to make camp. If Al is alive he'll
have
to come past here, since all three trails meet at this spot. He'll want his roan, anyway. The horses would be sure to whinny and waken us.”

“Good scheme!” said Joe. “We'll camp at the Rock Motel!”

“Every comfort and all for free,” Frank joked.

The boys ate, fed the horses, then carted their bedrolls and meager supplies to a sheltered spot and quickly spread out the blankets. Though the brothers were tired, sleep was slow in coming.

“I can't help wondering if Big Al is tricking us again,” Frank said uneasily as he was finally drifting off.

He dreamed several times about the outlaw and tried to figure out why he and Joe had not seen Big Al's body in the gorge. Both boys slept fitfully through the night.

As the blackness of the sky began to lighten with the coming of dawn, they got up and ate a cold but nourishing breakfast of oranges, oatmeal cookies, and egg flakes. Refreshed, the boys walked toward the edge of the cliff over which Big Al had disappeared.

“We may be able to see something more in the daylight,” Joe remarked.

Frank had been staring into the gray, lowering sky. “I doubt if there's anything to see,” he observed.

“What do you mean?”

Frank scanned the sky once more. “I think we've been fooled again,” he answered. “If there had been a body down in the gorge, there'd be carrion birds flying around.”

“Of course,” said Joe.

“I wondered about it last night, but thought maybe because it was so late there wouldn't be any birds at work. But some would be here this morning, if there was anything to attract them.”

“Let's look over the edge again,” Joe suggested.

The brothers dropped to their stomachs and crept as close as they could to the rim. By leaning well over it, they could look almost to the base of the cliff.

“See anything, Joe?”

“Not a thing.”

Suddenly, from far below, came the rattle of small pebbles. A great black raven flew out of the precipice.

“There must be a nest in the cliff!” Joe cried out.

The boys edged forward over the rough stones. They held on as tightly as possible before leaning over to locate the nest.

“There it is!” exclaimed Frank.

Below them in a recess that nature had torn in the cliffside was the bird's nest and alongside it enough room to give a man shelter.

“That was Big Al's hiding place!” Frank said grimly. “He swung down there to the left and probably got away during the night.”

Frank and Joe crawled back from the cliff's edge until they could stand up in safety.

“He fooled us all right,” said Frank. “I wonder how long it was before he left here.”