Hunting for Hidden Gold (5 page)

“No telling if anyone's up there,” Joe muttered.

The two brothers shivered in the icy wind, and then squirmed through the hole into the burned kitchen. Meanwhile, Hank pulled on warm clothes, went out to a lean-to, and brought back a tarpaulin. The boys helped him nail it over the hole in the wall, then set the stove up.

“That'll do till mornin',” Hank said.

Frank and Joe were up as soon as it was light. After a quick breakfast they climbed the steep, snow-covered slope behind the shack, following the trail plowed by the huge boulder. The boys soon found a deep gouge where the stone had been pried out of the hillside.

“Somebody used a crowbar to get it going,” Joe said, kneeling on the ground.

“And here are some traces of red paint,” Frank pointed out.

They scouted around thoroughly, and noticed the snow had been disturbed, as if to cover tracks.

“Whoever pried that stone loose,” Frank said thoughtfully, “may have come from town rather than from a hideout in the hills.”

“Why?”

“Because it's not likely that anyone hiding up in the mountains would have red paint on hand. The person who did this probably got it at the village store.”

“Maybe Big Al has an agent in Lucky Lode,” Joe suggested.

The boys walked on up the hill. The undergrowth at the top was parted and broken.

“Someone forced his way through here,” Frank said.

They followed the trampled brush to a trail which led along the wooded ridge, paralleling the main street of Lucky Lode below them. Soon they spotted a narrow path leading down into the small community.

“The man we're after could have come this way,” Frank said. “We'd better scout for clues.”

Slowly he and Joe walked down the steep, narrow trail. There were footprints, but these were too jumbled to be of any significance. They reached the bottom without finding anything else, then climbed back to the top and continued along the ridge.

After a while the boys emerged into a clearing. Before them lay an old cemetery. They crawled through a gap in the dilapidated wooden fence and walked silently among the gravestones. From the bleak, windswept spot they could see all of Lucky Lode in the valley below. The old part of town ended directly under the cemetery.

“Look at these, Frank,” called Joe, from where he knelt beside a double headstone.

“‘John and James Coulson'!” Frank read. “Mike Onslow's partners!”

“I guess they came to Lucky Lode to try for another stake,” Joe said.

“You're probably right,” Frank replied.

The boys decided to go into town and headed for the cemetery gate. Coarse brush grew up around the ornate posts. Frank passed through, but Joe was pulled up short.

“Wait!” he said. “I'm caught!”

Big burrs clung to his trousers. Fumbling with heavily gloved fingers, he managed to get free. Together, he and Frank pulled out all the burrs and the brothers scrambled down the slope.

At the foot they saw the deserted gray-weathered buildings. As they walked along the old wooden sidewalk, the boards creaked and the wind rattled the loose doors and shutters.

“This end of Lucky Lode's a real ghost town,” Frank remarked.

“Somebody lives here, though,” Joe replied. He pointed ahead to a tumbledown house. A pale stream of smoke issued from the chimney.

Suddenly the door opened a crack and a rifle muzzle poked out. It was aimed straight at the boys!

Frank and Joe halted, not knowing whether to drop to the ground or run. But nothing happened. At last they moved forward cautiously.

The muzzle followed the Hardys until they came abreast of the porch. Then the door was kicked open and an old man jumped out, aiming the weapon at them. Frank and Joe stopped.

“What are you doin' here?” the white-haired man demanded curtly, his eyes squinting suspiciously.

“Just visiting,” Frank said in a friendly tone.

“We're from the East,” Joe went on. “Staying with Hank Shale.”

The old man lowered the rifle. “Oh,” he said, relieved. “Any friend of Hank Shale is a friend of mine. Come on in.”

“Did you expect somebody else?” Frank asked, as the boys followed the old man into the shack.

“Don't know!” he snapped. “A fella can't be too careful around here now. There's funny things happenin' up on Cemetery Hill.”

The boys found themselves in a plainly furnished room heated by a wood stove. They introduced themselves and their host said, “My name's Ben Tinker.” He pointed to two wooden chairs near the stove. “Sit down and warm up.”

“What did you mean by funny things going on in the cemetery?” Frank asked him.

“It's haunted,” Ben said flatly. “Has been for the past two weeks.”

“Haunted!” Joe echoed. “How?”

“Sometimes, late at night, a blue light blinks on and off up there. I've seen it,” the old man explained, “because I'm a night owl and like a breath of air before turnin' in.”

“Has anyone else seen the light?” Frank asked.

“Doubt it. In Lucky Lode nobody's out late at night. But that's not all,” Ben went on. “About an hour after the lights show, somebody walks past here. I think it's Charlie's ghost. Charlie used to play piano in the Peacock Dance Hall next door. He was killed in a gunfight there forty years ago and buried up on Cemetery Hill.”

The Hardys were mystified. “Why do you think it's Charlie's ghost, Ben?” Frank asked.

“Because some nights I hear the piano—it's still there. Sort of tuneless, like when Charlie let his fingers wander over the keys.”

“When was the last time you saw the blue light?” Frank queried.

“Night before last.”

“You don't really believe it's a ghost, do you?” Joe said.

“Might be. Then again might not. Somebody might be up to monkey business,” Ben admitted. “That's why I keep this handy.” He pointed to the rifle leaning against the wall.

Frank, on impulse, asked the old-timer, “Do you know anything about John and James Coulson?”

“Sure do. They died in a mining accident about twenty-five years ago, after some highbinder stole a lot o' gold from them.”

“We'd like to hear the story,” Frank said quickly.

Ben's rambling account of the Lone Tree incident agreed with the version the Hardys had heard from Mike Onslow.

“What happened to Bart Dawson?” Joe asked.

“Can't say for sure,” was Ben's reply, “but he must have kept the gold. I saw him in Helena a couple o' years after and he acted like he didn't know me. Why would he have done that if he hadn't been guilty?”

The Hardys exchanged glances. It certainly sounded as though Mike Onslow's ex-partner had absconded with the gold! The brothers got up to leave, and Frank said, “Thanks for telling us all this, Ben.”

“Any time, boys. Come back again,” the man urged. “But stay away from that graveyard!”

As the Hardys walked down the main street toward the populated part of Lucky Lode, Frank suggested that the blue light could be a signal.

“I think so, too,” Joe agreed. “Cemetery Hill is clearly visible from everywhere in town.”

“It would be an ideal place for Big Al to signal a spy if he had one in Lucky Lode,” Frank remarked.

“Ben said the light has been around for only a couple of weeks,” Joe added, “and that's about the length of time Dad thinks Big Al has been hiding out near here.”

“The footsteps Ben hears could be the spy returning to town after meeting Al in the cemetery,” Frank speculated.

“What about the piano playing in the deserted dance hall?” Joe asked.

“Maybe it's Ben Tinker's imagination.”

By this time the boys had reached the business section of Main Street. Frank stopped in front of the general store. “Let's go in and see if we can find out anything about that red paint.”

Inside, a husky man stood behind the counter, slitting open cartons with his pocketknife. Frank asked if he were the owner.

“I am,” he said. “Jim Burke's the name.”

Frank and Joe told him who they were, and he introduced the boys to several men seated around a potbelly stove. The Hardys noticed that the town post office, telephone switchboard, and telegraph office were also in the store.

“You must know everything that's going on in town, Mr. Burke,” Joe said, smiling.

“That's right,” the man answered with a wink.

“Could you tell us which stores here stock red paint?” Frank asked.

Burke chuckled. “This is the only store there is,” he replied. “I carry it. You want some?”

“No,” said Joe. “We'd like to find out if anyone bought red paint in the past few weeks.”

“No one,” Burke told him promptly. “I'd remember because I don't sell much of it. Why?”

While Frank described the boulder attack on Hank's cabin, he and Joe watched their listeners' faces. None showed any sign of guilt. The Hardys told about meeting Ben Tinker and asked if anyone else had seen the blue light at the top of Cemetery Hill.

Burke laughed. “Ben Tinker's always imaginin' things.”

One of the other men guffawed. “A couple of weeks ago he was seein' men from outer space.”

The Hardys did not believe this but made no comment. They left the store and went back to their cabin. Here they found Hank Shale and their father repairing the damaged wall.

“You'd better take it easy, Dad,” Joe said with concern.

“Oh, I haven't been exerting myself.” Fenton Hardy grinned at his sons. “I have to find some way to work off a little energy.”

While Hank fixed lunch, Frank and Joe related what they had found out.

“Ben is an old man,” Hank put in as he dished out a sizzling plateful of ham and eggs, “but he's not loco. Still, the whole story, blue lights and all, might be just his imagination.”

That afternoon the boys insisted that their father remain quiet while they helped Hank rebuild the cabin wall. By nightfall the job was done.

While they were relaxing in front of the fire after supper, Hank told the boys where they could rent horses to search for Big Al's hideout. “I only have my mare Daisy,” he added, “and she's none too young and spry.”

“There are a number of abandoned mines in this area,” Mr. Hardy told his sons. “I suggest you investigate them.”

“But watch out for tommy-knockers,” Hank warned with a grin.

“Tommy-knockers? What're they?” Joe asked.

“Some kind o' gnomes or spirits or suchlike that live underground. Old-time miners used to say that if you heard one knockin', it meant there was about to be an accident.”

“Okay. If we hear any, we'll watch our step,” Frank promised jokingly. “By the way, we'd like to search the Lone Tree area. Where was Mike Onslow's claim located?”

“Nobody knows, any more,” Hank said, scratching his head. “The Lone Tree territory's too big for you fellows to cover alone.”

He drew them a sketch, showing the location of Lone Tree and deserted mines in the area. Frank and Joe decided which ones they would try next day.

Later, the brothers walked down to the livery stable on Main Street and rented horses for their expedition. The boys rode back to the cabin and stabled the animals in Hank's lean-to. When they returned, Hank and Mr. Hardy were asleep, but the boys sat up for a while and discussed the mystery. They became aware that the wind had risen and was whipping around the cabin.

“We'd better take a look at the horses,” Frank suggested.

Bundling into their heavy jackets, the boys went outside. The lean-to was snugly built and the animals seemed comfortable. Satisfied, Frank and Joe started back. As they rounded the corner of Hank's cabin, they stopped short.

“Look!” breathed Joe.

Clearly visible on the top of Cemetery Hill was a winking blue light!

CHAPTER VI

“LET'S go up there!” urged Frank, grabbing Joe's arm.

As quickly and quietly as possible, the boys scaled the hill in back of Hank's cabin and hurried along the ridge trail toward the graveyard. When they reached the edge of the clearing, Frank and Joe paused in the shelter of the trees.

The night was moonless but the northern lights made great colored streaks across the sky. In a back corner of the cemetery, the brothers spotted a tall, thin figure.

“Probably the person who signaled with the blue light!” Joe whispered.

Crouching low, the young detectives crept through the broken fence. They moved forward soundlessly to a large stone monument and knelt behind it. The Hardys wished they could get closer to the man, but that gravestone was the only one large enough to afford them cover.

The man paced about restlessly, stamping his feet and huddling his shoulders for warmth. Presently the boys heard the sound of footsteps in the front of the cemetery. A second figure, big and bulky, approached the first. The newcomer's cap was pulled low, and his face appeared to be muffled for protection against the bitter cold. He took up a position with his back turned to the two brothers.

As the thin man spoke, Frank and Joe strained their ears to hear above the roaring of the wind. They were able to catch only a part of the conversation.

“... Big Al's plenty mad,” the first man was saying. “He gave me special orders for you tonight, Slip Gun.”

The big man was silent, apparently waiting for the speaker to continue.

“He wants you to keep the Hardy boys bottled up in town,” the thin man went on. “Also, be sure to tip him off on every move they make.”