Danger on Vampire Trail (12 page)

Joe rolled his eyes. “So they're here, too!”

“They just won't give up,” Biff said.

“You know them?” the prince asked.

“We're acquainted,” Frank said. He had an idea and asked Biff to get Sherlock. The tall boy stepped outside to bring in the dog.

One of the sapphire peddlers, Cuthbert said, had sat in the overstuffed chair in a comer of the trailer. Biff let Sherlock sniff the cushion. Then the boys thanked the prince for his information and left.

“Okay, Sherlock,” Biff said. “Get busy!”

The dog's ears flapped as he zigzagged about, sniffing one scent, then another. Finally he found the trail of the person who had sat in the chair.

Sherlock strained at the leash, and the boys followed him across the campground. The dog led them out of the area and into a wooded section.

“It's getting late,” Chet declared. “I hope we find those guys soon. I'm getting hungry.”

Tire marks were evident on a path which led deeper into a pine woods. Frank and Joe studied the ground, finally locating the spot where a vehicle had turned off the trail.

Sherlock made the turn. “They can't be very far ahead,” Biff said. “We'd better be quiet.”

It was decided that Frank and Joe would go on ahead, while Chet and Biff remained behind with Sherlock. If the dog should bark, he would give away their position.

Moving from tree to tree, the Hardys finally spied the trailer. “Ha, we found the culprits,” Joe whispered.

They crept as close as possible to the trailer without risking being seen. Voices came from inside. One belonged to Fingers. He said, “Listen, Pick! Let us work for you again. We won't steal anything this time!”

A deep voice replied, “I can't trust you. You take too many of the stones.”

Juice retorted, “Suppose we tell the cops about this thing?”

Pick replied coldly, “That would be your death warrant. Now scram out of this territory!”

“We will,” Fingers said, “if you give us a few more stones. We're broke.”

“Okay. Here,” came the reply.

Then a door slammed and the Hardys ducked for cover. A short, stocky man left the trailer and vanished into the woods in the opposite direction from which the boys had come. He moved so fast that Frank and Joe could not get a look at his face.

Seconds later there came the sound of a motorbike, but it was too far away for the Hardys to follow.

They hastened back to where they had left Chet, Biff, and Sherlock. “Fingers and his pals are definitely involved in a crooked deal,” Joe said and told what they had overheard.

“I wonder what they're up to,” said Chet.

“And who is this character Pick?” Biff added.

“First thing to do is notify the police about those goons,” Frank suggested.

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!

 

 

 

 

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,” Farkus 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!”

 

 

 

 

“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.”