Hardy Boys Casefiles 11 Brother Against Brother (ORIGINAL)

Chapter 5

Frank's shoulders slumped in defeat. For hours, well into a long, long night, he had searched for Joe. But there wasn't even one solid clue as to where Joe was. Joe had started off on the route his father had given him, and then it seemed as if he had disappeared.

The owner of the tepee tourist shop had remembered Joe, but he had provided no concrete leads.

"Sorry," he'd said. "I can't keep track of every lowlander coming this way. Sure I can't interest you in a nice silver bracelet for your girlfriend?"

"Girlfriend? What makes you think I have a girlfriend?"

That got a chuckle from the owner. "Fella like you would be sure to have a girlfriend."

But the only thing that Frank had wanted was a phone. He had called back to Bayport from the shop. His parents had nothing to report. But Fenton Hardy had reminded him that his twenty-four hours would be up the next afternoon.

Frank had answered that he wasn't going to leave Colorado without some information about Joe's fate.

After leaving the tourist shop, Frank had covered the main roads of Summit County until well past sundown. He'd stopped at gas stations and truck stops, at restaurants and motels, describing Joe's car, showing Joe's photo. He had talked with the local law, asking if anything unusualâ€" an accident, a rock slide, a shootingâ€"had been reported. He checked with the local hospitals. But everywhere he went, Frank had come up empty.

Finally, he couldn't drive any farther and pulled into a rest area. Under better circumstances the place would have been very restful. It was off the main road and had several picnic tables surrounded by tall, thin pines and aspens. Nearby, a stream ran downhill through a canyon.

But Frank found little rest. When his eyes closed, all he could envision were horrible scenes. Joe hurt and lost. Joe attacked by the very hit man he was trying to stop. Joe dazed and wandering. Joe ... Joe ... Joe.

Frank napped for a little while, then shook himself awake, his eyes and mouth feeling gummy. He started the car and looked for a place to eat.

Now he was sitting in a truck stop. It was late, closer to sunrise than midnight. The only other customers, truck drivers.

Frank sat at the counter, sipping a large glass of soda, barely touching the hamburger and fries in front of him. His place mat was a map of Colorado, the kind with facts about tourist attractions.

Frank pushed his food away and unfolded a road map. With a pen he marked the places he had already visited.

"Looking for a place to bed down for the night?" the waitress asked. "There's a decent motel about three miles down the road."

"No," Frank told her. "I've got to keep moving. May I have my check, please?"

The waitress totaled up Frank's bill and left it on the counter. "You look pretty tired," she said. "I hope that you're not planning to do much more driving. The roads around here can be dangerous in the dark."

Frank put some money on the counter. He shook his head, trying to come up with a new course of action. The waitress marched over to freshen the coffee for two truckers sharing a booth.

"How are you guys tonight?" she asked.

"Stuck here," one trucker said with a grin.

"How about two slices of your famous apple pie?"

"And keep the coffee coming," said the other trucker. "Might as well stay put till they get that accident cleaned up."

"Accident?" the waitress asked.