Hardy Boys Casefiles 11 Brother Against Brother (ORIGINAL)

Chapter 6

Frank Hardy drove frantically through the Rocky Mountain dawn. Sunlight was a long time coming to the low canyons where his route took him. The sun had been up for an hour before it was high enough in the sky to climb over the craggy mountaintops.

Till then, Frank had driven through a faint glow. Little by little, though, the glow increased, bringing a pink tone to the rocks around him. Then, as more light hit the rocks, the pink intensified into reddish brown.

The air began to warm, and Frank realized he no longer needed the car heater. He turned it off and opened a window. Cool, dry breezes filled the car, bringing with them a scent of pine.

It was a beautiful spectacle â€" but Frank hardly noticed. Except for a brief nap, he had been up all night. His whole body ached from lack of sleep. His stomach rumbled, his neck and back were shot through with pain. His mind buzzed with a series of unanswerable "what ifs."

"What if I can't locate Cripple Mine?"

"What if the cops don't let me through?"

"What if the car's already been towed away?"

"What if I'm forced to return to Bayport without Joe?"

"What if I find Joe dead?"

"What if the hit man is lying in wait for me.

The road passed through some woods. For just a moment Frank thought about stopping the car, walking through the woods, kneeling beside a brook, and rubbing some of its icy water over his tired face. But he drove on.

"Hang on, Joe," Frank whispered. "I'm coming. I'm coming, brother."

He curved around a bend in the highway to find a patrolman removing a wobden barricade, to open the road to traffic again.

Frank slowed, checking out the scene. Through the open window he heard the roar of a raging river. Beside him he saw the steel guardrail smashed apart, with tire tracks rolling off the road's edge and disappearing into the ravine.

Just ahead of this, parked at the side of the ravine, were a tow truck carrying a wreck and a highway patrol car. An officer was jotting notes down, while the tow truck operator waited.

Frank stopped and shouted out the window, "Excuse me. Is this near Cripple Mine?"

"Yes, it is. But just keep moving, son," the officer said. "Got to keep the road clear."

"Looks like some accident," Frank said. "How did the guy who was driving come out?"

"We found nothing but the wreck itself," the officer said. "No body, no identification."

"Well, thank you," Frank said. He accelerated slightly, moving past the tow truck.

He nearly slammed to a stop as he studied the wrecked car â€" the same make and model that Joe had rented. "No one could have survived in that," he whispered to himself. The windshield and all the windows of the car had been shattered. The roof was flattened against the body. The engine was in the backseat. The sides had been punched in like a collapsed milk carton.

Frank's face was grim as he drove away. If Joe had been in there.

He drove a mile or so, then finding a place to pull off, he hid his car among some trees. Then he walked back along the road toward the accident site.

Seeing the approaching roof lights of the tow truck and patrol car, Frank ducked for cover. He crouched low in some bushes while the procession passed by. Then he jogged along the asphalt road.

He followed the guardrail until its violent break. Glancing down the rocky ravine Frank could see the tracks the wreck had made as it was winched up from the river. Gingerly Frank stepped off the edge and started down the ravine.

He picked his way carefully. One false step and he'd be unable to regain his balance. He'd tumble out of control over sharp boulders to the wild river below. He leaned into the hill, until he reached the bottom.

The sun was high over the pines now. It gave perfect light for Frank's search. His eyes focused on the ground, looking for anything the highway patrol might have missed.

Paint on some boulders and a deep indentation at the river's edge indicated to Frank where the - wreck had landed. He remembered how the wreck had looked. About the only part of the car not severely damaged had been the trunk. Maybe, if Joe had survived, he might have gotten out through there.

Moving farther downstream Frank spied a tire iron among some rocks. It couldn't have been there long â€" no cobwebs, moss, or rust. Frank picked up the steel bar and inspected it closely. Near the top he found what looked like a cluster of hairs glued to the iron with dried blood.

The muscles in Frank's jaw tensed as he took this in. The crash looked very little like an accident now. Whoever had stripped the car had a purpose â€" a deadly one.

Hefting the tire iron like a club, Frank moved on. He stopped to examine a flat boulderâ€"and the sticky, reddish stain on it. A smear of dry blood, as if someone had stopped to restâ€"or die. Frank looked downstream. Someone could have followed a narrow trail up the rocky slope toward the trees. Or, someone could have walked along the rocks lining the river edge.

But, Frank deduced, if someone was injured and bleeding, he would follow the river trail, since it would be easier.

So Frank began to follow the river. His tiredness fell away from him now; every sense was awake and alert. He cast back and forth over the soft mud, finding one print and then another. The pattern they made looked like a drunkenâ€"or « injuredâ€"stumble. Then a new set of prints were introduced â€" not human. Frank knelt to examine them. They looked like the prints of a large dog.

Frank continued on and spied a new set of human prints. Small bare footprints, most likely a woman's or boy's. And, off to the side, caught in some brambles, was a white bath towel!

Climbing onto a boulder, Frank tried to get an aerial view of the three sets of prints. Yes, it all made sense. It looked as if the small prints had come from the water. Then whoever made those prints dragged the person who made the larger prints away. The larger person was probably injured. Frank crossed his fingers and barely allowed himself to hope it was Joe.

But who were they for sure? And where did they go?

Frank followed the prints until he was confronted by a massive boulder blocking the river path. The ground all around it was rocky, and the prints disappeared.

"Just my luck," Frank said. He ran across the rocky ground, which led to the edge of some woods. Casting around, Frank inspected the area, looking for any sign â€" a broken branch or scuffed pine needles â€" anything that would indicate that somebody had been dragged that way.

For the first time he felt a faint glimmer of hope. Perhaps Joe had survived the wreck and somehow had found help. Maybe Frank could find him.

But one disturbing question remained. Who had used the bloody tire iron? And if he used it once against Joe, would he be satisfied that he had done his job? Or would he try to kill Joe again?