Free Brother Against Brother by Franklin W. Dixon

"By the time he comes around, we'll be safely out of here." With that, Joe continued on his way.
    Climbing up from the gully, he reached Frank's rental car and climbed in. He sat, waiting for Rita.
    After a minute Rita silently slid into the car. "Are you really going to leave him down there?" she asked.
    Joe's answer was to turn over the engine, put the car into gear, and drive off.
     
    ***
     
    When Frank came around it took him a moment to realize where he was. He lay on his back, his body aching. Above him, the sky was radiant with the full moon shining. He tried to sit up but slipped back, feeling ill. The memory of his recent fight rose before him, and he felt sicker.
    What happened to Joe? Frank wondered. He tried to kill me! Has he been brainwashed? He didn't even know who I was. I was fighting a robot!
    Gingerly, Frank forced himself to sit up, waiting for the cobwebs to clear from his head. "What a mess!" he muttered. "The good news is that Joe is alive. But the bad news is that Joe must think that I'm the hit man!"
    Swaying to his feet, Frank took a few wobbly steps, testing his ankles and knees. They still worked. He climbed up to the road again and set off.
    To take his mind off his pains, Frank concentrated on inventing a new plan for finding and saving Joe. But he had no edge, nothing to work with. Alone in the Rocky Mountains at night, he had only his wits to help him. This was a time when he really could use Joe's help — but Joe, apparently, was on the other side.
    The road began to slope up, and Frank walked for what seemed like hours. He was making some progress, but could never catch Joe on foot. No cars passed for Frank to flag down. No, he was on his own—on foot—whether he liked it or not.
    The road forked, and Frank stopped to decide which way to go. He couldn't remember his map this far along. The left-hand route remained paved and appeared to snake up into the mountains, the right-hand route was dirt-covered, heading down into a large valley.
    From his vantage point, Frank saw a small pool of light on the valley floor — not large enough to indicate a town, but light nonetheless.
    It could be a place where he could find help. Besides, he had to take the easier route. So Frank took the road down into the valley.
    As Frank approached the lights, they became brighter and more distinct. They were from some kind of building off the road in the near distance.
    Frank quickened his pace, breaking into a hobbling run.
    Just before he finally arrived, he stopped and leaned against an old fence to catch his breath.
    He was at an old truck stop, left over from the days when this road had been the only one.
    "I can't go in there looking like this," Frank said to himself. So he took a moment to comb through his hair with his fingers, then dusted and smoothed out his clothing. He wiped the blood off his face. Even with this effort, he still felt like the Wild Man of the Mountains.
    Walking past a couple of antique gas pumps, he headed into a beat-up diner with flickering neon lights. There were no trailer trucks in the gravel parking lot, just an old pickup and a Highway Patrol car.
    Frank entered the diner and smiled in surprise. The place was spotlessly clean. The linoleum floor shone with wax. The counter and stools were polished. Tubes of neon lights raced across the ceiling. Along the window wall were several booths. An old jukebox stood in one corner. Near it was a pool table and a rack of cue sticks.
    The counterman, tall and skinny, with thin hair slicked back, wiped his hands on an apron, eyeing Frank, "Howdy, stranger," he said with a western twang.
    He reached behind the counter for a coffee pot, and freshened the cup for a heavyset highway cop sitting on a far stool. As he leaned forward, he muttered something to the cop, who turned around and looked at Frank.
    Obviously, the patrolman was not impressed by Frank's bedraggled condition. The lips went thin on his heavy face, and he crossed his arms