Free Danger on Vampire Trail by Franklin W. Dixon Page B

inside just in case there’s trouble. You stay out here to cover me if those two guys try anything funny.”
    When Juice and Rip saw them coming, their mouths dropped open in surprise. Juice held a bottle of orange soda in his hand. Trying to be casual, he took a swig.
    â€œWhat are you guys doing here?” Rip asked.
    The Hardys did not reply. Joe stayed outside while Frank strode into the shop. Counters lined both sides and the far end, where Fingers, his back to the door, was talking to the clerk.
    Quietly Frank stepped forward. Fingers reached into his jacket and pulled something out.
    Frank edged closer. “Thank goodness,” he said to himself, “it’s not a holdup.”
    Fingers had a pouch in his hand. He opened it and shook several sapphires onto the velvet pad covering the glass counter. “Want to buy them?” he asked the clerk.
    â€œWhere’d you get these?”
    â€œIn the mountains. Blackfoot country.”
    The clerk picked up the stones one by one to examine them. “These weren’t stolen?”
    â€œNo.”
    Suddenly, from the corner of his eye, Fingers spied Frank. He wheeled around and blanched. “What’re you trailing me for?” he said.
    â€œWho’s trailing who?” Frank shot back.
    Fingers looked at the clerk and said, “Excuse me a minute.” He motioned Frank toward the front of the store.
    â€œLook, you’re going to spoil this whole deal for me!” he hissed.
    â€œHow can I spoil anything if you’re on the up-and-up?”
    â€œWe’ll talk about that later,” Fingers replied “Now leave me alone. I need some money.”
    â€œOkay.” Frank stepped out into the sunlit street. There he found Joe being heckled by Juice and Rip.
    â€œYou’ve got nothing on us,” Juice was saying.
    With an innocent look, Joe said, “Of course not. You three guys are model citizens.”
    â€œDon’t be wise,” Rip said. “You’ll get what’s coming to you if you keep following us.”
    Frank spoke up. “It’s a free country. We’ll go anywhere we please.”
    Just then Fingers came out of the door, glowering. His forehead was lined with anger. “You blew it for me!” he muttered at Frank.
    Joe noticed that Rip was edging closer to him. Suddenly Rip kicked viciously. Joe hopped nimbly aside and Rip’s foot went through the plate-glass window.
    It shattered as if hit by an explosion. The whole pane fell in, splintering over the display of jewelry and setting off the burglar alarm.
    â€œBeat it!” Fingers cried out.
    The trio raced down the street, dodging passersby. A patrol car appeared and screeched to a halt. The clerk came racing from the store and a crowd hemmed in Frank and Joe.
    An officer pushed through the milling throng and began to ask questions.
    Joe related what had happened, and a man stepped forward to corroborate his story.
    â€œDo you know where those fellows were headed?” the policeman asked the Hardys.
    â€œNo, sir.”
    â€œOkay, you can go. We’ll look for them.”
    On their way back to the campsite, a thought suddenly leaped at Frank.
    â€œJoe, Fingers mentioned Blackfoot country in the jewelry shop!”
    â€œSo?”
    â€œRemember that wrapper in the Mountain Dogie Store said that Lasher and his pal had mentioned Foot Meadow?”
    â€œBlackfoot Meadow!” Joe exclaimed.
    â€œThat could be it,” Frank said. He pulled to the side of the road, grabbed the camping guide on the dashboard, and thumbed through the book. “Look, here it is!”
    Frank pointed to the name Blackfoot Meadow. It was a public camping spot maintained by the State of Colorado, located in extremely rugged mountainous country.
    â€œJust the place for a hideout,” Joe said.
    â€œWe ought to drive there right away,” Frank said.
    â€œBut what about Biff and Sherlock?”
    â€œGuess we’d