Free Hunting for Hidden Gold by Franklin W. Dixon Page B

tell him?”
    â€œWe’re going up to investigate Windy Peak,” Frank replied. “The sooner the better.”
    A worried look spread over the Westerner’s leathery face. He urged the boys to be extremely cautious, now that the gang was clearly trying to get rid of them. He agreed to provide supplies for the trip, however, and to lend them his mare Daisy for use as a pack horse. Soon the boys were ready to start.
    â€œWhat’s the easiest way to get up Windy Peak, Hank?” asked Joe as he tightened the cinch.
    â€œThere ain’t no easy way this time o’ year,” the man replied. “You’ll have to take an old Indian path called Ambush Trail, up near Brady’s Mine. Starts about half a mile north o’ the mine entrance. But watch your step.”
    â€œBad going?” Frank put in.
    â€œPlenty bad. Even in summer, that trail’s full o’ narrow ledges and hairpin turns. Now it’ll be lots worse. We had a freak thaw early this month that probably loosened quite a few boulders. Some places you’ll be on icy ledges lookin’ straight down the side of a cliff.”
    Hank’s warning proved to be fully justified. At first the trail seemed fairly easy, but as they left the timberline behind, the path narrowed and wound confusingly in and out among the rocky outcrops on the face of the mountainside.
    â€œI’ll bet even the Indians got lost sometimes on this snaky trail,” Joe remarked wryly.
    On their left the mountain towered sheer above them, with precariously poised boulders and crusted drifts of snow. Half-dislodged clumps of earth and rock projected from the cliffside.
    â€œThis would be a bad place to get caught in an avalanche,” Frank observed.
    Joe gulped. “Whew! Don’t even think it!”
    Presently the boys saw horseshoe prints in the snow. Apparently the riders, whoever they were, had cut in from some side path.
    â€œAt least we seem to be on the right trail,” Joe said tensely.
    â€œProbably members of the gang,” Frank cautioned. “We’d better keep a sharp eye out.”
    The prints faded out presently as the path became more glazed and rocky. Soon the trail narrowed so much that the boys were forced to proceed single file. Both gulped as they glanced down the cliff at the icy river below.
    Joe was close behind when Frank turned a sharp corner on the trail and reined to a halt. Ahead was a huge barrier of snow, rocks, and logs.
    â€œMust have been an avalanche,” Joe said.
    Frank moved forward for a better look. “Maybe not,” he commented. “Those logs don’t look like windfalls—they could have been cut by men. Anyhow—our trail is blocked.”
    After sizing up the situation, Frank and Joe decided to risk skirting the curve of the hillside, which seemed less steep at this point.
    â€œMaybe we can get back on the trail somewhere beyond the barrier,” Joe said hopefully.
    Dismounting, the Hardys started cautiously downward. Frank went first, leading his horse and Daisy. Joe followed with his mount.
    For a while the footing seemed fairly sure. The Hardys had negotiated their way around part of the slope when Frank suddenly felt the ground shifting beneath his feet.
    â€œLook out, Joe!” he cried out. “There’s loose shale under this snow!”
    A spatter of stones and earth went clattering down the mountainside. As the brothers scrambled for safer ground, their mounts became panicky, neighing and pawing wildly for a foothold.
    The horses’ bucking dislodged still more shale. The next instant, the horses and the boys went slipping and sliding downward in the landslide. All three of the animals went over on their sides in a swirl of flying hoofs.
    Frank and Joe were half stunned as they tumbled on down the mountain. Below was an icy creek. Suddenly they were sailing through the air.
    Crash! ... Crash!
    The Hardys and their horses shattered the