Free The Madman of Black Bear Mountain by Franklin W. Dixon

thing I saw before I started plummeting toward the rapids below.

14
A BRIDGE TOO HIGH
FRANK
    I WATCHED HELPLESSLY AS “MAX” —or whoever she was—snatched the rucksack from Joe’s grasp, shoving him backward in the process. The rope rail bent beneath his weight, and for a terrifying second he seemed to hover in the air before gravity took hold and flipped him over the side, his body twisting as he fell.
    The fall was too high, the rocks below too sharp, the rapids too fast. There was no way he was going to survive, unless . . .
    â€œYes!” I screamed as Joe grabbed hold of the bottom rope just before it slipped from his grasp. The bridge swung violently, nearly bucking him, but he held on.
    The victory didn’t last long.
    He only managed to pull himself halfway up before thebridge started to come apart around him. Wood planks flew off and rained down toward the churning rapids as the ropes holding them in place began to snap. Suddenly there wasn’t anything left for Joe to pull himself back onto because there was a huge gap between the remaining planks on either side of him—the rope Joe clung to had transformed from a support rail into a high wire!
    He tried walking his hands back along the swaying rope, but that just caused more planks to fly free and the rope to bow dangerously, dangling Joe even lower over the rapids. I had no idea how I was going to pull him to safety, I just knew I had to try.
    I leaped for the door. “Hang on, Joe! I’m coming!”
    I made it only a few feet before another figure appeared in the cabin door in front of me, his hulking silhouette nearly filling the frame. There was no mistaking this person’s identity; the huge ax was a dead giveaway.
    With buckskin clothing that strained against his bulging muscles, a wild beard, and even wilder eyes, the Mad Hermit of Black Bear Mountain was somehow more horrifying up close than he’d been galloping at us from across the woods.
    I pivoted in the opposite direction, hoping Dr. Kroopnik—the one I’d just freed, not the “Mystery Max” who’d pushed my brother off a bridge—had easy access to something we could fight the hermit off with. But the scientist apparently had other plans, because he wasalready halfway down a hatch in the floor at the back of the cabin.
    â€œFollow me!” he yelled. “We can save your friend, but we have to move fast!”
    I dashed after him without a second glance at the monster in the doorway.
    â€œStop!” the Mad Hermit bellowed after me. “I am—”
    I wasn’t about to wait around to hear what he had to say. I had the hatch door shut and was sliding down a rope after Dr. Kroopnik before the hermit got out another word. The rope-and-pulley system rigged for hoisting supplies up to the station made for a quick escape. I expected the hermit to be right on our tail, but when I looked behind me, he was nowhere to be seen.
    I sprinted after Dr. Kroopnik toward the edge of the ravine. The bridge swayed back and forth below us, with Joe dangling over the center of the chasm, desperately clinging to the rope with both hands.
    â€œThis way!” Dr. Kroopnik shouted, hurrying down a steep flight of steps leading all the way to the riverbank below.
    â€œBut the bridge is up here!” I protested.
    That’s when I saw the raft tethered to the bank a few yards upstream from the bridge.
    â€œWe can to try to catch him in the raft,” Dr. Kroopnik said. “It may be our only chance.”
    I raced down after him, past more of the exotic flowers I’d seen earlier, not that I was about to stop to examine themthis time. It seemed to take us forever to get to the bottom, but when I looked up, Joe was still there, fighting to keep his grip.
    â€œGet in!” Dr. Kroopnik yelled, pulling the raft toward the bank’s edge. “I’ll let out enough rope to hold you under the bridge. The river