"I ain't got no money, if you're thinking of robbing me," the station owner said. "You kids ain't looking for trouble, are you?"

"We're looking for a policeman," Frank said. "Any idea where the police station is?"

59.

"Heck, that's closed this time of-night," the manager replied. "Don't need it much up here. Sheriff Keller, he'd be in the bar by now. A fellow just ran over there with a message for him, matter of fact."

"Thanks," Frank said. He looked around. The bar was a block away, a brick building with tiny windows and a flas.h.i.+ng neon sign in front of it. "Cruise on over and wait for me when you're done filling up, Joe."

Joe nodded.

As he neared the bar, Frank heard shouting. There was also m.u.f.fled music, the sound of a jukebox turned low. Through the window, Frank could see a burly, bearded man pacing back and forth. He was screaming at no one in particular, and his long blond hair bobbed up and down as he walked.

His back had been turned when Frank entered, and before he noticed, Frank slipped around him and up to the bar.

"Don't worry about him," the bartender said to Frank. Like the screaming man, the bartender had a beard, though his was dark and crinkly. Between his teeth was a toothpick, and he leaned against the bar, leafing through a magazine.

"That's Hobart. He's harmless, unless you step on his toes or try to steal his stuff. What can I get you?"

"I'm not old enough to drink," Frank said.

"I'm looking for Sheriff Keller."

60."You came to the right place," the bartender said. "Sheriff Keller's the coffee guzzler in back." He pointed to a row of booths along the back of the barroom. In one of the booths sat two men dressed in police uniforms. The older, who must have been fifty, had graying hair and a wiry mustache. Keller, Frank guessed. He wore no tie, his collar was unb.u.t.toned, and he wrapped his hands around a cup of coffee and drowsily listened to the younger man.

The second man looked barely older than Frank, and unlike the older man, he wore a strictly regulation uniform. Even his badge looked freshly polished. He was waving his hands and talking excitedly, though he was making a point of keeping his voice down.

Frank sauntered-over to the booth, but he froze as he heard what the younger policeman was saying: ". . . murder at the hippie camp up there, Sheriff. Couple of fellows burst in with this black van and grabbed a girl. Shot one of their high muckamucks on the way out. S'posed to be heading this way."

"I don't guess you got any names to go with all these stories?" Keller asked. He looked tired and impatient with the younger man, but Frank could tell from his tone of voice that he was getting interested in the case.

The younger man pulled a sheaf of notepaper from his pocket and thumbed through it.

"Yeah, it was. . . Joe something or other. . "He 61.

searched the last sheet of paper without luck. "I must've left it back at the station."

He rose from the booth and ran out the door. Frank breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the policeman heading away from the filling station and the van parked there. He was about to leave the bar himself when Keller glanced at him and barked, "You're a little young to be in here, aren't you? Let's see a card."

"I just came in for information," Frank said.

"Card!" Keller barked, and held out his hand.

Frank dug his identification from his wallet and dropped it in Keller's palm. "Frank Hardy, huh? Had some private d.i.c.k named Hardy nosing around here a couple weeks ago. He just wanted information, too. Know him?"

"Nope," Frank lied. He stepped around the booth so he could look out the door of the bar at the gas station. Joe was just pulling the van away. "Just a coincidence, I guess."

"Uh-huh," the policeman said, and gave Frank's identification back. "Just what kind of information do you want?"

"Some friends of mine told me there was a shortcut to Albany around here, but I got lost. Do you have any idea where I'd pick it up?"

Keller cracked his knuckles. "Quickest way to Albany is the Interstate. You're quite a ways off the track."

"I guess they were pulling my leg," Frank said.

62."I guess they were," Keller sneered. "By the way, you wouldn't happen to have seen a black van in your travels, would you?"

Frank chewed on his lip as if he were deep in thought. After a couple of seconds, he replied, "Nope. Sorry." The policeman just stared at him and tried to crack his knuckles again, but no sound came.

"Well, I'd better be going," Frank said. The policeman nodded solemnly. "Thanks for your help," Frank called back as he reached the door of the bar. Keller still watched and absentmindedly picked up the coffee cup again.

The black van was parked outside, and Joe stood alongside it, leaning against the driver's door. When he saw Frank, he called, "So where's the help?"

Frank clamped a hand over his brother's mouth. "Keep your voice down," he said.

"You're in a lot of trouble."

Joe stared in amazement as Frank pulled his hand away. "Me? What did I do?" he whispered.

"Someone got killed at the commune tonight," Frank growled. "The Rajah must have called the cops, because they're looking for a guy named Joe who's driving a black van."

"By now, every cop in the state will be looking for us. We've got to dump the van."

"I'll wake Holly," Joe said. "You heard what she said. If it wasn't for you, she'd be back with 63.

the Rajah right now. We can't get caught before we get her home."

Behind them, there was the sharp click of a revolver being c.o.c.ked. The Hardys turned slowly to see Keller leveling a gun at them.

"Consider yourselves caught, boys," the policeman said. "Justice may be blind, but I ain't."

Chapter 8.

.'YOU'VE GOT THE situation all wrong, Sheriff," Frank began. "We didn't-"

"Shut up," Keller barked. "Don't matter to me what the situation is. All I know is that the fellow up the hill pays me a lot of money to keep trouble away from him." His lip curled, exposing nicotine-stained teeth. 'And you boys are trouble."

Joe clenched his fists. He took a step toward Keller. Keller aimed his gun at Joe's nose.

"Tough guy, huh?" Keller said. "Come on. I dare you. Come on!"

"No, Joe," Frank said calmly. Joe shook with anger for a moment, then his hands fell open. He backed away.

Keller waved them to the back of the van with his gun. "This where you've got the girl?

Did you 65.

really think you could get her down this hill without getting caught?"

"Listen," Joe said, "you've got to see that she gets back to her father. It's important."

Keller snickered. "She's going back up the hill, boys. Where she belongs. If her daddy wants her, he'd better go up there and ask real nice." He grabbed the back door handle and turned it, releasing the catch.

The door slammed open, smas.h.i.+ng into Keller. He toppled backward, spinning clumsily and trying to aim his revolver. Joe lunged at him, grabbing his wrist. The gun went off, spitting a bullet harmlessly into the ground.

Joe socked Keller. The sheriff toppled. He lay still on the ground.

"That awful man!" Holly cried, terror .in her voice. "I've seen him at the commune.

You can't let him take me back. You can't." Her voice disintegrated into choked sobs.

In houses and buildings all around, lights came on.

"Let's go," Frank said. "That shot must've woken the whole town. We'll never be able to explain beating up a cop, at least not in time to do Holly any good."

"Right," Joe replied. He jumped into the van past Holly, who was trying to catch her breath. As his fingers tapped the van's walls, paneling fell open to reveal hidden chambers.

From one, Joe s.n.a.t.c.hed three insulated jack 66.ets, and from another a pair of survival knives.

Finally, from the van's front panel, he "disconnected the shortwave transmitter-receiver.

"What's going on?" Holly asked.

"Hey!" cried a voice from down the street. It was the deputy. "Hey!"

"We're going the rest of the way on foot,"Frank said. He helped Holly out of the van, but warily kept his eye on the deputy, who was running toward them, drawing his gun as he neared.

"The Rajah pulled a fast one," Joe added.

"We've got to ditch the van or it's allover." He tossed a jacket to Holly. "Put this on. It'll be a little big, but it's better than freezing to death."

He handed Frank a jacket and a knife. The deputy had almost reached them when his eyes fell on the p.r.o.ne form of the sheriff. With a gasp, he stopped dead in his tracks.

"Sheriff Keller?" he said dumbly, as if awaiting a response.

Frank and Joe each grabbed one of Holly's arms and hurried her into the darkness.

Alerted by the motion, the deputy raised his gun. He was too late. By then Frank, Joe, and Holly were fading into the shadows. The deputy leaped over the sheriff and ran around the van, then stared into the night.

The fugitives were gone, their trail marked only by a faint rustling of leaves that seemed to come from all around.

67.

Joe pushed aside a tree branch, holding it so that Holly could pa.s.s. Frank stayed several paces behind them, watching for signs of pursuit. The lights of Pickwee could be seen above them on the mountain, and more lights were turned on there by the minute.

But so far no one was on their trail. Frank was grateful for that much, at least, but he knew it was only a matter of time before Keller came to. Then the hunt for them would be on.

They had to find help.

But where? he wondered. He was sure they could make it down the mountain if luck stayed with them, but how could they get back to Bayport once they got to the highway?

It would take days to get home on foot, and every minute they spent in the open increased their chances of getting caught. The highway patrol would certainly be looking for them.

Besides, Frank doubted that Holly could hold up. She was too fragile, a delicate flower.

He just wanted to protect her, to keep her safe in his arms.

Frank snapped to attention, startled by that thought. He looked again over his shoulder, but the woods were still quiet except for the sound of Joe hacking away at the brush with his knife.

Holly marched behind Joe, easily keeping pace as if she were fresh and they were out for a jaunt and none of the day's events had happened. So, she had reservoirs of courage and strength after 68.all, Frank realized. She was everything he could hope for.

Frank snapped to attention again. I'm falling in love with her, he thought. I really am.

He found the thought oddly upsetting.

For what seemed like hours, the three continued through the woods and down the mountainside.

"What's that?" Holly- asked, after they had walked several miles. She pointed through the trees.

Joe Hardy squinted. He could see nothing unusual in the endless swirl of bark and branches and leaves. There was nothing, he knew, except illusions caused by the moon reflecting off "What's the matter?" Frank asked as his brother stopped abruptly.

"The moon," Joe replied. "Moonlight's reflecting against something over there. Gla.s.s, I think.

They pushed through the brush, heading for the light.

The cabin they found was made of logs and plastered together with dried mud. It was half hidden in the woods, in the smallest of clearings. There were no roads to it, and tree limbs blocked any view of it from the air. There was simply no way of telling it was there without stumbling on to it as they had done.

Frank crept up to the building, flattened him 69.

self against it, and craned his neck to peer through the window. Nothing moved inside the cabin. It housed a, crude table and an old bed, both carved from logs, like the cabin itself.

Dust carpeted the floor. There was no sign that anyone had been inside it for years.

"I think it's deserted," Frank said. "It's as good a place as any to stop and rest until sun rise."

Fear welled up in Holly's eyes again. "Those men," she said, her lips trembling.

"They'll find us. They'll catch us."

"No, Frank's right," replied Joe. "We don't even know for sure if we're being followed.

If we are, they're nowhere near us, and they could miss this cabin as easily as we almost did."