HUNTING FOR HIDDEN GOLD.

FRANKLIN W. DIXON.

CHAPTER I.

Danger in the Fog.

"SOMEBODY'S going to get hurt!" Frank Hardy exclaimed.

He and his four companions paused in the darkening woods and listened as rifleshots and loud laughter rang out from a nearby ridge.

"Careless hunters," Frank's brother Joe said grimly.

Joe was seventeen, tall and blond, and a year younger than Frank.

"Let's go back to the cabin," urged plump Chet Morton nervously. "I'm hungry, anyhow."

Lanky Biff Hooper agreed. "We can look for a campsite tomorrow."

"Unless Frank and Joe are called away to solve a mystery," Tony Prito needled.

Frank chuckled. "There's a chance we will-"

Smack! A bullet thudded into a tree an inch from Joe's head!.

For a moment there was stunned silence. Then Frank asked quickly, "Joe, are you all right?"

His brother gulped and looked at the gash in the bark. "I'm okay. But one inch closer-"

Biff Hooper's handsome face flushed with anger. "I'm going after those fellows!" he declared.

As he spoke, three hunters came into view.

"Hold it!" Frank hailed them. "You men nearly killed my brother!"

"Why don't you be careful?" Joe shouted.

"Sorry, boys," one of the men called back casually. He and his companions did not stop; instead, they moved on through the undergrowth.

"Is that all you've got to say?" Chet bellowed.

"Forget it, kid," another of the hunters replied. "n.o.body got hurt."

"Stupid sportsmen!" growled Joe as the trio disappeared. He added to his companions, "You fellows nearly lost one business partner."

The five boys had pooled money to build their own cabin and were exploring the deep woods north of Bayport looking for a campsite.

To relieve the tension caused by the near accident, Tony Prito said jokingly, "We're used to the idea of losing you and Frank. Every time we start a project, you two get involved in a mystery."

Frank and Joe were the sons of Fenton Hardy, the well-known detective. They had solved many mysteries on their own and sometimes cooperated with their father on his cases.

Biff grinned. "Amazing! We've been here one whole day, and you Hardys are still with us!"

Frank winked at Joe. "We may have to leave," he admitted. "Dad's on a case out West and we're hoping we'll get a call to go and help him."

The others groaned, then laughed. "In fact," Joe added, "we might even find a clue right around here."

"What!" chorused the Hardys' pals.

"Remember when Frank and I inquired at the store about a man named Mike Onslow?" Joe went on, "Dad asked us to keep an eye out for him. Onslow lives somewhere in these woods, and he may have some useful information that ties in with Dad's case."

"Come on," said Chet. "Let's eat and talk later."

The boys pushed on through the growing darkness. Fog was beginning to rise by the time they reached the edge of the clearing where their rented cabin stood. As they crossed to the crude log house, rifleshots sounded in the distance.

Chet winced. "Those careless hunters are still at it," he remarked.

The boys were about to enter the cabin when Joe exclaimed, "Quiet!"

They all halted, listening intently. "It sounded like a cry," Joe said.

The others had heard nothing, and finally went inside.

"Hope n.o.body was shot by those fools," Tony remarked, lighting the oil lamp.

Frank and Joe built a fire in the fireplace, while Chet started supper on a wood stove.

"This is a bad place to get hurt," Biff said.

The boys were ten miles from the nearest town, Clintville, and the only road was steep and rutted. They had borrowed Mr. Hardy's car for the trip, but had left it in the Clintville Garage. George Haskins, owner of the town's one hotel, had rented them the cabin, and his son Lenny had driven the boys to it in his jeep.

"It wouldn't be easy to get help here," Joe agreed.

"Dinner's nearly ready," Chet announced. "Bring chairs to the-" He stopped short. From the clearing outside came the sound of running feet and then a frantic hammering on the door. Tony strode over and opened it. Lenny Haskins, a lanky boy, stood in the doorway, panting.

"What's the matter?" Tony asked the youth.

"Frank and Joe Hardy have a long-distance call at the hotel," the boy blurted, out of breath.

"From where?" Frank asked.

"Don't know," Lenny said. "There's trouble on the line and all I could make out was that the person would call back in an hour or so."

"Maybe it's Dad!" Frank exclaimed.

"I'll bet you're right," Joe agreed. "We told him he could reach us through Mr. Haskins."

"You fellows go ahead and eat," said Frank. "Joe and I will return to the hotel with Lenny."

With the Haskins boy leading the way, the Hardys hurried across the clearing and down a trail through the misty woods to the road. There they piled into the rattletrap jeep.

"Hang on!" said Lenny, as they started a bone-shaking ride downhill.

Twenty minutes later the car reached Main Street in Clintville and came to a stop in front of Haskins Hotel. The telephone was ringing as the boys rushed in.

Mr. Haskins seized the receiver from the wall telephone. "Yep!" he shouted into the mouthpiece, then handed the instrument to Frank.

"This is Hank Shale," came a voice, barely understandable through the static. "Your pa asked me to call and say he needs your help p.r.o.nto."

"Is Dad okay?" Frank asked loudly.

The answer was drowned out by crackling noises over the wire. Then the voice said, "Get here to Lucky Lode," and the line went dead.

"Hank Shale is the name of the old friend Dad told us he'd be staying with," Joe recalled. "But how do we know that was really Shale?"

"I heard the operator say it was Lucky Lode calling," put in Mr. Haskins.

"That settles it then," Frank said urgently. "Something has happened. We must take off right away and help Dad!"

"There's a morning flight to the West," Joe said. "We'll have to make it!"

After some difficulty, the boys managed to place a call to Lucky Lode, notifying Hank of their plan to start out the next day.

"Better eat before you go," the hotel proprietor said kindly.

Gratefully the hungry boys joined Mr. Haskins and Lenny at a table in the kitchen. While they ate, Frank and Joe made their plans. They asked Lenny to take them back to the cabin in his jeep and wait while they packed.

"Then we'll pick up our car in the garage, drive all night, and make Bayport by sunup. Another car can be sent back later for the other fellows."

After the meal, the Hardys thanked Mr. Haskins and hurried out with Lenny. Soon they were riding up the steep hill in the noisy jeep.

Joe shouted, "We'll have to move fast to-"

Crash! The oil pan of the jeep hit a rock in the road. The vehicle lurched into the ditch and stopped against a tree.

"We can soon push it back on the road," Lenny said, as they climbed out.

"No use. We wouldn't get far, the way it's losing oil," replied Frank when he saw the extent of the damage. "We'll walk the rest of the way and you can go back for help or another car."

Lenny agreed and hurried down the hill as the Hardys began hiking up the rugged road. Their flashlights were on, but the beams hardly penetrated the thickening fog. Often they stumbled over rocks and into ruts. The night was raw and damp.

Suddenly Joe stopped. "What's that?"

For a second they both stood still and from the woods came a faint cry. "He-e-elp!"

"Come on!" Frank said tersely.

The boys cut into the woods on their right, and felt their way through the mist-shrouded trees. Low branches cut their faces, and once Joe tripped over a huge oak root.

Again they heard the thin call for help.

"Over there," said Frank, "where the fog is denser."

Cautiously they moved forward. Suddenly the cry came more loudly-from right below their feet!

"Careful," warned Frank, feeling ahead with his foot. "There's a ravine here." Half sliding, the boys worked their way down the bank. At the bottom Frank stumbled over something bulky and there came another moan. He beamed his light on a prostrate figure.

"Here he is, Joe," said Frank. The two boys knelt beside the victim.

"My leg," the man groaned. "I've been shot."

With extreme care Frank pulled aside the trouser cloth torn by the bullet. "Doesn't seem to be much bleeding now, but there might be more when we move you." Quickly the boys wound their handkerchiefs loosely around the man's thigh to use as a tourniquet if necessary.

As they lifted the moaning figure, he fainted.

"No time to waste, Joe. He's pretty weak."

Joe peered around into the blanket of fog. "Suppose we can't find our cabin?" he asked grimly.

"We must," Frank replied. "This man may die if we don't get him to shelter."

CHAPTER II.

A Suspicious Summons.

TOGETHER, the boys eased the unconscious man up the bank. Then Frank hoisted him over one shoulder.

"Lucky he's not a big fellow," Joe commented.

He went ahead, beaming his light through the fog and leading Frank by one hand. Gradually the white mist grew less dense, and the Hardys could make out the shapes of trees.

"That looks like the oak where I stumbled," Joe said. "I think we go left here."

Progress was slow and uncertain. Finally Frank said, "If we don't come to the road soon, we'd better Stop. We may have lost our bearings and be heading deeper into the woods."

To the boys' relief, the man's wound bled little. Just as they were about to turn back, Joe felt rocky ruts underfoot and exclaimed, "Here's the road!"