"Boy, what a swell catch!" Frank cried. "There's our supper!"
"First fish that ever decked me," Joe said, grinning. "But then it's the first time I've ever tried trout fishing on ice."
Back at camp, Joe set about cleaning the fish while Frank built up the fire. Suddenly Joe heard his brother gasp.
"What's wrong?"
"The compass!" Frank exclaimed. "I left it right here on this flat rock. Now it's gone!"
"Are you sure?"
"Positive. I put it exactly where this pine cone is. Wait a minute! That wasn't here before!" Frank broke off and picked up the pine cone. An exasperated look spread over his face. "You know what, Joe? A pack rat has been here!"
"I'll bet you're right!" Joe declared. "The rat picked up the compass because it's bright and shiny, and left the pine cone in its place."
The Hardys looked at each other gravely. Any other time the situation might have been funny, but right now the compass was vital to them. Without it, they might never find their way safely out of the wilderness.
"Come on! Let's look for it!" Frank urged. "I remember reading that pack rats will often drop a prize if something else catches their eye."
The boys began a systematic search, pacing back and forth around the camp in widening circles. At last Frank detected some faint rodent tracks in the trampled snow and soon spotted a shiny object in the cliffside brush.
Frank pounced on the compass with a cry of relief. "Whew!" he exclaimed. "What a break!"
"Better keep it in your pocket from now on," Joe advised.
The trout, cooked over heated rocks, made a tasty dish. After the meal, the boys felt more cheerful. As they huddled around the campfire in their blankets, Frank said thoughtfully, "Tomorrow's the day for Big Al's meeting."
"Right. I wish we could find the place."
"If only we knew what Shadow of the Bear meant," Frank mused.
In spite of the cold and their desperate situation, the boys slept well. The horses, too, evidently rested well during the night, staying close together near the embers of the fire.
Next morning Frank and Joe made a cold break-fast of oatmeal mush and dried apricots from their scanty supplies. Then they fed and saddled the horses, strapped their remaining gear on Daisy's back, and headed downriver.
The canyon turned and twisted along the curve of the mountainside, and the footing was treacherous. As they rode, the Hardys continually scanned the sides of the gorge, hoping to find a route out of the canyon.
Twice they dismounted and tried to thread their way upward, leading the horses. But both times the cliff wall proved too steep.
At last, however, the canyon opened out and the slope of the cliffs became more gentle. Relieved, Frank and Joe halted for another cold meal. Then they rode to higher ground and struck back across the rolling foothills of the mountain range in the general direction of town.
Eventually they cut into a beaten trail. About midafternoon, the brothers swung over a rise on the rocky, snow-covered path and Frank reined up sharply.
"Look!" he exclaimed, and indicated the area to their right.
Looming against the sky was a huge, ungainly rock formation that crudely resembled a bear standing upright.
"Al's meeting place!" Joe breathed.
Dismounting, the boys ground-hitched their horses out of sight behind a clump of boulders. Then they crept cautiously toward the huge rock formation. To their surprise, Frank and Joe discovered that it was poised on the rim of a small box canyon.
The Hardys cautiously peered over the edge. The canyon was choked with drifted snow, from which protruded a few scrubby trees and brush. The view directly below was blocked by a shelving overhang of rock, about twenty feet farther down and extending along the cliff wall. The boys could detect no sign or sound of human beings.
"Maybe we missed the meeting," Joe murmured. "Or this isn't the place, after all."
"I'll bet it is," Frank replied. "My guess is, the confab hasn't been held yet." He gazed across the canyon.
"Let's keep an eye on that bear's shadow."
In the lowering sun the rock formation cast a formless shadow on the opposite wall. As the boys stood up, Joe remarked with a puzzled look, "That shadow doesn't look much like a bear."
"True. But it might at some other time of day. Remember, Slim didn't name any hour for the meeting. He just said, 'Shadow of the Bear.' "
"I get it!" Joe broke in excitedly. "Maybe the meeting is to take place when the bear shows up clearly on the canyon wall!"
"And that ought to be when the sun drops a little lower," Frank added.
Joe asked, "Do you think the meeting will be down inside the canyon?"
"Probably. Up here by this rock formation the gang would be too easy to spot."
"But this looks like a blind canyon to me," Joe objected. "How'll they get into it?"
"There may be an entrance we can't see from here. Let's stay out of sight."
The boys found cover in a nearby cluster of rocks and brush. As the sun sank lower, the bear's shadow across the canyon became more distinct and realistic.
"Listen!" Joe whispered suddenly.
From somewhere below came a clopping of horses' hoofs-then a sound of men reining up and dismounting. The Hardys peered downward, but the rocky overhang of the canyon prevented them from seeing what was taking place.
A murmur of voices came drifting up. The boys strained their ears and recognized Slim's voice, but could not make out what he was saying. Then a harsh voice, unfamiliar to the Hardys, spoke out clearly: "You sure muffed things in Lucky Lode, Slip Gun!"
"I couldn't help it, Big Al," returned a voice too muffled to identify.
"One more job like that and I'll-" the harsh tone faded to a threatening mutter.
Frank and Joe could hardly keep from shouting for joy. They had found Big Al! If only they could dare to try capturing him!
CHAPTER XII.
Big Al's Orders THE only reply to Big Al's scornful words was a brief, sullen mutter. It was so low that the Hardys could not distinguish whether the speaker might have been Burke or Bob Dodge.
Frank and Joe exchanged a grimace of disappointment. If only the Lucky Lode spy would speak again, and more loudly! But evidently he was too cowed by his boss's angry tone to put up an argument.
"Stupid cluck!" Big Al continued to rant. "You had a chance to get rid of those kids-or at least scare 'em off this case. And what happens? You get so rattled you can't even hang onto your own gun!"
"Don't worry, Al"-Jake's voice cut in quickly, trying to placate the gang leader-"Slim and me took care o'
them brats."
"At Brady's Mine?" the boss snapped back.
"Well, no-not there. The crowbar stunt worked okay, but they ducked the cave-in and-"
Jake's explanation was cut short by another outburst from Big Al. Slim hastened to soothe him.
"Jake's tryin' to tell you, boss-they're both drowned."
"Drowned?"
"Yeah. We figured they'd be comin' along Ambush Trail, so we fixed up a roadblock to sidetrack 'em and make 'em go lower down. The cliff shoulder along there is all loose shale, but it's covered over with snow. Sure enough, they tried to worm around it and the ground gave way. Must've been a regular landside from the looks of it!" Slim chuckled with satisfaction. "Anyhow, they took a long fall and wound up in the drink, horses and all."
"You sure o' that?" Big Al demanded suspiciously.
"Sure. Jake and me came back to check and we could see the break in the ice where they went through.
We even spotted some o' their gear float-in' downriver."
"Good! It's about time." Big Al sounded mollified by the news. "Those kids knew too much-and they were too smart to fool around with. They were makin' monkeys out of all you guys!"
"Aw, boss, we couldn't help it if-" The rest of Jake's whining protest was lost in the wind.
"Shut up!" Big Al roared. "One thing's sure-anything those kids knew, they've told their father. So he'll have to be the next one to go. Slip Gun, you're supposed to be handlin' things in town. You take care of Hardy tonight. Get me?"
"Yeah." Only a single word-and again too low for the voice to be identified.
Frank and Joe looked at each other, stunned. The gang had their father marked for death! They would have to return in time to warn him!
"The weather's gettin' worse all the time, boss," Slim put in. "How much longer do we have to keep searchin'?"
"Listen, you!" Big Al's voice was fierce. "I staked out that loot twenty-five years ago. And I aim to have it! We're goin' to keep lookin' till we find the wreck of a plane. The stuff'll be there, all right-and a skeleton with it."
"How do you know there's a wreck?" Jake asked.
"Don't worry-I made sure." Big Al gave an ugly chuckle. Again his rough voice drifted up to the listeners on the cliff. "Enough talkin'. Get these supply cartons cut open and load the horses. We'll leave part of the stores cached here and take the rest up to the hideout."
From below came the sound of cardboard boxes being ripped open, and the mumble of the men's voices. Suddenly Frank and Joe heard an exclamation of annoyance.
"What's wrong now?" Big Al snarled.
"Looks like Slip Gun just broke his knife blade," Jake replied.
Before the unidentified man could add anything, the gang leader snapped curtly, "Never mind gripin'! Use your fingers!"
Presently they could hear the men loading the horses. A few moments later the boys heard Big Al's harsh tones: "You've all had your orders. Now let's get goin'!"
Horses' hoofs started up on a rocky surface somewhere below-then faded bit by bit, echoing hollowly.
Joe grabbed his brother's arm. "There must be a passage from the canyon that leads out through the hill!"
he whispered excitedly.
"Right! We'd better get back to the trail and see if we can spot them!"
Frank led the way as the brothers hurried back to the site from which they had first noticed the bearlike rock formation. Sprawling among the snow and rocks to avoid being seen, the Hardys gazed intently down the hillside.
For a long while there was no sign of humans. The sun had vanished behind clouds, leaving a leaden, wintry sky. Nothing was visible below but the vast, rugged expanse of timber-clad wilderness.
Joe fidgeted anxiously. "Those fellows can't just disappear!" he muttered. "They'll have to come out somewh-"
Frank held up his hand for silence. "There they are!" he whispered.
Far below and off to the right, four riders had emerged from a patch of brush on the hillside. They paused momentarily, then separated. Three of the men rode upward through a notch in the hills. The fourth headed off in the direction of Lucky Lode, leading an empty pack horse behind his mount.
"That one by himself must be Slip Gun!" Joe groaned. "If only we had binoculars to see who he is!"
"Maybe we can overtake him," Frank said hopefully. "Anyhow, the important thing is to get to the cabin and warn Dad. Let's go!"
Quickly the boys got their horses, swung into the saddles, and started off along the trail. They watched for a safe place to descend the hillside and soon picked out a likely route. The downslope, even here, was steep and slippery, but their horses managed to negotiate it successfully.
Minutes later, Frank and Joe picked up Slip Gun's trail in the snow. By this time the spy was far ahead and lost to view among the timber.
As the boys rode along, Joe fumed impatiently. "We'll lose him if we don't make better time!" he said, urging his horse to greater speed.
"Take it easy, Joe," Frank advised. "This ground is pretty rough going for the horses-they're doing the best they can. It won't help any if one of them breaks a leg."
Joe admitted the wisdom of his brother's words, and they pressed forward at the best pace they could manage. - "You know," Frank said, "I'm beginning to see why Hopkins was so interested when he saw Mike Onslow's map."
"You must be thinking the same thing I am," Joe returned. "Big Al must be looking for Onslow's missing gold!"
Frank pounded his fist into his palm as another thought struck him. "And, if he staked it out twenty-five years ago," he added excitedly, "that means-Big Al and Black Pepper are the same person! Also, the wrecked plane they're looking for must be the crate Bart Dawson took off in!"
Joe nodded thoughtfully. "Big Al seems to be sure Dawson died in the wreck."
"Which doesn't jibe with what Ben Tinker told us," Frank pointed out. "Ben claimed he saw Dawson in Helena a couple of years later."
"True-though nobody around here seems to believe anything Ben says."
"I know-but he did hear the music in the dance hall."
Joe chuckled. "That's right. Of course it wasn't exactly played by Charlie's ghost."