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Authors: Franklin W. Dixon
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brothers a few minutes to struggle out of their seat belts. Then they crawled through the marshy, half-frozen edge of the pond back onto the snow-covered pasture.
Joe gazed at the half-submerged buggy. “Think there’s any chance we could pull it out?” he asked.
Frank shook his head. “Not tonight—not before we freeze, anyway.” He grabbed the tarp from the back seat and threw it over the engine to protect it. “What about using the rope? We could run the rope to a tree and drag it out.”
“The rope’s in the trunk, and the trunk’s in front—underwater,” Frank replied. “So unless you feel like ice diving . . .”
“Not without a wet suit.”
“Let’s go,” Frank said. “It’s not getting any warmer. Got your flashlight?”
Joe fished a penlight out of one of his coat pockets and switched it on. “Still works,” he said.
“Good,” said Frank. “We’ll follow the tracks back as far as we can. Hopefully we’ll spot the house before the trail drifts over.”
“If we don’t, I guess the Mortons will be able to use us as lawn ornaments until we thaw out in the spring,” Joe said sardonically.
Frank chuckled, but he was already beginning tofeel chilled. Their waterproof parkas had protected the brothers’ torsos some, but the rest of them was still pretty soaked. “We’d better get moving before we freeze in place,” Frank said. He and Joe trudged back through the snow along the tire tracks.
The heavy snowfall made the landscape gray and surreal. Pale light reflected from everywhere. Most of the time, they didn’t even need the flashlight to see.
“It’d be beautiful if I weren’t freezing,” Joe said.
“We’d turn into Popsicles before we could build a decent fire,” Frank said. “If we keep moving as fast as we can, our body heat should dry off some of the water.”
Joe nodded and the two began jogging through the rising drifts.
They stopped briefly to catch their breath under the shelter of the south-reaching spur of pines. They didn’t stay long, though. Frank’s plan to warm up by running had worked, but their clothes began to freeze again almost as soon as they stopped. In addition both brothers knew the weather conditions were worsening every moment they delayed.
Driving winds and blowing snow made it nearly impossible to follow the buggy tracks once they left the forest. Fortunately both brothers had wilderness scout training, so they had a pretty a good idea where the Morton farmhouse lay, even if they couldn’t see it.
They forged ahead, moving as quickly as they could, plowing through the growing snowdrifts. They avoided several farm ponds: wide, flat expanses of snow-covered, treacherous ice. Ahead, solitary hedge evergreens poked up through the drifts like pointy-hatted sentries trying to block the brothers’ way.
Taking shelter from the wind behind one of the larger trees, the Hardys took a moment to catch their breaths and reorient themselves. As they did, Joe’s flashlight went dark.
“The water must have shorted it out,” he said. “I just put in new batteries.”
“Don’t worry,” Frank said. “We can’t be far from the house now.”
“I hope not,” Joe replied, shivering. “I don’t know how much longer I can keep going.”
“We’ll walk as long as we need to,” Frank said. “I’d hate to come this far only to freeze to death within site of the barn.”
But they couldn’t see the barn or the house from where they were. The rolling pasture and blizzard conditions made every direction look the same. They steeled themselves and forged on.
Their lungs began to burn from the cold. Their legs felt as though icy needles poked them at every step. Joe stumbled and fell face-first into a drift.
Frank pulled him up again, but he seemed exhausted too.
“M-maybe we sh-should have built that f-fire instead,” Joe said.
“T-too late . . . n-now,” Frank replied.
A row of wild hedge pines rose up before them, attempting to
Joe gazed at the half-submerged buggy. “Think there’s any chance we could pull it out?” he asked.
Frank shook his head. “Not tonight—not before we freeze, anyway.” He grabbed the tarp from the back seat and threw it over the engine to protect it. “What about using the rope? We could run the rope to a tree and drag it out.”
“The rope’s in the trunk, and the trunk’s in front—underwater,” Frank replied. “So unless you feel like ice diving . . .”
“Not without a wet suit.”
“Let’s go,” Frank said. “It’s not getting any warmer. Got your flashlight?”
Joe fished a penlight out of one of his coat pockets and switched it on. “Still works,” he said.
“Good,” said Frank. “We’ll follow the tracks back as far as we can. Hopefully we’ll spot the house before the trail drifts over.”
“If we don’t, I guess the Mortons will be able to use us as lawn ornaments until we thaw out in the spring,” Joe said sardonically.
Frank chuckled, but he was already beginning tofeel chilled. Their waterproof parkas had protected the brothers’ torsos some, but the rest of them was still pretty soaked. “We’d better get moving before we freeze in place,” Frank said. He and Joe trudged back through the snow along the tire tracks.
The heavy snowfall made the landscape gray and surreal. Pale light reflected from everywhere. Most of the time, they didn’t even need the flashlight to see.
“It’d be beautiful if I weren’t freezing,” Joe said.
“We’d turn into Popsicles before we could build a decent fire,” Frank said. “If we keep moving as fast as we can, our body heat should dry off some of the water.”
Joe nodded and the two began jogging through the rising drifts.
They stopped briefly to catch their breath under the shelter of the south-reaching spur of pines. They didn’t stay long, though. Frank’s plan to warm up by running had worked, but their clothes began to freeze again almost as soon as they stopped. In addition both brothers knew the weather conditions were worsening every moment they delayed.
Driving winds and blowing snow made it nearly impossible to follow the buggy tracks once they left the forest. Fortunately both brothers had wilderness scout training, so they had a pretty a good idea where the Morton farmhouse lay, even if they couldn’t see it.
They forged ahead, moving as quickly as they could, plowing through the growing snowdrifts. They avoided several farm ponds: wide, flat expanses of snow-covered, treacherous ice. Ahead, solitary hedge evergreens poked up through the drifts like pointy-hatted sentries trying to block the brothers’ way.
Taking shelter from the wind behind one of the larger trees, the Hardys took a moment to catch their breaths and reorient themselves. As they did, Joe’s flashlight went dark.
“The water must have shorted it out,” he said. “I just put in new batteries.”
“Don’t worry,” Frank said. “We can’t be far from the house now.”
“I hope not,” Joe replied, shivering. “I don’t know how much longer I can keep going.”
“We’ll walk as long as we need to,” Frank said. “I’d hate to come this far only to freeze to death within site of the barn.”
But they couldn’t see the barn or the house from where they were. The rolling pasture and blizzard conditions made every direction look the same. They steeled themselves and forged on.
Their lungs began to burn from the cold. Their legs felt as though icy needles poked them at every step. Joe stumbled and fell face-first into a drift.
Frank pulled him up again, but he seemed exhausted too.
“M-maybe we sh-should have built that f-fire instead,” Joe said.
“T-too late . . . n-now,” Frank replied.
A row of wild hedge pines rose up before them, attempting to
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