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Authors: Franklin W. Dixon
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trap the brothers in the deadly winter wonderland. The Hardys staggered to the trees and leaned against the trunks, trying to rally, trying to muster the strength to continue. Joe pressed his face to the cold, snow-covered branches. Incongruously, they felt warm to him.
Joe had heard that feeling warm was a sign of hypothermia. Your body gets so cold it can’t tell it’s freezing anymore. He longed to close his eyes and rest, just for a minute.
The trees shuddered and Joe realized without looking that Frank must have collapsed.
The younger Hardy forced his eyes open and peered through the pine needles at his brother lying in the snow. Something glistening in the distance caught his eye.
“A light!” he cried. “I see the house!”
He grabbed Frank’s shoulder and shook it. “I see it!” he repeated. ‘We’re almost home!”
Wearily, Frank opened his eyes. Ice and snow crusted his eyelashes and eyebrows. He looked more frozen than alive.
Joe helped his older brother to stand, and they leaned against each other. Together, they staggered through the drifts toward the beckoning lights. Ittook them nearly fifteen minutes to cross the remaining three hundred yards to the house.
Exhausted, they wrenched the back door open, and stumbled inside.
“Joe! Frank!” Iola cried. Worry filled her pretty voice.
The brothers were picked up by warm hands and steered into chairs by the stove. The old cookstove was warm and had coffee and cocoa simmering on a burner.
The Hardys stripped off their freezing clothes while the Mortons wrapped them in blankets. Grandpa brought buckets of tepid water to warm the Hardys’ feet while Grandma plied them with cocoa.
An hour later, the brothers felt much better.
“Thanks for all your help,” Frank said sleepily.
“If you hadn’t been up,” Joe added, “you might have found us passed out on the kitchen floor come morning.” He yawned.
“The back door slamming woke us,” Grandpa said. “Then we spotted a commotion out by the barn. Before we could get dressed to help you, we saw you boys drive off into the snowstorm.”
“Not your brightest move ever,” Chet noted.
“Where’s the buggy?” Iola asked.
Frank shook his head ruefully. “We got blinded by the storm and drove it into a pond.”
“No wonder you were soaked!” Iola exclaimed.
“It’s swamped but not completely sunk,” Joe said. He looked at the Morton grandparents and added, “We’re so sorry. We’ll drag it out tomorrow if we can.”
“We’ll fix any damage, too,” Frank added.
“Now, don’t you worry about that,” Grandpa Morton countered. “What’s done is done.”
“Eat this,” Grandma said, handing each Hardy a bowl of homemade chicken soup.
Joe and Frank ate the soup gratefully, feeling more and more like their old selves with every passing minute.
As the Mortons bustled about, busy with other tasks, Joe looked at Frank.
“We really blew this one,” he whispered. “Not only did we lose the bad guys, but we sank the buggy as well.”
Frank nodded grimly. “We’ve got a lot to make up for. We can’t let the Mortons down again.”
• • •
By mid morning, the snow had subsided, though it didn’t let up entirely. Plows cleared Kendall Ridge Road and, aside from Bernie being missing, life at the farm returned to its winter routine.
The Hardys slept in late, recovering from their ordeal. They woke feeling achy and cramped, but still much better than they had the previous night.
If the Mortons felt angry about the brothers driving the buggy into the pond, none of them showed it when the Hardys came down for a very late breakfast. Grandpa happily served the brothers ham and eggs, while Iola brought toast and juice. Chet kept busy washing the dishes, and Grandma returned to housecleaning.
The normality of the whole routine made Frank and Joe feel even more guilty. The Mortons were good people, and certainly didn’t need the added grief that the Hardys had
Joe had heard that feeling warm was a sign of hypothermia. Your body gets so cold it can’t tell it’s freezing anymore. He longed to close his eyes and rest, just for a minute.
The trees shuddered and Joe realized without looking that Frank must have collapsed.
The younger Hardy forced his eyes open and peered through the pine needles at his brother lying in the snow. Something glistening in the distance caught his eye.
“A light!” he cried. “I see the house!”
He grabbed Frank’s shoulder and shook it. “I see it!” he repeated. ‘We’re almost home!”
Wearily, Frank opened his eyes. Ice and snow crusted his eyelashes and eyebrows. He looked more frozen than alive.
Joe helped his older brother to stand, and they leaned against each other. Together, they staggered through the drifts toward the beckoning lights. Ittook them nearly fifteen minutes to cross the remaining three hundred yards to the house.
Exhausted, they wrenched the back door open, and stumbled inside.
“Joe! Frank!” Iola cried. Worry filled her pretty voice.
The brothers were picked up by warm hands and steered into chairs by the stove. The old cookstove was warm and had coffee and cocoa simmering on a burner.
The Hardys stripped off their freezing clothes while the Mortons wrapped them in blankets. Grandpa brought buckets of tepid water to warm the Hardys’ feet while Grandma plied them with cocoa.
An hour later, the brothers felt much better.
“Thanks for all your help,” Frank said sleepily.
“If you hadn’t been up,” Joe added, “you might have found us passed out on the kitchen floor come morning.” He yawned.
“The back door slamming woke us,” Grandpa said. “Then we spotted a commotion out by the barn. Before we could get dressed to help you, we saw you boys drive off into the snowstorm.”
“Not your brightest move ever,” Chet noted.
“Where’s the buggy?” Iola asked.
Frank shook his head ruefully. “We got blinded by the storm and drove it into a pond.”
“No wonder you were soaked!” Iola exclaimed.
“It’s swamped but not completely sunk,” Joe said. He looked at the Morton grandparents and added, “We’re so sorry. We’ll drag it out tomorrow if we can.”
“We’ll fix any damage, too,” Frank added.
“Now, don’t you worry about that,” Grandpa Morton countered. “What’s done is done.”
“Eat this,” Grandma said, handing each Hardy a bowl of homemade chicken soup.
Joe and Frank ate the soup gratefully, feeling more and more like their old selves with every passing minute.
As the Mortons bustled about, busy with other tasks, Joe looked at Frank.
“We really blew this one,” he whispered. “Not only did we lose the bad guys, but we sank the buggy as well.”
Frank nodded grimly. “We’ve got a lot to make up for. We can’t let the Mortons down again.”
• • •
By mid morning, the snow had subsided, though it didn’t let up entirely. Plows cleared Kendall Ridge Road and, aside from Bernie being missing, life at the farm returned to its winter routine.
The Hardys slept in late, recovering from their ordeal. They woke feeling achy and cramped, but still much better than they had the previous night.
If the Mortons felt angry about the brothers driving the buggy into the pond, none of them showed it when the Hardys came down for a very late breakfast. Grandpa happily served the brothers ham and eggs, while Iola brought toast and juice. Chet kept busy washing the dishes, and Grandma returned to housecleaning.
The normality of the whole routine made Frank and Joe feel even more guilty. The Mortons were good people, and certainly didn’t need the added grief that the Hardys had
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