Read Online The Chase for the Mystery Twister by Franklin W. Dixon - Free Book Online

being the crook that he is,” Low River said. “I brought my Colt along in case he needed persuading.”
    â€œWhat did Gill do when you confronted him?” Joe asked.
    â€œNever happened, man,” Low River grumbled. “When I got there, he was packing up his car like his house was on fire. He saw me and burned rubber. I burned rubber after him. I trailed him as far as the Dust Bowl Truck Stop, then he disappeared.”
    â€œYou mean you lost him when he walked into the truck stop?” Joe asked.
    â€œNo, man. I mean he drove around the back and went poof. Him, his car, everything,” Low River told him. “So I headed back to his office, just in case Gill had spaced out and forgotten something.”
    â€œYou have an interesting way of talking,” Phil said.
    Low River grinned. “Hey, I’m fifty percent Cherokee but one hundred percent old hippie.”
    Joe didn’t feel quite as threatened by Henry Low River. “Mr. Low River, would you mind . . .” Joe nodded toward the revolver.
    â€œHm? Oh, yeah. This thing,” Low River said, looking at the revolver. “Shows you what I know about firesticks. I ended up buying the wrong bullets.”
    â€œYou mean . . . ?” Phil started to ask.
    â€œYeah, it’s not even loaded,” Low River said with a grin.
    â€œBut this is loaded,” a voice above them said.Sheriff San Dimas stood over them in the smokehouse, pointing his firearm at Low River. “Drop it, Henry.”
    Joe had mixed feelings about being rescued from his situation. He now found it hard to believe that Low River could have hurt Toby Gill.
    â€œMr. Low River has an explanation to cover everything,” he said to San Dimas, who was leading Low River away from the smokehouse in handcuffs.
    â€œYeah, he usually does,” San Dimas remarked. Joe and Phil followed as San Dimas took his captive to the edge of a nearby river that ran behind the woods and began to walk along the bank.
    â€œDon’t be fooled, Joe. This guy is trouble. Last December, he slashed all four of Toby Gill’s tires.”
    â€œHey, when the law won’t punish a criminal,” Low River said to San Dimas, “it’s up to the common citizen to do what can be done.”
    â€œIn February,” San Dimas went on, “Henry blew up Toby’s toolshed with a stick of dynamite.”
    â€œYou never proved that,” Low River insisted with a grin.
    â€œThe joke’s over, Henry,” San Dimas said solemnly. Up ahead Joe saw a tow truck backing up to the edge of a river. Sticking out of the waterwas the rear fender and taillight of a cream-colored automobile.
    â€œRecognize that car?” San Dimas asked Low River.
    Low River stared, shaking his head, until he finally found his voice. “It’s Toby Gill’s.”
    Low River told his story—-how he had followed Gill to the truck stop and lost him. As bad as Joe thought it looked for Low River then, it looked worse after the tow truck pulled Gill’s car onto the embankment. There was a bullet hole in the window of the driver’s side and another hole in the seat.
    â€œIf Toby Gill was sitting in the driver’s seat when that shot was fired,” San Dimas said, “we may have more than a kidnapping on our hands.”
    â€œI don’t know anything about this,” Low River said vehemently.
    â€œYour neighbor remembers seeing this car drive up to your house at about two this afternoon,” San Dimas reported. “He didn’t see who was driving, but twenty minutes later he heard a gunshot. When he looked out his window, the car wasn’t there anymore.”
    â€œNo way, man! I’m being framed!” Low River shouted.
    Joe knew he should tell the sheriff about Mr. Low River’s pocketknife, but he decided to keep the information to himself for now.
    As the tow truck hoisted up the rear tires ofGill’s