Read Online The End of the Trail by Franklin W. Dixon - Free Book Online Page A

trying to disappear while still being able to breathe.
    From the direction of the barn door, they could hear the sound of voices. “I think they’re in here,” said the voice of the servant. “I thought I saw them heading in this direction.”
    â€œI’m not so sure, Quentin,” Bill McSavage said. “I think they may have gone back into the fields. I’m heading up there. You take a look around here. That pitchfork might help. If you don’t find them, join me.”
    â€œAnd if I do find them?”
    â€œYou know what to do.” Bill McSavage’s footsteps disappeared quickly into the distance.
    The door creaked open. The servant, Quentin, could be heard walking across the dried hay that littered the floor of the barn.
    Frank shuddered as he remembered what Bill hadjust said about a pitchfork. Quentin must be about to poke the fork into the haystacks to see if we’re hiding in them. A quick poke with a pitchfork could hurt a lot—or it could be fatal!
    There was the sound of metal scraping against the floor as Quentin picked up the pitchfork, then the sound of the pitchfork being pushed into dry grass. Quentin was poking at a haystack, but it wasn’t the one that Frank and Joe were hiding in. Frank almost sighed with relief, but he didn’t want Quentin to hear him. And it was unlikely that the man would give up after a single poke.
    The sound of the pitchfork came again, this time closer to where Frank was hiding. He kept as still as he could. Then the pitchfork stabbed straight into the large haystack, right between Frank’s legs! Frank willed himself to stay still. He didn’t want to give himself and Joe away. The pitchfork lashed into the hay again, this time inches from Frank’s bicep. If Quentin aimed just a few inches to the right, Frank was a goner!
    But the next stab into the hay sounded slightly farther away, though Quentin was still examining the haystack the Hardys had plunged into. Frank started to relax as Quentin moved away, but then he started worrying about Joe. What if Quentin had stabbed his brother?
    There was another sharp thrust from the pitchfork,but it didn’t seem to touch anything except hay. Another thrust followed, and Frank heard an odd noise, as if the pitchfork had struck metal.
    Metal? Maybe, thought Frank, Quentin had found a needle in a haystack.
    The sound of the metal seemed to distract Quentin. He wandered away and could be heard putting the pitchfork back against the wall. Stable doors creaked as Quentin checked the horse stalls, then the outer door opened. Frank could hear Quentin leave.
    Just to be sure, though, he stood quietly in the hay for another minute. Finally he peeked out. There was no sign of Quentin.
    â€œI think it’s safe to come out,” Frank whispered. “Are you okay, Joe?”
    â€œYeah,” his brother said. “But that pitchfork scared me almost as much as the gun did.”
    Frank crawled out of the hay. Unless Quentin was crouching in a horse stall, the man was gone.
    There was a rustling noise as Joe began to climb out from beneath the hay. Then there was a clanking sound.
    â€œOuch!” Joe exclaimed loudly from beneath the hay. Then his face appeared, contorted with pain.
    â€œKeep your voice down!” Frank whispered. “Do you want those guys to hear us?”
    â€œI just banged my head on something really hard,” Joe said, trying to keep his voice down. “Wow, does it hurt!”
    â€œMaybe what you hit was the same thing I heard Quentin hit with the pitchfork,” Frank said. “Was it metal?”
    â€œI don’t know,” Joe said. “I was too busy feeling pain to do a chemical analysis on it.”
    Frank helped Joe stand up. Then he began digging in the huge stack of hay.
    â€œWhat are you looking for?” Joe asked. “A needle in a—”
    â€œI already thought of that joke,” Frank said.