The Hunt for Four Brothers
Read The Hunt for Four Brothers Online
Authors: Franklin W. Dixon
1 Wolf!
“Double front flip with a jackknife!” Joe Hardy declared as he bounced on the diving board, tumbled forward one and a half times, and then crashed flat on his stomach in the cold water of Konawa Lake.
“Ow, that looked like it hurt,” Frank Hardy said, smiling at a group of teenage summer staff members sitting on the wooden dock that bordered the roped-off swimming area at Konawa Lake Inn.
Joe's head bobbed to the surface, where he tossed back his wet blond hair and flashed his blue eyes at Katie Haskell, a pretty, young lifeguard with short red hair. “Hey, isn't somebody supposed to jump in and save me?”
“Sorry, Joe, I'm off duty,” Katie replied.
Joe swam to the wooden ladder, climbed out of
the water, and joined his friends. “It's hard to tell when a lifeguard's off duty, since all you do is sit around,” Joe joked.
“Yeah,” Frank agreed. “Now, the maintenance crew, that's a real job. We can barely walk by the end of the day.”
“Don't complain!” Chet Morton said as he trotted his hefty frame down the hill to the lakeside dock, holding a pie in his hands. “You could be stuck in that inferno they call a kitchen, washing dishes for three hundred people.”
“Or serving and clearing their food and dishes,” Phil Dietz, a waiter, complained.
“Try making their beds and cleaning their rooms,” Julia Tilford, a member of the housekeeping staff, shot back.
“We all work pretty hard,” Joe conceded.
“But for a seventeen- and an eighteen-year-old,” Frank added, referring to his younger brother and himself, “this is a pretty good gig.”
“Yeah,” Joe agreed. “Where else could you spend two months at a mountain resort in North Carolina
and
get paid for it?”
Frank smiled as he gazed across the still lake, which reflected the tall pines that ran along its shoreline. The sun had almost set, but above the tree line through a light mist, Frank could still see the outlines of distant mountains. “Better than flipping burgers back home in Bayport,” Frank remarked.
Chet nodded, going to work on his blackberry pie with a plastic fork. “My job even has fringe benefits,” he added.
“I don't think your
fringe
is going to
benefit,”
Joe warned his stout friend. “What about your diet?”
“Are you kidding?” Chet replied through a mouthful of blackberry filling. “Slaving over that industrial dishwasher, I sweat off two pounds per meal.”
The others laughed, then grew quiet. Frank breathed in the sweet mountain air as a scream of fear broke the quiet.
“What was that?” Chet asked, nearly dropping his pie.
“A woman in trouble,” Frank replied, scrambling to his feet. As the scream echoed back across the lake, it was met by a different kind of scream.
“Sounds like she's trying to scare someone off,” Frank guessed. “Come on!”
Frank and the others ran up the hillside, pausing at the base of the Konawa Lake Inn.
“Chet, you and Julia check the lobby and community rooms. Phil and Katie, check the main dining hall, and everyone else check outside the guest rooms,” Frank ordered, sending groups to each end of the C-shaped building. “Joe and I will check the cottages on the hillside.”
“There!” Joe shouted, pointing to a woman in a nightgown who was hurrying out of one of the rustic cottages.
“Wolf!” the woman shouted, stumbling down the wooden steps leading from the screened-in porch. “A wolf! It's in the back bedroom,” the woman told Joe as he reached her.
Joe grabbed a walking stick outside the screen door. Frank took the lid off a metal trash can, and the brothers stepped together through the doorway onto the porch.
Joe heard panting from down the hall.
“We don't want to corner a wolf,” Frank whispered. “It might attack.”
Joe nodded, cracking the walking stick on the floor. Frank followed suit, slapping the trash can lid with his hand.
Suddenly something leaped through a doorway at the end of the shadowy hallway, smacked open the back screen door, and raced off.
Joe and Frank pursued, catching a glimpse of the large animal as it disappeared up the mountainside.
“Joe! Frank!” a muscular man with sandy-colored hair shouted as he ran up the slope to the cottage.
“Back here!” Frank called to Sandy Jones, the head of the maintenance crew. Sandy was followed by Chet and several adult guests.
“It was a big gray wolf, Sandy,” the woman told him.
“Are you okay, Mrs. Gregory?” Sandy asked.
“Fine. The boys chased it off,” she said, more composed than before. “My family went to hear the bluegrass band down at the Konawa Pavilion, but I
wasn't feeling well and went to bed. I was awakened by this wolf out in the hallway, snarling at me.”
“Did you see anyone with the wolf?” Frank asked, flicking on the back porch light.
“No,” Mrs. Gregory replied. “Why?”
Frank knelt down, pointing to large boot prints on the landing outside the back door. “These don't belong to Joe or me.”
“It looks like someone cut a hole in the screen and unhooked the latch,” Sandy said, stepping onto the small back porch with Frank.
“More like it was torn open,” Frank said, studying the jagged outline of the hole in the screen.
“You're sure it was a plain old wolf?” Chet asked nervously.
“Did anyone else see it?” Sandy asked the others.
“It was wolf
like
,” Joe offered. “Maybe a big dogâwe didn't get a good look at it.”
“Certain breeds of dogs look like wolves,” Frank said. “German shepherds, huskiesâ”
“Doesn't that man who lives up in the woods have himself some dogs?” a lean, muscular man in the crowd interrupted.
“Mr. Daniels? Yeah, two,” Sandy replied, “but those are Rhodesian ridgebacks. They're reddish tan.”
“Mrs. Gregory had just been woken up, and it was probably dark. . . .” a young woman in the crowd suggested.
“I suppose that's true,” Mrs. Gregory said.
“Because at about nineteen forty hours, or about seven minutes ago, I saw a
reddish
dog,” the lean man said. “It was running along the edge of the woods.”
“Who are you?” Sandy asked the man.
“Milo Flatts,” he responded. “From Gatlinburg. I'm staying in the inn.”
“We came face-to-face with that Daniels fellow and his dogs while we were hiking,” a balding man with glasses said. “He sure looked dangerous to me and Mrs. Tringle.”
“Why? 'Cause he's big and has a beard?” Sandy asked gruffly. “I'm telling you, Rob is not crazy or dangerous.”
“Rob?” Mr. Tringle repeated. “Sounds like you're his friend,” he said, then turned to Flatts. “Maybe you should tell the owner of the resort what you saw.”
“No need to bother Mr. Craven,” Sandy said. “I'll hike up to Rob's camp tonight and talk to him about the incident.”
“Mind if we join you, Sandy?” Joe asked.
“Well . . .” Sandy began.
“You're the one who told us never to go hiking in the mountains alone,” Frank reminded him.
“Okay,” Sandy said, smiling. “I'll get some flashlights.”
While Sandy went to the inn to get flashlights,
the boys helped Mrs. Gregory check her cottage to see if anything had been stolen.
Joe noticed Chet fidgeting. “Something bothering you, Chet?”
“Did you know there's a legend that a werewolf stalks Konawa Mountain?” Chet asked.
“Chet, that's a ghost story,” Joe replied. “There's also supposed to be a salamander-man living in the lake.”
“Yeah, but I know someone who's
seen
the werewolf,” Chet said, lowering his voice.
“Who?” Joe asked.
“Remember those campers who stopped by to swim yesterday afternoon?” Chet replied. “One of them said he saw the werewolf up near the Timber Gap Asylum. He was seven feet tall, with hair all over his face.”
“Chet,” Joe said, biting his lip to stop himself from laughing, “those campers were eight-year-olds.”
“So, okay, he didn't see a
real
werewolf,” Chet said, furrowing his brow, “but it makes you wonder.”
Joe and Chet met Frank outside the bathroom door. “That's odd,” the boys heard. Frank looked through the bathroom door to where Mrs. Gregory was pointing. The cabinet beneath the sink was open, and the contents were in a jumble.
“I keep that cabinet neat. Now look at it,” Mrs.
Gregory said, stooping to put her things back in place.
“Maybe the wolfâ” Chet began.
Joe jumped in. “Or
dog.”
“Or dog . . . was looking for food and smelled something in there,” Chet said, then shrugged, realizing that did not sound very probable.
A beam of light shot across the room from outside. “Frank? Joe? Chet?” Sandy's voice called.
“Um, I really owe my sister, Iola, a letter,” Chet said, backing toward the front door. “Can I tell her anything from you, Joe?”
“Yeah,” Joe replied, grinning. “That I'm having a great time, except for the occasional lycanthropeâor wolfman to you.”
“I know what it means, Joe,” Chet snapped, letting the front screen door bang shut behind him.
â¢Â   â¢Â   â¢
Hiking up a path that wound gently through the pines behind the cottages, the Hardys and Sandy were making good time.
“We'll have to cut off the path here,” Sandy instructed.
After about ten minutes of steep climbing, Frank saw Sandy moving farther ahead, his powerful legs accustomed to steep climbs and rough going. “Sandy!” Frank called.
“Almost there!” Sandy called back without slowing down.
“I took a hike with Sandy last week, Frank,” Joe said, sucking air. “He says âalmost there' no matter how far away you are.”
Suddenly Sandy stopped dead and motioned to the boys to remain still. In the distance, they heard a dog baying.
“Hear that?” Joe whispered.
“Yeah,” Frank whispered, “but the way sound carries and echoes, I can't tell how far away or what directionâ”
“I don't mean that,” Joe broke in. “Listen.”
Frank listened and heard the crackle of leaves coming from somewhere behind them.
“Come on, boys,” Sandy called softly.
“Sandy, we heard something in the woods behind us,” Frank said quietly. They all listened now, but there was nothing but silence.
“Probably just a snake or a bear,” Sandy said. “I wouldn't worry.”
The Hardys exchanged worried looks, took deep breaths, and hurried after Sandy, who continued relentlessly up the mountainside.
Frank and Joe were well behind the experienced hiker when they reached the plateau where Sandy was waiting. “This is Rob's camp,” Sandy said, offering them some water from his canteen, “but there's no sign of Rob.”
The campsite was on a ridge overlooking Konawa Valley. They could see the lights from the inn far
below. Frank moved to the ashes of an old campfire, snapped one of the burnt sticks in half, and touched it with a finger. It was still hot.
“Check it out, Frank,” Joe said, shining his flashlight on a blanket covered with coarse, short reddish hairs laid out on the ground.
Just then the Hardys heard a low growling. As Frank shined his flashlight to his right, he saw the gleaming eyes of two huge reddish tan dogs, the hair on their backs raised on end. As Frank tried to rise to his feet, one of the dogs leaped toward his face, its teeth bared!
“Clem, no!” someone shouted from the woods. Both dogs cowered, tails between their legs, and trotted over to a dark figure.
Sandy aimed his flashlight at the figure, and Frank got his first look at Rob Daniels. Although not tall, he was broad and powerfully built, making him seem like a huge bear of a man. Above the heavy brown beard, his eyes looked wise and alert, but hard and untrusting as well.