The End of the Trail (11 page)

“We're trapped!” Joe shouted.

“No,” Rhonda said. “Head for the fence. Over there!”

“Are you nuts?” Frank said. “We'll bounce off it!”

“There's a broken section,” Rhonda said. “Just follow where I'm pointing.”

Frank did as he was told, though he was reluctant to drive into the fence. The shrubbery on the other side looked pretty thick, too, but the truck just might be able to get through it.

The truck hit the fence and a large segment of it flew away, disappearing into the bushes. Then they hit a thick wall of green vegetation. There was a horrible crunching noise all around them as the truck
snapped the branches of the shrubbery in front of them.

Then they were out the other side. Frank turned on the windshield wipers to knock off the branches that had become stuck to the window. Then he roared back onto the road and took it to Main Street.

“Okay, how do we get out of this town?” Frank asked.

“That way,” Rhonda said, waving her hand. “The other end of Main Street.”

Frank worried that they were leaving Chet all alone in this town, but knew his friend could ride Formby out. Frank had to save as many people as possible—they could come back for Chet later.

Frank headed in the direction that was definitely
not
toward the McSavage mansion. There was another short row of houses along the street, beyond which was a forest, not unlike the one on the other side of town where the path led back to the Appalachian Trail. The road entered the trees and Frank sped along it.

About a hundred feet into the forest the road forked.

“Which way do we go?” Frank asked.

“Maybe it doesn't make any difference,” Joe said.

“No, it definitely makes a difference,” Rhonda said. “Go that way,” she said, pointing to the right. Frank thought he saw her hesitate briefly, but he followed her instructions.

The road was narrow and paved with gravel. Ruts
ran along through the trees where cars and trucks had driven for decades. The trees arched over them, forming a sort of canopy, making long and dark shadows.

There was a roar from behind them. Frank glanced in the sideview mirror. The Brookburn brothers were riding their cycles straight down the ruts in the road, right on their tail.

“It didn't take them long to catch up,” Joe said.

“Probably took a shortcut,” Frank said. “They guessed where we were headed.”

“Well, they can't hurt us now,” Joe crowed. “We'll be out of town in no time.”

Even while Joe was saying those words, one of the two brothers pulled his motorcycle up alongside the truck; just outside Joe's window. He gave Joe a nasty look.

“Try to stop us now!” Joe yelled, returning the look.

“Don't encourage him,” Frank said. “Those guys are still dangerous.”

Sure enough, the motorcyclist raised a crowbar and swung it straight at Joe's window.

“Yow!” Joe cried, ducking. “That's not playing fair.”

The crowbar hit the window hard but bounced off. The glass didn't break.

“Whew!” Joe said, relaxing again. “This thing has bulletproof glass. We're safe!”

“Don't get too comfortable,” Frank said. “He can still do some damage with that thing.”

The biker swung the crowbar again, this time at the hood of the truck.

“He's trying to get at the motor,” Joe said. “You don't suppose he can break the hood open, do you?”

“I don't know,” Frank said. “And I hope we get out of here before we find out.”

A second blow from the crowbar set the hood vibrating. It looked as if it were about to pop open.

“I think I'd better get rid of this guy fast,” Frank said, “before he causes serious damage.”

Frank maneuvered the car toward the right side of the road, trying to cram the biker up against the trees. The motorcyclist saw what Frank was up to and put on his brakes, dropping behind the rear of the truck.

“Ha, that scared him away but good,” Joe said, giving Frank the thumbs-up.

Suddenly there was a pounding noise from Frank's side of the truck. The other brother had pulled up on the left while Frank and Joe had been concentrating on the one to the right. He took a hard whack at the other side of the hood.

“They're double-teaming us!” Frank said.

Joe dug around under his seat. “Aha! I've found something that might help.” He pulled out a crowbar like the ones the Brookburn brothers were using.

“Okay,” Joe said to his brother. “Crowd the guy on
your side off the road so the other brother will pull up by my window.”

“Whatever you say, little brother,” Frank said.

Frank angled back to the left, and the biker on that side dropped behind the truck. Not surprisingly, the biker on the right pulled up again.

This time Joe was ready. He rapidly rolled down his window and held the crowbar outside. He gave the brother on his side a stiff whack across the chest.

“Oof,” the biker sputtered as the air came rushing out of his lungs. His bike hit a tree, sending him spiraling into the woods. The bike itself bounced back and hit the truck, then toppled over.

The second Brookburn, behind the truck, didn't dodge in time. He hit his brother's overturned motorcycle at full speed and flipped head over heels, landing flat on the road.

“Ha!” Joe cried. “I don't think those guys will be bothering us again. They'll have headaches for a month.”

“Yeah, well, let's worry about what's happening right now,” Frank said. “How soon until we're off this gravel road and onto some real pavement, Rhonda?”

“Not long,” Rhonda said. “There's a bridge not far ahead that leads out of town. Another mile or so past that, you'll hit the main highway.”

“Yahoo!” Joe cried. “We're almost out of here!”

Frank turned around a bend. “There are a lot of
twists and turns in this road,” he said. “It's almost like we're going in a circle.”

“Look,” Joe said. “Up ahead. I see a vehicle in the road. Maybe we can get help.”

Frank felt a surge of hope, but it died almost immediately when he recognized the car.

It wasn't anybody who was likely to rescue them. It was the limousine with Bill McSavage and Quentin in it.

The Hardys and their friends really had gone in a circle. And now they were heading straight back to town!

Frank hit the brakes, but the truck skidded for another hundred feet on the gravel. Bill and Quentin stepped out of their car and smiled as the truck came to a stop. Quentin cocked his rifle for emphasis.

Another vehicle edged up beside the limo—a police car. It stopped and Sheriff Brickfield climbed out, patting his gun holster menacingly.

“And things were going so well there for a moment,” Joe said with a sigh.

Sheriff Brickfield walked up next to Frank's window. “I think you boys had better step out of that vehicle. I'm going to have to arrest you for car theft.”

Frank looked at him angrily as he opened the door. “Car theft? We weren't the ones who stole this truck. Bill McSavage and his friends stole it!”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Bill said. “I have no idea where that truck came from. Looked to me like you boys had it hidden away in my barn.”

“We
had it hidden away?” Joe shouted. “Boy, you've got a lot of nerve! Not only did you steal an armored truck full of millions of dollars in cash, but now you're blaming it on us? We were taking it to the authorities!”

“Save it for the jailhouse,” Sheriff McSavage said. “Now, I hear you have some more folks with you. Are they hiding in the back?”

“Not hiding,” Frank said. “Just going along for the ride.”

Quentin walked to the back of the truck and opened the door. Phil Cohen came stumbling out on wobbly legs.

“Gee, do you think you guys could drive any worse?” he asked shakily. “I feel like I've been inside a blender for the last fifteen minutes.” He noticed Quentin standing there with a rifle in his hands. “Wait a minute, what's this guy doing here? I thought we were getting out of town.”

Jack Mason climbed out after Phil. “You again, Quentin?” he said. “I dislike you more every time I see you.”

“The feeling is mutual,” the man said with a smile.

Jack helped Loraleigh out of the truck. “Oh, no. We're still here,” she said.

Biff pushed a crutch over the edge and used it to
leverage his way back to the ground. “At least we tried,” he said.

“There's a jail right up the street. It's old but it does the trick,” Sheriff Brickfield said. “I think we can all walk there. Even the kid on the crutches.”

“But we didn't do anything,” Joe said. “You must know
something
about what's going on in this town!”

“Oh, I'm sure he knows something about it,” Frank said. “I bet you've been involved in this crime all along, haven't you, Sheriff?”

Sheriff Brickfield frowned. “Are you accusing me of being derelict in my duties as an officer of the law?” he asked.

“You bet I am!” Frank said.

“Remind me to throw away the key after I lock you up,” the sheriff said, but he didn't seem particularly upset.

“You don't have to be shy, Paul,” Bill McSavage said to Brickfield. “These boys already know so much that we might as well tell them the rest. Everybody in town that we could trust was part of the plan, and we're all splitting the cash from the robbery. Of course, there were a few people that we couldn't trust.” He gave a meaningful glance at Jack and Rhonda.

“So what are you going to do with us now?” Jack asked. “Keep us locked up in jail forever? That jail isn't even big enough for all of us.”

“It is if we cram you into the cells tight enough,” Sheriff Brickfield growled.

“Besides,” Bill said, “that's not really where we intend to keep you. We had planned to bury the truck after we had moved all the cash out of it. There's no reason we have to bury it empty.”

“Does he mean what I think he means?” Biff asked.

“Yeah, I think he does,” Frank said.

“You'll never get away with it,” Joe proclaimed.

“If there's any justice in the universe,” Jack Mason said, “I'll come back to haunt you for the rest of your life.”

Bill snorted. “You've already haunted me since you left the casino. Trying to be my conscience.”

“It was a dirty job,” Jack said, “but somebody had to do it. Guess I didn't do it well enough.”

“Insulting me to the last, Jack?” Bill said.

Joe noticed something out of the side of his eye while everyone else was watching the confrontation between Bill and Jack. Sheriff Brickfield had left the front door of his police car open, and there was an open pair of handcuffs on the floor in front of the driver's seat. Joe carefully edged around in back of the sheriff, dipped down as gracefully as he could, and picked up the cuffs. Then he edged away again.

Frank noticed what Joe was doing. He turned to the sheriff and said quietly, “You know, you really
shouldn't leave a gun sitting on the front seat of your car like that.”

The sheriff looked startled. “Gun? What gun?” He turned and rushed back to the car.

As quick as a magician pulling a scarf out of someone's ear, Joe grabbed the sheriff's right arm and snapped a cuff on his wrist. He snapped the other cuff to the outside of the car's window frame. Then he grabbed the sheriff's gun from its holster. Brickfield was taken totally by surprise.

“What did you just do to me?” he yelled, struggling in vain to get free.

“Get him out of those handcuffs!” Quentin commanded, aiming his rifle at Joe. “And drop that gun!”

Biff lunged forward, using one of his crutches as a lever, and tackled the servant in the midsection. Quentin and Biff fell to the ground in a tangle, the rifle flying from Quentin's hands. Meanwhile, Joe tossed the sheriff's gun to Jack Mason for safekeeping.

Bill McSavage's face turned red, and he started to yell something. But then he glanced at his car and realized that his own gun was still in the front seat. A look of fear crossed his face.

Jack Mason smiled. “Shoe's on the other foot now, Bill,” he said. “Looks like you won't be burying us in that truck after all.”

“You're not out of town yet,” Bill said.

Jack turned to Joe. “Sheriff Brickfield should have
some more handcuffs in that car. Think you guys could grab a couple and put them on Bill and Quentin?”

“I'd be happy to.” Joe beamed.

“Count me in,” Frank added.

Biff rolled off Quentin. “Owww! I think I hurt my leg again!”

“It wasn't much fun having you land on top of me, either,” Quentin said.

Rhonda knelt next to Biff. “You'll need medical attention, but it'll have to wait until we get out of town.”