The End of the Trail

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Authors: Franklin W. Dixon
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“There’s something under this hay.”
    â€œWhat’s the big deal?” Joe said. “Probably just an old plow somebody left lying here in 1888.” But he started digging, too.
    Something very large was under the hay, but it wasn’t a plow. As the brothers began to uncover it, they could see that it was indeed metal and was freshly painted.
    â€œThat’s not from 1888,” Joe said, a baffled expression on his face. “It looks brand-new. A lot newer than anything else in this town.”
    â€œYeah,” Frank said. “It’s a truck. But why would they keep a truck in a haystack?”
    â€œMaybe they couldn’t afford a garage,” Joe said, and laughed at his joke.
    As they brushed the hay off the truck, Frank stood back to get a good look at it.
    â€œI think maybe we’ve found the answer to our mystery,” he said.
    Joe nodded. “Yeah, now I think I know what Bill McSavage and his friends have been hiding.”
    The truck was small with a cab designed for two people and a squared-off rear end. On the side it read Pinkerby’s Armored Transport.
    â€œLooks like the kind of truck banks use to move money,” Joe said.
    â€œLet’s see what’s inside,” Frank suggested.
    He walked to the back door. It wasn’t locked. He opened the bolt and pulled the door open. Even in the dim light of the barn they could see what the truck contained. Dozens of large sacks, like the one they had seen the Brookburn brothers carrying the day before, were piled up inside. The sacks were stuffed full of something and it was pretty obvious what that something was because it was spilling out of several bags—$100 bills, bound together with paper seals, like those in a bank vault.
    â€œThis thing is full of money!” Joe exclaimed.
    â€œIt sure is,” Frank said. “There must be millions of dollars in here!”

10 The Lady Vanishes

    â€œWhere did all this come from?” Joe wondered. “Millions of dollars don’t just pop out of thin air.”
    â€œEspecially with a truck conveniently wrapped around them,” Frank said. “Hey, you remember that robbery a few months ago down in Cold Ridge?”
    â€œOh, right,” Joe said. “Somebody got away with a truckload of cash. The cops never caught them.”
    â€œWell, I think we’re looking at that truckload right now,” Frank said.
    â€œBut Cold Ridge is hundreds of miles from here,” Joe said.
    â€œTrue,” Frank said. “But whoever stole this would have wanted to move it far from the scene of the crime. They’d want to hide it someplace nobody would think to look.”
    â€œAnd nobody would have looked if we hadn’t stumbled into this little town,” Joe said. “I don’t think they were expecting visitors.”
    â€œAnd they didn’t like visitors when they got them,” Frank said. “That’s why we’ve felt so unwelcome here.”
    â€œWe have to tell somebody about this,” Joe said.
    â€œYeah, but who?” Frank asked. “I bet Sheriff Brickfield is in on this, too.”
    â€œWe can go to Loraleigh,” Joe said. “She seems to be okay.”
    â€œI think you’re right about Loraleigh,” Frank said. “But how could she help us? We might just be putting her in danger.”
    Joe shivered. “It looks like all of our lives are in danger. Me, you, Chet, Phil—and Biff.”
    â€œBiff should be okay with Rhonda,” Frank said.
    â€œTrue,” Joe said. “She looks pretty tough. But if McSavage and his hired hands come to her place to get Biff, she’ll be outnumbered.”
    â€œWe’d better get out of this barn and off this farm,” Frank said. “Bill and Quentin are probably still looking for us in the fields, but they might not be quite so brazen about trying to kill us if we were back in town.”
    â€œWe can only

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