Hunting for Hidden Gold

“A fortune in hidden gold! That certainly sounds mighty interesting.”

Frank Hardy folded up the letter he had just been reading aloud to his brother.

“Dad has all the luck,” replied Joe. “I’d give anything to be working with him on a case like that.”

“Me, too. This case is a bit out of the ordinary.”

“Where was the letter postmarked?”

“Somewhere in Montana. A gold-mining camp called Lucky Bottom.”

“Montana! Gee, but I wish he could have taken us with him. We’ve never been more than two hundred miles from home.”

“And I’ve never seen a mine in my life, much less a real mining camp.”

The Hardy boys looked at one another regretfully. They had just received a letter from their father, Fenton Hardy, an internationally famous detective, who had been called West but a fortnight previous on a mysterious mission. The letter gave the boys their first inkling of the nature of the case that had summoned their father from Bayport, on the Atlantic coast, to the mining country of Montana.

“A fortune in hidden gold,” repeated Frank. “I hope he finds it all right.”

“It was stolen from one of the big companies, wasn’t it?”

“Yes. He says that an entire shipment of bullion was stolen before it left the camp, so they believe it must have been hidden somewhere in the neighborhood.”

“And his job is to find it.”

Hardly had he spoken the words than there came a second crash, louder than the first, and then, with a rush and a roar, a great avalanche of snow came hurtling down upon the boys from the side of the cliff. The snow engulfed them, swept over them, almost buried them as they struggled to avoid it. Then, in all the uproar, they heard another thundering crash close at hand.

Spluttering and struggling to extricate themselves from the avalanche of snow that had swept down from above, the boys could scarcely realize what had happened. As for the origin of the crashing sound they had heard, it was still a mystery.

Then, above the clamor of the gale that seemed to rage in redoubled volume, they heard a faint cry. It came from the fog of swirling snow close by. Then the shrieking wind drowned the sound out, but the boys knew that it had been a cry for help.

Frank struggled free and lent Joe a helping hand until they were both clear of the great heap of snow and ice. Chet Morton and Jerry Gilroy also fought their way clear without difficulty, for the snow was soft and the avalanche had not been of great proportions.

“I heard someone call,” Frank shouted. “Listen.”

Shivering with cold, the boys stood knee-deep in snow and listened intently.

There came a lull in the gale.

Then, faintly, they heard the shout again.

“Help!” came the cry. “Help! Help!”

It came from somewhere immediately before them, and as the wind shifted just then Frank caught sight of a dark object against the surface of the snow.