teeth.
"Do you really have mooseburgers?" Joe asked. He was pretty sure he didn't want one, but he had to ask.
The big man chuckled. "Nah, that's my name. Simon Mooseburger. I own the joint. I do most of the cooking, too."
Mooseburger took their order and came back a few minutes later with two large plates piled high with food: stacks of buttered toast, mounds of hash brown potatoes, and huge omelets bursting with steaming hot cheese. Joe wolfed his down and then attacked his brother's plate after Frank announced he was stuffed.
"Looks like you saved me the trouble of washing these," Mooseburger remarked as he took away the empty plates that Joe had practically scraped clean. "Can I get you boys anything else?"
"You could answer a couple of questions," Frank said.
Mooseburger cocked his head to one side and raised his eyebrows. "What kind of questions?"
"We're looking for a friend of ours," Frank explained. "She might have passed through town sometime late yesterday." Frank described Gina.
Mooseburger shook his head. "If she came through Big Bear, she didn't stop here. Or if she did, I didn't notice her. Business may be a little slow right now, but it starts to pick up around noon. I see a lot of tourists every day."
"She was driving a big brown motor home," Joe said. "Maybe you noticed that."
The blond man shrugged. "I see a lot of those, too. Motor homes aren't unusual in these parts."
Something in the tone of his reply made Frank ask, "Have you seen anything unusual lately?"
"You might say that," Mooseburger said. "Most of the traffic up here is tourists and gold miners. So I see a lot of station wagons, motor homes, and small pickup trucks.
"I know most of the local prospectors," he continued. "They're all small-time operators. The big mines were played out a long time ago. So I was sort of surprised when heavy-duty trucks started rolling through town a few months ago. Then a couple of tight-lipped strangers started buying supplies at the general store."
"Tell us more about these strangers," Frank said. "What do you think they're doing up here?"
"I don't think they came for the fishing," Mooseburger replied. "Fishermen like to talk. Prospectors, on the other hand, keep their mouths shut. They think everybody's out to jump their claim. If they strike a gold vein, the last thing they want to do is talk about it."
"So you think these guys were looking for gold?" Frank asked.
Mooseburger shook his head. "I think they found gold."
"Really?" Joe responded, intrigued and excited by the idea. "Where?"
"As near as I can figure," Mooseburger said, "they've opened up the old McDonald mine."
Joe snorted. "Oh, sure. I get it. Old McDonald had a mine, right?"
"No, I'm serious," the blond hulk responded, sounding slightly offended. "I'll show you." He disappeared into the kitchen for a minute and came back with a topographical map that showed every hill and valley in the area. "Here," he said, jabbing a finger at the map. "The McDonald mine is right at the base of this cliff."
"Cliff?" Frank echoed, his eyes and ears suddenly doubly alert. A quick study of the map confirmed that the man's finger was resting on a spot not far from Stavrogin's cabin - the cliff from which the two Assassins seemed to have launched themselves into space.
"That's right," Mooseburger said. "It's a big one, too. From the top there's quite a view."
"I know," Frank said. "We've seen it."
***
The view was just as impressive the second time - and the cliff was just as sheer. "I don't see any way those two Assassins could have gotten down this wall without breaking their necks," Joe remarked. "And even if they could climb down, what did they do with the ATVs?"
"I don't know," Frank said, scanning the sea of green treetops below. "But it has to be more than coincidence that they disappeared at the same cliff where the locals think a bunch of mysterious strangers are working an abandoned gold mine. I think the Assassins are using the