there—through those trees!"
As they approached the break in the trees, Bud could see what Tom had caught sight of—fresh-looking footprints in the soft earth and pine needles!
"This must be where our boy came through just before we saw him," Bud said softly. "We can backtrack him."
Caught up in the excitement of the chase, Bud began sweeping the ground with his flashlight. "I see more footprints!"
Tom examined them. "There was a meeting here involving three men!" he said excitedly. "Hoplin, the one who calls himself Cameron, probably, and somebody else as well."
The boys followed the footprints for a short distance around a bend. Then the three sets of tracks became only two.
"One of them must have climbed down from the road, across those rocks ," Bud suggested. "But where did the other two start from?"
Tom led the way, his eyes straining for signs of a camp or cabin. A few minutes later he halted abruptly. Just ahead, nestled in a cluster of pine trees, was a small vacation cabin made of prefabricated logs. This could be the spot they sought! Tom gestured to his companion to crouch down.
"That building," he said, pointing, "must be where Hoplin and one of his cronies have been living. Let’s get as close to it as we can without making any noise."
The young scientist crawled, Indian fashion, in the direction of the cabin. Bud followed. The two pushed their way quietly to the edge of a clearing which fronted the log structure, and listened. Everything was still and dark.
"Shall we rush the place?" Bud whispered. Then, answering his own question: "We’d get caught if there are guards watching from the woods."
"Right," Tom agreed. "Let’s try smoking out anybody who’s watching for us.
"How?" the dark-haired flier asked.
Tom suggested that they each find a small rock and heave it, Bud to the right and Tom straight at the cabin. After locating round, good-sized stones and tossing them, the trio waited alertly, but there was no response to their strategy.
"Guess there’s no one inside," said Bud. "If there were anyone else, he’d have come out—or at least ruffled those window curtains. Let’s investigate!"
Tom cautiously led the way to the cabin and peered through a window, trying to see through the curtains. But the utter darkness inside defeated him.
"I can’t see a thing," he muttered to Bud. "But I’m sure no one’s home. Let’s try the door."
Tom approached the door to the cabin and cautiously twisted the knob.
The next instant the woods thundered to a violent roar!
CHAPTER 6
DARK SUSPICION
THE BLAST had come from inside the cabin. It blew the door to kindling and splinters, propelling Tom backwards into Bud. They both lay in a heap on the ground, unconscious.
Meanwhile the interior of the small structure began to flicker with orange light. Fire! Licking the fragments of the shattered door, the flames crept out into the open, igniting the weeds and dried brush.
Tom was the first to revive. He rolled off his pal and struggled to his feet, coughing in the smoke, wincing from the heat.
"Bud!" he choked. "Get up!" Kneeling, he shook Bud vigorously, and the youth’s gray eyes flickered open.
"Tom, is something on fire?"
"Come on, help me!"
The two of them managed to stomp out the fire in the brush before it had spread. The fire in the cabin seemed to be slowly dying away of its own accord.
"The door must’ve been booby-trapped!" Bud exclaimed furiously.
"No," responded Tom. "Didn’t you hear the glass breaking just before the explosion? Somebody pitched a grenade into the cabin!"
"Hoplin must have circled back," Bud muttered. "We still could’ve wound up dead!"
"That I agree with!" declared the young inventor. Then he groaned—he was beginning to feel the pain of his bruises and burns.
"Let’s call the Fire Department and the Shopton PD from the car," Tom said, "and then head for home."
At the Swift home the other searchers were returning from their excursions one by one—first
Carolyn Keene, Franklin W. Dixon