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On Guard
Back in Chicago, the Hardy boys went to a hotel. They were careful not to go to the place at which they had stayed on their first arrival.
“Hopkins has likely been told of our escape by now and he may be on the lookout for us,” said Frank. “We’ll just stay under cover.”
“That should be easy enough in a big city like Chicago.”
“It’s not so easy if they know where to look for you, and I don’t think they’ll give up yet. For some reason, they’re evidently mighty anxious to keep us from getting out to Montana.”
In their hotel room that night they discussed the problem of changing their appearance. They had already changed their names, registering as Charles Norton and William Hill of Cleveland, Ohio, in case some prowling member of the gang that had evidently been assigned to see that they did not reach Montana should happen to drop into the hotel and glance over the register.
“I think,” said Frank, “that the very simplest way for us to disguise ourselves would be to wear spectacles. If they chance to be looking for us they’ll never think of looking for two boys wearing glasses.”
“Good idea!” approved Joe. “Let’s go out and get them now.”
“Too late now. Shops will all be closed. We’ll get them in the morning.”
They left the hotel early and found a shop near by where Frank was fitted with a pair of horn-rimmed glasses that gave him a studious and benevolent expression. Joe bought a pair of cheap spectacles with plain rims. The transformation was remarkable. Instead of a pair of merry, bright-eyed lads, one saw two solemn, nearsighted boys who looked for all the world as though they had never had an unrestrained boyish impulse in all their lives.
“By all rights we ought to carry some books under our arms, too,” Joe suggested.
So, to make the transformation complete, they stopped at a bookstore and purchased two weighty volumes. And, when it came time for them to catch their train, no one would have recognized in the two, sad-faced, bespectacled, earnest young students, the irrepressible Hardy boys of Bayport.
To allay suspicion, they decided to board the train separately. Frank went first, while Joe remained in the concourse of the station for a few minutes. Then he followed.
It was just as well that they did this. Near the gate leading to their train loitered a tall, sharp-featured youth who scrutinized everyone who passed. He gave Frank but a fleeting glance as he went by and when Joe passed him later his gaze merely rested casually on the boy for a moment.
Had the Hardy boys but known it, the sharp-featured youth had been deputed by the mysterious Hopkins to report if the Hardy boys should attempt to leave Chicago. However, his instructions had been to keep on the lookout for two boys, aged sixteen and fifteen respectively, one dark, the other fair, who would board the train together. So the bespectacled students who had boarded the train separately did not arouse his suspicion and after the train pulled out he reported to Hopkins that the Hardy boys were certainly not on it.
Having left Chicago behind them at last and being assured that they were this time on the right train, Frank and Joe settled down to await with some little impatience their arrival in Lucky Bottom. The novelty of the cross-continent journey had worn off and the scenery had lost some of its earlier fascination. The unforeseen delay they had experienced left them all the more eager to join their father, and they wondered if he would worry because of their failure to arrive in Lucky Bottom at the expected time.
Gradually the scenery changed. The countryside altered in contour. The landscape became rockier and more mountainous, and on the second day they found themselves entering Montana. A suppressed excitement seized them as they realized that before long they would be at the end of their journey.
“I wonder how dad came to be hurt,” Joe said, after reading over their father’s letter again.
“I’ve been thinking about that, myself,” said his brother. “From what we’ve gone through, I’d judge that he has enemies working against him in this case he is working on.”
“Do you think they may have shot him?”
“They might have disabled him in some way. He was able to write to us, anyway. There’s that much to be thankful for.”
The Hardy boys realized that if a gang were arrayed against them, as seemed only too evident from their experience in Chicago, they must be very much on their guard from now on, as they drew closer to their destination. This was forcibly impressed upon them by an incident that happened at a small station in the mountains, where the train stopped to take on water.
“I think I’ll take a walk up and down the platform,” remarked Frank. “Coming?”
Joe looked up from his book.
“No, thanks. I think I’ll stay here and read.”
Frank left the coach and strode slowly up and down the platform. It was only a small, weatherbeaten station and there were few people in evidence. The town consisted of only one street, and it was built at the base of a huge mountain. The snow came sweeping down from the great crags in shifting sheets.
A rough-looking man in fur hat and mackinaw lounged down the platform, then swung himself up into the train. He appeared to be looking for someone. When Frank saw him next he was descending from one of the coaches far ahead. He came back to the platform again and there he was joined by another man, a villainous looking fellow with a black beard.
“Did you see anything of them Hardy boys?”
