Frank stopped and turned back. He could not desert his brother and he was prepared to be captured with him at the expense of his own freedom. He met the thin-faced man, who led the other pair of pursuers, with a slashing blow in the face that knocked the man off his balance so that he tumbled backward into the snow with a grunt of pain and amazement. The short, stocky man came on with a growl. Frank swung and missed; then his attacker closed with him and they struggled to and fro in the snowbank.
His assailant twined one foot about Frank’s leg and they toppled over into the snow. By that time the thin man had scrambled to his feet and again launched himself into the struggle. Frank Hardy was completely overpowered.
He was dragged roughly to his feet, his arms gripped behind his back. Joe had been no match for his more powerful antagonist and he too had been forced to submit to capture.
The trio held the boys in their power.
“What’ll we do with ’em?” asked the thin-faced man gruffly.
“Bring ’em back to the mine first,” said the fellow in the fur coat. “I guess the boss will want to see these birds.”
Frank and Joe were roughly bundled up the hillside again by their captors. All the time Frank’s mind was in a whirl. Who were these three men? Why had they attacked them? Why had they been hunting for them in the first place? And who was “the boss” they spoke of?
In due time they reached the shaft-head again and there the man in the fur coat faced them.
“Who are you two boys?” he demanded.
“Who are you?” countered Frank.
“That doesn’t matter. What’s your names?”
“Tell us yours first.”
“What were you doing in that mine?”
“What did you attack us for? Why are you keeping us here?”
The man in the fur coat became impatient at receiving questions instead of answers.
“Are you the Hardy boys?” he asked. “Sons of that detective?”
“Try and find out.”
“We’ll find out, all right,” declared the man in the fur coat threateningly. “We’ll take you to somebody that’ll make you talk.”
“You’d better let us go or the whole three of you will find yourselves in jail,” said Frank.
The man laughed shortly.
“No fear,” he said. “Not in Lucky Bottom, at any rate.” He turned to the other two men. “Keep these boys here,” he ordered. “I’ll be back in a while. Don’t let them get away!”
“Where are you going, Jack?” asked the thin-faced man.
“I’m going to get Black Pepper. He’ll make these birds talk.”
With that the fellow stalked away through the snow. Frank and Joe glanced quickly at one another. They knew now the explanation of their capture. They were in the hands of three members of the gang of the notorious Black Pepper, the outlaw.
XV
The Trap
The man of the thin features produced the revolver from its holster and sat down on a snow-covered rock near the top of the shaft. He held the weapon negligently, but there was no doubt that he could level it at the Hardy boys in a second if they attempted to escape.
“You can sit down if you want,” he said. His partner still retained a tight grasp on Frank. “Let him go, Shorty. I’ve got this gun here and I guess they won’t try to get away. We may as well be comfortable.”
The fellow addressed as “Shorty” moved away from Frank and sat down by his companion. The Hardy boys found a heap of rocks near by and seated themselves. They knew there was no use of attempting to escape as long as that ugly-looking revolver was in the hand of their captor.
“Say, Slim,” remarked Shorty, “do you think Black Pepper is at the camp?”
The other man nodded.
“Yeah! He came back this morning.”
Slim looked up at the Hardy boys.
“What were you guys lookin’ for in that mine, anyway?”
“Oysters,” replied Frank, with a grin.
“None of your funny stuff,” rapped out Slim. “We’ll make you talk soon enough. We know what you’re after.”
“What did you ask us for, then?” asked Joe.
The outlaws were silent. They saw that nothing was to be gained by seeking information from the lads. They were content to await the return of Black Pepper and their companion Jack.
Frank and Joe Hardy sat on the snow-covered rocks in silence. Slowly Frank put his hand behind his back and began to grope about among the rocks. He knew that they were loose and that they were of various sizes. The idea had occurred to him that if he could but use one of them as a weapon he might be able to disarm Slim and perhaps effect his escape and that of his brother.
Bit by bit he groped about. One rock was too large for him to grasp. Another was too small to be of any use. Finally his hands closed about a good-sized stone that came from the rest of the pile without much difficulty.
He calculated the distance and eyed the revolver warily. Frank had been pitcher on the Bayport high school nine and the accuracy of his aim had often been the despair of opposing batsmen. Now he called on all his skill.
Without moving from his position he suddenly brought up the rock and flung it with all his strength directly at the revolver in Slim’s hand. The outlaw’s grip on the weapon had relaxed in his indifference, and when the stone struck its mark, full and true, the gun went flying into the deep snow.
“Come on, Joe!” shouted Frank scrambling to his feet. He had noticed a path leading through the snow in the direction of the road that went to Hank Shale’s cabin and he ran toward this path with all the speed at his command. Joe had not been slow to grasp the situation, and he too came racing through the snow but a few paces behind.
The outlaws were taken off their guard. Slim instinctively
