The second volume, “The Hardy Boys: The House on the Cliff,” recounted the adventures of the boys in running down a criminal gang operating in Barmet Bay, and in the third volume, “The Hardy Boys: The Secret of the Old Mill,” they aided their father materially in rounding up another gang.
The volume just previous to the present volume, “The Hardy Boys: The Missing Chums,” told how they sought their chums, Chet Morton and Biff Hooper, who had been kidnapped by a gang of crooks and taken to a sinister island off the coast.
As the boys waited in the shelter of the rocks they talked of some of the adventures they had undergone.
“This is the first bit of excitement we’ve had since we left Blacksnake Island,” declared Chet. “I thought we were never going to have any adventures again.”
“This isn’t much of an adventure,” Frank said, smiling, “but perhaps it’s better than nothing. Although I must say it’s a mighty cold and uncomfortable one,” he added. “I wonder if we’ll ever have any adventures like the ones we’ve gone through already.”
“I think you’ve had your fill,” grumbled Jerry Gilroy. “You’ve had more excitement than any other two fellows in Bayport.”
“I suppose we have. Like the time the smugglers caught dad and kept him in the cave in the cliff and then caught us when we went to rescue him.”
“And the time we got into the old mill and found the gang at work,” added Joe.
“Or the fight on Blacksnake Island when you came after Biff Hooper and me,” Chet Morton put in. “You’ve had enough adventure to last you a lifetime. What are you kicking about?”
“I’m not kicking. Just wondering if we’ll ever have anything else happen to us.”
“If this blizzard keeps up all night you can chalk down another adventure in your little red book,” declared Jerry. “That is, if we don’t freeze to death.”
“Cheerful!”
“It doesn’t look as if the wind is dying down, anyway.”
They looked out into the swirling screen of snow. The wind, instead of diminishing, seemed to be increasing in fury and the snow was even sweeping in little gusts and eddies into their refuge at the base of the rocks. The swirling snow hid the opposite shore of the lake completely and the howling of the wind was rising in volume.
Suddenly they heard a strange crashing noise that came from directly overhead.
All looked up, startled.
“What was that?” asked Chet.
The crashing noise continued for a moment or so, then died away, drowned out by the roar of the wind and the sweep of the snow.
“Perhaps it was a tree blown over,” suggested Jerry.
“A tree wouldn’t make that much noise,” Frank objected. For the crash had been unusually loud and prolonged and it had seemed to be accompanied by the snapping of timbers.
The boys waited, listening, but the sound had died away.
“It was right above us,” Joe said.
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.
“Come on!” he shouted to the others, and began plunging through the snow over to the object he had spied.
The boys reached it in a few minutes. To their unbounded astonishment they found that they were confronted by the side of a small cottage!
III
Jadbury Wilson
In amazement, the Hardy boys and their chums stared at the cottage that had so strangely appeared in the snow.
“How did that get here?” shouted Chet Morton.
Frank waved his hand toward the top of the cliff.
“There was a little cottage up there,” he told them. “It must have been blown off by the wind.”
This, indeed, had been the case. Sheltered by the cliff, the boys had no adequate realization of the immense force of the hurricane. The little cottage at the top of the cliff had received the full brunt of the wind and had finally succumbed to the gale and to the force of a sudden avalanche of snow from farther up on the hillside. It had no foundation, and it had been swept away bodily.
The boys fought their way through the deep snow and inspected the little house. It had come through the terrific ordeal with surprisingly small damage. One side had crumpled under the force of the impact and the building was canted over at a precarious angle. But the roof and the other three sides were unbroken, thanks to the soft snow which
