059 Open Season by Franklin W. Dixon

Author:Franklin W. Dixon [Dixon, Franklin W.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: hbfiles new, hbfiles
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 9

FRANK MET his brother's eyes. "Are you thinking the same thing I'm thinking?"

"He's not using that thing to tune in the Weather Channel," Joe replied. "I also don't think this kind of hunting is much of a sport."

Frank nodded. "Exactly what I was thinking." He took another look through the monocular. The wide man with the thick red beard barked out a few words, and the hounds took off down the slope. Then he loaded a rifle case and some supplies onto the back of one of the snowmobiles. The other two men busied themselves by strapping their own gun cases onto the other snowmobile. The three men had a short conversation. The bearded man waved the antenna around and stared intently at the blue metal box.

He exchanged a few more words with the others, then and pointed off in the distance. Then the three of them hopped on and roared away on the two snowmobiles.

Joe jumped up when he heard the engines. "They're getting away!" he shouted.

Frank grabbed his arm and jerked him back down behind the rock. "They'll come back," he said firmly. "If we move fast, we can get the sheriff and bring him back here before they return."

"If we move fast," Joe shot back hotly, "we can stop Pearson before he kills another one of Becker's mountain lions. He might as well shoot animals in the zoo! With their radio collars on, those cats can't hide from him!" He whirled around and stomped off toward the car.

Frank ran after his brother. "What are you going to do?" He had seen that expression on Joe's face before, usually right before Joe did something they were both sorry about later.

"I'm going to do something," Joe growled. He yanked his skis off the rack on top of the car, flung open the trunk, and snatched his ski boots.

"Joe," Frank began, trying to reason with his brother, "they're on snowmobiles, and they have guns — big guns with bullets the size of small cruise missiles. We'll never catch them. And if we do, we might end up as tragic victims of a fatal hunting 'accident.' "

Joe ripped off his hiking boots and jammed feet into his ski boots with fierce, single-mind determination. "I don't care much about guns one way or the other," he said. The edge in his voice was razor sharp and hard enough to c glass. "But I like to think that most of the animals have a fighting chance."

He stuffed his hands deep into his gloves, curled his fists tightly around his ski poles. "I'm going to do whatever I can to give at least one cougar that fighting chance."

Frank sighed. "Once you get an idea stuck in your head, not even heavy explosives can jar it loose. Hold on while I get my gear. If you're going to get killed, I don't want to be left alive to explain it to Mom and Dad."

They got off to a fast start, going downhill on a steep ridge.

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