35-Dead Season by Franklin W. Dixon

Author:Franklin W. Dixon [Dixon, Franklin W.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Juvenile Fiction, Mysteries & Detective Stories
ISBN: 9780671741051
Google: LszINwAACAAJ
Amazon: 0671741055
Publisher: Simon Pulse
Published: 1990-01-02T00:00:00+00:00

***

Joe was very much alive, and at that very moment was still pursuing the Ghost Gunman He was no apparition, though. This was a flesh-and-blood man, one who had fought with both Frank and Joe. A man who had probably murdered Randolph Tyler.

They had been playing cat and mouse for hours in a series of tunnels that crisscrossed under all of Runner's Harbor.

The masked gunman, who had bolted past Joe into the darkness of the boathouse, turned almost instantly and sneaked back out the entrance.

He had eluded Joe and ducked into a small shed next to the boathouse.

When Joe got to the shed, it appeared to be empty, but a window on the rear wall had a sill that was three feet thick.

Joe knew no one would construct a window like this, so he poked around until he bumped a small lever on the side of the window, tripping a door. A door leading to a mazelike series of underground tunnels.

After hours of running after the masked man, Joe was totally turned around because all the tunnels were so dark. Airshafts at random intervals offered thin gray shafts of dim light, but generally the corridors were pitch-black.

Spider webs laced across the tunnels and caught on Joe's face and in his hair. Rats screeched and darted at his feet as Joe splashed through puddles of water.

He tried not to think about any of this, but focused all his attention on the gunman. Joe knew he had to stay within earshot of the sound of the man's footsteps and not let him get too far ahead. The darkness and the fact that the killer seemed to have a clear idea of where he was going made things all that much more difficult for Joe.

Wiley Reed was a smart man, thought Joe, and had obviously built this system as a means of avoiding enemies.

It was that confidence in the tunnels that had led to Joe's trying another tracking method. From time to time he would shout at his quarry, "I'll get you! You know I'm going to get you."

The gunman never responded, but the reverberating sound provided Joe with a guide through the darkness.

Joe was getting weary of the chase. It had been several minutes since he had last heard the killer, and he wondered if the man was still in the tunnels or if he had made an escape. He strained to hear any sign that the gunman was nearby.

Finally his concentration was paying off. He couldn't see the killer, but Joe could hear the man, breathing hard, just a few feet ahead. Joe moved faster.

Once again an airshaft illuminated the passage enough so that Joe could see a turn in the tunnel.

He approached the corner slowly, cautiously, and as quietly as he could.

From around the bend came a whispered plea. "Help me. I'm hurt."

Joe rounded the corner. He had caught his man.

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