Farming Fear by Franklin W. Dixon

Author:Franklin W. Dixon
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Aladdin

9 Snow-Dog Days

* * *

The pack ran directly for the Hardys, bounding across the treeless swath surrounding the power lines. Savage barks and angry howls cut through the chilly afternoon air.

“Run!” Frank cried.

The brothers turned and sprinted back toward the forest. They had a sixty-yard head start on the pack, and both Frank and Joe were good runners. The snow slowed them down, though, and even the fastest human sprinter couldn’t outrun swift dogs like these for long.

Joe glanced back as they ran, sizing up their pursuers. “I see six,” he told Frank. “Two are huskies, two look like shepherd mixes, and two are mutts.”

“That’s a pretty odd pack for a bunch of wild dogs,” Frank said, not slowing down as they conversed.

“You’re thinking someone set them on us?”

“Maybe. Did you see any collars?”

“I wasn’t looking that close,” Joe replied. “You can stop and check for tags if you like.”

“No thanks,” Frank said. “We may get a better look soon anyway.” He smiled ruefully.

“I’d give about anything for a good set of skis right now,” Joe said.

“Why don’t you wish us up a snowmobile instead,” Frank suggested. Both brothers kept their tones light, though each realized the graveness of their situation. Caught in the wilderness with no weapons, if they were caught by the pack, they stood little chance.

The snarls and barks of the dogs grew louder.

“They’re gaining on us,” Frank said, daring a backward glance.

“Up into the trees,” Joe suggested. “It’s our only hope.”

Both brothers headed for the nearest climbable pines. They picked separate trees, not wanting to chance their combined weight on just one. They scrambled up into the low-hanging branches as swiftly as squirrels. The dogs leaped after them, snapping at their heels. The brothers shinnied up the trunks, out of reach.

“Well,” Joe said, panting, “that was . . . stimulating.” He clung precariously to the branches of a big white pine.

“Not something I plan to do every day,” Frank commented. He sat perched in a similar tree, about five yards away from his brother. Powdery snow drifted down from the branches above him, chilling the older Hardy’s face.

The stray dogs circled around the trees, howling and barking, looking up hungrily at the brothers.

“Do you have the cell phone?” Frank asked.

Joe nodded. “I stuffed it into my pocket before we went out, just in case.” He fished the phone out of his parka, pressed a few buttons, and then frowned. “Nothing!” he said, frustrated. “I can’t get a signal.”

“Maybe it’s interference from the electric towers,” Frank suggested. “Or maybe the farm is in one of those cell phone ‘dead zones.’”

“Either way, we’re up a tree, literally and figuratively,” Joe said, putting the phone away. “Maybe we can throw some pinecones at them, scare them off.”

“It’s worth a try,” he said. “I don’t have a better idea, at any rate.”

The brothers inched higher up their trees until they could reach clusters of big pinecones dangling overhead. When they’d collected enough ammunition, they took aim at the pack circling below.

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