[Illustration: HE SNATCHED UP A BURNING BRAND AND SENT IT WHIZZING
THROUGH THE AIR
_Frank Allen at Gold Fork_ _Frontispiece_ (Page 121)]
FRANK ALLEN AT
GOLD FORK
OR
Locating the Lost Claim
BY
GRAHAM B. FORBES
_Author of "Frank Allen and his Motor Boat,"
"Frank Allen at Rockspur Ranch," etc._
[Illustration]
GARDEN CITY NEW YORK
GARDEN CITY PUBLISHING CO., INC.
1926
THE FAMOUS FRANK ALLEN SERIES
BY GRAHAM B. FORBES
_See back of book for list of titles_
COPYRIGHT, 1926, BY
GARDEN CITY PUBLISHING COMPANY, INC.
Frank Allen at Gold Fork
MADE IN THE U.S.A.
FRANK ALLEN AT GOLD FORK
CHAPTER I
AT THE HORSE CORRAL GATE
"There he is again, Frank! The same queer chap we saw before!"
"That's a dead certainty, Lanky. But lower your voice a bit or he might
take the alarm and vamoose."
"I sure wonder what he's prowling around Rockspur ranch-house for, and
on a moonlight night, at that. But, Frank, it isn't our old enemy, Nash
Yesson, is it?" cried Lanky Wallace explosively.
"No. And I'm just as sure it isn't Lef Seller," came from Frank Allen,
referring to the bully of Columbia, Frank's home town.
The scene was the living room of Rockspur Ranch in the far West, where
so many exciting things had already happened to Frank Allen and his
chums, Lanky Wallace--whose folks owned the ranch--and Paul Bird. Paul
was slumbering peacefully, totally unaware of what was taking place
outside.
"There! You can see him plainer now, Frank!" went on Lanky. "He
seems to be a runt of a man, with a big head and bushy hair. An ugly
customer, I'd say. Do you reckon he's mixed up with the Yesson crowd?"
"Looks that way to me. See him wriggling along now, like a snake in the
grass. He's up to some mischief, all right."
"He's wearing a cowboy hat, you can see now, Frank; must belong over
with that tough gang at the Double Z Ranch."
"Whatever his game is, he'd better watch his eye or he'll find Lige
Smith and his punchers hustling after him. Right now they're all radio
hounds, and bunched inside the bunk-house, listening to jazz dance
music."
"Say, I wonder, Frank!"
"What's struck you now, Lanky? Don't move, for that fellow's staring
straight at this window! Gee, I'm glad our fire's died down! There!
he's moving off again. What were you wondering about?"
Lanky Wallace snickered, as though amused by his thoughts.
"Why, don't you see, Frank? he's trying to find some way of getting
hold of the map we grabbed, along with the gold nuggets when we
watched Nash Yesson and Lef Seller dig up that rusty iron chest in the
underground cellar."
Frank Allen considered the suggestion seriously, waiting a full minute
before replying.
"Sounds reasonable, I must admit," he finally agreed. "We know that
it was the crude map Josh Kinney left hidden there, that pair was so
anxious to lay their hands on."
"Sure! It contains valuable clues that would help a prospector locate
the long-lost gold claim Josh worked years ago."
"Now he's moving off, for some reason or other," went on Frank Allen.
"It might pay us to slip outside and see if we can't get a line on his
scheme."
"Bully! I was just wishing you'd say something that meant action,"
whispered Lanky Wallace. "But I hope you're not thinking of rousing a
hornet's nest around his ears by poking a stick in the bunk-house and
stirring up the Rockspur punchers?"
"Nope. We'll play this game by ourselves, Lanky. Sorry Paul happens
to be asleep and nursing his lame ankle. He's going to miss all the
excitement."
"Lucky for us we chanced to take a squint out of this window in the big
living room before hitting the hay in our cubbyhole bedrooms." This
being followed by a series of boyish chuckles, told plainer than any
words could have done how pleased Lanky felt over the situation.
"Come along, and we'll slip out by the back door." Saying this, Frank
led the way, with his chum trailing at his heels.
Mrs. Wallace and Minnie Cuthbert--a Columbia girl who had come West for
the summer vacation, partly to be companion for Lanky's mother, and who
was also a tried and true pal of Frank Allen's--had retired some time
before, leaving the two boys to sit up and talk over their plans for
the near future.
Softly Frank and Lanky passed into the kitchen, which they found empty
at that late hour of the night, Charlie Gin Sing, the slant-eyed
Chinese cook, having joined the bunch over at the bunk-house to listen
as the loud-speaker sent out weird jazz, which seem to appeal to his
sense of music.
"Wait while I take a peep first and make sure he didn't swing around to
this side of the ranch buildings," Frank cautioned in his companion's
ear.
"Coast Clear?" queried Lanky, with bated breath, a moment later.
"Yes. And I could just make him out moving toward the horse corral!"
Frank informed him.
"Say, you don't reckon he's got some funny game up his sleeve, do you,
Frank?"
"What kind?"
"Oh, such as would set the saddle band of broncos streaking it out on
the prairie, mad with fear, to leave the Rockspur punchers without a
single mount to saddle."
"What good would that do him, Lanky? Though perhaps he might hope to
find a chance to steal that map while the men were all rushing after
the stampeding ponies. But we'll try to look out for that sort of game.
Come on!"
The chums crept outside. One thing Frank Allen had already noticed that
seemed to be in their favor--the rear part of the house was in shadow.
Even the keenest of eyes could not discover that the kitchen door had
opened to give egress to a couple of bent-over figures.
"See him still?" asked Lanky eagerly.
"He ducked into that bunch of cottonwoods over there," Frank informed
him. "Just the same, you must remember that the corral lies at the far
end of that patch of woods. Now for some scout work! And it'll pay us
to keep as close to the ground as we can."
"Whee! hope we don't run across any rattlers out here, Frank?"
"No danger," whiffed the other over his shoulder, for he was advancing
steadily and cautiously; "those who ought to know say that snakes never
move around during the night."
A soft sound like escaping steam told how greatly relieved Lanky felt;
for from early childhood his one horror had been serpents of any kind.
He had even been known to make a wry face when impaling an angleworm on
his hook, as if it reminded him of his pet aversion.
Frank stuck to his original belief that the mysterious prowler was
heading for the horse corral, and he shaped his course so as to come
upon this fenced-in enclosure somewhere near the gate.
The stockade was of such a height that even a prize jumper among the
broncos could never get its forelegs across the upper bar. Besides
this, in order to further insure the safekeeping of the restless
ponies, a hedge of thorny Osage orange had been cultivated, the mature
trees giving the animals considerable shelter from the scorching rays
of an August sun.
Every dozen feet or so Frank would come to a pause, and at such times
seemed to be using both eyes and ears to discover any unusual movement
or sound around the corral.
"You were right, Frank," whispered Lanky, catching hold of his
companion's arm with his fingers and pinching harder than he intended.
"I just glimpsed the fellow going inside. He's left the gate wide open
too! Listen to the ponies snort and plunge, will you?"
"Get a move on, Lanky! We ought to be nearer the gate, so as to turn
the horses back if they try to break loose."
Lanky was only too willing, since such a move promised to bring them to
close grips with the possible horse-thief should the fellow start to
rush from the corral after securing a mount.
The confusion inside the pen grew rapidly worse.
"He's trying to rope a pony he's picked out as a prize!" breathed the
excited Lanky.
"We'd have him in a nice trap if we closed the gate of the corral and
whooped for the boys to come on the jump!" suggested Frank, spurred on
by the apparent necessity of doing something speedily.
"Good idea, too!" the other burst out, no longer caring who heard his
voice, for the matter had by then about reached the crisis.
"Quick! He's coming full tilt, Lanky! Swing the heavy gate around this
way and let me fasten it!"
It might have turned out better, if only they had conceived it a few
seconds sooner. As it was, the rushing pony, urged on by savage kicks
from a pair of spurred heels, was bearing down straight upon the two
boys.
"Look out, Frank!" shrilled Lanky, as he saw a towering form between
his eyes and the bright moon. At the same time he ducked in hopes of
getting out of the way of the bronco's furious rush.
The frightened animal, seeing some moving object in its path, sheered
to one side. That saved Lanky from the full force of a collision; but
even as it was he received a push that sent him sprawling headlong to
the ground.
Scrambling hastily to his feet, somewhat the worse for his upset, Lanky
looked around to see what luck had befallen his partner in the mad
attempt of trying to halt a frightened, galloping bronco.
"Oh, Frank!" he called out; and then his heart seemed to stand still
with dread as he glimpsed a still figure huddled in a heap on the
prairie some ten feet away, showing that Frank Allen had also been
struck down.