"No, thanks. I think I'll stay here and read."
Frank left the coach and strode slowly up and down the platform. It was only a small, weatherbeaten station and there were few people in evidence. The town consisted of only one street, and it was built at the base of a huge mountain. The snow came sweeping down from the great crags in shifting sheets.
A rough-looking man in fur hat and mackinaw lounged down the platform, then swung himself up into the train. He appeared to be looking for some one. When Frank saw him next he was descending from one of the coaches far ahead. He came back to the platform again and there he was joined by another man, a villainous looking fellow with a black beard.
"Did you see anything of them Hardy boys?" asked the bearded man in a low tone of voice.
Frank, who was standing close by, could not help but overhear. He was electrified by astonishment.
The man who had gone through the train shook his head.
"Nary a sign of 'em on that train," he said.
"I can't figure out what happened," said the bearded man. "They ain't been on any train that's passed through here—we're sure of that."
"This here is the only way they can get to Lucky Bottom. If they did manage to sneak out of Chicago we'd be sure to see 'em goin' through here."
"Mebby they didn't get out of Chicago. The boys there might have picked up their trail again and caught 'em."