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Frank struck off on a downhill street, heading back to Halifax Harbor.
    "You think this guy is still tailing us?" Joe asked, glancing over his shoulder.
    "I hope so—and don't try to warn him off," Frank said. "Our next stop will give us a chance to isolate him."
    They came down on the far side of the ferry terminal, out onto some docks where excursion boats were moored. Frank stepped up to a wooden shack to buy two tickets as a guy with sandy blond hair came screeching up on a bike.
    "You guys are lucky that I held up our departure to go to the bank."
    They pocketed their tickets, then followed the man to one of the excursion boats already filled with tourists. He led them across the deck, up a staircase, onto the top sundeck, then into the deckhouse. "Ready to cast off!" he called to his two crewmen.
    Joe stared. "You're the captain?"
    The guy grinned back. "Of the McNab's Island Ferry.
    Joe turned to Frank. "So that's where we're going."
    Frank smiled at Joe. "There're a couple of forts out there." Then he turned to the captain. "Can you hold off for a few more minutes?"
    "Why?" the captain wanted to know.
    Frank smiled. "I think you'll be getting one more customer."
    Sure enough, the turbaned guy with the mustache came tearing down to the pier. The bad news was, there were about six other guys with him. Frank and Joe recognized most of them from their marathon to the ferry the day before.
    "Well, you wanted to isolate him," Joe whispered to Frank.
    "Looks like I've isolated us instead." Frank asked the captain, "Mind if we stay up here? We'd like to see you work the harbor."
    The captain grinned. "I'd like that. Most people are a little shy about coming up here."
    Even the army of seven felt shy. They stayed down on the lower deck, glaring up at the Hardys.
    Meanwhile the captain steered a course through Halifax Harbor to the island.
    "You know, McNab's Island has a lot of history behind it," the captain said as they slipped into a wide cove with a single large pier. To the south, a neck of land jutted out, a lighthouse on its tip.
    "That's Hangman's Beach," the captain said, nodding to the outthrust land. "They used to hang mutineers out there." He shook his head. "There're a lot of bodies — about ten thousand buried under that sand. The French sent an expedition here, and they based themselves on McNab's until storms and sickness nearly wiped them out."
    "Where's the fort?" Joe asked.
    "Which one?" the captain asked. "Fort Ives is at the north end, and Fort McNab is in the south." He grinned. "Fort McNab is the bigger draw."
    Frank asked, "How far to McNab?"
    "About a mile and a half from the pier," the captain said.
    They were pulling up beside the pier now. A gravel road ran beside the beach, and Frank saw a pickup truck heading toward the pier.
    Joe saw it, too. He turned to the captain. "Mind if we help tie up?"
    The captain shrugged and reversed engines. Frank and Joe leapt from the sundeck to the pier, tossed the mooring ropes onto their pilings, and ran for the road.
    They'd reached the beach before their pursuers had even gotten through the crowd gathered at the gangplank to the pier. Frank was already flagging the pickup down.
    "Are you heading anywhere near Fort McNab?" he asked.
    The driver leaned out the window. "I can take you partway," he said. "You in a hurry?"
    Joe glanced at the thugs elbowing their way through people toward them — blood in their eyes.
    "You could say that," he admitted.

Chapter 7
    THE PICKUP PULLED away as Frank and Joe's pursuers came tearing down the pier.
    When he saw the newcomers, the driver slowed. "They want to come, too?"
    Frank talked fast. "Keep going — please! It's a scavenger hunt — the first team to reach the fort wins the point."
    "Okay." The driver zipped off, leaving the mob behind. So far, none of the pursuers had pulled guns, although the Hardys had noticed suspicious bulges under several of the guys' jackets.
    "Looks like they've been told to take us