Farming Fear Read Online Free PDF

stick from the ground nearby.
    They paused a moment, trying to further pinpoint the source of the noise. As they watched, a slender figure darted between the trees, heading toward the open area beneath the power lines.
    “He’s lost track of us!” Frank whispered. “Now’s our chance!”
    Both teens sprinted out from behind the boulder toward the fleeting shape. The pine needles blanketing the forest floor made for almost ideal running conditions. It was no trouble to leap the few fallen branches and small snowdrifts barring their way.
    The brothers covered the fifty yards separating them from their quarry in seconds.
    Hearing them, the figure turned at the last instant.
    Frank launched his snowball, using all the skillhe’d learned as a pitcher for the Bayport High baseball team. The icy mass caught the intruder square on the side of the head. He went down at the edge of the right-of-way, crashing to the snow-covered earth with a muffled grunt.
    Before he could rise again, both Frank and Joe cornered him.
    “You’ll stay down if you know what’s good for you!” Joe said, brandishing his stick like a club.
    The intruder cowered at the Hardys feet, keeping one arm near his head to protect himself in case Joe hit him. The brothers’ foe was a tall teenager with scruffy black hair and a narrow face. A navy blue down jacket, snow pants, and winter boots covered his slender frame.
    “Are you guys crazy?” the teen asked angrily. “What do you think you’re doing?”
    “We’d like to ask you the same thing,” Frank replied. “Why were you taking pot shots at us?”
    “Pot shots?” the teen said. “What are you talking about? I don’t have a gun.” He showed the brothers his empty hands. “I thought you guys were the ones shooting.”
    Joe’s blue eyes scanned the snow-dappled clearing. “I don’t see any gun, Frank,” he said.
    “Who are you?” the intruder demanded angrily.
    We’re Frank and Joe Hardy,” Frank replied. “We’re staying with the Mortons.”
    “The Mortons!” the teen said. “That explains it.”
    “What do you mean?” Joe asked.
    “The Mortons have been making trouble for my family for generations,” the teen replied. “I’m Elan Costello.”
    “What are you doing on the Mortons’ property?” Frank asked.
    “For your information,” Costello replied, “we’re not on the Mortons’ property. You’re on our property. This is the Costello farm, you jerks. The Morton property ends at the edge of that forest.”
    “Says you!” came a cry from nearby.
    Chet and Iola rode out of the woods toward the Hardys, with Frank and Joe’s horses in tow. Both Chet and Iola glared at Elan Costello.
    “Our property may end at the woods,” Chet continued, “but his property doesn’t start until the other side of the right-of-way.”
    “So, technically, this is no man’s land,” Iola said.
    “You’re wrong, Morton,” Costello replied, rising to his feet. “Our property line cuts through the edge of the woods here, and continues on the other side of the lines. You all are trespassing in my land.”
    “Don’t listen to him,” Chet said to Frank and Joe. “He’s a well-known troublemaker.”
    Costello sneered at him. “Big talk from a big man, Morton,” he said. “Why don’t you get off your high horse and say that to my face.”
    “Maybe I will,” Chet replied, slipping from thesaddle. Before he could cross the distance separating the them, though, a sound like thunder shook the air.
    BLAM!
    All five teenagers turned and saw another man, dressed in a blue parka and tall white cowboy hat, striding across from them. In his suede-gloved hands the man carried a pump-action shotgun. The muzzle of the gun smoked slightly.
    “Hold it right there, Morton,” the man said. “Don’t take another step toward my boy.”
    “That’s Elan’s dad: Vic,” Iola whispered.
    “He was taking shots at us as we rode through the woods!” Chet said angrily.
    “Well,” Mr.