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floorin’. Well, I reckon I can fix it tomorrow.”
    Frank and Joe started to push the boulder out through the hole, then Joe gasped in surprise. On the huge stone were brightly painted red letters. Rolling the boulder a bit farther, the boys made out a crudely painted message:
    HARDYS—LEAVE TOWN!
    Â 
    â€œA warning from Big All” Frank said grimly.

CHAPTER V
    The Strange Blue Light
    THE three detectives and Hank examined the warning message on the huge rock.
    â€œBig Al is a rough customer,” Mr. Hardy said, frowning. “Be on your guard at all times.”
    â€œWe’ll watch out, Dad,” Frank promised.
    He and Joe shoved the boulder outside and looked up the hill. The moon had set and the mountainside was shrouded in darkness.
    â€œNo telling if anyone’s up there,” Joe muttered.
    The two brothers shivered in the icy wind, and then squirmed through the hole into the burned kitchen. Meanwhile, Hank pulled on warm clothes, went out to a lean-to, and brought back a tarpaulin. The boys helped him nail it over the hole in the wall, then set the stove up.
    â€œThat’ll do till mornin’,” Hank said.
    Frank and Joe were up as soon as it was light. After a quick breakfast they climbed the steep, snow-covered slope behind the shack, following the trail plowed by the huge boulder. The boys soon found a deep gouge where the stone had been pried out of the hillside.
    â€œSomebody used a crowbar to get it going,” Joe said, kneeling on the ground.
    â€œAnd here are some traces of red paint,” Frank pointed out.
    They scouted around thoroughly, and noticed the snow had been disturbed, as if to cover tracks.
    â€œWhoever pried that stone loose,” Frank said thoughtfully, “may have come from town rather than from a hideout in the hills.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œBecause it’s not likely that anyone hiding up in the mountains would have red paint on hand. The person who did this probably got it at the village store.”
    â€œMaybe Big Al has an agent in Lucky Lode,” Joe suggested.
    The boys walked on up the hill. The undergrowth at the top was parted and broken.
    â€œSomeone forced his way through here,” Frank said.
    They followed the trampled brush to a trail which led along the wooded ridge, paralleling the main street of Lucky Lode below them. Soon they spotted a narrow path leading down into the small community.
    â€œThe man we’re after could have come this way,” Frank said. “We’d better scout for clues.”
    Slowly he and Joe walked down the steep, narrow trail. There were footprints, but these were too jumbled to be of any significance. They reached the bottom without finding anything else, then climbed back to the top and continued along the ridge.
    After a while the boys emerged into a clearing. Before them lay an old cemetery. They crawled through a gap in the dilapidated wooden fence and walked silently among the gravestones. From the bleak, windswept spot they could see all of Lucky Lode in the valley below. The old part of town ended directly under the cemetery.
    â€œLook at these, Frank,” called Joe, from where he knelt beside a double headstone.
    â€œâ€˜John and James Coulson’!” Frank read. “Mike Onslow’s partners!”
    â€œI guess they came to Lucky Lode to try for another stake,” Joe said.
    â€œYou’re probably right,” Frank replied.
    The boys decided to go into town and headed for the cemetery gate. Coarse brush grew up around the ornate posts. Frank passed through, but Joe was pulled up short.
    â€œWait!” he said. “I’m caught!”
    Big burrs clung to his trousers. Fumbling with heavily gloved fingers, he managed to get free. Together, he and Frank pulled out all the burrs and the brothers scrambled down the slope.
    At the foot they saw the deserted gray-weathered buildings. As they walked along the old wooden sidewalk,