A Will to Survive by Franklin W. Dixon

very tip of a protruding section of the bluff, with views on three sides. “You realize this is a trap.”
    â€œSure,” Joe replied. “Why don’t we leave the path before we get there and come on it from the other direction? Maybe we can get a look at whoever’s waiting to ambush us.”
    â€œLead on,” Frank said, with an ironic bow.
    Joe edged past him. He had taken only a few steps when he felt the ground collapse under him. Caught off balance, he started to tumble down the steep bluff to the deadly rocks far below.

11 A Bush Too Weak
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    â€œFrank, look out!” Joe shouted as he fell through the hidden gap in the cliffside path. He twisted desperately, reaching out for something— anything —to cling to. The groping fingers of his right hand closed on the dead branch of a small tree. With a crack like a rifle shot, it broke off, sending him backward down the steep bluff.
    One glimpse above him showed Joe that his warning shout had come too late. Frank, too, had stumbled through the gap in the path. He was a dozen feet higher than Joe, sliding headfirst down the sandy slope on his back.
    Joe’s shoulder slammed into an outcropping of rock. The impact slowed his fall for a moment. Instantly, the flexibility Joe had gained from years of practicing jump shots and karate kicks came tohis aid. He flung his legs outward in a backward somersault and wrapped his arms around the rock.
    The sharp edges of the rock dug into his bare forearms, but he pushed the pain aside. Using his powerful thigh and calf muscles, he forced the toes of his hiking boots deep into the side of the bluff. He reached out his left hand and grabbed a scrubby bush.
    Just in time, Joe thought with relief. Frank was sliding past him. Joe stretched out and snagged Frank’s forearm with his right hand. “Take my arm,” he shouted. “Quick!”
    Frank’s fingers closed tightly just above Joe’s wrist. Two seconds later, Joe was struggling to stop one hundred seventy pounds of plunging mass with one arm. It felt as if his shoulder were coming apart. Then Frank managed to find a toehold himself. The pressure eased.
    Joe caught his breath and looked upward. He had climbed much more challenging rock faces in the past. But that was with proper climbing gear and a belaying line in case he slipped.
    â€œJoe?” Frank called. “I’m letting go of your arm. I think I see a possible route up.”
    â€œI’ll follow you,” Joe replied, as he released his grip on his brother. Kidding, he added, “That way, if I need to, I can always catch you again.”
    â€œThanks,” Frank deadpanned. “My self-confidence needed a boost like that.”
    The scramble up the slope to the safety of the path took more than ten minutes. It left both Hardyspanting and drenched with sweat. Frank stripped off his Shorewood Nature Center T-shirt and used it to wipe his forehead. It left a broad streak of dirt.
    â€œI noticed something just now,” Joe said. “A torn plastic trash bag.”
    â€œLitterbugs,” Frank said. “They’re the worst.”
    â€œYeah?” Joe retorted. “Not as bad as somebody who’d dig a pit under a path next to a cliff.”
    â€œSo that’s it.” Frank stared down into the gap in the path. “He dug a hole in the path. Then he stretched a trash bag across, held up by sticks, and sprinkled a thin layer of dirt on top to disguise it. Quick, simple . . . and almost deadly.”
    â€œYou want to see deadly?” Joe said through clenched teeth. “Hang around till I get my hands on the turkey who did it.”
    Working together, Joe and Frank dragged logs and brush to block the path on both sides of the gap. Then they hiked back to the center. Callie saw them come in and hurried over.
    â€œI was about to come hunt for you guys,” she said. Her eyes widened as she saw their scratched skin