Danger on Vampire Trail by Franklin W. Dixon

slipped.”
    â€œLook, there’s Joe!” Biff exclaimed.
    The boy lay in the middle of the trail. Hearing the others, he sat up groggily. Sherlock went up and licked his face.
    â€œJoe, what happened?” Frank asked as he and Biff helped his brother to his feet.
    â€œRemember when you slipped?” Joe said. “Just then I heard a rustling behind me. I was kayoed by a blow across my back.”
    â€œWas it a bear?” Biff inquired.
    â€œNo. Whoever walloped me carried me up here to the middle of the trail.”
    â€œLet’s look at your neck,” Chet said. He shone his light on the open collar of Joe’s shirt. There was a red welt!
    â€œWhat’d I tell you?” Chet quavered. “The vampire bat struck again!”
    Joe regained his strength gradually. By the time they reached the foot of the mountain, he was matching strides with the other three. Back at the camp, Chet applied medication to the welt.
    It was hard to settle down for the night. All were too excited about what had happened. Frank said, “Somebody must be camping on the trail.”
    â€œThat’s what I think,” Joe agreed. “It might be a hideout for Whip Lasher and the other credit-card crooks.”
    â€œThat’s right;” Biff said. “They’re sportsmen, aren’t they?”
    â€œGreat sports!” Chet muttered. “When they hit you and you’re not looking!”
    The boys listened for an hour, but there were no sounds of the trail bike returning.
    â€œIf it’s up there, we’re going to find it!” Joe vowed.
    â€œYou can say that again,” Frank said.
    After breakfast the next morning Frank decided to report the attack on Joe to the forest ranger, Herb Johnson. He and Biff cycled to Blackfoot Meadow, but the ranger was not at the information booth. On the counter were maps of the area. Frank took one.
    As he turned to show it to Biff, his eyes lighted on a fringed buckskin jacket. The man wearing it was hurrying across an open area toward a trailer parked among the trees.
    â€œThat could be Whip Lasher!” Frank exclaimed. “Come on, Biff!”
    But instead of going to the trailer, the man in the fringed jacket waved at a car driving past. It stopped to pick him up, then drove out of the park toward Snowcap.
    Frank and Biff ran to their bike, jumped on, and followed. It irked Frank that he had not gotten a look at the man in the buckskin jacket. He gave the cycle full throttle and it gained on the car ahead.
    Suddenly the motor began to sputter. They slowed down and came to a halt beside the road.
    â€œOh nuts!” Frank said. “It would conk out just now!”
    â€œSounds as if there’s dirt in the fuel line,” Biff said. He opened a small tool kit slung under the seat and soon found the source of the trouble. “Dirty gasoline, just as I thought,” he added.
    Quickly he cleaned the fuel line, then the boys set off again. By the time they reached Snowcap, the trail had been lost completely.
    â€œNo telling where they went,” Frank said as he stopped on the main street.
    â€œMy guess is that Mr. Buckskin is right here in Snowcap,” Biff said.

    â€œThe vampire bat struck again!” Chet quavered
    â€œCould be. Let’s take a look around.”
    The boys walked up and down the streets. Although they saw several men wearing buckskin, none was the notorious Whip Lasher.
    Frank decided to take this opportunity to question local merchants about the Magnacard. Going from one shop to another, he asked discreetly if the owner had any trouble with Magnacard holders and presented Lasher’s picture.
    He was told that some clients had Magnacards, but there had been no swindles. At Burn’s Jewelry Shop, however, the proprietor said he would take no more Magnacards.
    â€œDid you get stuck?” Biff asked.
    The jeweler nodded. “Someone bought a big sapphire from me on a Magnacard which