The Alaskan Adventure by Franklin W. Dixon Page B

slowed down and came to a stop a few yards down the trail.
    Gregg was stunned by his fall. He sat up slowly, rubbing the back of his head, and looked defiantly from Frank to Joe.
    Frank was still mad. “Listen, turkey,” he said. “Just what is your problem? That’s the second time you’ve tried to run us down. And whenever something bad’s happened in Glitter, you’ve been somewhere in the picture. Right after the Windman cabin caught fire, you went sledding off into the sunset. You brought Peter and Mona that basket of poisoned fruit. You were practically the only person in the town who wasn’t at the meeting yesterday when somebody bombed Jake’s shed. And I would personally like to know where you were when some lowlife cut the tether on one of David’s team and let Big Foot run away.”
    â€œYou talk!” Gregg said scornfully. “Who threw drugged meat in my kennel? Who cut my harness half through? Who put sand in my runner wax?”
    Joe replied, “I give up. Who?”
    Gregg struggled to his feet. “You did! David’s gangster friends from New York! He brought you here to help him beat me in the Iditarod, didn’t he? And you’ll do anything to make it happen. But I won’t let you ruin my dream! Never!”
    Taken aback, Frank looked over at Joe, who was just as surprised by this turn of events. Were Gregg’s accusations some kind of bluff? Or wasGregg, too, a target of sabotage? And if so, who was responsible and why was the person doing it?
    â€œAre you saying that all these things happened to you in the past couple of days, since we came to Glitter?” Frank demanded.
    Gregg hesitated. “There were accidents before,” he said slowly, “but those were David’s fault.”
    Joe asked, “How do you know?”
    â€œWho else?” Gregg retorted. “We used to be friends once, but how can I stay friends with someone who tries to harm my dogs and wreck my life?”
    Frank put every ounce of sincerity he could into his voice as he said, “Gregg, someone’s been trying to hurt David, too. Someone’s trying to destroy your whole town. David and Peter and Mona asked us to find out who it is.”
    â€œWe’re not gangsters,” Joe added. “We’re detectives.”
    Hope and disbelief struggled on Gregg’s face. Disbelief won. “Now you’re trying to confuse me,” he said. “Where is your proof?”
    â€œWe don’t have any yet,” Frank admitted. “But when we do, you’ll see that we’re telling you the truth. David isn’t your enemy.”
    Gregg gave Frank a searching look. Then, without a word, he turned and walked down the path to where his dog team waited patiently.
    â€œHe didn’t believe us,” Joe said. “But he wanted to.”
    Frank nodded. “I know. The question is, do we believe him? If the answer’s yes, then we just lost one of our main suspects.”
    â€œI think I do,” Joe said slowly. “Unless he’s an awfully good actor  . . . ”
    Still discussing Gregg, the Hardys continued up the track and decided to drop in on the Windmans. They knocked on the door, and Mona opened it.
    â€œOh,” she said, holding up a length of striped wool. “I thought you were Lucky. He forgot his scarf. Come on in.”
    â€œLucky was here?” Joe asked, after he and Frank took off their parkas. “When?”
    â€œWhy, just now,” Mona replied. “Why?”
    â€œWas he here long?” Frank asked.
    From his seat near the stove Peter said, “About fifteen minutes. He was trying to talk me into supporting the ThemeLife project. He even offered me a job as a tour guide at his mine,” he added with a chuckle.
    The door flew open. Lucky came in so fast he seemed to bring the wind with him. Snow fell off his boots and made puddles on the floor. “My