The End of the Trail by Franklin W. Dixon Page A

around in back of the sheriff, dipped down as gracefully as he could, and picked up the cuffs. Then he edged away again.
    Frank noticed what Joe was doing. He turned to the sheriff and said quietly, “You know, you reallyshouldn’t leave a gun sitting on the front seat of your car like that.”
    The sheriff looked startled. “Gun? What gun?” He turned and rushed back to the car.
    As quick as a magician pulling a scarf out of someone’s ear, Joe grabbed the sheriff’s right arm and snapped a cuff on his wrist. He snapped the other cuff to the outside of the car’s window frame. Then he grabbed the sheriff’s gun from its holster. Brickfield was taken totally by surprise.
    â€œWhat did you just do to me?” he yelled, struggling in vain to get free.
    â€œGet him out of those handcuffs!” Quentin commanded, aiming his rifle at Joe. “And drop that gun!”
    Biff lunged forward, using one of his crutches as a lever, and tackled the servant in the midsection. Quentin and Biff fell to the ground in a tangle, the rifle flying from Quentin’s hands. Meanwhile, Joe tossed the sheriff’s gun to Jack Mason for safekeeping.
    Bill McSavage’s face turned red, and he started to yell something. But then he glanced at his car and realized that his own gun was still in the front seat. A look of fear crossed his face.
    Jack Mason smiled. “Shoe’s on the other foot now, Bill,” he said. “Looks like you won’t be burying us in that truck after all.”
    â€œYou’re not out of town yet,” Bill said.
    Jack turned to Joe. “Sheriff Brickfield should havesome more handcuffs in that car. Think you guys could grab a couple and put them on Bill and Quentin?”
    â€œI’d be happy to.” Joe beamed.
    â€œCount me in,” Frank added.
    Biff rolled off Quentin. “Owww! I think I hurt my leg again!”
    â€œIt wasn’t much fun having you land on top of me, either,” Quentin said.
    Rhonda knelt next to Biff. “You’ll need medical attention, but it’ll have to wait until we get out of town.”
    Biff grumbled but could hardly disagree. Being in pain seemed a lot less important than getting away from Morgan’s Quarry.
    Joe handcuffed Bill McSavage to one door of the old limousine while Frank handcuffed Quentin to another.
    â€œWhere are the keys to these things?” Frank said. “We’d better take them so these guys can’t follow us again.”
    â€œRight there,” Jack Mason said, pointing at Sheriff Brickfield’s belt.
    Joe grabbed for the keys, but Sheriff Brickfield swatted him with his free hand.
    â€œOh, no, you don’t!” Frank said, grabbing the sheriff’s arm in both of his hands. Joe unclipped the key chain and put it in his pocket.
    â€œWe’re ready to go,” Frank said, grabbing the sheriff’sgun and Bill’s and Quentin’s rifles. “Everybody back in the truck.”
    â€œCan you promise to drive a little better this time?” Phil Cohen said, climbing into the back with the confiscated guns.
    â€œI’ll try,” Frank said. “But the roads out of town are pretty bumpy.”
    Once everybody was in the back, Joe closed the doors. Then Frank, Rhonda, and Joe got into the cab. Frank revved up the engine and put the truck in gear.
    â€œOkay,” he said. “This time we’ll take the left fork in the road.”
    â€œI’m really sorry about what happened,” Rhonda said. “I leave this town so rarely that I actually forgot which road to take. Can you forgive me?”
    â€œOf course,” Joe said. “You’ve helped us out since we’ve been here. And you’ve been great to Biff.”
    Frank hit the accelerator and headed out of town again. This time, when they reached the fork in the road, he headed to the left.
    The road was a little smoother, but the ride was still bumpy. Frank