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Informationen zum Autor Franklin W. Dixon Klappentext Teenaged detectives Joe and Frank Hardy uncover a plot to sabotage a ski resort. Leseprobe Peril at Granite Peak GOING DOWNHILL 1 FRANK HEADS UP, FRANK!” JOE SHOUTED. “Coming through!” I glanced up from adjusting my boot buckle. My ski helmet made it hard to see. But my brother was impossible to miss in his red-and-blue jacket and tricked-out mirrored goggles. He bent low over his skis, poles tucked tightly under his arms and a big grin on his face. “Learn to steer or you’ll be back on the bunny slope, hotshot!” I yelled with a laugh as he whizzed past me. Then I looked over my shoulder to check on our friend Chet Morton. Chet was the reason Joe and I were in Vermont, but that didn’t mean he was an expert skier. Not even close. My eyes widened as Chet’s skis almost crossed while he was negotiating an easy turn. He lurched and started to fall, but somehow righted himself. “Nice save, buddy!” I called helpfully. Chet turned his head and squinted at me. It looked like his goggles were crooked. He was picking up speed as he slid downhill. Just ahead, Joe had executed a crisp stop and was looking back as well. “Look out, Chet!” he hollered. “Tree!” Chet whipped his head around just in time to see the huge spruce hurtling at him. Well, technically he was hurtling at it. Whatever. The effect would be the same if the two collided. “Turn! Turn!” Joe and I yelled at the same time. Chet leaned hard to the left, missing the tree by inches. Whew! He lost his balance immediately after that, belly flopping into a large snowdrift. “Close one,” Joe called. “Yeah.” I frowned, tilting my head as I heard a weird rumble. “What was that?” Then I saw my answer. The snowdrift Chet had hit was moving. “Avalanche!” Joe shouted. “Get out of the way, bro!” He pushed off, aiming straight down the slope. I did the same. Glancing back over my shoulder, I saw Chet scrambling to his feet on the uphill side of the moving mass of tumbling snow. Good. He was safe. Joe and me? Not so much. There was a snow-covered pile of rocks just ahead so I bent low, leaning into a tidy parallel turn to avoid it. I looked over, expecting Joe to follow. But he was still heading straight down. “Look out!” I yelled. Too late. Joe was headed straight for the rocks! And the avalanche was coming fast. If he wiped out, he’d be buried! I held my breath as Joe reached the rock pile. He saw it a half second before he got there and bent a little lower, letting gravity take him up and over on its thin covering of snow. A second later he was airborne. One ski started to dip down, and for a second I was sure he was going to wipe out. But he recovered quickly, landing hard but squarely and then turning sharply to follow me out of the path of the avalanche. Joe was breathing hard when he caught up to me at the base of the slope. “Nice skiing, brother,” he said, lifting his fist. I bumped it, then pushed back my goggles. “Nice jump,” I said. “That was a little too close for comfort.” “Where’s Chet?” Joe peered up the slope. The avalanche was over, and we saw Chet carefully snowplowing his way down the hill. By the time he reached us, my hands had almost stopped shaking. “Are you guys okay?” Chet cried. “I didn’t mean to do that!” “Forget it,” I told him. “We’re fine. It’s just lucky nobody else was on the trail when it happened.” Chet nodded. “Yeah. This place is even deader than Cody said it would be.” There were maybe three or four skiers visible on the various hills within our view, plus half a dozen beginners on...
