Back in Chicago, the Hardy boys went to a hotel. They were careful not to go to the place at which they had stayed on their first arrival.

“Hopkins has likely been told of our escape by now and he may be on the lookout for us,” said Frank. “We’ll just stay under cover.”

“That should be easy enough in a big city like Chicago.”

“It’s not so easy if they know where to look for you, and I don’t think they’ll give up yet. For some reason, they’re evidently mighty anxious to keep us from getting out to Montana.”

In their hotel room that night they discussed the problem of changing their appearance. They had already changed their names, registering as Charles Norton and William Hill of Cleveland, Ohio, in case some prowling member of the gang that had evidently been assigned to see that they did not reach Montana should happen to drop into the hotel and glance over the register.

“I think,” said Frank, “that the very simplest way for us to disguise ourselves would be to wear spectacles. If they chance to be looking for us they’ll never think of looking for two boys wearing glasses.”

“Good idea!” approved Joe. “Let’s go out and get them now.”

“Too late now. Shops will all be closed. We’ll get them in the morning.”

They left the hotel early and found a shop near by where Frank was fitted with a pair of horn-rimmed glasses that gave him a studious and benevolent expression. Joe bought a pair of cheap spectacles with plain rims. The transformation was remarkable. Instead of a pair of merry, bright-eyed lads, one saw two solemn, nearsighted boys who looked for all the world as though they had never had an unrestrained boyish impulse in all their lives.

“By all rights we ought to carry some books under our arms, too,” Joe suggested.

So, to make the transformation complete, they stopped at a bookstore and purchased two weighty volumes. And, when it came time for them to catch their train, no one would have recognized in the two, sad-faced, bespectacled, earnest young students, the irrepressible Hardy boys of Bayport.

To allay suspicion, they decided to board the train separately. Frank went first, while Joe remained in the concourse of the station for a few minutes. Then he followed.

It was just as well that they did this. Near the gate leading to their train loitered a tall, sharp-featured youth who scrutinized everyone who passed. He gave Frank but a fleeting glance as he went by and when Joe passed him later his gaze merely rested casually on the boy for a moment.

Had the Hardy boys but known it, the sharp-featured youth had been deputed by the mysterious Hopkins to report if the Hardy boys should attempt to leave Chicago. However, his instructions had been to keep on the lookout for two boys, aged sixteen and fifteen respectively, one dark, the other fair, who would board the train together. So the bespectacled students who had boarded the train separately did not arouse his suspicion and after the train pulled out he reported to Hopkins that the Hardy boys were certainly not on it.

Having left Chicago behind them at last and being assured that they were this time on the right train, Frank and Joe settled down to await with some little impatience their arrival in Lucky Bottom. The novelty of the cross-continent journey had worn off and the scenery had lost some of its earlier fascination. The unforeseen delay they had experienced left them all the more eager to join their father, and they wondered if he would worry because of their failure to arrive in Lucky Bottom at the expected time.

Gradually the scenery changed. The countryside altered in contour. The landscape became rockier and more mountainous, and on the second day they found themselves entering Montana. A suppressed excitement seized them as they realized that before long they would be at the end of their journey.

“I wonder how dad came to be hurt,” Joe said, after reading over their father’s letter again.

“I’ve been thinking about that, myself,” said his brother. “From what we’ve gone through, I’d judge that he has enemies working against him in this case he is working on.”

“Do you think they may have shot him?”

“They might have disabled him in some way. He was able to write to us, anyway. There’s that much to be thankful for.”

The Hardy boys realized that if a gang were arrayed against them, as seemed only too evident from their experience in Chicago, they must be very much on their guard from now on, as they drew closer to their destination. This was forcibly impressed upon them by an incident that happened at a small station in the mountains, where the train stopped to take on water.

“I think I’ll take a walk up and down the platform,” remarked Frank. “Coming?”

Joe looked up from his book.

“No, thanks. I think I’ll stay here and read.”

Frank left the coach and strode slowly up and down the platform. It was only a small, weatherbeaten station and there were few people in evidence. The town consisted of only one street, and it was built at the base of a huge mountain. The snow came sweeping down from the great crags in shifting sheets.

A rough-looking man in fur hat and mackinaw lounged down the platform, then swung himself up into the train. He appeared to be looking for someone. When Frank saw him next he was descending from one of the coaches far ahead. He came back to the platform again and there he was joined by another man, a villainous looking fellow with a black beard.

“Did you see anything of them Hardy boys?” asked the bearded man in a low tone of voice.

Frank, who was standing close by, could not help but overhear. He was electrified by astonishment.

The man who had gone through the train shook his head.

“Nary a sign of ’em on that train,” he said.

“I can’t figure out what happened,” said the bearded man. “They ain’t been on any train that’s passed through here⁠—we’re sure of that.”

“This here is the only way they can get to Lucky Bottom. If they did manage to sneak out of Chicago we’d be sure to see ’em goin’ through here.”

“Mebby they didn’t get out of Chicago. The boys there might have picked up their trail again and caught ’em.”

“They would have wired us if they had.”

“That’s true, too.” The bearded man scratched the back of his head in perplexity. “I can’t figger it out at all. Well, it ain’t our fault. We’ve done the best we could.”

“Yeah, they can’t blame us.”

“You’re sure you went all through the train?”

“Right through. There was no two boys on it. There was one lad sittin’ in the Pullman readin’ a book, but he wasn’t like the description of either one of ’em. Wore glasses. Looked like he was a regular little willy-boy.”

“Wore glasses, eh? Well, he wasn’t one of the Hardy boys, then. They don’t wear glasses.”

The pair moved off down the platform.

“You’d better go through the night train when it comes in. We’ll keep on the lookout for ’em for a few days more until we get word one way or the other. The boss would be sore if they got through on us.”

“Well, they haven’t got through yet. That’s one thing certain.” The two men moved out of earshot.

Frank was tingling with excitement. He stepped toward the train, intending to go to Joe and tell him what he had heard. Then he hesitated. The rough-looking man who had searched the train might conceivably think he had been mistaken and might go through the train again. If he saw the two lads together he might be suspicious, spectacles or no spectacles. So Frank sauntered unobtrusively up and down the platform until it was time for the train to leave. Then he swung himself on board, but not until the train was actually pulling out did he rejoin his brother.

“What kept you?” asked Joe, looking up.

Frank sat down and, in a low voice, recounted the incident of the platform. Joe listened in almost incredulous surprise.

“So it looks as though we’ve run the gauntlet at last,” concluded Frank.

“Boy! it was certainly a bright thought of yours that we wear spectacles on this trip. He would have spotted me in a minute.”

“It was luckier still that we weren’t together when he walked all through the train. If he had told that black-bearded man that there were two boys sitting together they might both have gone back for a second look at us.”

“Well, we got out of it all right. I don’t think there’s anything more to be feared.”

“Not until we reach Lucky Bottom.”

“I wonder what we’ll bump up against there.”

“Plenty⁠—by the looks of things so far.”

The train continued on its laborious way through the mountains. It passed through little mining villages, abandoned camps, climbing on up to higher altitudes until, late in the afternoon, the Hardy boys heard the cry for which they had been waiting so long.

“Lucky Bottom! Lucky Bottom!”