A cold gust of wind blew across the hills, sending small twigs and dead leaves flying across into the porch of a small cabin. The eighteen-year-old brown haired young man standing outside tried to simultaneously tighten his parka around his throat and save the newspaper in his other hand from unraveling and flying off.

Frank Hardy tossed the paper onto the table in frustration and blinked in the dull winter afternoon light, his brown eyes tinged with worry as a station wagon swung into the small space in front of the cabin.

"Dad," he called out to the older man emerging from the passenger seat.

Fenton Hardy smiled at his elder son, and then frowned at the anxiety he saw in his eyes, "Frank?"

"Dad, did Joe meet you at the bus station?"

"No," Fenton replied slowly turning to his companion a tall grave looking man. Frank tried to smile in greeting at Aaron Hendriks, his father’s ex-partner from his days in the NYPD, and the owner of the mountain cabin outside the town of Ridgeview that the Hardy men were spending the weekend before Christmas in.

Fenton Hardy had finally found a few days in his hectic schedule as a private investigator to spend time roughing out with his two sons, in the cold winter air of the mountains near their east coast town of Bayport. Frank and Joe, also good sleuths in their own right, had arrived a day earlier, while he had come straight from New York where he’d had to wrap up a case. A brief flurry of snow the day before had delayed his arrival somewhat. In fact the tiny snowfall had left its mark everywhere. Soggy dried grass, wet mud, and slippery roads had marked his ride from the bus terminus to the cabin. Small clumps of half melting snow dotted the landscape.

"Was he supposed to? He knew Aaron said he’d pick me up," Fenton said.

"No, but he left pretty early in the morning, and I couldn’t see him anywhere in Ridgeview. So, I thought he might have come down to meet you at the bus station," Frank explained looking increasingly miserable, as the trio entered the cabin.

Fenton raised an eyebrow, waiting for more. He knew there was more.

"We – we had a small fight, so Joe – Joe walked off towards Ridgeview, and I walked the opposite direction.... he’s still not back, and it’s been almost five hours...."

"Well, I’m sure he’ll be back soon," Fenton said calmly.

"But dad, he’d have called if he’s getting late," Frank protested.

"You said you two had a fight," Fenton pointed out.

"He’d still call!" Frank said stoutly, "Dad, I’m going to look for him."

"Frank... "

"Dad, please... it’s been ages since Joe left, he hadn’t even had breakfast, and he hasn’t had lunch either. I asked at that place in Ridgeview, they haven’t seen him all day. Joe would never miss a meal!"

"It’s beginning to get dark," Aaron said, "If you want to search for Joe we should hurry."

An hour later, Frank wasn’t just worried, he was furious - with himself. Furious for having called his brother immature, for having ridiculed something he obviously felt strongly about, and for not having set out in search of him long ago.

Fenton, Aaron and he had driven into Ridgeview and checked there again. No one had noticed the blond youth all day, including the waitress at the small café they had lunched at, whom Joe had happily flirted with, while she in turn had turned all he charms on Frank. She had smiled dazzlingly at Frank, but could give no information on Joe.

************

It had been a very annoyed Joe Hardy who had stormed away from his brother at nine that morning. His blue eyes were icily angry, as he walked off down the paved road towards the town of Ridgeview. Why did Frank always have to be rigid, and why did he have to try and impose his view on him?

And it was such a stupid thing too. He held the little chain twisted around his wrist, and watched the dull little ring that dangled from it – the cause of their argument. He had won it a charity funfair in Bayport.

"It’s a ring made from the nail of a horseshoe. It’s supposed to bring the wearer luck," the guy who ran the stall had said, Joe’s best friend Chet Morton.

Joe walked silently down the paved road towards Ridgeview, his grumbling stomach reminding him that all he’d eaten all morning was an orange and half a candy bar. He’d been wandering around the woods on the way to Ridgeview for hours now, and had finally come back onto the road, when his stomach had reminded him of the need for food.

Down below a small stream glistened in the distance. Everything looked very peaceful and very beautiful. Half melted snow left puddles all along the path, and Joe had to be careful around them, to avoid slipping. He slipped his hand into his pocket to pull out the remaining half of his candy bar.

Munching the candy bar he walked along cursorily noting the grassy embankment sloping down towards the swiftly flowing stream below. Aaron had mentioned rafting was possible in the summers.

A sudden skid forced him to put his hands out to balance himself, the chain flying off. But the movement was to no avail. Joe was halfway down before he even realised he’d slipped. He didn’t even have the time to try and stop his sliding descent before he found himself falling flat and slipping down, half rolling. It was over almost as soon as it had begun.

He found himself lying half dazed curled up on his side on some kind of ledge covered in bits of mud and dried grass and leaves. He turned his head to a side and spat out some of the mud in his mouth, and lifted his left hand up to wipe the rest of the muck off his face. But the movement only brought a sharp pain that seemed to shoot up his arm.

I’ve broken my wrist, came the numbing thought. It took a few more seconds for his dazed mind to decide what to do.

Try and sit up, he told himself.

Joe put all his weight on his right side and dragged himself up painfully, awakening protests from almost every muscle in his body. An involuntary groan escaped his mouth and he bit his lip at the pitiful sound it made. He finally managed to pull himself up to lean against a something, and take a closer look at his surroundings. He was on a narrow little ledge halfway down the slope, leaning against a large rock, with a small pine tree to his right. It didn’t take him long to realise that the tree was what had prevented him rolling any further down, and sighed in relief.

He looked at his hurting wrist; it was beginning to swell now. He hurt all over, and he could understand why on looking up. The slope he’d rolled down was peppered with stones and little rocks jutted out of it everywhere, as did small thorny bushes. No wonder my face feels like it got into a catfight, he thought ruefully, as he felt the scratches smarting. His ankle hurt a little too.

A chilly breeze settling on his scratched and bruised face awoke him to the fact that he’d better get up soon.

He carefully avoided putting pressure on his hurt wrist, and holding it close to his body, tried to get up, only to fall back in pain as his foot buckled under the weight. He sat back gasping heavily to take the pressure off his badly sprained ankle. There was no way he could climb uphill on his ankle. There was no way he could move anywhere at all.

Another gust of wind brought home a greater predicament. He would freeze if he stayed here. His teeth were almost chattering, and he had to pull his jacket with his one good hand to get a little relief. He tucked his other hand into his parka in an effort to keep it warm.

I’ll rest my foot for a while and then try to get up, he promised himself. He curled himself up against the cold rock ignoring the various aches and pains, and huddled close in an effort to at least avoid the chilly wind. His head was throbbing incessantly; he knew it had impacted with the rocks more than once on his descent.

Have to get moving soon, or Frank will start worrying, he thought desperately, shutting his eyes as a wave of tiredness washed over him. When he re-opened his eyes, the shadows were lengthening. A look at his watch revealed to Joe that it was almost three, but he still couldn’t move. He felt frozen and tired.

Some luck! He muttered realizing once again what a stupid argument he’d had with his brother. If he had only been sensible, He and Frank would have been hiking together, instead of him lying alone in some out of the way place, unable to get up.

How’ll I ever get out? Who comes this way anyway? And Frank doesn’t even know where I am! It was getting colder and colder, and it seemed to take all his energy to just keep awake.

************

They had looked all around the place, and now even Fenton had begun worrying. The local police had been informed too. Aaron had decided to check the woods around his cabin, before it became too dark. And Frank weary of doing nothing, had slipped out of the cabin where his father and a patrolman were conversing towards the road he’d seen his brother take earlier in the day. To top it all, the sky above ominously boded snow.

After almost forty-five minutes of very slow trekking, and regularly stopping to look around for a clue, he still couldn’t see any sign of his brother.

Until he saw something glinting in the light, half hidden by fallen snow. He carefully stepped around the icy sheets forming on the ground, and out of the dried bush carefully picked out the chain with the ring dangling from it. The ring had snagged one of the twigs, and lay firmly entrenched in the bush, the chain dangling from it.

Joe! Frank rushed over to the side of the road as soon as he could given the slippery surface. Sharp stinging jets of wind made his eyes tear up, and he stuffed his gloved hands deeper into his pockets, shivering slightly.

"Joe!" he shouted out, his stomach churning as he peered over the edge and noticed the sharp drop. Where could he be?

A flash of blue caught his eye down below, and then vanished. Frank blinked to get the water out of his streaming eyes. There it was again…

"Joe!" Frank yelled out again, before carefully stepping over the edge, and lowering himself down onto the incline. The slope was wet and slippery so he tried to hop over the stones littered all across it. But even those were slicked wet, and it took all his concentration to retain his balance on them, before he could reach the tiny ledge Joe was nestled in.

He slid down the last couple of paces towards his younger brother and knelt down by the prone figure, scared by the stillness of the blond thatch poking out form under the bright blue parka. Joe lay curled up against a rock, his face turned inwards towards the stone, hands wrapped around his knees in an effort to combat the increasing cold.

"Joe," Frank whispered, lightly touching his brother’s shoulder, "Joe, can you hear me?"

The slight moan that cut through the silence of the deepening evening was the sweetest sound Frank thought he’d ever heard.

"C’mon, open your eyes, bro," he said softly, stroking the soft wet hair.

"Hmm...." Joe sighed and then grunted slightly in pain as Frank’s fingers involuntarily came in contact with one of the myriad bumps his head had contracted on his fall.

"Shh.... are you alright? Where does it hurt?" Frank asked, his worry increasing, as Joe refused to move.

"Frank," the hoarse voice sounded a slightly muffled as Joe tried to move a little. Frank put his arms around his frozen younger brother, "I’m here," he said comfortingly.

"You’re here...." Joe replied in a slightly dazed voice, "what are you doing here."

"You hadn’t returned, and I got worried," Frank replied.

"I’m sorry," Joe said.

"You’re sorry? What for?"

"That you had to come out in this weather, after I was so rude to you. I couldn’t get up. My foot’s busted," Joe’s voice was soft and weary. His blue eyes looked unhappily out of a pale face.

"You don’t have to be sorry for anything. And you weren’t rude. I deserved it. I’m sorry I said all those things in the morning," Frank brushed away a few stray strands of hair off his brother’s forehead, frowning at how cold the pale skin was to touch, "Don’t worry, I’ll help you up. Do you want me to take a look at your leg?" he asked indicating Joe’s booted feet.

Joe had closed his eyes and was leaning back against his brother now, "Cold," he mumbled.

"Yes, that’s why I need to get you back to the cabin," Frank told him, "Can you try and get up?"

Joe mumbled something again, and slumped against his elder brother’s comfortable embrace, eyes half shut, as cold and tiredness caught up with him. Frank tried to nudge him, but Joe looked so forlorn and tired, he desisted. Carefully, he pulled out his cell phone and called his father.

"Frank!" the sharp cry broke out above them after what seemed like ages but Frank knew, couldn’t have been more than ten minutes. A few snowflakes drifted lazily down.

"Over here, dad, I’ve found him," Frank yelled out.

"Watch out, it’s slippery," he yelled out again.

Fenton and Mr. Hendriks were soon down onto the narrow ledge, leaving barely enough standing space. Aaron had taken the situation in immediately, "We need to get your son to a warm place soon," he told Fenton.

Between themselves they soon managed to carry Joe back up to the station wagon. Frank slipped into the back seat beside him, and held him tight. More snowflakes drifted down, as the car revved towards the cabin.

"We’ll take him back to the cabin and call the doctor over," Aaron told them, "he lives nearby."

Later in the evening, Frank stared out of the window as the moonlight illuminated a pristine snow covered panorama. Silence hung all around them, broken only by the sporadic hoots of a lone owl and the rustle of the wind as it nudged the snow-laden boughs causing a short shower of flakes to the ground. He smiled as the soft sound of a contented sigh came out of his brother’s throat.

Joe was curled up on a plump old armchair in front of the fireplace, basking in the warmth that spread over him like a blanket. He had just finished sipping a cup of hot ginger tea that Frank had forced him to drink, when he’d heard how hoarse Joe’s throat had become. He was glad he’d drunk it now; it felt soothing. The doctor had come and gone, prescribing two days of complete rest, a twisted ankle, a badly sprained wrist, and a few bumps on the head, but no concussion.

He sighed softly, and shut his eyes leaning back against the cushions Frank had thoughtfully arranged at one end of the couch, and pulled up the thick blanket he’d left at his feet. Through half closed eyes he noticed someone standing over his shoulder and squinted an eye open. Frank was pulling up the blanket and adjusting it around him.

"Frank?"

"Did I wake you up?" Frank asked remorsefully taking in the tired lines on his brother’s face. Joe shook his head smiling softly.

"No," he whispered, "But you look tired, why don’t you get some sleep?"

Frank sat down at the edge of the couch, "I’m fine, don’t worry," he murmured, as he watched Joe’s eyes fluttering shut again.

"How’d you know where to find me?" Joe was trying hard to keep his eyes open.

"I saw the chain where you’d dropped it. Looks like it brought you luck after all – I was wrong," Frank replied.

"No, you weren’t. Don’t need a ring to take care of me," Joe muttered, his voice dying to a soft whisper, as his last vestiges of consciousness left him, "I’ve got you to do that."