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hits—like the weathermen think it will—we’ll deal with it. Until then, there’s still plenty to do around here.”
    “We’ll haul the lamps out and get the extra blankets ready, just in case,” Grandpa said. “Come on. You youngsters can help. The barn needs readying too.”
    They finished putting away the supplies, then went back to the stables and made sure the animals were prepared for the coming storm. The clouds were creeping toward dark when everyone finally headed back inside.
    “What about Bernie?” Joe asked. “Will he be okay in his doghouse?”
    “We’ll take him inside with us for the night, justin case,” Grandpa said. He gazed up at the iron gray sky. Thick, white flakes tumbled down. He caught one on his tongue and smacked his lips.
    The teens all laughed and did the same.
    As they did, Grandpa Morton went to the doghouse to fetch Bernie. “Come on, boy!” he called. “You get to spend tonight inside with the rest of the family.”
    He pulled on the dog chain lying in front of the small shelter, but it came out of the house empty.
    Grandpa frowned. “Now, how could that dog have gotten himself loose?” he asked. He leaned down to the doghouse door and called, “Bernie, where are you, you rag mop?”
    When Bernie still didn’t come out, he reached inside and fished around for the dog’s collar. A moment later he pulled out his hand again. In it he held a small piece of white paper. He looked perplexed.
    “What’s that?” Iola asked.
    “It looks like a note,” Joe said.
    Grandpa Morton didn’t reply, but held out the paper so they could read the plain, block letters written on it.
    The message read, IF YOU WANT TO DO WHAT’S BEST FOR YOUR DOG, PACK IT IN NOW, BEFORE THERE’S MORE TROUBLE .

5 Dog Gone
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    Grandpa Morton’s eyes narrowed. “Is this some kind of a joke?” he asked the teens. “Did one of you kids hide Bernie in the barn while I wasn’t looking?”
    Chet shook his head. “Not us, Grandpa.”
    “When was the last time anyone saw him?” Frank asked.
    “I tied him up in the doghouse before we left for the store,” Grandpa Morton said.
    “I didn’t notice him when you got back,” Iola said.
    “I just assumed he was taking a nap in his doghouse,” Grandpa said. “He was up most of last night, so I didn’t think anything of it.”
    “We didn’t either,” Joe said. “That means he could have been stolen any time during the afternoon—eitherwhile we were out riding in the woods, or when we were grooming the horses, or even while we were putting the groceries away.”
    “You’d have to be a pretty bold dognapper to take him while all of us were in the house,” Frank noted. “We could have heard something if we’d been around.”
    “Bernie might be friendly,” Iola said, “but he wouldn’t let a stranger take him away without putting up a fight.”
    Frank nodded. “That’s why I think it’s more likely the dognapping happened before Grandpa and Grandma Morton came home.”
    “In that amount of time,” Chet said, “Elan Costello could have sneaked back onto our property and done it himself.”
    “It wouldn’t surprise me after the trouble we had with him and his father in the woods,” Iola added.
    “What trouble was that?” Mr. Morton asked.
    The teens explained about the gunshots in the woods and their confrontation with the Costellos.
    “Why didn’t you mention this earlier?” Grandpa asked, going a little red in the face.
    “We didn’t want to worry you,” Iola replied.
    “And I certainly am worried,” Grandpa said, shaking his head. “Kidnapping a dog seems low, even for Costello, but shooting is worse,” he added. “We better call the police.”
    Before the police were called, the Hardys checkedaround for clues about the dog’s whereabouts, but their trudging around the doghouse had wiped out any tracks they might have found.
    The Mortons called Bill Backstrom, who had gone home early in anticipation of the storm, and