The Secret of Wildcat Swamp

by Franklin W. Dixon

  “What did the men look like?” Joe asked.

  “Both of ’em were big, but one was the biggest guy I ever saw! Bet he could be a wrestler if he wanted to. The other man looked like he might be a lawyer or a doctor. He talked in a low voice.”

  Frank and Joe looked at each other and knew what the other was thinking. The descriptions fitted Turk and Flint!

  “If those big hombres stop me again,” Harry said stoutly, “I’ll get the Forest Rangers after ’em.”

  “Oh, there are Forest Rangers in this section?” Joe asked.

  “Sure thing. They make regular visits through here, and they always stop at our ranch.”

  “Is that the fire tower they use?” Frank asked, pointing to the top of the mountain rising beyond the swamp.

  “No. That old one’s been abandoned. There’s a new tower you can’t see from here.”

  “That’s good to know,” Cap commented.

  “Yes, and Sheriff Paul’s ranch isn’t far from us, either. He’s a good friend, too.”

  “Say, Harry, you must know this territory pretty well,” Frank said. “Are we right in thinking that’s Wildcat Swamp down there?”

  “Wildcat Swamp? Never heard it called that, or any other swamp around here.”

  “Are you sure?” Cap was plainly upset by this revelation.

  “That’s Devil’s Swamp down there,” Harry said.

  Cap and the Hardys looked at one another in dismay. Could they be off the track in spite of the map which they had followed so closely?

  “Well, I have to get along home,” Harry said. “Hope you’ll all ride over to our ranch sometime. My mother’d like to meet you.”

  “How do we get there?” Frank inquired.

  Harry pointed in a northwesterly direction. “There’s a trail along the left side of that mountain.”

  He slapped his pinto and was off across the plateau in a cloud of dust.

  “So this is Devil’s Swamp and not Wildcat Swamp,” Joe said in disgust. “We come over a thousand miles by plane and train and—”

  “Wait a minute,” Cap interrupted. “I’m going to check this map again.”

  For several minutes he studied the map in silence, then a smile of understanding slowly broke over his face.

  “This has to be the place,” he insisted. “There couldn’t be two such spots so much alike. Uncle Alex probably named it Wildcat Swamp on his own, not knowing what the local people called it.”

  “There’s one way to make certain,” Frank remarked. “That’s to find the sign about the twenty wildcat.”

  “If it’s still here,” Cap said hopefully. “Anyway, let’s pick out a place to make camp. Then we can look around.”

  After scanning the territory they agreed upon a wooded section of the plateau just above the mouth of the defile. All three occupied themselves with unpacking their gear and setting up the tent.

  Cap and Frank found some suitable stones for a fireplace, and laid a small grate across the top. This done, the boys were eager to start exploring.

  “Don’t do any wandering around here without wearing your high boots,” Cap warned. “No telling what you’ll run into down at the swamp.”

  Frank dug out the three pairs of thick wading boots which they had purchased in Red Butte and they all donned them, along with sturdy corduroy breeches. Light jackets would suffice, they decided, because the sun was still high in the sky.

  Cap, still sure that this was the right spot and eager to see if there were any signs of his uncle’s work, told the boys to go ahead. They pigeon-toed their way down the sandy slope to the edge of the green marsh.

  “What a mixture of growth!” Joe marveled at the lush, odorous tangle as Frank led the way into the swamp, keeping to the high hummocks and leaping over the black, watery, evil-looking expanses that spread everywhere.

  “It’s amazing,” observed Joe, “how we passed through such a barren region only a few miles away and wind up in a water-logged spot like this!”

  “Cap said that’s the way this section of the country is—all extremes,” Frank said.

  Excitedly Joe grabbed his brother’s arm. “There it is! The old sign!”

  Nailed to a shaggy willow tree, almost completely enveloped with vines that grew up its trunk and wound around its branches, was an old, weather-beaten board. The Hardys cleared five feet of muck and landed next to the tree.

  “This is it! ‘Here lie the bodies of twenty wildcat’!” Joe read.

  They hurried back to camp. Cap was delighted to hear that the boys had found the sign. “From now on I can see that we’re in for some plain, old-fashioned hard work with pick and shovel.”

  The trio unpacked digging tools, and then headed back to the spot on the slope which Cap had selected.

  Swinging the heavy picks, they soon loosened the top layer of sandy soil. But then the harder work began.

  “This is really packed down,” Frank grunted as he swung the pick into hardpan and penetrated only a few inches.

  They had worked for an hour when Cap unearthed an old tin can. He was about to throw it away when he took a second look and let out a yell.

  “Bonny Briar smoking tobacco! That’s the kind my uncle used to smoke.”

  “Then we’re working in the right place!” Frank exulted. “Unless,” he amended, “some other guy was around here who smokes the same brand.”

  Cap refused to be talked out of his belief and dug with renewed energy. It was only a few minutes later when Joe’s pick hit into the dirt with an odd ringing sound.

  “Ouch!” he howled, wringing his hands as he dropped the wooden handle hurriedly. “I could feel that shock all the way up to my elbows!”

  “What did you hit?” Cap queried.

  “I don’t know, but it sent a vibration right up the handle of this pick.”

  More careful this time, Joe probed in the same spot, and gradually scraped dirt away from what appeared to be a length of metal.

  As he worked, it became apparent that the object was heavy, rusted piping. Finally he uncovered its entire length.

  “How in creation did that get in here?” Frank asked, turning to Cap.

  The young man was completely stumped. “Uncle Alex wouldn’t have used piping,” he mused. “And to the best of his knowledge, there had never been any previous exploration here.”

  They were still studying their unexpected discovery when high above them they heard a great thud and a rumble. Frank, first to look up, gave a shout.

  “The boulder! It’s toppled off the column! Here it comes!”

  With a roar the great stone gathered momentum, sending smaller stones scurrying to all sides, then hurtling down the incline, straight to where the three were digging!

  “Look out!” Joe screamed, jumping as far to one side as he could. Frank was already in midair, leaping to the other side.

  With a crash the boulder tore across their excavation, pulling what seemed to be half the hillside with it, and thundered into the swamp with a tremendous splash.

  Thankful to be alive, Frank and Joe gazed at each other, then looked for their companion.

  But Cap Bailey was nowhere in sight!

  CHAPTER VII

  Skeletons and Schemes

  “CAP! Cap Bailey!”

  There was no answer to the Hardys’ frantic calls. Following the thunder of the crashing boulder, the stillness was frightening.

  “Quick! We’d better clear away some of this rubble!” Frank ordered.

  Rocks and shale of all sizes and shapes had broken loose in the landslide. Sand had been scooped from one spot and piled high in another. Desperately the boys rooted through the debris.

  “Joe! It can’t be! Cap just couldn’t be—”

  “Frank! Down there! Something’s moving!”

  They tore wildly at the rubble until they had cleared Cap’s face and shoulders. Groggy, the teacher drew in great lungfuls of air, until they pulled him free.

  Finally he was able to sit up
and move his arms and legs to show that he was unharmed.

  “Boulder ... must ... have ... been ... tipped,” he said huskily. “Go... see ...”

  Frank and Joe rushed up the slope but could find no trace of any person on the ledge. A quick glance revealed no one near the rock column from which the boulder had become dislodged.

  “Let’s take a look on the plateau,” Joe said, and they hurried along through the defile.

  Atop the flat ground, they saw nothing at first that could be connected with the fall of the boulder. Then off toward the trail around the left side of the mountain, Frank’s keen eyes spotted a cloud of dust.

  “Two riders!” he shouted.

  The Hardys knew they could not hope to overtake the men.

  “Anyhow, we’ve got to get back to Cap,” said Joe.

  When they reached the rock ledge, the boys could see that Cap felt considerably better. As they skidded down the incline toward him, he gestured excitedly.

  “Look at this!” he exclaimed, and pointed to a large object he had picked out of the debris.

  Frank and Joe examined it curiously. “What is it?” Frank asked.

  Cap spoke triumphantly. “Unless I’m very much mistaken, it’s a bone from the leg of an ancient horse. It was turned up by the boulder when it ripped down the hill.”

  “An ancient horse? You mean that there were prehistoric horses in this country?” Joe asked.

  “I thought the horse was a comparatively recent animal,” Frank chimed in.

  “Oh, no, the horse has been part of the earth as far back as man can tell. As a matter of fact, the evolution of the horse is one of the interesting mysteries of paleontology.”

  “What do you mean—mystery?”

  “No one has figured out why the horse—a much smaller one than the present kind—lived here from prehistoric time until the Pleistocene period, then became extinct. The horse as we know it today was imported.”

  “If this fossil is from one of the earlier breed,” Frank observed, “it must be mighty valuable.”

  Bailey nodded. “If I’m right, it could mean there may be many valuable fossils here besides the prehistoric camel my uncle discovered.”

  Cap was so excited that all thoughts of his brush with death were forgotten. When the boys told him of the two riders they had seen in the distance, he merely nodded.

  “If they did tip the boulder, actually they did us a favor. Look at the digging they saved us.”

  “But if they continue to make attempts on our lives,” Frank said, “we’ll have to be on guard every second.”

  “Is there any possibility of getting help in this excavation job?” asked Joe.

  Cap shook his head impatiently. Elated by the discovery of the fossil, he was ready to start work immediately.

  “If those men were trying to stop us by toppling the boulder, they probably think we’re dead, and won’t be coming back,” he added.

  Frank and Joe, eager themselves to see what other fossils might be turned up, fell to work in earnest.

  For several hours they sweated as they dug deeper into the sand and hardpan.

  “I’ve hit something!” Frank suddenly called out. When it was uncovered, Cap Bailey was enthusiastic.

  “Boys, I’d bet my last shirt that this bone was once part of the shoulder structure of the ancient camel Uncle Alex thought he’d found!”

  “Looks like an oversize ham bone that some prehistoric dog buried here,” Joe said wryly. He sat down in the sand and propped his weary head on one grimy fist. “You really have to be interested in fossils to work this hard,” he groaned. “I’ll never think of geologists and scientists again as old fuddy-duddies.”

  Cap and Frank burst into laughter.

  “Better buck up, Joe, we’ve barely started.” Cap clapped him on the back and asked him to carry the ancient bones up to their permanent camp, and to put the fossils under a protective tarpaulin.

  “What are we bothering to cover these things for?” Joe queried. “Nobody’s been taking very good care of them for a couple of million years.”

  “Except nature,” Cap said. “She’s been protecting them from the weather all this time.”

  Joe nodded and set off across the slippery sand and through the defile.

  Cap and Frank picked up their shovels and resumed work, chopping out large chunks of near-petrified sand. The pit grew deeper and deeper. They were working in silence, intent upon the task at hand, when Frank began to feel uneasy.

  Where was Joe? He had been gone much too long for a mere trip to camp. Frank climbed out of the excavation and scanned the slope. He could not see his brother.

  Worried, Frank hurried toward the plateau. Had something happened to Joe?

  Sensing trouble, Cap followed Frank, reaching the camp a few minutes later.

  “Joe doesn’t answer,” Frank said. “But,” he added, pointing to a tarpaulin wrap, “there are the fossils. He’s been here.”

  “How about the horses?” Cap asked, and quickly investigated the tiny meadow where they had tethered the animals. All three horses and the pack mule were grazing contentedly.

  “I’ll try our distress signal.” Frank gave a long, piercing birdlike whistle. It was the secret whistle he and Joe used when in trouble.

  But no answer came, and again Frank gave the shrill, high-pitched call. Listening intently after it ended, all he and Cap could hear was the breeze as it gently moved a few leaves high above them.

  “But what could have happened to Joe?” Cap asked. “If he met with any sort of trouble, we should have heard some kind of sound.”

  After discussing the situation, they decided on a systematic search of every foot of ground between the camp and the slope. They had got as far as the ledge when Cap held up a warning hand.

  “Do you hear something?”

  For a moment there was only silence. Then, almost as if from under their feet, in the depths of the earth, they heard:

  “Frank! Fra-a-a-a-nk!”

  The voice was so low and indistinct that Frank thought he might have imagined it. But a look at Cap’s excited face convinced him that his companion had heard the call too.

  Where was it coming from?

  After several minutes of frenzied search they had the answer. A flash of light from between two huge rocks just below them at the very edge of the slope caught Frank’s eye.

  “Down there!” he cried excitedly.

  He and Cap peered into the crevice. This time a light shone squarely in their eyes, and they realized that they were staring into the beam of a flashlight.

  “Hey! Come on down!” It was Joe’s muffled voice. “It’s a cave, and somebody’s here!”

  Examining the opening, Frank and Cap realized that a man could easily squeeze through it. Rigging a stout rope around a large boulder as a means of ensuring their exit, they wriggled down the rope and into the passageway. In a minute Frank stood beside Joe on the floor of a sizable cavern.

  “You’re okay? You didn’t have an accident?” Frank asked.

  “Not exactly,” Joe answered. “I tripped, fell off the ledge, and rolled down here. When I saw this cave, I thought I’d investigate—and look!”

  He pointed with his flashlight to one of the recesses of the cave. Propped against the sloping wall was a skeleton!

  “Nice cave mates you pick for yourself, Joe!” Frank said jokingly. He spoke lightly, but a shiver ran down his back as he gazed at the skull.

  “Listen, fellows, that man probably died from suffocation or starvation in here,” Cap said. “I wonder whether he had been living in the cave.”

  “Anyway, he had plenty of equipment with him,” Joe said. “See?” His flashlight picked out a pile of long, rusty iron pipes near the skeleton.

  “Say, they’re the same kind as the pipe you found on the slope, Joe!” Frank cried. “This old geezer must have brought them down here for a purpose.”

  “He probably was a prospector,” Cap decided. “I wonder what
he planned to do—drain the swamp?”

  “But what for?” Joe asked.

  “Maybe he had panned some of the slope,” Frank said, “and believed it might be a good prospect for placer mining.”

  All three joined in rummaging around the cave with their flashlights. Cap was about to suggest that they return to the surface, when Frank excitedly cried out:

  “Come here, quick!”

  Hurrying over, they found him in a dark corner. He had spotted a gleaming new pistol.

  “Someone else has been here, and not long ago,” he announced. “There’s not a speck of rust on this gun.”

  Carefully Frank wrapped a handkerchief around the weapon and picked it up. By the beam of his tiashfight, they all could clearly see the smudges of someone’s hand along the barrel.

  “I have that fingerprint powder in my pocket, I think,” Joe said. “Let’s see what those prints look like.”

  He dusted the smudges, and Frank examined the clear prints. There was a familiar swirl on one that looked like a thumbprint.

  “Doesn’t that remind you of the thumbprint of a certain character named Willie the Penman?” Frank asked excitedly.

  “It sure does—on the kitchen window of Cap’s house,” Joe replied.

  “If so, what’s our next move?” Cap asked.

  “To prove our point,” Frank replied.

  He proposed that they leave the pistol in the cave, on the chance that the owner would return, and they could capture him then.

  “We can watch from above,” the young sleuth suggested.

  “Good idea,” Joe said, and Cap agreed. Making sure they had left no telltale traces of their presence, they climbed up the rope through the cleft in the rocks to the ledge above.

  All agreed that further digging for fossils must wait upon this new development. There was a good chance that the owner of the pistol had been watching them.

  Evening chores were split up among them. Cap hid the precious relics, while Frank prepared supper, and Joe watched the cave entrance from a spot in the shadows. The trio ate supper in Joe’s hideout.