The Secret of Wildcat Swamp

by Franklin W. Dixon

  “There isn’t anyone in it!” Mr. Hardy exclaimed. “Thank goodness you boys heard me and jumped.”

  “But where’s the crew?” Joe asked. “The engineer was trying to get someone on the induction phone in his cab.”

  “They probably jumped out to see what was happening when you boys flagged the train,” Mr. Hardy deduced. “They may have been coming up along the embankment when the last four cars started rolling.”

  “In that case, the crew should be around here somewhere,” Frank said.

  “Yes, but I doubt very much if they would be a match for such a large gang as this one. Now the question is, Did those cars break loose, or did someone uncouple them?”

  “They were wrecked on purpose,” Frank answered, and told his father all that had happened since the shooting down of the radio aerial balloon; how they had overheard that Flint was boss of the gang; how Cap and Chet were prisoners in a cave; and all because the ex-convicts wanted to drill for oil illegally on Mrs. Sanderson’s land.

  “We’ll rescue Chet and Cap as soon as we can,” Mr. Hardy decided. “They’ll have to hold out awhile. First we must do something about this gang here, and it’s going to be tough without help.”

  “Are you alone, Dad?” Joe asked.

  “Sam Radley is out here working with me, but all our tips pointed to Spur Gulch as the trouble spot. He was bringing a posse to meet me there. But now that you’ve told me about the oil drilling, I can see why Flint picked this place. Those three cars contain the materials they need. There’s a rough woods road near here over which they can drag the stuff.”

  “Dad, how come you’re in this spot alone?” asked Frank.

  “Jack Wayne flew me in. The only level spot on the mountain was about half a mile from here. I planned to walk to Spur Gulch along the tracks.

  “On the way, I came almost face to face with some of this gang, and couldn’t get past them. What I have been doing is taking pictures with our infrared camera of any of these thugs I could get close to. We’ll have quite a record of—”

  A shot rang out, then another. A moment later two uniformed trainmen came racing in their direction, followed by two of the robbers. Mr. Hardy, whipping out his own revolver, was about to go to the assistance of the trainmen when six more armed outlaws came into view.

  “We’re outnumbered,” the detective said in disgust. “Our only chance to capture that gang now is by a trick.”

  The Hardys hugged the trees to keep from being seen, but even from his hiding place, the detective kept clicking his camera.

  “This is all good evidence,” he whispered grimly. “When we get this mob into court, the jury won’t take long to convict every one of them.”

  Frank and Joe had no doubt of their father’s ability to outwit the gang eventually, but at this moment the situation looked desperate. Besides, all three of them were in danger of being captured.

  “Keep under cover,” the detective warned as Joe stepped out. “This is no time to be discovered.”

  The words were hardly out of his mouth when their hiding place became flooded with light!

  CHAPTER XVI

  The Rough Ride

  SIX bright beams of light swept the Hardys’ hiding place from the opposite side of the tracks. As they drew closer, they could make out two low-slung open trucks, each with a powerful spotlight, in addition to glaring headlights.

  “Great crow!” Joe exclaimed. “Where did they come from?”

  “Over the abandoned logging road,” his father replied. “More of Flint’s smart organization work. Those trucks can carry the pipes and oil-well equipment out of here easily.”

  “Can’t we do something?” Frank asked desperately as the trucks lurched across the rails and halted alongside the wrecked cars.

  “I think so,” his father said coolly. “I’m going to trick Flint and try to capture him.”

  The detective turned to his sons. “You boys take note of what’s going on here. Wait until the next train passes through. That’ll be at nine A.M. The robbers will have left long before that. Stop the train and ride to Red Butte. I’ll meet you there at noon.”

  The detective pulled out a small bottle. “Concentrated food tablets,” he said, handing them to Frank. “You may need them.”

  After saying good-by to his sons, Mr. Hardy crawled through the bushes until he was in heavy cover. Then he stood up cautiously. Returning to the tracks, he walked upgrade a considerable distance from the scene of the robbery.

  When the detective was sure he could not be seen by the men loading the boxes and pipes onto the trucks, he crossed the tracks.

  Easing back to the scene slowly, he spotted two figures who stood on a rise, silhouetted against the night sky. Mr. Hardy moved within hearing distance.

  “Worked like a charm, Turk,” one of the men said. “I uncoupled the last four cars and clamped the air brake on the forward section, so the rest of the train could move ahead as soon as Pete got the burned ties off the tracks.”

  “Flint, you’re a brain. We ought to have this load out of here within an hour.”

  With a grim smile on his lips, Mr. Hardy stepped into the open.

  “Flint!” he shouted.

  The two train robbers whirled around. The shutter of the detective’s camera clicked twice. Turk beamed his flashlight as Mr. Hardy ducked.

  Flint cursed, whipped a pistol from his shoulder holster, and fired a clip of bullets at the spot where the detective had stood a second before.

  “It’s Fenton Hardy!” Flint roared. “Turk, you supervise the men. Lend me your light. I’m going to get this dick if it’s the last thing I ever do!”

  As soon as the detective saw Flint coming after him, he drew back into the wooded area and headed for Jack Wayne’s plane. Mr. Hardy deliberately let Flint catch an occasional glimpse of him, leading the gangleader farther away from his men.

  Flint’s rage increased as the detective tormented him with a dangerous game of cops and robbers. Half an hour later Mr. Hardy emerged from the woods into a clearing, in the center of which stood Jack Wayne’s plane. Running toward it, the detective shouted:

  “Jack! Flint’s right behind me. Cover me while I give him a whiff of the gas gun!”

  As a face appeared in the pilot’s window, the detective stopped short. Instead of Jack Wayne’s familiar features, he saw in the moonlight a thin face with a large sharp nose and eyes like black marbles. An unknown enemy was facing him and Flint was only a few steps behind!

  Meanwhile, the detective’s sons had continued to watch the well-planned and executed theft of the oil-well drilling equipment. The freight’s conductor and brakemen were being kept covered.

  In an hour the two trucks were loaded and the cargoes concealed with heavy tarpaulins. Two men climbed into each cab and the others faded into the woods along with their prisoners.

  “So long!” one driver called. “See you at Wildcat Swamp after we deliver this stuff to Willie and Nick Snide.”

  Frank and Joe exchanged glances. No doubt the man meant Willie the Penman. But who was Snide?

  The Hardys’ nerves tingled. “Frank, are we going to stand here and do nothing?” Joe cried.

  “No sir. Come on!” Frank muttered. “We’ll ride back to Wildcat Swamp and free Cap and Chet.”

  “How about meeting Dad?”

  “We’ll get there—maybe just a bit late.”

  As the trucks pulled away, the boys ran across the track. Racing down the other side, they found the narrow, overgrown logging road, then began following the second truck’s taillights.

  Fortunately the loaded vehicles were forced to crawl along the twisting logging road. Jogging alongside, Joe was able to untie a corner of the tarpaulin and boost himself aboard the load of loose steel pipes. He pulled Frank up after him, and the boys retied the canvas over them. As the truck rolled along through the night, Frank whispered:

  “From the feel of the grades and turns, we’re still on the logging road.”
r />   “It’s rough going,” Joe replied. “I wish they’d picked a smoother route.”

  With each big lurch and bump, the pipes clanged and slithered into new positions. The boys fought to keep their balance and avoid being pinched between portions of the cargo.

  After what seemed hours, the truck groaned to a stop. Another vehicle approached at high speed and roared past, the sound of its whining tires fading in the distance.

  “We must have reached the main highway,” Frank deduced.

  A moment later the truck edged onto a smooth pavement.

  “Thank goodness for this,” Joe whispered.

  The driver shifted into high gear, and the vehicle rumbled along smoothly. Despite the boys’ discomfort, the harrowing experiences of the day and night were making them drowsy. After what seemed to be hours, Joe awoke with a start. He reached out and shook his brother’s arm.

  “Frank! Wake up! We’ve stopped!”

  Joe found a tiny hole in the canvas and peeked through it.

  “We’re at a diner,” he whispered. “The driver and his helper are going to the door. The other truck is parked ahead of us.”

  Frank drew his penknife and cut a small peep-hole. “They’re probably stopping for a cup of coffee,” he whispered. “When they get inside, let’s go in the back way and phone the police.

  “Get back! They’re coming out!”

  The driver and his helper, who was fairly young, approached the truck, accompanied by a third man. As they headed toward the back of the vehicle, the boys eased forward and slid between the pipes and some boxes, just as the tarpaulin was lifted, letting in a slit of light.

  “We got it, all right,” said a voice the boys recognized as that of the driver. “The whole works.”

  “What’s up there in front?” the man from the diner asked.

  The boys held their breath.

  “Boxes of drill bits and fittings.”

  From the men’s conversation, it became evident that the newcomer owned the diner. As the cover was tied down again, he said:

  “I got a report from Flint already.”

  “So quick? What’d he say?”

  “Buzzed me on his pocket radio. He’ll be along soon. Said to tell you that he and Fliegel captured Fenton Hardy and his pilot.”

  The words came like an electric shock to the boys. Flint had turned the tables and captured their father!

  “Man, that was fast work!” the driver said with a hoarse laugh. “Flint just told us back at the railroad he had a plan for getting Hardy.”

  “Well, he did it. Must’ve done a real job on him, too. Flint said the dick needs a doctor, but he ain’t getting one! You get started. I’ll take a look at the other truck.”

  Frank and Joe were frantic with worry. Their father was injured and needed help, and here they were, powerless to aid him.

  As the truck started along the highway again, Joe said, “Frank, we’d better get off the first chance we have. We’ll find a ranch house and call the police. We’ve got to find Dad!”

  “You’re right.”

  The boys watched through the holes in the canvas. But they passed no ranch houses and the truck sped through the night at high speed. The boys heard the driver’s helper say to his companion:

  “You know, I don’t trust that flat-nosed Snide. I think he’d double-cross the lot of us in a minute, if he had the chance.”

  Joe’s elbow dug into Frank’s side. Flat-nosed! One of the phony rangers had a flat nose!

  “But you gotta remember, Charlie,” the driver was saying, “Snide’s a good oilman. He’ll be useful to have around.”

  There was a snort from his companion.

  “I don’t care—I’d rather do without him. He’s too ready to go to extremes. He woulda killed one of those kids without battin’ an eye, and I just can’t go that far.”

  “Aw, can it! Anybody gets in our way deserves what he gets.”

  There was a growl of disagreement from the younger man, but apparently he could not see much sense in continuing the argument. The men lapsed into silence.

  “That young helper doesn’t sound like such a bad sort,” Frank whispered to Joe. “I wonder how he got mixed up with a gang like this.”

  They felt the truck slow down and turn off the smooth highway onto a bad road. The wheels alternately crunched over loose stone and slid through soft sand.

  It was perilous going. The Hardys were forced to move from behind the crates and crouch on top of the load. As the truck hit a bad bump, the younger man shouted:

  “Hey, watch it! This ain’t no superhighway!”

  “Calm down,” the driver said irritably. “It’s only ten miles to the swamp, Charlie.”

  “Just the same,” Charlie said, “there ain’t no reason to set a record. We passed the other truck an hour ago.”

  The truck lurched over, its right wheels slipping sideways. “Watch that ditch!”

  “Aw, shut up! You been a pain in the neck ever since we started this job.”

  “I don’t like what’s goin’ on. If—”

  His words were cut off as the big vehicle skidded. The load shifted sharply, sending an avalanche of pipe toward Frank and Joel

  CHAPTER XVII

  A Friendly Outlaw

  “LOOK out, Frank!” The warning shout slipped from Joe involuntarily.

  Reaching high, the boys grabbed the cross braces, and pulled themselves up just as the heavy sections of pipe crashed across the floor of the truck.

  The big vehicle skidded to the side of the road, shuddering as it hit the soft shoulder, and stalled.

  “Now you’ve done it,” they heard the helper berate the driver. “If we get stuck here, the boss’ll—”

  “Shut up!” the angry driver commanded. “Didn’t you hear that yell? Somebody’s in the back of this truck!”

  “Aw, you’re loco.”

  “Listen, bud, I heard somethin’, and I’m checkin’ up.”

  With a mad scramble Frank and Joe slid from under the tarpaulin and landed in the road. Quietly they ducked underneath the truck’s chassis, just as the husky driver swaggered down from the cab.

  He walked along the side of the truck to the rear, the boys watching his feet every step of the way. Leaning over the tailboard, he fumbled with the canvas tarpaulin. Joe looked at the man’s legs, so near his own hidden shoulder.

  “Too good to miss!” he thought.

  Reaching out his arms, he grabbed the back of the driver’s legs and yanked them forward. There was a startled umph as the fellow went crashing to the road. His gun went one way and his flashlight another. Before he could yell to his helper, the two boys were upon him. Joe sent his fist swinging hard to the man’s jaw, and he collapsed without a sound.

  Quickly the boys dragged his inert form under the truck. They were not a second too soon.

  “Well, did you find anythin’?” Charlie called as he climbed out of the cab.

  Receiving no answer, he stalked to the rear of the vehicle to investigate. Frank set himself to duplicate his brother’s action. His shoulder hit the man just below the knees, and before Charlie knew what was happening to him, Joe dealt him a knockout blow.

  “What are we going to do with them?” Joe asked.

  “I don’t know yet, but we’ll have to do something fast. Look!”

  Down the road, still a good distance away, two bouncing pinpoints of light became visible. The other truck was catching up with them!

  “Come on. We’ll drag these fellows into the tall grass there.” Frank indicated the high growth on the other side of the road, and quickly they tugged the two unconscious men out of sight.

  “We’d better run,” Joe advised.

  Frank had another plan. “We don’t want them to stop. Let’s put on their caps and pull ’em down. They’ll hide our faces a little, and maybe we can get by.”

  “All right. You get in the cab. I’ll pretend I’m tying this canvas, and you wave them on from the window,” Joe suggest
ed.

  By this time the beams of the other truck’s headlights were almost upon them. Frank climbed as casually as he could into the cab and sat there with his left hand giving the passing signal. Joe fussed with the canvas on the side of the truck opposite to where the other vehicle would pass.

  Those few seconds seemed an eternity to the boys as the second truck rolled up to them, but fortunately it did not slow down. There was a shouted ridicule about “lazy coyotes,” but the driver kept his foot pressed down on the accelerator.

  The driver went crashing to the road

  The scheme had worked!

  “We’d better get back to those two we hid and tie them before they wake up,” Frank said, leaping from the cab.

  Using the rope with which the canvas had been tied, they first secured the driver’s wrists and ankles. Just as he was coming to, they managed to gag him firmly.

  “We’d better drag him back where there’s no possible chance of his rolling into the road and having one of the gang find him,” Frank proposed.

  The driver was dragged off and wedged into a cluster of trees.

  “How about Charlie?” Joe asked. “I’ll get more rope.”

  “Wait!” Frank said. “I’ve been thinking about Charlie. He sounded as if he’s fed up with the gang. Do you suppose we could persuade him—?”

  The young man was just beginning to show signs of regaining consciousness when the boys returned to him. Frank removed Charlie’s pistol a split second before he sat up and shook his head.

  “What happened?” he groaned.

  When his head had cleared, the boys revealed their identity.

  “But I thought you were—”

  “Frozen to death in that refrigerator car?” Joe finished grimly. “No, your boss just wasn’t smart enough.”

  “I’m glad of that!” Charlie growled. “I told those hombres they were goin’ too far.”

  “Listen, Charlie,” Frank began earnestly, “you don’t seem to be a bad sort. Why don’t you quit this gang right now?”

  “You could go straight, and give us a hand in the bargain,” Joe urged.

  “How?” Charlie asked suspiciously.