The Secret of Wildcat Swamp

by Franklin W. Dixon

  “Battery’s getting low,” he muttered to himself.

  As Chet beamed his own light around, Cap entered the inner part of the cave. Stepping past the skeleton, barely discernible in the dim light, the teacher bent to pick up a rusted section of pipe. As he did, a faint sound in a recess of the rock wall made him straighten up.

  “That you, Chet?”

  “What did you say?” Chet boomed from the passageway.

  In sudden alarm Bailey swung his fading flashlight toward the wall. It picked up a dark figure crouching in the gloom.

  “Don’t move!” came a whispered command.

  At the same moment, an arm snaked around his chest like a hoop of iron, pinioning his arms to his sides. With a clatter, Cap’s flashlight dropped to the rock floor.

  “Chet!” he gasped. “Get help! Hurry!”

  “Shut up!” his attacker hissed.

  The arm tightened its grip, choking off any further warning. As Cap struggled, another man rapped him sharply on the side of the head with the butt end of his gun. The science teacher crumpled to the floor.

  “That’ll take care of him for a while!” the gruff voice muttered in the darkness. “Now let’s get the other one.”

  But Chet, having heard Cap’s desperate plea for help, had made his decision. Even though he was scared, Chet would never run out on a friend in distress.

  He had recently learned some elementary judo. As a flashlight suddenly beamed in the passageway, Chet poised himself. Seconds later a man of medium height emerged from the inner cave.

  As Chet had been taught, he let out a blood-curdling scream and shouted some unintelligible gibberish. His amazed adversary stopped in his tracks. The boy backed away a few inches. If he could keep this up until he reached the entrance—

  The man, though, was not to be fooled a second time. He lunged savagely at Chet. Instantly Chet grabbed his outstretched arms and pulled his attacker sharply forward. Off balance, the man stumbled toward him.

  With split-second timing, Chet brought his knee up sharply against the man’s chin. He went down like a sack of lead sinkers.

  Not knowing there was a second enemy, Chet relaxed. Suddenly his hands were locked behind him in a firm grip. He tried to break free, but the attacker twisted his arms painfully.

  Resistance was futile.

  CHAPTER XII

  Ambush

  WHILE Chet was struggling with his new enemy, the man he had knocked down began slowly to get to his feet. Holding his jaw, he shone a big flashlight on the boy and glowered.

  “Wise guy, eh? Break his arm, boss.”

  “Can the cracks! Get on with this job!”

  The injured man’s companion collared Chet and shoved him deeper into the cavern, where the other fellow stuck a candle into a crevice and lighted it.

  In the eerie glow Chet saw Cap lying prone on the ground. Then, for the first time, he got a good look at the second assailant, a small, wiry man wearing a badly fitting green uniform and holding a short rifle.

  As Chet stared, Cap came to and staggered to his feet.

  “You’re the rangers who ordered us out of this area!” he charged.

  “Very clever!” the scrawny man said sarcastically. “But since you weren’t smart enough to take a friendly warning, we’re going to teach you a lesson!”

  “Listen here,” Cap retorted angrily, “I demand that this boy and I be treated according to law. You have no right to hold us without valid complaint.”

  “No? Well, we’re taking the right.”

  “You can’t get away with this!” Chet said hotly. “We know who you are, and we know what you’re after! You’re impostors, and you’re trying to steal Mrs. Sanderson’s land!”

  “And you,” Cap added, pointing at the wiry man, “you’re Willie the Penman!”

  The other man looked startled. “They know we’re—”

  “Shut up!” the small fellow ordered. He turned to Cap and Chet. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. If you have any sense at all, you’ll keep your mouths shut.” He turned back to his companion. “Give me the wire.”

  The captives were led deeper underground, back into the dim recesses of the cave. Then the men, using lengths of tough copper wire, tied their prisoners’ hands behind their backs and bound their ankles.

  “Are we being kidnapped?”

  The little man said with an ugly laugh,” I wouldn’t call it that. We’re not taking you anywhere. You’re just going to lie right here in this cave and have a good rest.”

  “Yeah, and when we get around to it,” his henchman added, “we’ll send the sheriff to pick you up.”

  With that, the two men left the cave. When the sound of their footsteps had died away in the gloomy vault, Chet spoke up. “Do you think they really will send the sheriff to get us?”

  “I wouldn’t count on it,” Cap replied. “I can’t picture those two criminals helping the law.”

  “Do you suppose Frank and Joe will ever find us?” Chet quavered.

  Meanwhile, the Hardys had altered their plans. Since they did not have to meet their father until midnight, they had decided to ride first to Sheriff Paul’s and find out about the “ranger trouble.”

  Upon reaching the Paul ranch, the boys dismounted and knocked on the front door. To their amazement, it swung wide open under Frank’s touch,

  Joe called out, but there was no reply. He peered into the neat living room.

  “The place is deserted and the note we left is still on the table!”

  “That’s funny,” Frank remarked. “Mrs. Paul must have gone off soon after we did.”

  “I hope nothing’s happened to her,” Joe said apprehensively.

  The boys circled the house, but there was no sign of the sheriff’s wife. Nor was she in the barn or any of the other ranch buildings. The boys were more mystified than ever.

  “Let’s go back to the house,” Frank suggested.

  In the kitchen they saw unwashed dishes on the sink—a startling contrast to the spick-and-span condition of the house. Near the door was a basket of clothes. On a hunch, Frank felt them.

  “They’re still damp, Joe. That means Mrs. Paul was interrupted in her work. She must have left here in a hurry. Let’s check the corral.”

  Joe, first to reach it, called out, “Look at these fresh hoofprints. Several riders were here.”

  Frank knelt down. “Three sets come up to the gate, then four go away. The question is, Did Mrs. Paul go with the others, or leave later?”

  Carefully checking the trail and the turnoff into the ranch, the boys discovered that one set of hoofprints were headed in another direction.

  “She might have ridden off to warn somebody about her visitors,” Joe said, “probably her husband. But why didn’t she use her radiotelephone? I noticed one in the living room.”

  Hurrying back to the house, Frank examined the set. “The sheriff no doubt uses it to contact police headquarters at Red Butte. I’ll do the same.”

  He switched on the set and waited for it to warm up. However, no hum came from the loudspeaker. He pressed the microphone button.

  “That’s funny, Joe. This set doesn’t seem to be putting out at all.”

  Frank tried again, but the output dial remained at zero. Turning off the set, Joe unsnapped the cover slides, and removed the top.

  “No wonder!” he exclaimed. “A tube is missing!”

  “That’s proof enough for me,” Frank cried. “Those visitors were here for no good reason.”

  “We’d better ride to Red Butte as fast as we can and report the whole situation,” Frank said grimly.

  “Right,” Joe agreed. “Then later we can hop a train from there to Spur Gulch.”

  Hurrying outside, the Hardys sprang into their saddles and galloped off. At this rapid pace, they quickly covered a mile. Then they were forced to slow down because the trail had entered a rocky valley.

  As they proceeded, the valley became a narrow pass walled in by steep roc
k formations on either side.

  “I guess it’ll have to be Indian file now!” Frank said, cantering in front of his brother. As they neared the end of the pass, he suddenly reined in.

  “What’s up?” Joe asked, almost colliding with Frank’s mount.

  Frank did not answer, but from up ahead, Joe heard a gruff voice shout:

  “Hold it!”

  A man in cowboy attire, astride a pony, blocked the exit to the pass. The boys couldn’t see what he looked like, because of the dirty blue kerchief tied over the lower part of his face and a ten-gallon hat pulled low on his forehead.

  “I see you’re packing a gun!” he remarked, looking at the weapon Frank carried in a holster.

  “Yes. Protection against wild animals.”

  The cowboy gave a sarcastic laugh. Then he pressed his horse up beside Frank’s mount and tried to make a quick grab for the boy’s gun.

  But Frank was alert. As the stranger’s arm shot out toward his holster, the boy stood up in his stirrups and brought his fist down hard on the man’s wrist.

  Frank’s gun clattered to the ground. His horse reared, making the stranger’s pony shy too, and the masked man lost his seat. His own weapon was dislodged and flew several feet away as he hit the sand.

  “Come on, Joe!” Frank cried. “Help me tie this guy up, quick!”

  As Joe slid off his mount, he grabbed the rope from the pommel of his saddle and hurried to assist his brother. It was dangerous business, maneuvering in the narrow pass among the excited, rearing animals.

  Scrambling to his feet, Frank’s assailant began to back out of the pass. He reached for his gun. Realizing it was gone, he turned tail and started to run.

  “Help!” he shouted.

  Frank and Joe ran to intercept him. Joe tackled the man about the knees and dragged him to the ground. Frank, following up his move as fast as he could, seized the man’s flailing arms.

  But even as he did, Frank spotted a quick flash of movement to his left.

  “Watch out, Joe!” he yelled. “There are more of them!”

  Two masked men now sprang forward. As the Hardys whirled to meet this new threat, the ambushers charged!

  CHAPTER XIII

  An Icy Dungeon

  “GET ‘em!”

  Though completely helpless under the doublebarreled Hardy attack, the mysterious enemy managed to shout orders to his oncoming aides.

  Frank side-stepped a fist from one of the other masked men and landed a hard blow on the attacker’s chest. As Joe ducked a charge from the third ambusher, their fallen leader arose and dived at the boy from behind.

  Thrown off balance, Joe was an easy target for his two opponents and went down like a tenpin. Against three, Frank stood no chance at all, and was quickly pulled to the ground.

  Within a matter of minutes, the boys were bound and gagged, then heaved crosswise onto the saddles of their horses.

  “These men must be some of Willie’s gang,” thought Frank as the horse started to move. “Now what?”

  There was no indication from the cowboys as to where they were taking the Hardys. Except for a terse command now and then by their leader, the men guided them silently on a grueling ride through the rough country. Two of their captors rode ahead, the other at the rear.

  “Why have they kidnapped us?” Joe’s mind was in a whirl. “How did they know where to wait? They must have had us under surveillance all along!”

  One hour went by, two, three. Frank and Joe had been in many a tight spot, but none had ever seemed so hopeless as this one. Each jog of horse and saddle against stomach and ribs knocked the breath from their bodies. The boys realized they were becoming so exhausted and sore that even if they could manage to struggle free, they would not be able to walk.

  Worst of all, they realized that they now would have no chance of meeting their father at Spur Gulch.

  Hours later Frank and Joe heard the whistle of a train and shortly afterward they were approaching the railroad line. As close as Frank could figure, they were intersecting the railroad right-of-way much farther west than Spur Gulch.

  From behind a massive rock beside the shimmering tracks came the sound of a horse’s whinny. The man in the lead halted. He thrust two fingers in his mouth and gave a shrill whistle. Immediately another masked man rode into view.

  “So you got the meddling kids!” he boomed. “Great work! We’ll get rid of ’em right away!”

  “What’s your plan?” asked one of the others.

  “Toss’em on the rails!”

  From their awkward positions, lying across their saddles, the boys studied the newcomer. He was a big, heavy-set fellow. Could this be the convict Jesse Turk, who had so cleverly escaped from Delmore Prison?

  The other man who was as tall, but not as heavy as the newcomer, shook his head. “You want us all sent up for life—just when we can get clear?” he shot back. “I’ve got an idea how to put these smart-alecky kids out of the way and make it look like an accident.”

  “How?”

  “The freight that’s coming through here from the west at ten-thirty is hauling refrigerator cars. It’s due in an hour. We’ll put these kids on ice!”

  “Hey, that sounds like a good deal. I go for that.” And the others readily agreed.

  The heavy-set fellow spoke up again. “Break out some chow. We’ll give these boys their last meal.”

  As Frank’s and Joe’s horses were led away from the main party, their guard drew a bowie knife.

  “Toss’em on the train rails!”

  Dismounting, he slashed the ropes that bound Frank’s wrists and ankles.

  “Get off and untie your brother,” he ordered roughly. “And no tricks! Hear me?”

  Frank was only too glad to obey. He unfastened the handkerchief that had been stuffed into his mouth, and hobbled over to where Joe still lay across his mount. While seeming to struggle with the knotted bonds, he whispered furtively:

  “Joe, I’m sure the newcomer and the other big man are the ones we captured at Green Sand Lake. Flint and Turk!”

  “I think you’re right. But we’re not going to sit here and let them get away with this, are we?”

  “I’ll say not! Dad wants these crooks, and we’ll get ’em. Soon as the kinks are out of us, I’ll give you the signal and we’ll put up a fight.”

  “Cut it out!” their guard shouted. “No talking!”

  By the time Joe was untied, supper was brought to them by one of the masked men. Seated with a rifle across his knees, he watched the captives eat while the other guard walked off for his dinner. The boys were hungry enough for a good meal, even though their minds were occupied by the grave danger facing them.

  As Joe set down the tin can from which he had been drinking water, he whispered, “Frank, how come they left only one guard over us? Where are the rest of them?”

  Frank smiled grimly. “The others wanted to eat, I guess, and you can’t eat with a bandanna over your mouth! They don’t want us to see who they are.”

  Hearing their murmuring, the guard turned. “All right, you wise guys, one last warning. You want your gags back on? One more sound outta you, and—” Suddenly he stopped, cocked his head, and let out a loud roar. “Well, we don’t have to worry about you much longer. Here comes the freight.”

  As the train drew nearer, the rest of the gang appeared and surrounded the captives.

  “Get ready for your last mile,” the brawny man said sardonically. “Curtains for two detectives—and one to go!”

  The boys winced. By “one to go” the scoundrel could not mean anyone but their father. They must know he was in the vicinity of Spur Gulchl He might even have been captured already!

  Crouching behind a low outcropping of rock along the tracks, the men forced the boys down with them. The railroad ran up a slight grade at this point, and the heavy Diesels struggled and churned as they reached the incline. Slowly the twin locomotives neared the hidden group.

  “This’ll be a snap,�
� one of the men said confidently. “I’ll break the seal on a cooler first, and then—”

  Suddenly Frank sprang up. “At ’em, Joe!”

  “Hey, what’s—?”

  The man’s cry was cut off abruptly as Joe’s fist crashed into his mouth. Blood spurted from his lips, and he gave a yell of surprise and pain.

  Shoving one of their abductors backward into another and sending both sprawling, Frank turned and butted headfirst into a third.

  As they battled against the heavy odds, the boys shouted at the top of their voices for help. But their cries were lost in the thunder of the Diesels as the big engines roared past. No one on the train had seen the ruckus, and now no one could hear it!

  Although the Hardys fought furiously, they were outnumbered by their enemies. Subdued, they were held this time in steellike grips. The man who had proposed the refrigerator cars had ridden down the tracks, watching for a “cooler.”

  As one passed, he urged his horse alongside. The animal kept pace with the moving car while its rider leaned over toward the door. Skillfully he broke the metal seal and slid open one of the heavy insulated doors.

  The open car drew abreast. Frank and Joe were seized tightly, then heaved up and into the yawning opening of the refrigerator car. The heavy door slammed shut, and they could hear the bar fall into place on the outside.

  Joe was first to speak. “Frank! We’re locked in,” he said hoarsely. “We’ll freeze!”

  His brother sat up and nodded. “Easy, Joe. We’ll have to stay calm if we expect to get out of this alive.”

  Groggy, they stood up and tried to keep their balance in the pitch-black, chilly car. The only sound was the clackety-clack of the wheels. Frank took a small flashlight from his pocket and looked around. Their prison was filled with crates of West Coast lettuce.

  Climbing up and over them, Frank presently came to the front wall of the car. It was damp and freezing cold against his hand.

  “Joe! I just remembered something,” he said hopefully. “We’re lucky. This is an old-type car. In the new nitrogen refrigerator units we’d be goners for sure. They have practically no oxygen.”