Bound and gagged in the cargo hold were Deputy Miles and Reuben Tallwalker!
Deputy Miles tried to say something through her gag, but Joe pointed upward and signaled her to keep quiet.
They sat still, listening to the footsteps of someone pacing back and forth on the deck above.
Joe waited until the footsteps had moved to the other end of the boat, then he and Chet began to untie Reuben and Deputy Miles.
“Boy, am I glad to see you two,” the deputy said when her gag was off.
“How did you end up here?” Chet asked, as he began working on the ropes binding her feet.
“I’d forgotten to ask the dockmaster one important question,” Deputy Miles explained. “All the boats in the harbor the night of the robbery were local. What I asked this afternoon was whether any of those local boats left port during the big squall.”
“The Hammerhead,” Joe filled in.
“Bingo,” the deputy replied. “I just came down to ask Salty Hubbard some routine questions about where he had gone in the middle of a squall. The next thing you know, he pulled a shotgun on me.”
“I’m beginning to think he’s the most ruthless one of the whole gang,” Joe remarked.
“Gang?” Deputy Miles asked.
Reuben pulled his gag off with his free hand. “The alligator hunter, Platt. And the fisherman, Hubbard. When they caught me following them through the swamp, they tied me up, then Hubbard brought me here.”
“There’s a third robber. The safecracker is Trent Furman,” Joe informed them.
“Who are they?” Reuben asked, still confused.
“They’re the men who stole those rare gold coins from the vault in Miami,” Joe replied.
“You’re sure?” Deputy Miles asked.
“Almost dead certain,” Joe said firmly.
“Let’s get out of here and talk later,” Chet said eagerly.
It was too late. The boat motor hummed to life at that moment. The stowaways could feel the boat moving away from the dock.
“Great,” Chet grumbled.
“It’s four against two,” Reuben pointed out. “Pretty good odds.”
• • •
“So Salty Hubbard loaned you his hat to hide your age?” Frank asked as he and Randy puttered along the shore of the bay toward Gator Swamp. “Our biggest riddle has the simplest answer.”
“Yep. I forgot my hat at home the first day,” Randy explained. “Salty said I looked like a young kid and an amateur without a hat, so he loaned me his for the night.”
“And gave you the money to enter the other competition,” Frank deduced.
“Right. But on the condition that I didn’t tell anyone else about the gold coin I had found,” Randy added.
“Where did you find the coin?” Frank asked.
“It’ll be hard to pinpoint at night,” Randy replied, “but I’ll try to show you.”
Randy manned the outboard motor, while Frank sat in the bow, acting as the lookout to keep them from hitting any stumps or heavy saw grass that would clog the propeller.
Finally they reached the island where the Hardys and Chet had been stranded.
“That’s it, right?” Frank said. “Twin Cypress Key.”
“No,” Randy replied. “It’s an island nearby that used to look like that.”
“Used to?” Frank asked.
“You’ll see what I mean,” Randy said. A few minutes later, the boat rounded a bend. Just ahead was an island that looked like Twin Cypress Key, but Frank noticed there was one major difference.
“There’s only one cypress tree,” Frank said. Then he noticed a second cypress tree lying nearby, almost completely submerged under water. “The second tree was blown over in the squall!” Frank said.
“Right,” Randy said. “Before the big storm, I used to have trouble telling these two islands apart.”
“So the robbers have been looking in the wrong place this whole time,” Frank deduced. “No wonder they haven’t recovered the gold. Where exactly did you find the first coin?” he asked Randy.
“I found it there,” Randy said, a slight quiver in his voice. “Right where that weird light is.”
Frank saw the strange light beneath the surface of the water. He also spotted an airboat anchored about fifty feet away from the light.
“I can almost guarantee it’s Zack Platt,” Frank replied. “He must have figured out the riddle of the second cypress, too.”
Frank signaled for Randy to cut the engine, and the two boys coasted up alongside the airboat. Frank spotted a shortwave radio on board as well as a wet canvas sack.
“Hey, what happened to the light?” Randy asked. In the brief moment that their attention was on the airboat, the light had vanished.
A hideous creature lunged out of the water behind Randy, grabbed him in a bear hug, then dragged him overboard into the swamp.
15 The Creature in the Swamp
* * *
“Randy!” Frank shouted, as he dove overboard to save him.
Under the black water, Frank began wrestling with the powerful creature. It had rubbery skin and large webbed feet. A man in a wet suit, Frank quickly realized.
Frank could not break the man’s grip on Randy, but he was able to force him to the surface where he and Randy could at least catch a breath of air.
Tearing off the man’s face mask, Frank confirmed what he had suspected. The man in the wet suit was Zack Platt.
For no apparent reason, Platt suddenly released Randy and swam away. Frank helped Randy back into the johnboat. Hanging off the side of the small craft, Frank scanned the water, waiting for Platt to attack again. But he was nowhere in sight.
“There!” Randy shouted, pointing over the bow of the johnboat. “He’s climbing onto his airboat!”
Frank looked over to see Platt hauling a canvas sack aboard. “He’s found the coins!” Frank shouted.
Platt started up his airboat and took off across Gator Swamp in the direction of Florida Bay. Randy yanked the pull cord to start his outboard motor, and they slowly began their pursuit.
Frank realized this was useless, and he shouted instructions to Randy. “Head for Dusty’s fishing camp! Quick!”
• • •
Back on the Hammerhead, Joe searched the cargo hold for some makeshift weapons to use against their adversaries.
The sea was rough, and the boat rocked violently, making it hard for Chet to untie the last knot binding Deputy Miles’s ankles.
“Find anything helpful, Joe?” Reuben asked, rubbing his sore rope-burned wrists.
“Nothing we could use for a weapon,” Joe replied. “But look what I did find under these life jackets.” Joe held up two black cloth hoods.
“Hoods?” Reuben asked, puzzled.
“The safecrackers wore black hoods,” Deputy Miles recalled. “But how did they end up on this boat?”
“Somehow the robbers must have gotten word to Salty Hubbard that the police were chasing them,” Joe began.
Chet jumped in with the answer. “A shortwave radio!”
“That’s my hunch, too,” Joe said. “Furman probably used the same shortwave that’s now in his cabin at the fishing camp. They went with an alternate plan—to steal one of Angus Tallwalker’s airboats and meet up in Florida Bay.”
“But if they got away with the loot, why hang around here?” Deputy Miles asked.
“Chet and I figured they lost the coins overboard trying to get through Gator Swamp during the big squall,” Joe explained.
“That’s incredible!” Deputy Miles exclaimed. “If you boys want a job when you get out of high school, I hope you’ll think of the Frog’s Peninsula police force.”
“Right now, I would be more concerned with being alive to graduate,” Reuben interjected. “We need a plan to get out of here.”
“Could we swim for it?” Chet asked.
“I don’t know,” Joe replied. “What’s the shark situation in these waters?”
“There are
a lot of them,” Deputy Miles replied.
“Sharks probably wouldn’t feed in this kind of weather,” Reuben informed them.
“Well, that’s good news,” Joe said.
“On the other hand, in this kind of weather,” Reuben added, “we would most likely all drown.”
“If I could get to the shortwave radio, I could call for help,” Joe said.
“Good idea,” Deputy Miles said. “That seems to be our only hope.”
“I’m going to let Reuben lead the way,” Joe said. “If he can climb up a tree and paint messages on our foreheads without waking us, he can probably get us to the main cabin without being detected.”
Reuben smoothly and silently opened the hatch a crack and looked out. “Hubbard is in the skipper’s roost,” he said. “I don’t see Furman.”
“Can we get by without being seen?” Joe asked.
Reuben didn’t answer. He just sat watching, then suddenly said, “Now!”
Reuben jumped through the hatch and onto the deck in one swift movement. Joe did his best to keep up. They ducked behind the anchor just as Salty Hubbard turned his gaze back to the bow of the boat.
Crawling on their stomachs, the two boys moved along the deck and to the open door of the main cabin. Reuben peeked in, then motioned Joe forward. Joe climbed down two steps into the main cabin.
Another door was at the front of the cabin. Joe figured it led to the boat’s sleeping quarters. The shortwave radio sat on a gray metal desk next to another device Joe realized was an electronic fish finder.
A detailed map of Gator Swamp with various islands marked off with red X marks was laid out on the desk. Dusty Cole’s fishing camp was circled in black.
The shortwave radio made a high-pitched squeal as Joe switched it on. He turned the volume control to the lowest setting.
Reuben ducked his head into the cabin, signaling Joe to keep quiet. He disappeared for a moment, then reappeared, giving Joe the okay sign.
Joe picked up the hand receiver and pressed the button to transmit.
“Joe Hardy calling Cole’s Fishing Camp,” he said in a muffled whisper. There was no response, so he tried again, speaking a little louder. “This is Joe Hardy calling Cole’s Fishing Camp.” No one answered. Everyone must be asleep, Joe thought.
Just then a voice replied. “Howdy, Joe. I didn’t know you were a ham operator.”
Joe recognized Homer’s voice. “Homer, we’re in big trouble.”
“You sure are. You woke me out of a dead sleep. Where are you? Over,” Homer said.
“We’re on Salty Hubbard’s fishing boat,” Joe replied.
“Fishing boat?” Homer blurted. “Don’t you know there’s a storm about to hit us?”
“Shh!” Joe tried to get Homer to lower his voice. “We’ve been trapped on board with the men who pulled the bank job in Miami. Over.”
“Holy smoke!” Homer exclaimed.
“Shh! Tell Frank that we’re on our way to meet up with Zack Platt. Over,” Joe instructed Homer.
“Frank isn’t here, and I’m afraid—” Homer’s voice was suddenly cut off as someone switched off the shortwave radio.
“I was trying to catch a nap,” Furman growled, pointing a thumb toward the sleeping quarters, “but you were making an awful racket out here.”
“It’s too late. I already sent an SOS to the police with our exact location,” Joe said, bluffing.
Furman’s eyes narrowed. “Good. Then they’ll know exactly where to find your body after I’ve thrown you overboard.”
“Not on your life!” Joe shouted as he pushed Furman, throwing him off balance long enough to make a break for the cabin door. Furman recovered quickly, though, lunging for Joe and tackling him to the floor.
Furman kneeled on Joe’s back, pinning him down. “You lie still now, or I’ll break every bone in your body,” Furman threatened.
Reuben suddenly swung through the cabin door, hitting Furman squarely on the jaw and sending him flying backward.
Joe jumped to his feet and turned on Furman, with Reuben by his side. “Two against one now,” he said.
Furman wiped his bloody nose and eyed his two opponents.
“Hold it right there!” a voice behind Joe ordered. Joe and Reuben spun around to find themselves looking down the barrel of Salty Hubbard’s shotgun. Furman quickly pulled a revolver from a drawer in the desk.
“Okay, you two, unless you want your friends here hurt, come on down nice and quiet,” Hubbard called toward the open cabin door. Chet and Deputy Miles stepped into the cabin.
Hubbard snorted. “Well, well, Furman, it looks like we’ve got more shark bait than we figured on.”
• • •
“Homer! Dusty!” Frank shouted as he ran into the darkness of the lodge at the fishing camp. He flipped the light switch. Nothing happened.
Frank stepped back outside, joined by Randy, who had grabbed the flashlight from his johnboat.
“The lights are out, and no one’s inside. Let’s try our cabin,” Frank said, leading the way.
Rain and wind whipped the boys’ faces as they ran past the row of cabins on stilts.
“This one,” Frank called back to Randy as he bounded up the steps and into his cabin.
“Joe!” Frank shouted. As Randy entered and flashed the light around the cabin, a strange sight caught Frank’s eye. He noticed a puddle of water on the floor with streaks of mud leading away from it. A large object beside the bed moved to block the path to the doorway with its head and the path to the window with its tail.
“F-F-Frank?” Randy stuttered. The beam of Randy’s flashlight reflected off the milky white eye of a very long alligator.
“It’s Big Bertha,” Frank spoke calmly and quietly. “Okay, Randy, this is what we’re going to do. We’re going to circle around very slowly until we get behind her.”
“I don’t think I can move,” Randy replied, a quiver in his voice.
“Then stand perfectly still,” Frank instructed. Frank edged his way around the room toward the tail end of Big Bertha. He remembered what Steven Willow had said about an alligator’s narrow field of vision.
“Now, Randy, in a few seconds I’m going to sit on Big Bertha’s back,” Frank explained.
“You’re going to what?” Randy asked.
“I’m going to try to put her to sleep,” Frank went on. “If it doesn’t work, I want you to make a run for the door.”
Big Bertha moved a few feet toward Randy. Frank knew he had to act quickly. Without making any sudden movements, he approached Big Bertha. In one smooth motion, Frank sat down, pushed the alligator’s snout against the floor, and got a firm grip on it.
Big Bertha made a low growling sound. Frank held her jaws shut with a minimum amount of effort. This is just the way it worked for Mr. Willow, he thought.
“Frank!” Dusty shouted, flinging open the cabin door. It struck Big Bertha on the side of the head.
The giant alligator thrashed her tail and twisted her head. Frank hung on for dear life.
Dusty hopped onto Big Bertha with Frank, trying to keep the creature from rolling over and crushing them beneath its weight.
“Run!” Frank yelled to Randy. The alligator had moved enough for Randy to have a clear path to the screened window. Randy dove for the window, tearing out the screen and disappearing into the dark night outside.
Big Bertha was shaking her head violently from side to side, even though two large men were on her back, clutching her snout.
“I can’t hold on much longer!” Frank told Dusty.
“Me either,” the cowboy said.
Frank could hear the alligator’s massive tail thrashing across the floor and saw it splinter a wooden chair against the wall.
“On the count of three, we’ll both let go and make a run for the window!” Frank shouted.
Dusty began the count. “One . . . two . . . three!” At the same moment, Frank and Dusty released Big Bertha’s snout, backpedaled away, and rushed t
oward the window. The monster alligator swung her head around and snapped her jaws shut, just missing Frank’s right foot.
Dusty jumped out the window headfirst, somersaulting and landing awkwardly on his shoulder. Frank hopped sideways through the window, leading with his feet. He held on to the window ledge for a split second before dropping, lessening the impact of his fall.
Randy was on his hands and knees on the ground, gasping for air. “I’m fine,” he said to Frank as he stood up.
“Dusty, how are you doing?” Frank asked.
“I have ridden fifty wild bulls, a hundred wild horses, and one big mama alligator without being hurt,” Dusty replied. “And I think I just broke my arm jumping out of that little window.”
Homer arrived on the scene, grumbling about his pontoon boat. “Someone’s done a real number on it. Sabotaged the engine. We’re stranded here like a one-legged cat in a redwood tree.”
Frank quickly told Homer what had happened. The older man and the two boys gently got Dusty to his feet and helped him toward the lodge.
“Someone rigged the generator to short-circuit,” Dusty said. “Homer and I were out back fixing it when we heard you calling.”
“Let’s worry about you for now, Dusty,” Frank said.
“That’s a luxury we don’t have,” Dusty said, with a worried look to Homer. “Tell him.”
“Your brother radioed in just before the generator went out,” Homer told Frank. “He and Chet are trapped on Salty Hubbard’s charter boat. We were cut off before Joe could give me the location.”
“We don’t need a location,” Frank said. “If we follow Zack Platt, he’ll lead us right to them.”
“Follow him how, Frank?” Randy asked. “You said yourself, the only way we’ll catch him is in another airboat, and now he’s got a ten-minute head start on us.”
Frank shook his head. Randy was right.
“Give Homer another five minutes, and he’ll have the generator fixed,” Dusty said. “We’ll radio the Coast Guard.”
Frank nodded.
The rest of the guests had been awakened by the commotion, and they were arriving at the lodge, carrying lanterns and wearing rain gear.
“I can set that arm until we get you to a hospital,” Billy Biggs offered.
Lost in Gator Swamp Page 9
