The Secret of Wildcat Swamp (10 page)

“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!

“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.

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.”

“You're right. This oldie has ice compartments at each end. Bunkers.”

“Exactly. The bunkers open into this section near the roof, so the cold air can circulate. What about it?”

“That's our way out. Each bunker has a hatch in the roof, where ice is put in.”

By the dim beam of the pocket flashlight, they could see that the open parts of the bunkers were covered by wire.

“If we can only cut through that!” Frank said.

“Here.” Joe pulled a knife from a pocket in his dungarees.

Climbing up on the stacked lettuce crates, Frank began hacking away at the wire screen. With only the small penknife, it took time, but finally he made a hole large enough to crawl through. Perched atop a slippery cake of ice, he reached up for the hatch.

It was tightly locked.

“No luck,” he called down in disappointment.

Descending to the floor of the car, he added, “We have only one more chance—the other hatch.”

“Let me try this time,” Joe suggested.

“Okay. Maybe you'll be luckier than I was.” With teeth chattering, Joe sawed away at the wire mesh of the other bunker and worked his way in on top of the ice. Anxiously he glanced up at the hatch. A thin sliver of light showed along one edge.

“Frank!” he shouted exultantly. “This one isn't locked!”

Quickly Joe leaned down over the edge of the bunker and helped Frank climb up into the ice chamber. Together, they pushed at the hatch cover, but it didn't budge.

“Joe! All your might!” Frank urged. “This is our only chance!”

“My hands are so numb I can't even feel the hatch.”

“We've got to make it!” Frank gasped.

BRACING their shoulders and arms beneath the hatch of the refrigerator car, Frank and Joe gave one more mighty heave. This time they forced the cover upward and held it against the rushing wind as they scrambled out.

A blast of air nearly threw them off balance. But it was warm, and felt wonderful against their frigid skin.

“Duck down!” Frank yelled. “Less wind resistance.”

The train had topped a long grade, and was speeding now to make up for time lost on the hill. The boys swayed as the freight rounded a long curve.

Frank glanced back through the gathering dust to see if he could spot any familiar landmarks. Checking his watch, he surmised they must have traveled past Spur Gulch.

“Hey!” Joe cried out. “We're slowing down!”

“Good!” returned Frank. “I think our best bet is to hop off and walk back to the Gulch.”

Amid the rattle and banging of couplings, the long freight train jarred to a stop.

“Out on the sand!” yelled Joe as he eased down on the smooth surface. A hundred yards down the track Frank followed.

“Now,” Frank said, “we have a good hike ahead of us back to Spur Gulch. It's nearly time for our date with Dad.”

They had hardly hit their stride along the ties when Frank pulled up short.

“Look over there, Joe. In that patch of woods.”