The Secret of Wildcat Swamp Page 2

  Mr. Hardy then went on to explain that the robbers, so far as he had been able to find out, had used either of two methods in their plan of operation.

  “Sometimes,” he said, “they throw up a road-block at a strategic point, where the engineer can’t see it in time to stop his train. In this way they create a wreck and make their haul during the confusion.

  “At other times they manage to send false messages by radio, and induce the train crew to switch certain boxcars to specified lonely sidings. Then they move in and loot them.”

  “Sounds like a pretty slick outfit,” Joe remarked.

  “Yes. That’s what makes them so tough to handle,” his father affirmed.

  “Dad,” Joe asked, “do you suppose the phrase ‘twenty wildcat’ is some kind of password?”

  Frank, who had been listening quietly, offered an additional idea. “It’s possible that the railroad thieves have some kind of headquarters near where Cap’s uncle was digging for fossils. Maybe a cache where they hide their loot.”

  “That would certainly account for their not wanting any strangers in that immediate area,” Mr. Hardy agreed. “They may have been trying to discourage Bailey by holding him up on that first trip. As a matter of fact, they probably planned to steal the map his uncle left.”

  The Hardys spent another half-hour discussing the case, then the boys’ father said he must get some papers ready for a plane trip to New York.

  “I’m getting the eleven-o’clock flight, so I’ll be there first thing in the morning for a conference with the League officials,” he explained.

  After Fenton Hardy had taken a taxi to the airport, the boys discussed their own trip, and the clothes and equipment they ought to take.

  “I suppose we’ll be on horseback a lot of the time,” Frank remarked.

  It was almost midnight before the brothers had their gear packed. They were about to go to bed when the shrill ring of the telephone disturbed the quiet of the big frame house.

  Frank answered the call. A woman’s voice, edged with hysteria, said, “This is Mrs. Bailey, Frank. I’ve already called the police, but I think you should know what has happened here.”

  “What, Mrs. Bailey?”

  “Two masked men broke into our house and ransacked it. They attacked my husband and left him unconscious!”

  CHAPTER III

  A Hazardous Take-off

  IN LESS than five minutes Frank and Joe were in their convertible, speeding toward Cap Bailey’s home.

  “I hope Cap’s not badly hurt,” Frank said worriedly.

  By the time they reached the Bailey house, the police had already arrived. Frank and Joe dashed up the steps and were immediately recognized by the officer on duty at the door.

  “Might have known you fellows would be on hand sooner or later,” he said with a grin. “Where’s your dad tonight?”

  Explaining that Mr. Hardy was on his way to New York, Frank asked about Cap Bailey’s condition.

  “Nothing serious,” the policeman assured the boys, and motioned them inside the house.

  Cap was sitting on the sofa, holding his head, Mrs. Bailey beside him. A police sergeant was conducting the investigation, and Cap told him the details. He was glad to see the Hardys, and after a few words with them continued his account.

  “My wife and I had just returned from a concert, and I had gone upstairs,” he reported, “when I heard her cry out. I found her struggling as she was being tied up by one of the masked men. The other held a gun on me and told me to stand with my face against the wall. A moment later I felt a blow on my head, and that’s all I know.”

  His wife took up the story. “After that they turned the house upside down, searching for something. They must have been at it almost an hour. Cap was just beginning to stir again when they finally left, and I managed to struggle free.”

  The police officer questioned Cap. “Have you looked over your things to see if anything is missing?”

  “Yes, but nothing much is gone. Only a duplicate map I’d been making for a trip I plan to take this summer, but it wasn’t complete.”

  Frank and Joe exchanged knowing glances. The map of Wildcat Swamp!

  “They didn’t get the original?”

  “No, I had that well hidden. You see, Officer, it’s a map of a property out West that may have some value to it.” With the promise that nothing would be made public, he told the sergeant the background of the situation.

  Meanwhile, a policeman had been searching the entire house for clues. Now he came up to his superior.

  “Sergeant, we may be able to get some prints off that back kitchen window. It looks smudgy—unless the marks were made by one of the family.”

  “No, I washed every downstairs window today,” Mrs. Bailey asserted.

  Hopefully, the police lifted all the prints they could find, and then left the house. The Hardys’ offer to remain overnight, in the event that the housebreakers might return, was welcomed by Mrs. Bailey, even though Cap thought it unnecessary. The boys, after calling home to let their mother know where they were, took turns sleeping, but the thieves did not reappear.

  At breakfast Frank and Joe questioned the science teacher closely as to how many people might be aware of his intended trip.

  “As I told you, it was no secret at all,” he replied. “Matter of fact, a reporter from the Bayport Times got wind of it and came around for an interview. He wrote a long article for the paper.”

  “Good night!” Joe cried. “Did he mention the location of Wildcat Swamp?”

  “No, I didn’t tell him that. But I did mention the sign that my uncle had found, and the words ‘Here lie the bodies of twenty wildcat.’ ”

  Their conversation was interrupted by the telephone. Cap answered it, and came back looking pleased.

  “The police were able to trace those fingerprints—some character named Willie the Penman.”

  Frank and Joe almost shouted. “Willie the Penman!”

  “He’s that friend of Flint and Turk!” Frank exclaimed. “Now we know there’s some kind of connection between Cap’s mission and Dad’s case!”

  They told Cap and his wife about the series of train robberies which Mr. Hardy had been engaged to investigate, and also about the prison break.

  “I wonder if Willie or someone else in the gang happened to see that story,” Joe ruminated.

  “It certainly begins to sound as if Wildcat Swamp might be a hideout, with Turk joining Flint and Willie the Penman,” Frank observed.

  “I take it you fellows are still interested in making the trip?” Cap asked with a grin.

  “More so than ever,” Frank said quickly. “The—”

  “All I ask,” Mrs. Bailey interrupted with a worried glance at her husband, “is that you take care of yourselves. I’m afraid that these men are desperate characters.”

  Joe suggested they make the trip by plane instead of by car. “We could even set out for a fake destination, to throw those guys off the trail in case they try to follow us,” he proposed.

  Cap and Frank weighed the suggestion and found it thoroughly practical. It would be faster and would lessen the opportunity for interference.

  “Green Sand Lake might be the ideal destination to announce,” Cap remarked. “It’s well known as a searching area for fossil deposits, and it’s only about three hundred miles from Bayport.”

  From there, they could go by rail to a place closer to Wildcat Swamp, procure mounts, and make the final stage by horseback. But this phase of the journey they hoped to keep secret.

  Breakfast over, Frank and Joe went off to arrange details. First they contacted Jack Wayne, a private pilot who had become Mr. Hardy’s righthand man on charter flights. Jack was delighted to accept the assignment, especially when the boys outlined the reasons for the secrecy of the trip.

  At home, though, they ran into trouble. During the boys’ brief absence, their Aunt Gertrude, who lived with them, had returned from a visit and had taken over on the home
front. An elder sister of Mr. Hardy, the energetic woman had a determined air and an eye that missed little, yet the boys were very fond of her and liked to tease her.

  “Going away again, I hear,” she said as the young detectives were stacking their gear in the downstairs hallway, “Fingerprint sets, radio sending-and-receiving set. Where to?”

  Patiently but hurriedly they told her of having been asked to act as bodyguards and detectives for their science teacher, Cap Bailey.

  “Bodyguards!” Miss Hardy gasped. “Aren’t they the ones who always get shot first when someone is going to be assassinated?”

  “Don’t worry about us, Aunty,” Joe said, grinning. “We’ll duck between the bullets. And we need the radio so we can keep in communication with the undertakers just before the assassination.”

  Take-off was set for early the next morning. Though the Hardys were at the flying field long before the time of departure, Chet Morton was there ahead of them, greeting Jack Wayne and bringing the travelers a box of candy as a parting gift.

  “It’s only what I would like someone to bring me,” he remarked when they thanked him.

  “Let’s open it right now,” Joe said with a laugh. “Help yourself.”

  Chet casually removed as many as one hand would hold. “If you fellows need any help out West, just call on me. Well, I’d better hurry home to work on the swimming pool. So long.”

  He drove off and the three climbed into the cabin of the low-winged silver plane. Jack turned the switch and pressed the starter button.

  Frank and Joe had flown with Jack Wayne many times before. They admired the way he handled his plane Skyhappy Sal.

  After warming the engine for take-off, he swung the ship into the wind and lined up on the north-south runway, which paralleled the entrance road.

  “All set?”

  The passengers nodded, and Jack shoved the throttle forward. The powerful engine roared, and the plane rolled ahead. As it gained speed, the runway flashing below its windows, the plane suddenly gave a lurch.

  Jack yanked the throttle back and the engine’s roar died. But the plane’s speed was still high as he eased in the brakes. The next instant a heavy jolt shook Skyhappy Sal. Frank, sitting on the left, saw something dart from beneath the wing on his side and bound away.

  A wheel!

  It rolled into the entrance road, just missing a car and causing it to swerve dangerously.

  In the cockpit Jack Wayne fought to keep his careening aircraft from reaching the road. Desperately he threw all his weight on the right brake. There was a loud, grating splatter as dirt flew up over the windshield.

  CHAPTER IV

  Fingerprint Tip

  JACK’S passengers clung desperately to their seats as the tilted plane spun and skidded through the soft earth. Inches from the busy roadway it came to a halt. There was a moment of silence.

  “Great work, Jack!” Frank found his voice.

  Joe added his praise as Cap slapped the pilot on the shoulder. Only Jack Wayne’s skill had kept the plane from turning over.

  “This is a tough accident,” Cap said. “How did it happen?”

  “The retaining collar slipped off,” Jack replied, after examining the landing gear. “But I can’t understand why. A cotter pin holds the collar tight and that keeps the wheel on the axle. I checked the plane this morning. There wasn’t anything wrong with that wheel!”

  Frank, Joe, and Cap looked at one another, the same question in each one’s mind. Had someone tampered with the plane because of them?

  “Jack, would it be hard for a person to loosen one of these wheels?” Frank asked.

  “Any good mechanic would know how,” the pilot answered. “Why?”

  Frank told him of the attack on Cap. It was entirely possible that someone had taken this method of trying to stop the trio from making the trip.

  A determined gleam came into Jack Wayne’s eyes. “I’ll get another plane. I’m sure that the airport manager will let me borrow his. We shan’t be delayed more than fifteen minutes.”

  Upon hearing of their plight, the manager readily offered the use of his private plane. The travelers transferred their equipment at once.

  This time the plane rolled smoothly down the runway, rose, and headed for Green Sand Lake.

  The Hardys admired the unlimited view below. Joe noticed another plane, a mere dot on the horizon behind them. Ten minutes later the plane was still there, exactly the same distance away.

  “Frank, do you think that pilot could be following us?” he asked.

  Frank scanned the horizon to their rear.

  “What’s the matter, boys?” Cap asked.

  Joe explained, then told Jack. “How about slowing down and letting him pass?” he suggested. “Maybe we can identify him.”

  Jack throttled back but so did the pursuer, remaining far to the rear. All the boys could discern was that the plane was a low-winged, single-engine type similar to their own.

  Soon Jack Wayne eased off his power and slanted down for a flawless landing at the small Green Sand Airport. The plane behind them made no attempt to land, and continued on its course.

  “Guess we were mistaken about that fellow,” Cap observed as they unloaded the baggage. A few minutes later the pilot wished his passengers good luck and started back for Bayport.

  Green Sand Airport was a desolate spot in rough country several miles from town. It boasted one large frame building, which was a combination hangar and administration shack.

  “I’ll try to arrange for transportation to the fossil area,” Bailey said.

  He walked into the building, leaving the Hardys in charge of the luggage. A few seconds later Frank, peering upward, said:

  “Here comes a plane. It looks like the one that was following us.”

  The trim, low-winged craft droned around the field, making its traffic pattern, and floated in to a fast landing.

  The pilot taxied in front of the boys, whirling his ship around and blasting them with a dusty slipstream. He cut the switch, and without so much as a nod, walked off to the hangar.

  The stranger was a tall man with smooth black hair. But his eyebrows were surprisingly light, which made his eyes seem like black marbles. His nose looked like a bony blade stuck on his thin face.

  “Don’t like him,” Frank said crisply. “Did you notice his walk?”

  “Queer,” Joe agreed. “He slithers like a snake. I wonder who he is.”

  “You couldn’t find out from his plane,” Frank observed, walking closer to it. “The identification numbers are practically weathered off.”

  “Or rubbed off on purpose,” Joe remarked. “And, say, look at that little insignia on the cowling.”

  “A snake,” Frank whispered. “A snake eating a bird! It fits the fellow all right.”

  A fuel truck rolled toward them. As it drew closer, the boys discovered that the beak-nosed pilot was riding with the driver. He alighted and strode up to the Hardys.

  “What’s the idea of snooping around my ship?”

  “We were just looking it over,” Frank said casually. “We wondered how you can fly without license numbers.”

  “That’s none of your business!” the man snapped. “It’s due for a new paint job at the end of this run, since you’re so worried about it. Now I’ll thank you to move on.”

  He turned to the gas-truck driver. “Get me a taxi,” he said.

  The driver nodded, completed his refueling job, and rode off with the pilot. At the same moment Cap Bailey pulled up in an old-fashioned rented car, and the boys put the luggage on its roof. Then they set off for the fossil area. Twenty minutes later they reached the famous spot.

  “The sand really has a greenish look,” Frank observed.

  Cap smiled. “You’ll find that the study of fossils is pretty interesting. Paleontologists who dig for them are the detectives of the past, and fossils are their clues. You can tell from them what the climate was and if the place where they lie buried was dry lan
d or ocean. The land we’re standing on was once deep beneath the sea.”

  “This far inland?” Joe asked.

  “Even farther. This green sand was left behind by an immense sea that covered the eastern part of the country many centuries after brachiopods became extinct. By the way, this sand is very good fertilizer.”

  “Like cheese, eh? When it’s green, it’s ripe!” Joe quipped.

  The conversation turned to more serious matters. Cap asked the boys if they felt sure they had eluded any pursuers interested in stealing his map of Wildcat Swamp.

  “I don’t trust that pilot who flew in right after we did,” Frank answered.

  “Since we seem to be watched,” Joe said, “maybe we ought to rig up a booby trap.”

  “What kind?” Cap asked.

  “Well, if I were after any papers of yours, I’d figure they were in that brief case you carry. Let’s take out what’s important and leave the case in the car. Then we can walk out into the dry lake, circle around, and watch.”

  “And in case someone takes that brief case, how about a little of this powder?” Frank suggested as he opened one of the bags and took out a plastic vial.

  “What is it?” Bailey asked.

  “A special dye powder. We’ll sprinkle it lightly over your brief case. It’s the same color as the leather, but if anyone gets it on his hands, a blue stain will show up in a few minutes. And he’ll have a terrible time washing it off.”

  “We may not catch the villain red-handed, but we’ll sure catch him blue-handed.” Joe chuckled.

  The trap was laid quickly and the car parked in plain sight. The three worked their way across the dry lake bed, around boulders, and through scraggly stunted brush toward the top of a hill.

  But before they could reach the summit, a voice hailed them, “Hey there! What are you up to?”

  Cap and the Hardys stopped in their tracks and turned. A uniformed policeman had dismounted from a horse and was hurrying toward them.

  “I’ve been watching you,” the officer puffed. “You don’t act like fossil hunters to me. I patrol this area every day—lots of professor guys get lost out here—but you’re not fossil men. You don’t even have any equipment.”