CHAPTER XX

The Rough Ride

Six bright beams of light swept the Hardys hiding place from the opposite side of the tracks. As they drew closer, the Hardys 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 said 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

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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."

Reaching into his jacket, the detective pulled out a small bottle. "Concentrated food tablets," he said, handing them to Frank. "You may need them. Good-by."

Leaving 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 suddenly stepped into the open.

"Flint!" he shouted.

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The two train robbers whirled about. 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 airplane. Although he could have escaped pursuit, Mr. Hardy deliberately let Flint catch an occasional glimpse of him, leading the gang leader farther away from his gang.

Flint's rage increased as Frank and Joe's father tormented him with a dangerous game of cops and robbers. Once, when Flint drew near, the detective threw a stone, which landed behind the ex-convict. The criminal whirled and fired blindly. When he did, the detective abandoned his concealed position and plunged noisily ahead, with Flint rampaging after him.

Half an hour later Mr. Hardy emerged from the woods into a clearing, in the center of which stood Jack Wayne's airplane. Running toward it, the detective shouted:

"Jack! Flint's right behind me. Cover me while I give him a whiff of the gas gun!"

The Secret of Wildcat Swamp

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 brakeman 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 Snide."

Frank and Joe exchanged startled glances. Now the jigsaw pieces were dropping into place. 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

The Rough Ride 163

narrow overgrown 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 and pitched through the night, Frank whispered :

"From the feel of the grades and turns, we're still on the logging road."

"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' dis-

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comfort, 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 found his brother's arm in the dark.

"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's parked ahead of us."

Frank drew his penknife and cut a small peephole. "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."

Joe crawled to the rear of the truck and began untying the cover. He had a leg over the side when Frank grabbed his shoulder.

"Get back! They're coming out!"

Their two drivers, one of them fairly young, approached the truck, accompanied by a third man. Hearing them walk 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 that up there in front?" the man from the diner asked.

The boys held their breaths.

"Boxes of drill bits and fittings."

The Rough Ride 165

As the three men stood talking, 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 that when the trucks reached here 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. However, they knew that becoming panicky would do no good. They must think of something!

As the truck started on 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 brothers watched through the holes in the

166 The Secret of Wildcat Swamp

canvas. But they passed no ranch houses and the truck sped through the night at high speed. The boys suddenly heard the younger driver 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 had a flat nose!

"But you gotta remember, Charlie," the other man in the front seat was saying, "Snide's a good oil man. He'll be useful to have around on a deal like this."

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."

"Bah! What're you doin', gettin' soft?"

"No, but we can put this whole thing across without murder, can't we?"

"Aw, can it! Anybody gets in our way deserves what he gets. And Nick Snide'll be the guy to give it to 'im."

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

The Rough Ride 167

son," Frank whispered to Joe as they crouched listening. "How'd he get mixed up with a gang like this?"

Joe had only time to shrug when 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 yielding 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 super highway!"

"Calm down," said the driver irritably. "It's only ten miles to the swamp."

"Just the same," the other 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-"

The driver suddenly yanked the wheel. The big vehicle skidded. The load shifted sharply, sending an avalanche of pipe toward Frank and Joe!