The Secret of Wildcat Swamp (2 page)

“I'll give you a couple of days to pack up,” he told them.

Next morning Frank and Joe went to see Warden Duckworth at Delmore Prison. Their father had suggested that perhaps they could find out something about Flint's associates in jail. The officer was a friend of Mr. Hardy and he gladly spent some time telling the boys about Gerald Flint, an old-timer with a long record. Flint was described as a tall, loudmouthed man, who could be soft-spoken and persuasive when he wanted to be.

“Here's his picture,” the warden said, and handed them a photograph.

“His best friends at our prison,” the warden went on, “were Willie the Penman and Jesse Turk. Willie's a short, wiry fellow with a high-pitched voice, and one of the most cunning forgers in the country. He was released at the same time as Flint.”

“What about the other fellow—Turk?”

“Jesse is still here. He's a mountain of a man—a former locomotive engineer, and an expert electrician, but not popular. He has a mean look about him—always frowning at something.”

Frank and Joe were just bidding the warden good-by when they heard a clanging, followed by the deafening roar of a siren.

“There's been a break!” Duckworth shouted.

Seconds later, the ringing of the telephone added to the din. Duckworth grabbed the phone. Frank and Joe could hear excited chatter on the other end of the line. The warden turned to the boys, his eyes wide.

“It's Turk—he's escaped!”

 

 

 

HIS face grim, Warden Duckworth ordered his car, then dashed from the office.

“Come on, Frank!” Joe urged, starting down the long, low-ceilinged corridor after the warden.

“I wonder how Turk got out!” Frank cried.

Reaching the outer prison yard, they saw guards everywhere, on the alert with rifles in case more of the prisoners should try to make a break.

“I was told,” Duckworth said to the man at the gate, “that Turk may have escaped by jumping into a butcher's truck as it left the prison. Did you see which way it headed?”

“Yes, sir. North on Route 403. It was a National Meat truck.”

Three emergency trucks came roaring up, followed by the warden's car. As the Hardys climbed in, Duckworth advised them to remain at the prison, but they assured him that they would keep out of harm's way.

At his direction, the trucks split up to comb the countryside. Other armed guards tramped on foot in search of the fugitive, while the motor crews toured the nearby roads.

“Follow 403,” Duckworth told his driver.

The road passed through a wooded section, and the tires of the warden's car squealed as it took the curves at almost full speed.

“Do you think the truck driver planned this with Turk?” Frank asked.

“I'm not sure,” the warden replied. “Usually an escape involves more than one prisoner. I'd be more inclined to think—”

“Look!” Joe cried. “There's a delivery truck—It's a National Meat truck!”

“You boys stay below windshield level,” Duckworth ordered. “I'm going to force him to stop.”

With a burst of speed they raced past the truck, sounding the siren. The driver slowed and came to a stop.

Warden Duckworth jumped out, gun in hand.

When the driver saw the gun, his jaw fell. “What's the big idea?” he shouted.

“You may be carrying an escaped prisoner!”

The driver went white as the warden approached the rear doors of his truck and flung them open.

“If Turk was ever in here, he's gone now,” Duckworth said disappointedly. “I'll radio the other men.”

Frank and Joe got out and spoke to the driver. “Do you mind if we have a look inside your truck?”

“Go ahead.”

Climbing into the cool interior, the boys began examining it carefully for clues.

“Here's something!” cried Frank as he picked up a small wooden box. “It looks like a homemade radio.”

It proved to be a miniature receiving set, so small that it fit snugly in the palm of Frank's hand. As he turned a knob, the gadget began to sputter.

“Repeating, Turk,” it announced. “Freight delayed. Hook 138576 at three Rock Spring.”

The voice broke off.

“That was Flint's voice,” said the warden, who had just jumped into the truck.

“But what did all the gibberish mean?” queried Joe. “Was Flint in on Turk's escape?”

“Might have been,” Duckworth retorted tersely. “Turk worked in the electrician's shop in the prison. He may have rigged up this communications system as part of a planned break.”

“So when Flint and Willie the Penman got out they could tip him off on how to get away,” Joe suggested.

“ ‘Freight delayed. Hook 138576 at three Rock Spring,' ” Frank repeated. “Sounds as if a railroad freight may be part of the plan. You said Turk was a locomotive engineer at one time, didn't you?”

“That's right!”

“Three Rock Spring might mean time and place. It's almost three o'clock now—and Rock Spring isn't far from here!”

“Let's get moving. Rock Spring in a big hurry!” Duckworth shouted to his police driver, and they piled into the car. One of the warden's men stayed behind to query the truck driver further.

“There's a water tower on the line at Rock Spring,” Joe recalled. “But the road doesn't go in that far, Warden.”

“We'll have to make the last half mile on foot.”

Reaching the end of the bumpy road, they all jumped out of the car and headed for the rail line. Frank and Joe, still in good condition from track work during the spring, soon outdistanced the others. But before they reached the right-of-way they could hear the rumble of a freight train.

“Maybe we're too late,” Frank said, puffing. “Hey! Here comes a car numbered 138576! I'll bet that's what the message meant!”

Before Joe could answer, the car had passed them. Suddenly the sliding door of the boxcar opened. Then, as car 138576 moved still farther ahead of the boys, a large hook was extended from the interior.

“Look, Frank!” Joe shouted. “That man!”

Out of the bushes alongside the right-of-way dashed a burly figure. Timing his sprint perfectly, he halted just as the hook reached him. With a desperate grab he caught it, and was immediately drawn inside the car. The freight thundered on.

“That must have been Turk!” Frank exclaimed.

By the time the Hardys reached the rails, the caboose had rolled by. There was no trainman in sight to hear their shouts or see their frantic signals.

Minutes later, Warden Duckworth and the driver caught up with them. Frank explained the strange getaway of the fugitive they believed to be Turk.

“I'll phone from my car,” the warden said, “and have the freight stopped and searched.”

He phoned the prison and instructed the telephone operator to relay the message to the railroad authorities. Then they drove back and waited in his office for word. When the report came, it was discouraging. The railroad police had opened car 138576 ten miles ahead, but had found it empty.

“Turk and his buddy inside may have seen you boys. They must have left the train somewhere along the stretch between where Turk got aboard and the next town. But we'll catch him. Prisoners don't break out of here and stay out—very long!”

The Hardys remained in the warden's office for a while, hoping that there would be further news of the fugitive. None was forthcoming except that the driver of the National Meat truck was cleared. Finally they agreed that they should get home as quickly as possible and tell Mr. Hardy of Turk's escape.

“This convinces me that Flint is up to his old tricks again,” Mr. Hardy said. “There has been a series of freight-train robberies throughout the country, and it's up to me to figure out how to put a stop to them.”

“Who engaged you, Dad?” Joe asked.

“The North American Railroad League, a group of railroad executives. They've been losing a lot of property in train robberies, and believing that the thefts were the acts of a single gang, they think I can break up the racket.”

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!”

 

 

 

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.”