Lost in Gator Swamp (13 page)

Opening the hatch of the cockpit and stepping out onto a pontoon, Frank saw Joe, Chet, Reuben, and Deputy Miles bobbing in the water about fifty yards away. They seemed to be having great difficulty keeping their heads above water.

“Their hands must be tied,” Frank told Randy. “I'm going after them.”

“I'm going with you!” Randy insisted, climbing out onto the other pontoon.

They dove into the bay. Frank was so pumped
with adrenaline that he reached his brother in less than a minute.

“I'm all right,” Joe yelled to Frank. “Get Chet first!”

Chet was another twenty feet away. His head kept dropping below the surface, and he was swallowing a lot of water.

Frank tried to put Chet in a lifeguard hold, but Chet protested. “Cut the ropes, Frank. Don't risk leaving the others out here while you take me back to the plane.”

Frank reached into his back pocket, relieved to find he had not lost his penknife. He quickly began cutting through the rope binding Chet's wrists, until they finally gave way and snapped.

Frank could see that Randy was already halfway back to the hydroplane with Deputy Miles. “Where's Reuben?” Frank asked as he began cutting his brother's ropes.

Joe scanned the area, but Reuben was nowhere to be seen. Once loose from his ropes, the younger Hardy began swimming away from the plane, hoping to find his new friend.

Frank grabbed his brother by the collar. “If Reuben went under, we'll never find him at night in these rough seas!” Frank yelled, tugging Joe back toward the plane. “And I'm not going to lose you in the process!”

Joe reluctantly swam back toward the hydroplane
with Frank. Randy and Deputy Miles helped Frank aboard.

On the passenger side of the plane, Joe was also offered a hand up onto the pontoon. His mouth dropped open as he looked into the face of Reuben Tallwalker. “Reuben! How did you get back?”

“It was Seminole magic.” Reuben grinned. “Actually, it's called the dolphin stroke. It's sort of like the butterfly, but with no hands.”

Joe laughed, giving Reuben a friendly slap on the shoulder. Suddenly a gunshot sent up a spray of water a few feet behind them.

Fifty yards away, Joe saw Zack Platt standing on the bow of his airboat. The second blast from his double-barreled shotgun tore through the left pontoon.

“Get in!” Frank shouted.

Everyone crammed into the small cockpit of the hydroplane. The last one in was Chet. “I hope this thing will fly with so many people in it.”

“We've got more trouble,” Deputy Miles said, pointing through the windshield. Hubbard's boat, the
Hammerhead
, had turned about and was headed back in their direction.

“What's he doing?” Chet asked.

Joe's eyes widened. “He's going to ram us!”

“Not if I can help it!” Frank said, starting the engine. He opened the throttle and began picking up speed.

The
Hammerhead
veered to the right, trying to block their path.

“We'll never pull up in time,” Deputy Miles warned.

“I know what I'm doing,” Frank said reassuringly, then took a deep breath.

Joe saw Platt reloading his shotgun. The
Hammerhead
was directly ahead. “Frank, you need to make this happen soon.”

Frank nodded, though he was just short of a safe takeoff speed. He pulled back on the controls lightly, and the nose of the aircraft rose just as a shotgun blast struck the surface of the water below them.

Frank saw Furman duck his head as the hydroplane cleared the deck of the
Hammerhead
by a few feet.

“Yahoo!” Randy hollered as the plane continued ascending. “This is better than riding Volcano!”

Looking below, Joe saw Furman and Hubbard hauling the sacks of gold coins off the airboat. “Boy, I hate seeing those crooks get away.”

“They won't get away, Joe,” Reuben stated firmly.

“You sound awfully sure,” Chet noted in awe. “Can you see the future?”

“No,” Reuben replied. “I can see the Coast Guard boat out of my side of the airplane.”

Frank saw it, too. A Coast Guard cutter moved in
quickly on the gang of bank robbers. The cockpit rocked with laughter. It wasn't until the laughter died down that Joe thought of something. “Hey, Frank. Do you know how to land this thing?”

“I'm one for one so far,” Frank replied calmly. Turbulence made the small craft rise up and swoop down suddenly. The cockpit grew very quiet.

The lights from the fishing camp came into view. “Brace yourselves,” Frank instructed. “It's going to be a little rough.”

A moment later one pontoon struck the top of the water hard, then bounced up, slamming the other pontoon against the water as if it were the other end of a seesaw. The craft lofted up, rising over the dock of the fishing camp, then touched down on solid land and went into a slide. Joe closed his eyes. Chet and Randy were hollering at the top of their lungs.

Finally the hydroplane came to a halt. The cockpit was quiet again except for the sound of heavy breathing and sighs of relief.

When Joe opened his eyes, he had to laugh. To each side of the plane were two stilts. They had come to rest directly below the Hardys' cabin. “Boy, am I glad you didn't knock our cabin off its stilts.”

“If you knew who was trapped inside our cabin,” Frank replied, smiling, “you would
really
be glad.” Frank and Randy burst into laughter. Joe, Reuben,
and Deputy Miles just looked at each other and shrugged.

•  •  •

The storm passed through that night, and by one o'clock the next day, the sun was shining in a clear blue sky as if nothing had ever happened.

Sitting in the grandstands at the rodeo, nursing their bumps and bruises, Joe and Frank saw cowboy after cowboy compete in the dangerous sport of wild-bull riding. “I'm glad to be watching
other
people face danger for a change,” Joe said to his brother.

Frank smiled. “I'm glad Trent Furman, Salty Hubbard, and Zack Platt are safely in jail.”

“To tell you the truth, I'll be happy to get back to Bayport and solid ground,” Joe said. “The next time I get wet, I want it to be because I jumped under a shower.”

The boys watched Reuben ride Nightmare to victory in the bull-riding competition. Dusty's right arm was in a sling, and Mr. Deeter refused to let him enter that event, no matter how much the Hardys' daredevil friend protested.

Dusty settled for the two-man steer-roping competition. He and his partner, Homer, charged after the steer as it raced out of the chute into the ring.

Homer lassoed the steer's back hooves and Dusty lassoed it around the head. Homer backed his horse away, keeping the steer from moving. One-handed,
Dusty jumped off his horse, grabbed the steer by the horns, and twisted until it dropped onto its side. The crowd applauded wildly.

“Now, there's one for the record books.” Frank nudged his brother as he applauded. “Steer roping with one arm in a sling.”

Dusty let the steer up, and Barney Quick removed the ropes. Dusty waved his hat to the crowd, offering his thanks.

“Here are Randy Stevens and Chet Martin,” Mr. Deeter announced over the public-address system.

“Chet
Morton,”
Chet called toward the announcer's box from the back of his horse.

“Can you believe it?” Frank said, grinning. “Chet's actually going through with this.”

“I'm surprised Randy's dad is letting him ride,” Joe replied.

“Mr. Stevens was so proud of Randy for helping us solve this mystery, he said he could participate in any event that allowed a fourteen-year-old to compete,” Frank explained.

Barney Quick opened the chute, and the steer ran out. Randy caught the steer and lassoed its back leg in a snap. Chet was only a few seconds behind, lassoing the steer's horns on his first try.

Chet jumped down off the horse and grabbed the steer by the horns. The Hardys exchanged surprised glances. Unfortunately, the steer was not giving up. It swung its head up and down, bouncing Chet along with it.

Finally Chet brought the steer to the ground. Exhausted, he waved his hat to the crowd while sitting in the dirt.

The Hardys laughed heartily. But when they heard only a smattering of applause from the other spectators, they rose to their feet and cheered loudly, leading a standing ovation for their two brave friends.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Aladdin

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