The Secret of Wildcat Swamp Read Online Free Page B

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    â€œDON’T jump them yet!” Cap Bailey hissed at Frank and Joe as they crept toward the car. “Let those thieves commit themselves!”
    The two men snooped around inside for a moment or two. Then one of them picked up the brief case and began to paw through its contents.
    â€œNow!” yelled Cap, and the Hardys and the police officer sprinted from cover.
    Although both invaders were big, the policeman’s gun held them at bay.
    â€œWhat were you fellows looking for?” Cap demanded.
    â€œNothing,” the larger man muttered.
    â€œW-we’re just hungry and thought there might be some food in this car,” the other said.
    â€œLooks to me like you had a pretty good idea of what you wanted,” the policeman said sharply. “And it wasn’t food.”
    â€œI’m sure you’re right,” Frank agreed. “Can we get these fellows into custody around here?”
    The officer produced two sets of handcuffs from his saddlebag. Then he asked Joe to ride his horse and ordered the two snoopers into the back of the car. He sat between them with his gun out and ready for action.
    The jail was five miles away, but it did not take long for them to cover this distance, even proceeding at a pace slow enough for Joe to canter along behind. Reaching the small wooden structure which served as town hall and jail, they all went inside.
    â€œWe didn’t do anything. You can’t hold us!” the big man protested when they were arraigned before the local magistrate.
    â€œNames, please,” the magistrate ordered.
    â€œUh—Jake Johnson.”
    â€œJim Jones. How long you gonna hold us?”
    Frank and Joe pulled Cap into a huddle a short distance away.
    â€œListen, Cap, the thinner chap looks just like a picture that Warden Duckworth showed us of Gerald Flint,” Frank whispered.
    â€œAnd the other guy sure fits the description of Jesse Turk,” added Joe.
    Cap considered. “We don’t want to let them know we suspect their identity. How about getting fingerprints from Warden Duckworth?”
    The trio called the magistrate aside, explaining their suspicions and the necessity for concealing their identity.
    â€œI can’t hold them without a warrant,” the official told them.
    â€œWe can prove enough now to give you cause to hold them until the prints arrive,” Frank said.
    Going over to the huge man, he asked him to hold out his hands. Unsuspectingly, the man complied.
    â€œYou see that blue stain on his hands?” Frank asked the magistrate. “That came off the brief case belonging to our friend. I dusted the case with a special chemical powder before we left the car. It’s proof this man was handling it.”
    Snarling like trapped animals, the suspects were led away to cells in the rear of the building.
    Frank put in a long-distance call to Bayport. Fenton Hardy, delighted that his sons had outwitted the men, promised to have the warden send the fingerprints to the Green Sand authorities.
    â€œNow for Wildcat Swamp!” Joe said elatedly as they left the jail.
    â€œLet’s see. From here we can get a train as far as Red Butte,” Cap remarked. “We’ll arrive there in the morning, and get our horses and supplies.”
    They enjoyed a good meal in the train’s dining car and discussed plans for suitable equipment. It was still early morning when they arrived at their destination, and Cap thought they had better use the hotel as a temporary headquarters. He led the way to Red Butte’s only hostelry, the Silver Saddle.
    â€œBreakfast for three, hey?” the bewhiskered clerk greeted them. Learning they had just come from Green Sand, he said, “Have ye heerd the big news up there? It was on the radio early this mornin’.”
    Frank nudged Joe, smiling, and Cap grinned too.
    â€œCouple o’ guys broke outta that there jail,” the old man went