The Secret of Wildcat Swamp by Franklin W. Dixon Page B

stirrups and brought his fist down hard on the man’s wrist.
    Frank’s gun clattered to the ground. His horse reared, making the stranger’s pony shy too, and the masked man lost his seat. His own weapon was dislodged and flew several feet away as he hit the sand.
    â€œCome on, Joe!” Frank cried. “Help me tie this guy up, quick!”
    As Joe slid off his mount, he grabbed the rope from the pommel of his saddle and hurried to assist his brother. It was dangerous business, maneuvering in the narrow pass among the excited, rearing animals.
    Scrambling to his feet, Frank’s assailant began to back out of the pass. He reached for his gun. Realizing it was gone, he turned tail and started to run.
    â€œHelp!” he shouted.
    Frank and Joe ran to intercept him. Joe tackled the man about the knees and dragged him to the ground. Frank, following up his move as fast as he could, seized the man’s flailing arms.
    But even as he did, Frank spotted a quick flash of movement to his left.
    â€œWatch out, Joe!” he yelled. “There are more of them!”
    Two masked men now sprang forward. As the Hardys whirled to meet this new threat, the ambushers charged!

CHAPTER XIII
    An Icy Dungeon
    â€œGET ‘em!”
    Though completely helpless under the doublebarreled Hardy attack, the mysterious enemy managed to shout orders to his oncoming aides.
    Frank side-stepped a fist from one of the other masked men and landed a hard blow on the attacker’s chest. As Joe ducked a charge from the third ambusher, their fallen leader arose and dived at the boy from behind.
    Thrown off balance, Joe was an easy target for his two opponents and went down like a tenpin. Against three, Frank stood no chance at all, and was quickly pulled to the ground.
    Within a matter of minutes, the boys were bound and gagged, then heaved crosswise onto the saddles of their horses.
    â€œThese men must be some of Willie’s gang,” thought Frank as the horse started to move. “Now what?”
    There was no indication from the cowboys as to where they were taking the Hardys. Except for a terse command now and then by their leader, the men guided them silently on a grueling ride through the rough country. Two of their captors rode ahead, the other at the rear.
    â€œWhy have they kidnapped us?” Joe’s mind was in a whirl. “How did they know where to wait? They must have had us under surveillance all along!”
    One hour went by, two, three. Frank and Joe had been in many a tight spot, but none had ever seemed so hopeless as this one. Each jog of horse and saddle against stomach and ribs knocked the breath from their bodies. The boys realized they were becoming so exhausted and sore that even if they could manage to struggle free, they would not be able to walk.
    Worst of all, they realized that they now would have no chance of meeting their father at Spur Gulch.
    Hours later Frank and Joe heard the whistle of a train and shortly afterward they were approaching the railroad line. As close as Frank could figure, they were intersecting the railroad right-of-way much farther west than Spur Gulch.
    From behind a massive rock beside the shimmering tracks came the sound of a horse’s whinny. The man in the lead halted. He thrust two fingers in his mouth and gave a shrill whistle. Immediately another masked man rode into view.
    â€œSo you got the meddling kids!” he boomed. “Great work! We’ll get rid of ’em right away!”
    â€œWhat’s your plan?” asked one of the others.
    â€œToss’em on the rails!”
    From their awkward positions, lying across their saddles, the boys studied the newcomer. He was a big, heavy-set fellow. Could this be the convict Jesse Turk, who had so cleverly escaped from Delmore Prison?
    The other man who was as tall, but not as heavy as the newcomer, shook his head. “You want us all sent up for life—just when we can get