Lost in Gator Swamp (3 page)

“Don't knock it,” Chet replied. “Rodeo clowns
only look funny. It's a tough job—tough and dangerous.”

Randy got up and bowed to the crowd, tipping his hat—a white hat with an orange-and-black feather in the band, Joe noticed.

“Hey!” he shouted. “Randy must have been the guy with Platt in the boat. I couldn't see his face, but he was wearing that exact same hat.” He furrowed his brow. “I didn't see Randy wearing it when we met him in line a while ago.”

“Me, either,” Frank agreed. “Guess he put it on just before the competition.”

“Dusty is next!” Chet exclaimed.

Dusty sat in the chute, high on a black horse named Nightmare. The gate opened, and Nightmare came out kicking, spinning in circles, trying to unseat his rider. But Dusty held on firmly to the reins and qualified easily. He whooped and hollered the whole time as if he were a kid on a roller coaster. As Dusty dismounted, he got a big round of applause. He was obviously a local favorite.

“And now Reuben Tallwalker, riding Volcano,” Mr. Deeter announced over the public-address system. The crowd quieted instantly.

“Reuben Tallwalker? Isn't that the guy you saw watching you from Twin Cypress Key?” Joe asked.

The gate sprang open, and Volcano raced forward, kicking his back hooves high in the air. It seemed impossible that anyone could hang on, but Reuben rode the bucking horse easily. He jumped
gracefully to the ground and landed on his two feet directly in front of the Hardys and Chet.

Reuben stared at the three boys with his cold dark eyes. As the applause died out, he jumped up on the fence and spoke to the Hardys in an angry whisper: “Stay out of Gator Swamp or else.”

With that, Reuben made a violent slashing motion across his throat and strode away.

“Wait!” Joe shouted. But Reuben ignored him and kept moving, slipping through a gate on the opposite side of the ring.

“What was that all about?” Chet asked.

“I don't know, but we're about to find out,” Frank replied as he and Joe bolted for the spectators' exit.

When they came out on the far side, Reuben was nowhere in sight. Joe spotted a rodeo clown in a red ten-gallon hat leading Nightmare toward the great barn where the animals were kept.

“Did you see a guy with long black hair and a brightly colored, striped woven jacket?” Joe asked. The clown pointed toward a field behind the barn.

“There he is,” Frank said, seeing a figure springing
through the tall grass toward a heavily wooded area in the distance.

“He's headed for the swamp. I wouldn't follow him if I were you,” the clown warned.

“Why not?” Joe replied as he watched Reuben disappear into the woods beyond the field.

“Because Reuben Tallwalker knows every inch of that swamp. He knows about the snakes and alligator holes and quicksand,” the clown explained. “You'd last about five minutes in there.”

“He's right, Joe,” Frank agreed. “It'll be dark soon. We'd never find him.”

“How do you know so much about Reuben Tallwalker?” Joe asked the rodeo clown.

“I know a lot about everyone in these parts—I've lived here all my life. The name's Barney Quick.” Just then Nightmare reared up and whinnied, growing restless. “Excuse me, I have to get him put up for the night,” Quick said, tipping his hat as he led Nightmare into the barn.

“Something's going on in Gator Swamp,” Frank said to Joe and Chet.

“What do you mean?” Joe asked.

Frank told Joe and Chet about Zack Platt's promise to capture the giant reptile only if everyone stayed out of the swamp for the next two nights. “I'm going to try to find out something about Zack Platt,” he finished. “Joe, you and Chet see if you can find out anything more about Randy and his connection to Platt.”

“I have one burning question,” Chet remarked. “Can we stop by the concession stand on the way?”

•  •  •

Frank spent the next hour striking up conversations with strangers, asking each if they knew anything about Zack Platt. None of the locals from Frog's Peninsula knew Platt, nor did any of the rodeo riders from the circuit.

Meanwhile, Chet and Joe searched the grandstands, then the main tent, and found Randy at the board where the results of the bronco-riding competition were posted.

“Hey, Randy,” Joe said, trying to sound as friendly as he could.

Randy looked at Joe and Chet. “Oh, hi.”

“How did you do?” Chet asked.

“Lousy,” Randy muttered.

Joe studied the board. Dusty Cole had edged out Reuben Tallwalker for top honors. Randy had come in twelfth. “You stayed on until the buzzer,” Joe said.

“That's only part of it. You're also judged on the difficulty of your horse and the quality of your ride,” Randy explained.

“All they have to do is give you a tougher horse next time,” Chet said.

“Yeah, that's right,” Randy said, smiling.

“There you are!” Dusty called as he hurried over. “We're heading back to the trading post now.”

“There's a barbecue for the younger crowd,” Joe explained. “We thought we'd hang out awhile.”

“I wish you could,” Dusty replied. “But our guests are tired, and if you don't go back to the fishing camp with us on the pontoon boat, you'll be stranded.”

“I could take them back,” Randy offered. “My johnboat is docked at the trading post. If you're talking about Cole's Fishing Camp, it's on my way.”

“Where's home?” Dusty asked.

“Frog's Peninsula,” Randy replied.

“And you took a boat all the way across Gator Swamp to the trading post?” Dusty asked, puzzled. “You could have walked to the rodeo from Frog's Peninsula in half the time.”

After a slight pause, Randy replied, “I like the scenic route.”

Dusty gave Randy a suspicious look. Joe could see Randy growing nervous, and he didn't want to lose the chance to question him further. “Thanks, Randy. Hitching a ride back with you is a great idea.”

“Be back at the camp by midnight,” Dusty called as he headed for the parking lot. “You all promised Platt you'd stay out of the swamp after that.”

“I'm going to catch a quick shower in the bunkhouse,” Randy said. “I'll see you at the barbecue.”

After Randy was gone, Chet turned to Joe. “I thought you were going to ask Randy what he was doing with Zack Platt?”

“I am,” Joe replied, “but he won't open up if he's suspicious of us right off the bat.”

Chet nodded. “First,” Joe added, “I want to see what Frank's found out.” Joe and Chet caught up with Frank by the bull pen, where he was talking with a couple of the rodeo cowhands.

“I found out that no one here knows a thing about Zack Platt,” Frank said.

Joe filled Frank in on Randy's odd behavior. “I think Randy and Mr. Platt are doing something illegal in Gator Swamp,” Joe concluded.

“Maybe they're poaching alligators,” Frank offered. “They could be hunting them without a license and selling the hides on the black market.”

Joe scratched his chin thoughtfully. “We might have to go into the swamp to find the answers.”

“Swamps are scary places,” Chet said. “I'd rather be tracking cold-blooded kidnappers in Bayport.”

“Relax, Chet,” Joe assured his friend. “For now all you have to do is eat barbecue.”

“Of barbecue,” Chet said with a smile, “I am fearless.”

Behind the main tent, a group of young men and women were sitting around a blazing campfire. Rodeo workers were stringing white lights up on poles surrounding the area. Two huge barbecue grills had been set up nearby, and the boys could smell the aroma of spareribs cooking over the hot coals.

Deputy Miles, who was out of uniform and in a white blouse, blue jeans, and cowboy boots, was talking with Mr. Deeter. She waved to the Hardys and Chet as they approached.

Frank spotted Randy standing with some girls near the campfire, flipping his gold coin. “I'm not afraid of any wild bull,” Randy boasted. “Watch me tomorrow. I'll be riding Storm Cloud.”

“So Mr. Furman found you a sponsor,” Frank said as he approached Randy.

“Yes, he did,” Randy replied.

“Is that a good-luck charm or something?” Frank asked, nodding to the gold coin.

“Huh? Yeah, a good-luck charm,” Randy replied, closing his hand on the coin so that Frank couldn't see it.

A tall balding man with black-rimmed glasses stepped from the shadows into the light of the campfire. “Better put that away before you lose it.”

Randy pocketed his coin. “This is my sponsor, Mr. Salty Hubbard.”

As Frank shook his rough bony hand, Hubbard added in a loud voice, “I'm a fisherman by trade. I just dabble in this rodeo stuff for fun. Are you boys friends of Randy?”

“Actually, we just met today,” Frank replied.

“Is that right?” Hubbard replied. “So you don't know him any better than I do.”

“No, sir,” Joe replied. “Do you often sponsor riders you don't know?”

Hubbard laughed off Joe's question. “No. I just had a hunch about Randy.”

“I think what my brother meant was, Randy's so young,” Frank said. “We figured a sponsor looks for someone with more experience.”

“I'm plenty old,” Randy said hotly. “Eighteen. And so what if this is my first rodeo?”

Powerful hands were suddenly placed on Frank's and Joe's shoulders. “Shouldn't you two be home in bed by now?” The strong hands belonged to Zack Platt.

“Hello, Mr. Platt,” Frank said, poking Joe with his elbow. “This is the alligator trapper I told you about. This is my brother, Joe.”

Joe shook hands with Platt, giving Frank a quick look and nod indicating that this was, in fact, the man Joe had seen at the trading post that morning. “I thought you were headed for Key West,” Joe said to Platt.

Platt's eyes narrowed. “Change in plans.”

“And I guess you already know Randy Stevens,” Joe gestured to Randy.

“No, I don't,” Platt replied. “Howdy.”

Joe furrowed his eyebrows, looking confused.

“Hey, there!” Randy greeted Platt, shaking hands. Joe caught Randy eyeing Platt's missing fingers as if he had never noticed them before. “Oh. Sorry, Mr. Platt, I didn't mean to . . . ” The embarrassed teenager let his voice trail off.

Platt, seeming not to notice, turned his attention
to Frank. “I'm from Clewiston, a little town on Lake Okeechobee. I'm here because I have a friend competing in the rodeo. And I'm going after that alligator because I need the fifty dollars.” Platt tightened his grip on the boys' shoulders. “If you have any more questions about me, I suggest you ask them to my face.”

Platt released his grip, giving Frank and Joe a little shove, and walked off. Joe was ready to go after him, but Frank held him back.

“What was that all about?” Hubbard asked.

“Beats me,” Joe said.

The fiddle player, who was using the back of a flatbed truck for a stage, was joined by a banjo player and bass player. “It's square-dancing time!” he called.

“Ladies' choice! Choose your partners!” the fiddle player shouted.

Before the boys could speak privately, two girls asked them to dance.

Frank saw that the lighted area was the dance floor. As more than twenty young people gathered, the fiddle player divided them into odd and even couples, then began calling the square dance. “Let's make one big circle, going left!”

“Randy acted as if he didn't know Mr. Platt,” Joe said to Frank as they formed a circle with the rest of the group and began moving to the left. “Especially when he noticed Platt's missing fingers,” he added.

“That was probably just an act so that no one would connect them to each other,” Frank said.

“Odd couple pair off with the couple to your left,” the fiddle player called, and Frank and his partner had to leave Joe and his partner and move on.

Joe was joined by Randy and his partner. “Now, you foursomes circle right,” the fiddler called.

Randy was directly across from Joe in their circle of four. “Zack Platt sure seemed angry about something tonight, didn't he,” Joe said, watching Randy's face closely.

“What are you talking about?” Randy replied.

“Put your right hands over,” the fiddle player called. Randy thrust his hand out toward Joe, who flinched before realizing it was part of the square dance. Joe saw that the two girls had reached across the circle to grab each other's hand, and so he did the same.

“And now left hands back,” the fiddler called, and everyone turned and circled in the opposite direction.

Joe decided to shock Randy into an honest response. “What's out in Gator Swamp that you're trying to hide?”

“Swing your partner and odd couples move on!” the fiddle player called. But Joe's last question had clearly taken Randy by surprise, and he didn't move.

“Hey, you're supposed to move on,” Deputy
Miles said to Randy as she grabbed Joe's hand. “Well, if it isn't the teenage detective,” she added with a friendly smile. Randy started to back away, looking scared.

“Dig for the oyster!” the fiddler called, and Joe's partner pulled him beneath the arched arms of Deputy Miles and her partner. Joe spun around, catching a glimpse of Randy on the opposite side of the campfire, running full speed into the darkness.

“He's getting away!” Joe shouted to Frank, who was now on the opposite side of the dance floor.

“Come on, Chet!” Frank called to his friend, who was sitting on a barrel, holding a slab of ribs.

Joe saw that there was a crowd of people to each side of the fire pit, so he took the most direct route.

Frank caught sight of Joe running full speed toward the blazing fire pit. “Don't, Joe! You'll never make it!”