Lost in Gator Swamp (12 page)

Crawling on their stomachs, the two boys moved along the deck and to the open door of the main cabin. Reuben peeked in, then motioned Joe forward. Joe climbed down two steps into the main cabin.

Another door was at the front of the cabin. Joe figured it led to the boat's sleeping quarters. The shortwave radio sat on a gray metal desk next to
another device Joe realized was an electronic fish finder.

A detailed map of Gator Swamp with various islands marked off with red X marks was laid out on the desk. Dusty Cole's fishing camp was circled in black.

The shortwave radio made a high-pitched squeal as Joe switched it on. He turned the volume control to the lowest setting.

Reuben ducked his head into the cabin, signaling Joe to keep quiet. He disappeared for a moment, then reappeared, giving Joe the okay sign.

Joe picked up the hand receiver and pressed the button to transmit.

“Joe Hardy calling Cole's Fishing Camp,” he said in a muffled whisper. There was no response, so he tried again, speaking a little louder. “This is Joe Hardy calling Cole's Fishing Camp.” No one answered. Everyone must be asleep, Joe thought.

Just then a voice replied. “Howdy, Joe. I didn't know you were a ham operator.”

Joe recognized Homer's voice. “Homer, we're in big trouble.”

“You sure are. You woke me out of a dead sleep. Where are you? Over,” Homer said.

“We're on Salty Hubbard's fishing boat,” Joe replied.

“Fishing boat?” Homer blurted. “Don't you know there's a storm about to hit us?”

“Shh!” Joe tried to get Homer to lower his voice. “We've been trapped on board with the men who pulled the bank job in Miami. Over.”

“Holy smoke!” Homer exclaimed.

“Shh! Tell Frank that we're on our way to meet up with Zack Platt. Over,” Joe instructed Homer.

“Frank isn't here, and I'm afraid—” Homer's voice was suddenly cut off as someone switched off the shortwave radio.

“I was trying to catch a nap,” Furman growled, pointing a thumb toward the sleeping quarters, “but you were making an awful racket out here.”

“It's too late. I already sent an SOS to the police with our exact location,” Joe said, bluffing.

Furman's eyes narrowed. “Good. Then they'll know exactly where to find your body after I've thrown you overboard.”

“Not on your life!” Joe shouted as he pushed Furman, throwing him off balance long enough to make a break for the cabin door. Furman recovered quickly, though, lunging for Joe and tackling him to the floor.

Furman kneeled on Joe's back, pinning him down. “You lie still now, or I'll break every bone in your body,” Furman threatened.

Reuben suddenly swung through the cabin door, hitting Furman squarely on the jaw and sending him flying backward.

Joe jumped to his feet and turned on Furman,
with Reuben by his side. “Two against one now,” he said.

Furman wiped his bloody nose and eyed his two opponents.

“Hold it right there!” a voice behind Joe ordered. Joe and Reuben spun around to find themselves looking down the barrel of Salty Hubbard's shotgun. Furman quickly pulled a revolver from a drawer in the desk.

“Okay, you two, unless you want your friends here hurt, come on down nice and quiet,” Hubbard called toward the open cabin door. Chet and Deputy Miles stepped into the cabin.

Hubbard snorted. “Well, well, Furman, it looks like we've got more shark bait than we figured on.”

•  •  •

“Homer! Dusty!” Frank shouted as he ran into the darkness of the lodge at the fishing camp. He flipped the light switch. Nothing happened.

Frank stepped back outside, joined by Randy, who had grabbed the flashlight from his johnboat.

“The lights are out, and no one's inside. Let's try our cabin,” Frank said, leading the way.

Rain and wind whipped the boys' faces as they ran past the row of cabins on stilts.

“This one,” Frank called back to Randy as he bounded up the steps and into his cabin.

“Joe!” Frank shouted. As Randy entered and flashed the light around the cabin, a strange sight
caught Frank's eye. He noticed a puddle of water on the floor with streaks of mud leading away from it. A large object beside the bed moved to block the path to the doorway with its head and the path to the window with its tail.

“F-F-Frank?” Randy stuttered. The beam of Randy's flashlight reflected off the milky white eye of a very long alligator.

“It's Big Bertha,” Frank spoke calmly and quietly. “Okay, Randy, this is what we're going to do. We're going to circle around very slowly until we get behind her.”

“I don't think I can move,” Randy replied, a quiver in his voice.

“Then stand perfectly still,” Frank instructed. Frank edged his way around the room toward the tail end of Big Bertha. He remembered what Steven Willow had said about an alligator's narrow field of vision.

“Now, Randy, in a few seconds I'm going to sit on Big Bertha's back,” Frank explained.

“You're going to
what?”
Randy asked.

“I'm going to try to put her to sleep,” Frank went on. “If it doesn't work, I want you to make a run for the door.”

Big Bertha moved a few feet toward Randy. Frank knew he had to act quickly. Without making any sudden movements, he approached Big Bertha. In one smooth motion, Frank sat down, pushed the
alligator's snout against the floor, and got a firm grip on it.

Big Bertha made a low growling sound. Frank held her jaws shut with a minimum amount of effort. This is just the way it worked for Mr. Willow, he thought.

“Frank!” Dusty shouted, flinging open the cabin door. It struck Big Bertha on the side of the head.

The giant alligator thrashed her tail and twisted her head. Frank hung on for dear life.

Dusty hopped onto Big Bertha with Frank, trying to keep the creature from rolling over and crushing them beneath its weight.

“Run!” Frank yelled to Randy. The alligator had moved enough for Randy to have a clear path to the screened window. Randy dove for the window, tearing out the screen and disappearing into the dark night outside.

Big Bertha was shaking her head violently from side to side, even though two large men were on her back, clutching her snout.

“I can't hold on much longer!” Frank told Dusty.

“Me either,” the cowboy said.

Frank could hear the alligator's massive tail thrashing across the floor and saw it splinter a wooden chair against the wall.

“On the count of three, we'll both let go and make a run for the window!” Frank shouted.

Dusty began the count. “One . . . two . . .
three!” At the same moment, Frank and Dusty released Big Bertha's snout, backpedaled away, and rushed toward the window. The monster alligator swung her head around and snapped her jaws shut, just missing Frank's right foot.

Dusty jumped out the window headfirst, somersaulting and landing awkwardly on his shoulder. Frank hopped sideways through the window, leading with his feet. He held on to the window ledge for a split second before dropping, lessening the impact of his fall.

Randy was on his hands and knees on the ground, gasping for air. “I'm fine,” he said to Frank as he stood up.

“Dusty, how are you doing?” Frank asked.

“I have ridden fifty wild bulls, a hundred wild horses, and one big mama alligator without being hurt,” Dusty replied. “And I think I just broke my arm jumping out of that little window.”

Homer arrived on the scene, grumbling about his pontoon boat. “Someone's done a real number on it. Sabotaged the engine. We're stranded here like a one-legged cat in a redwood tree.”

Frank quickly told Homer what had happened. The older man and the two boys gently got Dusty to his feet and helped him toward the lodge.

“Someone rigged the generator to short-circuit,” Dusty said. “Homer and I were out back fixing it when we heard you calling.”

“Let's worry about you for now, Dusty,” Frank said.

“That's a luxury we don't have,” Dusty said, with a worried look to Homer. “Tell him.”

“Your brother radioed in just before the generator went out,” Homer told Frank. “He and Chet are trapped on Salty Hubbard's charter boat. We were cut off before Joe could give me the location.”

“We don't need a location,” Frank said. “If we follow Zack Platt, he'll lead us right to them.”

“Follow him how, Frank?” Randy asked. “You said yourself, the only way we'll catch him is in another airboat, and now he's got a ten-minute head start on us.”

Frank shook his head. Randy was right.

“Give Homer another five minutes, and he'll have the generator fixed,” Dusty said. “We'll radio the Coast Guard.”

Frank nodded.

The rest of the guests had been awakened by the commotion, and they were arriving at the lodge, carrying lanterns and wearing rain gear.

“I can set that arm until we get you to a hospital,” Billy Biggs offered.

“And I've got some medicine that'll ease the pain,” Homer added.

Dusty nodded yes to both offers. Frank stepped outside the lodge and away from the crowd to have a moment to think.

The wind gusted powerfully, pounding the heavy rain into Frank's face, but he hardly noticed. His brother and friend were in trouble, and he felt helpless to do anything.

“I'm sorry, Frank,” Randy said, having followed him outside.

“Thanks,” Frank replied.

Now, over the sound of the wind, Frank thought he heard something. The rumble of an engine. A sound he recognized. “The hydroplane!”

Looking up, Frank spotted the plane's running lights as the small craft, buffeted by the high winds, made its approach to land beside Cole's Key.

The hydroplane shuddered as it touched down on the rough water. Frank ran to the dock, meeting Steven Willow as he climbed out of the cockpit.

“Dusty owes me a favor,” Willow said. “In fact, he owes me a hundred favors. That was the roughest trip I've ever taken.”

“What are you doing here?” Frank asked, wiping the rain away from his eyes.

“I got some disturbing news this evening,” Willow said. “For your sake, I couldn't risk
not
coming.”

“What do you mean?” Frank wondered.

“A friend in Big Cypress told me all about Zack Platt,” Willow began. “Platt just finished serving a nine-month jail sentence for alligator poaching. He made friends with another prisoner, some guy who was a safecracker.”

“Trent Furman,” Frank said.

“Yeah, how did you know?” Willow asked.

“It's a long story,” Frank replied. “And we have zero time to spare. My brother and Chet are trapped on a boat with a pair of cutthroats.”

“You're not thinking about flying in this weather?” Willow warned. “I was crazy to get here, and the storm is getting worse by the minute!”

“I don't care!” Frank shouted back.

“Frank, where's Dusty?” Willow asked. “If anyone should try flying in this weather, it's him.”

“Dusty broke—” Randy began to reply.

“He's in the lodge,” Frank blurted out, cutting off Randy. Willow nodded, then headed toward the lodge.

“What was that all about?” Randy asked. “You know that Dusty's in no condition to fly.”

“Yeah,” Frank replied, “I also know that he and Mr. Willow would never risk letting
me
fly.”

Frank climbed into the cockpit. The keys to the hydroplane were still in the ignition.

“You're going up in this thing?” Randy asked.

“Randy, I don't think Joe and Chet have a prayer if we don't get to that boat before Zack Platt does.”

“Then I'm going with you,” Randy insisted.

“You know how to fly?” Frank asked.

Randy shrugged. “No. But it'll be safer than you going up alone.” Before Frank could protest, Randy climbed into the copilot's seat.

Frank headed the hydroplane directly into the wind to give it lift. He pushed it full throttle, trying to pick up enough speed to take off. Even in the swamp, the water was rough, and the plane shuddered as it bumped along the surface.

“Hang on,” Frank told Randy, as he pulled up gently on the controls. The hydroplane lifted off the water and soared upward, pushed by the oncoming wind.

“Keep your eyes peeled for Platt's boat!” Frank shouted to Randy, over the roar of the engine and the howl of the wind outside.

“Got him!” Randy shouted back, pointing off to the right.

The airboat had been slowed by the heavy seas. Frank spotted its destination about half a mile ahead. “Running lights!” he shouted to Randy. “Looks like a large boat! That one must be Hubbard's boat.”

Frank brought the hydroplane in low to get a good look at the fishing boat. Two men were pushing four other figures toward the rear of the vessel. A moment later the two men threw all four of their captives off the back of the boat and into the raging sea.

“They tossed them overboard!” Frank shouted to Randy. “I'm circling around. We're going to pick them up.”

“Okay, Frank,” Randy replied.

Frank focused his mind on everything he had learned from Dusty about piloting the plane. He would have to land the small craft in a choppy sea and a raging wind. “Hang on,” he said to Randy.

Frank had the wind behind him now, and he was able to keep the plane level in spite of a few sudden crosswinds. The pontoons touched down in the trough between two large swells, but vaulted up into the air again when it hit the crest.

Frank kept a firm grip on the controls. The initial impact slowed them down enough so that when he touched down the second time, he was able to bring the craft to a successful halt.

Waves lashed against the side of the aircraft, rocking it until it nearly tipped over.