Free Lost in Gator Swamp by Franklin W. Dixon

brother, sometimes your hunches surprise even me,” Frank said, slapping Joe on the shoulder.
    â€œWait a second,” Chet argued. “What makes you think Randy’s telling the truth about his coin being stolen? We’re pretty sure he’s lied to us about everything else.”
    â€œChet’s right, Frank,” Joe admitted.
    â€œHmm.” Frank thought it over. “If anyone would know who Randy Stevens is, I’m looking at him,” he said, eyeing a card player at the back of the bunkhouse. Joe turned to look. It took him a moment to recognize Barney Quick, the rodeo clown, without his white makeup and red ten-gallon hat.
    â€œMr. Quick?” Frank said, approaching the table. “We’re sorry to interrupt your game, but we were interested in one of the rodeo contestants. What can you tell us about Randy Stevens?”
    â€œNothing,” Quick replied.
    â€œNothing?” Chet repeated.
    â€œWell, I know an Ernie Stevens,” Quick recalled, playing a card. “He moved to Frog’s Peninsula a year ago. Runs the all-night service station. He has a boy at the junior high, I think. But the boy wouldn’t be old enough to ride rodeo.”
    â€œRandy must have ridden rodeo somewhere,” Joe insisted.
    â€œI’d say no,” Quick replied. “But if you don’t believe me, check the book.”
    â€œThe book?” Chet asked.
    â€œThe rodeo book. Mr. Deeter’s got it,” Quick explained. “It’ll have names and statistics on any rodeo in America.” Quick tossed his cards on the table. “If you’ll excuse me, boys, I have to get into my makeup.”
    The boys thanked Barney Quick as he headed out through the side door.
    â€œI’ll ask Mr. Deeter about that book,” Frank suggested. “You and Chet better get into the grandstands. We don’t want to miss Dusty’s ride.”
    â€œBut we still haven’t found Reuben,” Joe said.
    â€œMaybe he’s afraid to show up,” Chet reasoned.
    â€œReuben, afraid?” Joe shook his head. “No way. He’s got to be around here someplace. Go ahead, Chet, and save us some good seats.”
    The three boys split up. Frank caught Melvin Deeter just as he was leaving his trailer and asked about looking at the rodeo book.
    â€œI have to get to the announcer’s booth at the main ring,” Deeter replied. He saw the concerned look on Frank’s face. “Is it something connected to that bank robbery?”
    â€œI’m afraid it is,” Frank replied.
    Deeter paused. Then he unlocked his door, stepped in, grabbed a thick book off his desk, andhanded it to Frank. “Be careful with it, son. Bring it to me in the announcer’s booth when you’re finished.”
    Frank found some good light near the concession stand, and he began rapidly skimming through the lists of rodeos all over America. Ten minutes later he slammed the book shut and went off to find Chet and Joe.
    Frank found Chet by the bulletin board where the entries and results were posted. Chet had a half-eaten corn dog in his hand and a puzzled look on his face. “What’s wrong, Chet?”
    Chet turned to Frank. “I can’t find his name.”
    â€œNeither can I,” Frank said. “I’ve checked every rodeo in the last three years. Randy Stevens is nowhere—”
    â€œNot Randy Stevens,” Chet interrupted. “Trent Furman.”
    â€œWhat?” Frank asked.
    â€œI was hanging around the bulletin board hoping to scare up a steer-roping partner,” Chet explained, “and I started looking at the board. Mr. Furman’s been bragging about winning the bronco-busting trophy at the rodeo in Fargo, North Dakota, but he didn’t even enter the competition here.”
    Frank’s eyes widened. “Wait a second!” Frank started paging through the rodeo book.
    â€œIn fact,” Chet added, “he