Free Lost in Gator Swamp by Franklin W. Dixon Page B

about Randy Stevens and Trent Furman not having been listed in a single rodeo.
    â€œSo Furman is a fraud, and maybe Randy, too,” Joe said.
    â€œDon’t forget Reuben,” Chet added.
    â€œThe thing is, Chet,” Joe said, “I almost believe Reuben.”
    â€œWhy?” Chet asked. “Who else would have snorkeling equipment and a metal detector in Reuben’s shack?”
    The answer suddenly hit Joe. “Zack Platt! Of course! He asked about snorkeling equipment the day we got here. He could have easily stolen Tallwalker’s flashlight while my back was turned. He used the poacher’s shack to store his equipment because someone—like Randy—told him it was abandoned.”
    Frank picked up the story. “And instead of hunting Big Bertha in Gator Swamp last night, he was searching for the coins with the metal detector.”
    â€œRight,” Joe concurred.
    â€œIt’s a solid theory, Joe,” Frank said. “Now we need to prove it.”
    â€œThe next contestant is . . . ” Deeter’s voice echoed through the public-address system. “Dusty Cole riding Texas Twister!”
    â€œCome on, Dusty!” Chet shouted.
    The boys could see Dusty lowering himself onto the bull’s back. He wound the guide rope tightly around his gloved hand, then nodded to one of the rodeo clowns that he was ready. The rodeo clown swung the gate wide open.
    Texas Twister was as good as his name. The bull jerked and twisted like a whirling tornado, kicking up dirt in every direction. Dusty couldn’t havebeen happier. Giving his trademark whoop and holler, he hung on through the qualifying bell and got a massive round of applause from the crowd.
    â€œWay to go, Dusty!” Frank shouted. Dusty tipped his hat to the three boys and smiled.
    â€œGood ride, Dusty!” Deeter added over the public-address system. “Our next contestant is Randy Stevens, riding Storm Cloud.”
    Three pairs of eyes snapped over to the pen where Randy was lowering himself onto the bull’s back. He held up his hand, letting the rodeo clown know he wasn’t ready.
    â€œHe looks awfully scared,” Chet pointed out.
    â€œYeah,” Frank agreed. “But is he scared about the bull or about something else?”
    Randy took a deep breath, then grabbed the guide rope and was about to loop it around his gloved hand when Barney Quick suddenly swung the gate wide open.
    Storm Cloud blasted out into the ring, bucking wildly and yanking the guide rope out of Randy’s hand. There were screams and shouts from the crowd. Randy was helpless, having nothing to hold on to except for the bull’s hide.
    Suddenly Storm Cloud spun completely around in midair, hurling Randy off his back and into the fence. The crowd gasped in horror.
    â€œMr. Quick isn’t doing anything to help Randy!” Chet shouted, pointing toward the gate.
    Frank spotted the rodeo clown running out of the ring and toward the bunkhouse, shielding his face with his ten-gallon hat. “This may have been a setup!” Frank shouted.
    â€œOr a frame-up. Come on, guys!” Joe yelled. The Hardys ran down the steps of the grandstands and vaulted over the railing into the ring. Chet followed close behind.
    Joe saw Randy trying to get to his feet. Stunned, he fell back to one knee. Storm Cloud had turned and was bearing down on the dazed teenager. Joe gave a loud whistle and waved his hands frantically, trying to get the bull’s attention.
    Storm Cloud turned toward the noise. Frank and Chet rushed to Randy, helping him over to the fence, where two cowhands pulled him to safety.
    â€œUh-oh,” Joe muttered as Storm Cloud lowered his head and charged. Joe ran full steam toward the closest railing. He heard the bull snorting behind him and felt its hot breath on his back.
    Joe knew he was about to be sandwiched between the fence and the bull’s deadly horns.
    At the last second,