Free The Secret of Wildcat Swamp by Franklin W. Dixon

the Penman is in the neighborhood, I’m worried.”
    With concern on his face, Chet pulled a bright bandanna from his pocket and mopped his brow.
    â€œHonest, fellows, I have to start back for Bayport in the morning.”
    â€œBut as long as you are here, wouldn’t you like to help us dig up a camel?” Joe suggested.
    â€œA what?”
    â€œThat’s right. We’ve found one.”
    Chet began to weaken. “Well, I might stay a day or two.”
    When morning came and Cap still had not appeared, the Hardys decided that one of them should go to Red Butte to investigate.
    â€œI’ll go,” Chet said. “As long as you guys need help, I’ll stick around for a while.”
    He mounted his horse like a bear cub trying to straddle a split-rail fence. After he had ridden off, Frank and Joe saddled their mounts for the ride to Sheriff Paul’s ranch. They hid their camping equipment in a rocky depression, covering it with brushwood, then set out.
    It was quite a long ride to the ranch, but finally they reached it. Picketing their horses, they knocked on the back door, which immediately was opened by a trim, middle-aged woman. When the boys introduced themselves, she asked them in.
    â€œWe have a few worries we’d like to talk over with the sheriff,” Joe said.
    â€œMy husband isn’t here,” Mrs. Paul replied. “And I have a few worries too. He hasn’t been home for three days.”
    â€œThree days? Is that unusual?” Frank asked.
    â€œHe got a phone call and told me there was trouble about some rangers. I didn’t get the details, because he rode off in a great hurry.”
    Joe gave his brother a sidelong look. Rangers ! Could it be the same three men who had ordered Frank, Cap, and him away from the swamp? Frank caught his brother’s glance and nodded in reply.
    â€œI guess we’d better leave a note for the sheriff,” Frank told Mrs. Paul, who promised to give it to him as soon as he returned.
    â€œMaybe we’d better go back to where we hid our supplies and not go to the Sanderson ranch just now,” Frank told Joe after they had finished the lunch graciously offered by the sheriff’s wife.
    The boys headed back toward camp. When they were still some distance from it, Frank, hearing voices, reined in suddenly. Dismounting, he and Joe walked forward cautiously.
    â€œChet! Cap!” Frank exclaimed.
    Cap explained that he and Chet had met shortly after the stout boy had left for Red Butte. Cap, having heard about Chet’s arrival and departure from a restaurant owner, had started back but had lost his way.
    â€œI—I like it better here now,” Chet said. “I think I’ll stay till you all go. With Cap here, there are four of us. Just let Willie the Penman dare to show up!”
    The tension relieved, they all laughed and set about preparing supper,
    As night fell and there still was no sign of the rangers, Frank said, “Let’s sneak back and do some more digging.”
    Armed with flashlights and tools, the four carefully made their way down to the fossil deposit. Chet was impressed, and wanted to see more of the camel. However, he soon tired of the digging.
    â€œWhat’s the matter, Chet?” Joe asked. “Break your shovel?”
    Chet grunted and went to work. It was becoming evident that the fossil they were excavating was an enormous one.
    â€œI believe we have a perfect specimen,” Cap said enthusiastically.
    Chet found plenty of excuses to rest from his tabors. Only the sarcastic remarks of his friends kept him digging in the spot designated to him. He had not been at it long when he unearthed a half-rotted board.
    â€œHuh,” he said, “all I can do is find clam fossils in Bayport and old billboards out here.”
    Frank looked up suddenly. “Billboards? Where?”
    â€œHere,” Chet said, beaming his light on the rotten piece of wood. “It