Morris Grafton and Vernon Dixon sat together in the rear seat of the state trooper’s cruiser.  Both were secured in plastic cuffs and neither was talking.  They were well aware that Grafton’s hired thugs had been taken to the local jail and were probably spilling their guts by now.

Vernon looked over at Grafton. “We’re dead, dude.”

“Shut up, you sniveling weasel!” Grafton snarled.

State Trooper Wayne Bishop glanced in the rear-view mirror at the two men in the back seat.  He focused again on the road that ran parallel to the Black Warrior River.

“Hey Bishop,” Trooper Daniel Ross pointed to a looming shape ahead, “That’s the old County Line Bridge.”

Bishop grinned. “Well look here boys,” he addressed the prisoners, “we’re coming up on the old bridge.  Would you all like to take a nostalgic stroll before we head off to Birmingham to meet the District Attorney?”

“Yeah, you boys are up for kidnapping, murder, attempted murder and whatever else the D. A. conjures up,” Ross teased.

“I wish we’d never gone to that stupid bridge!” Vernon whispered, his voice breaking.  “I don’t wanna go to jail!”

“You pathetic waste of space,” Morris spat. 

Bishop and Ross exchanged a knowing glance.  These two would be likely to kill each other before they reached the state penitentiary if they weren’t handcuffed. 

Suddenly Trooper Bishop slammed on the brake, causing the car to screech to a halt across the width of the narrow road.  A large fallen branch blocked their way.

“We better turn around,” suggested Ross.

“And add another hour onto this trip? No, come on and we’ll move the thing,” Bishop said.  “Together we can get it moved off the road enough to get by.”  The two officers got out and walked to the fallen branch.

“What’s goin’ on?” Vernon questioned, trying to peer through the mesh grate that divided the front and back compartments of the patrol car.

“Whoa!” Morris cried out, “This thing’s movin’!”

“Hey! You cops! Help!” Vernon screamed, pounding his shoulder against the door of the car.

“Help!” Morris yelled, kicking at the window.  He paused long enough to glance out the rear window.  His eyes widened in terror.

The two troopers, distracted by their task, never noticed the cruiser rolling backwards.  The car picked up speed as if it were being pushed by an unseen hand.  It crashed through the underbrush and saplings along the edge of the Black Warrior River.

“What was that…?” Trooper Bishop said, turning toward the sound.  He stared in total disbelief as his cruiser rolled over the embankment and was quickly pulled into the murky waters of the Black Warrior.

* * *

Jack Wayne ushered Betty and Iola Morton into the emergency waiting area of the Hale County Hospital.  They made their way to where the four men were sitting.

“Betty, Iola!” Chester cried, hurrying to embrace his wife and daughter.  He was able to tell them and Jack what he and the others had learned from a nurse; Chet was suffering from dehydration and had a few bruises, but would be fine.

Jack glanced at his friend Fenton Hardy.  “What about Joe?”

Fenton rubbed a hand wearily over his face, but then looked up at Jack.  “The nurse couldn’t find him.  She did say that someone was rushed in with a snake bite, though.”

“And you think its Joe?”

“Yes, I do,” Fenton replied.  “We won’t know for sure until they let us see Chet.”

“Even if it is Joey, that kid bounces back like nobody’s business, Chief,” Jack patted Fenton on the shoulder as he sat down next to him.

“Yes, I know,” Fenton said with a slight smile.  He could remember many times when Joe had been close to death, but always managed to pull through.  “I just worry that one of these days…”  Fenton was not a man that cried easily, but he couldn’t finish the sentence.  The words felt stuck in his throat.

“Joey’s a tough kid,” Jack assured him.  “Isn’t that right, Frank?”  Jack looked around for the older Hardy boy and frowned.  He thought for sure Frank would be nearby, waiting for word on his brother.

When there was no response, Fenton also looked around the small waiting area.  There was no sign of Frank anywhere.

“Chester, have you seen Frank?” Fenton asked, moving to the chairs where the Mortons had clustered.

“Not since we first arrived,” Chester responded. 

“Maybe he stepped outside for some fresh air,” Betty suggested, noting the worried frown that creased Fenton’s forehead.

Just then, Sam Radley and Sean Prescott returned from the snack alcove with sodas for everyone.

“Sam, Sean, have you seen Frank?” Fenton quickly asked them.

Sam slapped his forehead, “Man, you didn’t know!  I should have said something earlier, but I figured you knew.”

“Knew what, Sam?”

“I saw Frank when we first got here,” Sam relayed.  “He was disguised in surgical garb and heading through those double doors.  I assumed you sent him to try and locate the boys.”

Fenton sighed and shook his head.  “I should have realized that if there was a way to get to Chet and Joe, Frank would find it!”

“I wonder if he’s seen either of them yet,” Sean pondered. 

* * *

Frank Hardy pulled back the curtain that separated the tiny room number three from the rest of the emergency area.  A sleeping Chet Morton was lying on a hospital bed with an IV of clear liquid dripping into a tube that was attached to his arm.

Frank was about to approach him when he noticed an older man dosing in the chair beside Chet.  Frank paused and frowned.  What had the police said? A man had found the boys in the swamp beside the river, he remembered.

Frank walked up next to Chet and gently touched his shoulder.  “Chet? Come on Chet, I need to talk to you.”

Chet slowly opened his eyes and saw a doctor looking down on him.  “Doctor? W-what did you say?”

Realizing Chet didn’t recognize him behind the surgical mask, Frank quickly pulled the green fabric from his face.  “It’s me, Chet.  Frank Hardy!”

Chet smiled in recognition.  “Man, I thought you were a doctor that would stick me with another needle!”

“Chet,” Frank hastened on, “I can’t find Joe.  Do you know where he is?”

David Neel woke in time to see the dark-haired young man questioning Chet.  It took him a full minute to know he wasn’t looking at a doctor.

“You don’t belong back here, kid,” David said, sitting up.  “Stop botherin’ Chet or I’ll…”

David hesitated, studying the youth a little more, but then said, “He’s fair and you’re dark, but there’s no mistakin’ the resemblance.  You’re Joe’s brother, ain’t you?”