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Frank added.
    â€œWho knows,” Chet remarked. “But do we have a choice?”
    â€œYou’re right, Chet,” Frank said. “We should be grateful you remembered it was here.”
    Dragging the pedal boat down to the dock, they set it in the water and climbed aboard. Chet took the only seat, pumping the pedals with his feet, while the Hardys kneeled down, trying to keep the tiny craft balanced.
    They churned through the water at about one mile per hour.
    â€œIn this tub, we’ll never get to the fishing camp before the midnight curfew,” Joe said.
    â€œWhat better excuse to nose around Gator Swamp when we’re not supposed to?” Frank replied, smiling.
    The boys took turns pedaling. Even so, after nearly an hour, they were all exhausted.
    â€œHey, Joe,” Chet said, “you stopped pedaling.”
    â€œMy calves are cramping,” Joe moaned.
    â€œI think we’re almost there,” Frank assured him.
    Joe nodded, “No pain, no gain.” He took a deep breath and started pedaling again.
    â€œWait!” Chet said suddenly. “Look over there!”
    Off the starboard side of the craft, the shadowy silhouette of an island marked by two trees rose out of the swamp. Just in front of it, the boys saw an eerie light, moving slowly back and forth, like a single wandering eye.
    â€œMaybe it’s Zack Platt in his airboat,” Joe said.
    â€œThere’s no boat,” Chet shot back. “That light is beneath the water.”
    â€œListen!” Joe said in a loud whisper. “Whatever it is, it doesn’t sound human.” They heard the faint sound of raspy gurgling breathing and a muffled humming noise.
    Joe got the boat as close as he could. They were only forty yards from the light when the light went out. The only illumination now was the half-moon reflecting off the surface of the water.
    â€œBubbles!” Chet said in a choked voice. Sure enough, Frank and Joe could path of small bubbles rising to the surface and headed in their direction.
    â€œWhat do you think it is?” Joe asked.
    â€œWhatever it is,” Frank replied, “it’s going right underneath our boat.”
    â€œIt’s the alligator!” Chet shouted.
    Suddenly something struck the bottom of the boat with tremendous force, and the boys felt the craft begin to tip over.

6 Stranded
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    â€œJump!” Joe shouted.
    When the pedal boat flipped, the three boys were sent flying into the swamp.
    â€œSwim for it!” Frank ordered, doing his best freestyle toward the two trees on the nearby island.
    Joe kicked his legs violently behind him, hoping to drive away the alligator if it was pursuing them.
    Suddenly Joe’s knee hit something. Mud. The water was only a few feet deep. Joe rose up and slogged through the water and onto the shore. He gave Chet and Frank a hand, and all three quickly climbed into the limbs of one of the tall trees. There was no sign of the alligator or the mysterious light.
    â€œWhat do we do now?” Chet asked.
    â€œWe’d better stay here until daybreak. Then we can figure out where we are,” Joe replied.
    The boys tried to make themselves comfortable in the tree. Frank, Joe, and Chet were beyond tired. Despite the occasional mosquito bite or cry of a passing egret, they slept through the rest of the night.
    Joe woke up briefly, thinking that he felt something cold on his forehead. But everyone else was asleep. Joe figured he must have been dreaming and fell quickly back to sleep.
    The next time Joe’s eyes opened, it was morning and something was poking him in the ribs. Joe was relieved to see it was Homer, standing in the pontoon boat beside the shore, prodding Joe up in the tree with the end of a cane fishing pole.
    â€œWhat in the world happened to you three?” Homer asked. “We’ve been worried as a fat hen in a fox’s den.”
    â€œHomer!” Chet said, waking up. “Boy, are we