Ten Mile Treasure

by Andre Norton

  Visitors

  "Talk about instant publicity!" Mother leaned back in her chair and pushed a straying wisp of hair off her forehead. "Marina, just look at that crowd!"

  "If the motel were only open for business now!" Marina Wildhorse smiled as she glanced through the nearest window at the many cars parked around the station yard.

  There was the sheriffs with its big star on the door. Next to that one the post office man had come in. But those were only the first two. Behind was one from the newspaper, and then two owned by town council members. Crowding into what space was left were others, belonging to who knew who.

  Christie counted. Ten, eleven, twelve! And another was raising a dust cloud on the road!

  There would not be any parking space for that one unless he just pulled to the side of the road outside the station yard.

  "And the local TV-radio station people—the blue car's theirs," Mother continued. "That man has been positively besieging us. Wants the children and everything they found to be featured on some program. It's beyond belief!"

  At least now, Christie and Neal had decided privately between themselves when they had seen the excitement begun in the sheriffs office, growing greater as they went to the post office, Marlene would have to work to prove that she had any right to Lady Maude. Why, the postmaster had sent a telegram about their find to Washington, and when they had opened the strongbox they had discovered a small bag of gold dust and some important papers inside.

  It was then that the newspaperman had come with a camera and followed them all the way back to the station, taking pictures—even of Shan, because Shan had really found the cave. Other men had asked them about a million questions. Christie was afraid Shan's picture was not going to be very good—he was spitting at his dislike of the whole affair when it had been taken. Though it was late afternoon now, still more people continued to come.

  "You've been feeding them," Mrs. Wild-horse said.

  "Yes. They've about cleaned us out of a week's supplies. Look here—they left all this by their plates." She had a small bowl with money in it. "I don't know who left what. They kept coming and going, so I couldn't return it."

  "Why should you? After all, you are or are going to be in business here. Just use that to replace your supplies."

  "Who would ever think of something such as this happening?"

  "Gilesburg is not a city, though it would like to think it is," Mrs. Wildhorse commented. "I think that the newspaper, the TV, the council members are all very much aware of the value of publicity. They want to promote tourism here. Most of them must think this is a wonderful way to begin. After all, this find is probably unique—what must have been the complete cargo of a stagecoach in excellent condition—to say nothing of the mystery of where and why it was left. Also, there is the added attraction of Lady Maude—who can resist her?"

  She nodded to a small table at the other side of the room where the doll, carefully unwrapped, stood, her fantastic wardrobe spread out around her, just as she had been placed for a whole series of photographs.

  "She alone ought to bring a big price, if you want to sell her."

  "We don't know who has the right to sell her," Mother answered. "Not that that matters at present. What I am wondering is how this will affect Mr. Toner's claim."

  "That will get a good talking over today. Every sightseer out here knows all about what he is trying to do. It's a good thing you don't have a phone connected yet. At least you don't have a lot of calls to plague you."

  "Small mercies thankfully received." Mother laughed. "This is like being caught in a rush hour on the subway, with the role of short-order cook added. I'm holding back enough food for our own supper and looking forward to when I can say, 'We've no more supplies. Sorry.' Only I shan't be sorry really."

  Christie was only half-listening—rather she was thinking about this morning in the post office. While Father and the sheriff, with Neal tagging behind, had gone in to see the postmaster in his private office, she had bought her stamps and had pushed her fat letter through the slit in the wall marked out of town. If there was anyone to get that letter it might be soon decided about Lady Maude.

  "Howdy, ma'am." A tall young man stood just outside the door. "I have a telegram for Mr. Harvey Kimball. You know where I can find him?"

  Mother shook her head. "Just now he might be anywhere. Up at the cave—or—well, just anywhere. I haven't seen him for about an hour. I'm Mrs. Kimball, can I take it?"

  "This says Mr. Kimball." The young man looked doubtful. "But seein' as how you're his missus, I expect it's proper. Say, whatever is goin' on here anyways?"

  "Do you mean"—Mrs. Wildhorse laughed— "there is one person left in Gilesburg who doesn't know about the treasure?"

  "Treasure. You mean that one of them there lost mines has been found?" The young man glanced at the crowded yard. "How come the sheriffs mixed up in something like that?"

  "Not a mine, no. They just found some things taken off one of the old stagecoaches and walled up in a cave."

  "I'll be! Could that be off the ghost stage maybe?"

  "The ghost stage?" Christie moved closer. "What's the ghost stage?"

  The young man looked as if he were sorry he had mentioned the subject. "Oh, that's just a story the old-timers used to tell to scare little kids around here. They said that there was a stage pulled out of here in Indian times and was never seen again. The rest of the story is that some people have seen it running along the old road in the moonlight, not making any noise, but with the horses going full gallop. It's just one of them old stories, ma'am," he said to Mother, as if to reassure her.

  "Interesting," she answered. "But hardly to be wished for. That road's pretty narrow. I'd hate to have to share it with a wild-running ghost stage at night."

  You won't, ma'am. Just an old story. Say, is it all right if I look around some?"

  "No reason not to," Mother answered. "Just follow the trail beyond the corral."

  "You see?" Mrs. Wildhorse came away from the window to take a humming kettle off the stove and pour steaming water into a dishpan. "There's another ready-made tourist attraction—a ghost stagecoach."

  "I can do without any more attractions for the time being, and probably for quite a while! Listen, Marina—you mustn't try to wash all these. Just let me—"

  "I shall wash and Christie will dry, while you rest. If you must do something, work out your grocery list. Make it large—you may have visitors for more than just today. Even if Jim Wylie carts everything back to town, there'll be people out to see where it was found."

  Mrs. Wildhorse began to wash mugs and plates, while Christie dried and piled them in the old wall cupboard. They were still using as many paper plates and napkins as they could, but most of those were gone now. Mother got a tablet and a pencil and started a list.

  "Give it to Jim when you're finished," Mrs. Wildhorse said. "He'll drop it off at the market. They'll truck it out."

  "This far? They wouldn't!"

  "Sam Birke drives the truck and it's a wonder he isn't out here now. Sam wants to be a history teacher. He'll be very glad of a good excuse to learn what's going on. No—save yourself all you can—do it that way."

  "Mother"—Libby ran in—"one of those men from the TV car, he went over and looked in the van windows—then he wanted to know if you were that Marina and were you painting some more pictures now? I slipped out through the bushes. Toliver's taken the horses and the burros and gone up canyon with Pinto. The newspaper people took Pinto's picture twice, and he said if they tried it again he'd fix them good. He's so mad he won't talk to anyone now."

  "Oh, dear!" Mother gave a big sigh and laid down her pencil. "Everyone is going to be upset before this is over. How the children can sleep through this racket." She got up and went to look into the room into which the twins had retired earlier. "It's so hot, and I've started a headache."

  "Now it's your turn to go and lie down. Take an aspirin and do it right now! Christie, Libby, and I
can manage beautifully. You Kimballs have had more than your share of troubles these past two days."

  Mother tried to protest, but Mrs. Wildhorse hurried her off. Christie went to look in on the twins. Baron lay on the floor by one bunk, where Parky was stretched out, staring straight up. Perks was actually asleep, curled in a knot on her own bunk with Shan on the pillow beside her.

  "What do you want?" Parky demanded in a hoarse whisper as Christie tiptoed over.

  "Mother thought you were asleep."

  "I'm being punished." His whisper came a little louder. "That's why I'm here. And if you come and talk to me, it isn't being punished. So you just keep away—hear?" He put his fingers in his ears and squeezed his eyes tightly shut.

  Christie obediently slipped away. Poor Parky—he had chosen a very hard punishment. It did not mean just staying in his room and not going into town, but had also turned out to be missing all the exciting things that had happened since. However, Mother had said he was to come out and have his picture taken with the rest of the children. After that Parky had marched right back to his self-imposed imprisonment, where Perks had joined him in the early afternoon.

  Libby and her mother were in front of the table where Lady Maude stood. Christie sighed as she joined them. There was very little chance, she was sure, of keeping the doll. It would be such fun to try on all those clothes— to dress her in the lovely brocade ball gown with the long kid gloves or see her in the pale green dress Mother said was called a morning gown or the tea dress of pink satin trimmed with red velvet for a front panel.

  "Even a card case!" Mrs. Wildhorse had picked up a tiny mother-of-pearl case and opened it to show wee cards packed inside. "Everything! I don't think there has ever been so completely equipped a fashion doll seen before in this day and age. She is truly a museum piece."

  "Just so, dear lady."

  They turned, startled. There was a man in the doorway. He was short and his coat was off, hanging over one arm, while with his other hand he mopped his round red face. His thin, turtle-necked shirt had damp spots on the shoulders, and big black sunglasses hid his eyes.

  "Simmons, I'm Arthur Simmons, ma'am." He gave a little nod of his head. "Probably never heard of me, but I've been hearing a lot about you—and this find. Just pure luck my passing through when the news broke. I'm an NBC man—"

  "You mean the TV network?"

  "That's right. Local man told me about this—" He glanced around the big room. "Heard you were restoring a stage station. Quite famous once, wasn't it? So this is the doll—" He marched up to Lady Maude's table, still wiping his face, now and then running the handkerchief over the top of his bald head for good measure. "Now will you look at that! Pretty near everything a lady of her day would need. Who was she being sent to—do you know?"

  "Miss Maude Woodbridge of Woburnscott, Maine," Christie told him.

  "Poor Miss Woodbridge," Mr. Simmons said. He sounded, Christie thought, a little surprised, as if he were really sorry that Lady Maude had never reached her destination. "But I wonder how and why this lady was in Hong Kong. Too bad she can't tell us, isn't it? However, she's a natural, she certainly is—along with all the rest. I'll call Stan tonight—"

  "A natural for what, Mr. Simmons?" Mrs. Wildhorse wanted to know.

  "For our See America program, Mrs. Kim-ball. Strange and unusual bits of American lore brought to the screen—"

  "I'm not Mrs. Kimball. And I think you had better get the Kimballs' permission before you plan anything. Mrs. Kimball is not feeling too well and is resting. Mr. Kimball may be up at the cave with some of the local authorities—"

  "Certainly we'd clear everything with the Kimballs, Mrs.—Mrs.—"

  "Wildhorse."

  Christie saw Mr. Simmons give a little start. "Mrs. Wildhorse—but then you're Marina, aren't you? I thought I recognized this little girl," he nodded at Libby. "This is my lucky day! That is, if you, ma'am, are willing to cooperate, too. Your paintings have aroused a great deal of attention and you are one of the persons I came here to contact for the program."

  "Another 'strange and unusual piece of American lore,' Mr. Simmons?"

  "About the most American lore to be found nowadays," he returned. "But only with your complete cooperation, of course."

  "I'll think about it. You look very hot, Mr. Simmons. Would you like a cool drink?"

  "Now that is about the kindest suggestion I've had made to me in some time. If you could spare me a seat, too—"

  Christie went to get some of the lemonade they made with the cold spring water. When she came back Mr. Simmons was sitting on one of the hard-bottomed chairs, looking around intently. He had taken off his sunglasses and was surveying the walls of the room one by one, as if he wanted to remember just where every nail was placed in them.

  "This is certainly going to be a natural—"

  His murmur was interrupted by a pounding at the screen door. Christie, who was nearest, opened it and found herself facing a very tall, thin man with a narrow face that had deep lines about the mouth and nose. He looked at her sharply.

  "You one of the Kimball kids?"

  "I'm Christie Kimball." Then she knew who he was, though she had seen him only once when he was getting into his station wagon. "You're Mr. Toner."

  "I'm Toner. What in thunderation is going on here anyway? Had to park way back on the road—" He broke off his own sentence to demand harshly, "Where's your dad, kid? I've got a paper for him, a very important paper."

  "He may be up at the cave with Sheriff Wylie."

  "So Jim Wylie's here? Well, that's all the better. He can see what your dad will have to do. That the doll Marlene's been talking about?" He shoved past Christie to examine Lady Maude and her belongings. "Looks old—must be worth somethng. You can pack her up—I'll just take her and the rest of her gear along with me—"

  "I don't think so." Mrs. Wildhorse moved in to stand between Lady Maude and Mr. Toner. "Sheriff Wylie has temporary custody of all the things discovered in the cave. The Kimballs officially turned them over to him this morning."

  "Found on my land, weren't they? I'll settle it with Jim—"

  "Before you touch anything," answered Mrs. Wildhorse, "you will check with the sheriff. You will find him and Mr. Kimball at the cave if you wish to discuss this matter with them."

  "Don't need any discussion. Matter of law— Kimball's out, I'm in. Wylie's going to explain it to him if he doesn't understand it already. I'll be back for the doll. Marlene's taken a fancy to it. Kimball ought to be glad I'm not suing him for what his kid did to my girl. He's getting off easy!"

  Mr. Toner swung around and stamped out, slamming the screen door behind him.

  "Pleasant gentleman, that." Mr. Simmons broke the following silence. "Do you mind telling me what that was all about? Just curiosity on my part, of course. If it's too personal, you needn't answer."

  "Mr. Toner has been trying to get title to this land for some time," Mrs. Wildhorse explained. "The water rights are quite valuable. Now it turns out there may have been some flaw in the title when the Kimballs took it over. The case is very complicated, since it involves both the old state franchise and an Indian treaty. His daughter followed the children to the cave and saw the doll. Since then Mr. Toner's effort to take possession have speeded up."

  "He doesn't sound like a very good neighbor—"

  Mrs. Wildhorse made no comment. "He wants the land badly. A never-failing spring in this country is rare."

  "Interesting. Thanks for the drink. I guess I'll go up and have a look at the cave, too." Mr. Simmons put on his sunglasses and his coat and left. Christie was hardly aware he had gone. She was too busy thinking about what Mr. Toner had said. Could he just take Lady Maude and make them move right now, as he threatened?

  Slowly she turned once more to stare at the doll. It was almost as if Lady Maude were unlucky—they had had nothing but trouble ever since they found her. Christie began to wish she had never seen her at all.

  "Shall we pa
ck up her things?" she asked Libby's mother. "Maybe the sheriff will say that Mr. Toner can take her—"

  "I think it would be well to pack her away now that the pictures have been taken," Mrs. Wildhorse agreed. "But I do not believe Mr. Toner will take her—not today, and perhaps never. If they cannot find anyone who owns her now, she might even belong to the state of Arizona. Which means she will be put in a museum, where everyone can enjoy seeing her."

  Christie and Libby went to wash their hands. Then, with the greatest of care, they began returning all the wardrobe to the proper trunks and boxes. Each of those in turn was settled into the metal box in proper order. Lady Maude, once more thoroughly wrapped, was put in last. Mrs. Wildhorse examined the address painted on the lid.

  "Miss Maude Woodbridge, Woburnscott, Maine. But, Christie, how did you know that she was sent from Hong Kong—there is nothing here to say that?"

  "There was a letter about her—inside," Libby answered first, and Christie was sorry she had not warned the Navajo girl not to mention that. "It said that her father could not get home for her birthday and he was sending Lady Maude east with the mate from his ship."

  "Where is the letter now?"

  Both of them looked to Christie. She would have to tell—no keeping her secret now. Anyway, perhaps the letter would come back.

  "I—I mailed it—to the address. Dad said they would try to find the families of the people to whom the letters in the bag were written. So I wrote a letter, too, and put it with the letter from the box. I sent it to the family of Miss Maude Woodbridge in Maine. I did not want Marlene to have her—not if there was maybe a Woodbridge girl who could claim her. She would belong to her, wouldn't she?" Christie appealed to Mrs. Wildhorse.

  "I would certainly think so, with the old letter to prove it. But, Christie, it would have been better to let the post office officials trace the letter."

  "Marlene said she was going to take her. Maybe she could if it took a long time to trace people." Christie felt very uncomfortable. Probably Mrs. Wildhorse was right, but somehow she was still glad that she had sent that letter.