The Second Girl Detective Megapack: 23 Classic Mystery Novels for Girls

by Julia K. Duncan

  “Snake or no snake, I’m not going to drop this food down the mountain as I did my basket yesterday.”

  Cautiously they made their way down the steep path. When they reached the base of the cliff and started around toward the cave, they heard the sound of voices.

  “There’s the family,” exclaimed Jo Ann. “If we run we can catch up with them and won’t have to go all the way to the cave.”

  They started off at a swift pace and soon reached the little procession.

  Florence called to the mother, “Wait a minute. We’ve brought you some things to eat.” She and Jo Ann handed the packages to the mother and Carlitos.

  The mother’s face broke into a wide smile. “Muchas gracias, señoritas,” she said as she took the packages.

  The grandmother and the father also joined in thanking the girls.

  As they turned to leave, Florence remarked to the father, “We’ll help to look after the family while you go up and make your charcoal. We’ll come again tomorrow. We hope Pepito will be much better by then.”

  The man’s face broke into a smile. “Our friends, you are most kind. We have much gratitude.”

  CHAPTER X

  A SOILED YELLOWED ENVELOPE

  The next morning, when they were at the breakfast table, Jo Ann suggested that they go down to the goat ranch to see if they could get some milk to take to Pepito. “Do you want to go this time, Peg?”

  “We-ell, if I thought I’d get to see your mysterious boy, I’d go.”

  “I don’t think you’d see him, because he and the father are going back up the mountain to finish making their charcoal.”

  “Well, I’ll stay here, then. You two go on.”

  After they had washed the dishes and finished their other tasks, Florence and Jo Ann set out toward the goat ranch, Jo Ann swinging a bucket on her arm.

  When they came in sight of the little pink adobe house, Florence remarked, “While we’re here getting the milk, I believe I’ll see if I can buy some corn to take to the cave family for their tortillas.”

  “Good idea,” approved Jo Ann.

  After they had exchanged greetings with the woman at the house, Florence asked about the milk and corn, explaining their reason for wanting them.

  “Poor little boy,” the woman exclaimed. “I give you some milk to take to him. It is not the kind of milk you get—it’s goat’s milk.”

  Florence explained her answers to Jo Ann, adding, “That’ll suit Pepito better, anyway. He’s probably never tasted cow’s milk.”

  After the woman had filled the bucket and had given them several ears of corn, they started off toward the cave.

  As they neared the cave opening, Florence remarked, “The family’s here this time. I smell food cooking. I’m glad we brought that down last night, aren’t you?”

  Jo Ann nodded an emphatic assent.

  In a few more moments they stepped into the entrance of the cave.

  The mother looked up quickly, then smiled broadly as she recognized the girls. “Ah, good morning, friends.”

  “How’s Pepito this morning?” Florence asked a moment later.

  “Much better.” Her face was beaming. “He ate much of the food that you brought.”

  “That’s fine. We brought you some corn for your tortillas and some milk for Pepito. He must eat lots and drink much milk, then he will get strong.”

  The mother caught hold of Florence’s hand, saying, “A thousand thanks, señorita.”

  With a smile of greeting to the family, Jo Ann crossed over to Pepito, who was lying on the petate beside the baby watching his grandmother knot a long slender fiber rope.

  “What are you doing?” Jo Ann asked the grandmother curiously, after she had talked a moment.

  “Making bags for the charcoal,” she replied.

  “But how can you—” she began, then, not knowing the word for carry, she called over to Florence, “Does she mean they’re going to carry charcoal in that thing? I should think it’d fall through such big holes.”

  Florence came over beside Jo Ann and smilingly translated her question into Spanish.

  “No, it won’t fall through,” Pepito replied earnestly. He raised up and took the partly finished bag from his grandmother and held it up for Jo Ann to see. “The charcoal is big. We pack it with much care, and it no fall through these holes,” he added, shaking his head.

  “They fasten a large bag of charcoal on each side of the burro so that all you can see is his long ears sticking out between the bags,” Florence explained. “It looks as if the bags of charcoal were walking down the road.”

  After watching how deftly the grandmother’s gnarled old hands tied the knots in the wiry rope, Jo Ann said, “I’d like to have a hammock made like that. Ask her, Florence, if she could make me a long strip that I could use for a hammock. Tell her I’ll buy it from her.”

  “All right. You catch hold of one end of the strip and I the other, and we’ll show her exactly what you mean.”

  After Florence had translated Jo Ann’s request and the two girls had demonstrated their meaning by gestures, the grandmother’s brown wrinkled face began to beam. She took the strip from them, saying, “Sí, sí. I understand. I finish this one for you. You have been so good—you give us back our Pepito.”

  “Oh, but you need these bags for the charcoal right away,” put in Jo Ann, who had caught the meaning of the grandmother’s words. “Tell her I’m not in a hurry for the hammock. I can wait till after they sell the charcoal.”

  After Florence had passed this remark on, the grandmother replied, “I make you one. When my son sell the charcoal, he will bring me more rope.”

  After talking for a few minutes more Jo Ann remarked to Florence, “Ask the mother something more about Carlitos, now. If he isn’t their child, ask her where they got him and what nationality he is—he doesn’t understand English.”

  Florence began to laugh. “Hold on! I can’t ask all of those questions at once. I’m a little dubious about asking any at all. They don’t seem to like to talk about him.”

  “Yes, I know, but I’ve got to find out about him.”

  “We-ell, I’ll see what I can find out, but I can’t promise you much.”

  Florence walked back to the mother, who was cooking beans over the fire in the middle of the cave. After chatting with her awhile she tactfully brought up the subject of Carlitos. “How long has Carlitos lived with you?”

  “Oh, for a long time. He is as one of our family.”

  “How old was he when you took him?”

  “Like Rosita over there.” The mother gestured toward the smaller one of the two little girls.

  Florence glanced over at the child, who, she judged, must be about a year and a half old. So Carlitos had been with this family about seven years, she thought. “Where is his mother?” she asked.

  “Ah, she died and left her baby with me. I was his nurse.”

  “That was too bad. Wasn’t there any relative to take him?”

  The woman shook her head. “No one.”

  The thought darted through Florence’s mind that perhaps after all Carlitos was American or English. Since he had been so young when he was taken into this family, he could not have remembered any of his native language.

  “Was his mother an American?” she asked.

  “Yes, and she was so good to me and so beautiful. She had eyes of blue just like Carlitos’.”

  Just then Jo Ann crossed over to Florence’s side. “Did I hear right? Did she say Carlitos was an American?”

  “Yes.”

  “So I was right at first about his not being a Mexican. What else did she say?”

  Florence quickly recounted all that the mother had told her.

  When she had finished, Jo Ann said, “Well, there’s something queer about a beautiful American woman leaving her baby with an ignorant Indian nurse. Ask her where his father is. That child’s bound to have some relatives somewhere. Looks strange to me that, as poor as this fami
ly is, they’d keep Carlitos when they can hardly feed their own children.”

  “Well, all right, I’ll ask her. She doesn’t seem to mind talking about him today as much as she did yesterday.”

  Florence turned to the mother. “Why did you have to keep Carlitos when you have so many children? Where was his father?”

  The woman shook her head. “I don’t know. He no come back.”

  “Where did he go?”

  “To the mine. The beautiful American woman go every day to watch for her husband, but he no come. It was cold, and she got sick. She had much cough, and one day she died.”

  To the girls’ surprise the woman walked over to the grandmother and began talking in a low, rapid voice. The grandmother nodded and smiled over at the girls.

  “She said something about us, or the grandmother wouldn’t have looked over at us that way,” said Jo Ann. “At least she’s smiling—that’s encouraging.”

  They noticed the woman go over into a dark recess, then come back shortly. In the light of the fire they could see that she held a soiled yellowed envelope in her hand.

  On coming closer the woman said earnestly, “You are American like his mamá and papá. You have been good to us like they were.” She touched Florence on the cheek first, then Jo Ann. “And you are beautiful like his mamá.”

  She held up a sealed envelope. “His mamá give this to me. I keep it for Carlitos. When he get big, I give it to him.”

  Florence took the envelope into her hand. She uttered a little gasp. “Why, this is a letter! It is addressed to a man in New York.” She read the name out loud. “Mr. E. P. Eldridge.”

  “Well, for Pete’s sake!” exclaimed Jo Ann. “Why didn’t she mail that?”

  Not stopping to listen to Jo Ann, Florence asked the woman quickly, “Is Carlitos’ name Eldridge—Carlitos Eldridge?”

  The woman hesitated a moment; then, after Florence had repeated the name Eldridge several times, she nodded her head. “Yes, I think that was the name. It has been many years—I forget.”

  “This is a letter. Why didn’t you put it in the mail?”

  The woman looked blank at this question.

  “Didn’t Carlitos’ mother tell you to put this in the mail?” Florence asked.

  “No. His mamá speak very little Spanish. She only been in Mexico a little time. When she was dying she give this to me and tell me, ‘No let big mean man get this.’”

  “Who was the big mean man?” Florence asked, puzzled at this new turn in her story.

  The woman broke into a confused account which Florence later translated to Jo Ann. “I can’t make out exactly what she’s talking about, but she says some big man who had something to do with the mine was mean to Carlitos’ mother after her husband had disappeared. She said they were all afraid of him.”

  “But that’s no excuse for her not mailing the letter,” Jo Ann said.

  “All she understood was to keep this from that man,” Florence explained. “She’d never seen a letter before in her life. She couldn’t read or write. And the American woman couldn’t explain it to her, you know. The only other people at this mine were Indian peons like themselves, so there was no one she could go to.”

  “It’s hard to realize that she didn’t know what a letter was when she saw one,” Jo Ann remarked, then looked down at the envelope with renewed interest. “I wish we dared to open this and read it, but of course we can’t do that.”

  “No; the only thing for us to do is to mail it now.”

  “I’m not so sure of that,” Jo Ann replied quickly. “It might get lost. It has to be carried so far before it even gets to a postoffice. Besides, it’s about seven years since this letter was written. Why not write a letter to this address explaining the situation?”

  Florence pondered over this plan a moment, then spoke up briskly: “I have a better idea than that. I’ll write to Daddy and explain it all to him and have him telegraph to this Mr. Eldridge in New York. That’ll save lots of time.”

  “You’re right, it certainly will.”

  Florence turned and explained to the woman that she and Jo Ann were going to send word to this man whose name was written on the envelope. “It may help Carlitos,” she ended.

  “Ah, you are so good to want to help Carlitos,” the woman exclaimed.

  “I wish we could find something to write this address on, but we can’t,” said Florence. “We must look at it very carefully so as to be sure we get it right.”

  Both girls read and reread the address, then repeated it aloud to each other.

  “Now let’s hurry and get home before we forget it,” said Jo Ann.

  After a hasty “Adios” to the family, the two hurried out of the cave.

  CHAPTER XI

  THE BEAR RETURNS

  When the girls reached the house, almost breathless from their rapid climb, Jo Ann immediately burst out, “I was right! There is a mystery—about the blue-eyed boy!”

  “Wait a minute, Jo,” put in Florence. “Let’s get that address down first of all.” She grabbed up a piece of paper and scribbled down the address, then showed it to Jo Ann. “Is this right?”

  Jo Ann studied it carefully. “Yes, I’m sure it is.” She turned back to Peggy and Mrs. Blackwell. “That boy’s an American! He’s an orphan.”

  “Why, I thought you said he couldn’t speak English!” exclaimed Peggy.

  “I did—and he can’t. He was left with this family when he was a baby, and so naturally doesn’t know anything but Spanish. This Indian woman, María, was his mother’s servant while she was up at the mine.”

  “That sounds as if the boy must have come from a well-to-do family.”

  “I’m sure he did,” Jo Ann replied, and Florence added, “I gathered from what María said that his father was either the owner of the mine or had an interest in it.”

  “Suppose you tell us the whole story from beginning to end, Florence,” suggested Peggy. “It sounds so unlikely that an American boy of good family would be left with poor ignorant Indians like this.”

  “I haven’t got it straight in my mind either. It’s a mystery all right—a mystery that’s far from being solved. I’ll tell you all we found out.” Florence recounted all that María had told her and showed both her mother and Peggy the piece of paper with the address which they had seen on the envelope at the cave.

  “Jo and I think we ought to write to Daddy at once and ask him to telegraph to this Mr. Eldridge,” she ended. “What do you think of that plan, Mother?”

  “I believe it’d be a wise thing,” Mrs. Blackwell answered thoughtfully. “It’d save a great deal of time, I’m sure.”

  “I know it would. Fortunately today’s the day we get our mail. I’ll write my letter right away and when the man comes, I’ll give it to him to take back. We won’t get our mail again till next Tuesday—four whole days to wait before we can hear from Daddy!”

  “He ought to have some interesting information for us by that time,” put in Jo Ann.

  While Florence busied herself with writing the letter to her father, Jo Ann kept up a steady chatter about the mystery of the blue-eyed boy. “I’d certainly like to find out more about that man that María kept calling the ‘mean man.’ What reason could he have had for having been so hateful to Carlitos’ mother? From what María said everybody else liked her. Another thing I want to know is why his father disappeared so suddenly and where he went. A mystery within a mystery.”

  Peggy smiled. “You ought to be satisfied this time, Jo. It’ll keep you busy for a long time if you untangle all this mix-up.”

  About a half hour later, Jo Ann caught sight of a man with a big sombrero riding a burro leisurely up the cart road toward the house.

  “Somebody’s coming,” she called to Florence. “Is it the man that brings the mail?”

  Florence came running out on the porch. “Yes—that’s the one. He’s bringing us some groceries, too.”

  “Let’s run down and meet him. I can’t wait
to see if I have any letters.”

  The three girls tore off down the road.

  “Got any mail for us?” Florence asked on nearing the rider.

  The man nodded his head. “Ah, many letters!”

  “Give them to me,” Florence cried in Spanish, then added to Peggy and Jo Ann, “I know Mother and I’ll have one from Dad.”

  “And I ought to have two or three!” exclaimed Peggy.

  “Here too,” added Jo Ann.

  The Indian slipped off the back of his burro and slowly began untying one of the bundles.

  “I wish he’d hurry,” grumbled Jo Ann. “He’s the slowest thing I ever saw.”

  “Just have patience. You can’t hurry him.”

  “One thing’s certain, none of the mail could’ve been lost out of that bundle—it’s tied so tightly,” smiled Peggy.

  Finally the man handed a bunch of letters and papers to Florence, and she sorted them out quickly and gave Peggy and Jo Ann their share; then all three hurried back to the house. Several minutes later the man brought in the groceries and other articles that they had ordered sent out from the city.

  Florence gave him the letter she had just written to her father, saying, “Be very careful—don’t lose this letter. It’s very important.”

  “Sí, señorita, I sabe! I’ll be careful.” The man nodded, then went back to his burro.

  As soon as the girls had finished reading their mail, they picked up their groceries and carried them out to the kitchen.

  When Jo Ann unwrapped the butter and the bacon, she remarked, “What’ll we do with these things? We won’t dare put them in our refrigerator box down at the spring. That old bear would be sure to find them again. We’ve just got to get him. I was too excited over saving Pepito yesterday to think about anything else. But we must watch again tonight for that bear. He’ll be getting hungry by this time and’ll come back for another pig. Your mother’ll let us go, won’t she, Florence?”

  “I imagine so.”

  “Well, if we go, I’m going to take a sweater and a cushion,” spoke up Peggy. “I got cold the other night, and it was so uncomfortable sitting on that rough hard ledge.”