On the Trail of Trouble

by Carolyn Keene

  “Whoa,” Clayton said, with a smile. “Are those from

  my grocery bag?”

  “Mm-hmm,” Nancy said. “With all that talk about

  coyotes in the Badlands, I thought I'd better slip a

  couple in my pack just in case.”

  “If it's good enough for Brutus, it should be good

  enough for this guy,” George muttered.

  “Just ease it on down the steps,” Clayton advised.

  “Pull your hand around slowly.”

  Nancy gently rolled one of the bones down the

  stairs. At first, the coyote seemed startled and looked as

  if it were going to pounce. Then it backed off as the

  bone rolled its way.

  Nancy held her breath. The bone stopped on the

  bottom step. The coyote came back out of the shadows

  and sniffed the chew toy. Then in one quick

  movement, it grabbed the bone in its mouth and

  backed off into the shadows.

  Relieved, Nancy heard the unmistakable sounds of

  gnawing coming from the dark corner.

  “Okay,” Clayton said. “Let's get out of here. We

  don't have long.”

  “George, let's all help push,” Nancy said.

  They lined up in front of the door and jammed their

  shoulders against the wood. A grinding scrape from the

  other side of the door indicated some success. The

  door opened enough so that they could see light from

  the living room.

  “Again,” Nancy said. The second try opened the

  door enough that Nancy and George could slip through

  the opening. “Easy,” Nancy whispered. “We don't

  know what—or who—we're going to find.”

  There was no one in sight. Together, Nancy and

  George moved the large, heavy cabinet farther away so

  Clayton could come through the opening. As they

  slowly moved the cabinet away, Nancy noticed a scrap

  of paper on the floor.

  Finally Clayton was able to get out of the basement.

  He leaned against the wall and dropped to a crouch.

  “Whew,” he said, his breath coming out with a whoosh.

  “That's as close as I ever want to get to a coyote.”

  Nancy reached down and picked up the scrap of

  paper and put it in her pocket. “Let's get out of here,”

  she said, heading for the door.

  “What about our friend down there?” Clayton said.

  “Should we close the basement back up?”

  “No,” Nancy said. “Let's take our cue from Ms.

  Francoeur and let him run free.” She threw another

  chew bone so it rested at the open basement door.

  “Here's a little encouragement.”

  They hurried to the front door. Nancy looked

  outside, but saw no one. “Come on,” she said. “Let's

  get back to the car. But stay down. Whoever locked us

  in might still be around.”

  They darted to the fence and back to the car. “At

  last,” George said. “Let's get out of here.”

  Clayton turned the car around and they were soon

  on the road back to the Turner ranch. George turned

  around to face Nancy and said, “You picked up

  something from the floor when we were moving the

  cabinet. What was it?”

  Nancy reached in her pocket and pulled out the

  scrap of paper. “It was under the cabinet,” she said. “It

  looks like part of a card of some kind—a membership

  card, maybe.”

  George and Clayton looked at the paper lying in

  Nancy's palm. “See?” Nancy said. “There's some sort of

  an embossed seal here.”

  “There are some words,” George said, “parts of

  words anyway.” She examined the card. Then she read

  off the word fragments. “One line has ure,' the next

  line has ine,' and the last line has ors.' What could

  they be?”

  “We'll check when we get to the ranch,” Nancy said.

  “The library can help, or the Internet.”

  “So you think it might have been dropped by the

  bad guys?” Clayton asked.

  “Probably,” Nancy said. “We did a thorough search

  before we went into the basement. Did either of you

  notice it then?” Both Clayton and George shook their

  heads. “I didn't either,” Nancy said. “So one of them

  must have dropped it.”

  “You do think there was more than one?” Clayton

  asked.

  “Yes,” Nancy said. “That cabinet was really heavy. It

  would take two to move it.”

  On the way back to the ranch, they made one small

  detour so Nancy could drop off her film at a drugstore

  with one-hour developing service. By the time they got

  home, it was six-thirty. The Turners and, Bess were

  sitting down to supper.

  Nancy, George, and Clayton took their seats. “How

  is the sheriff?” Nancy asked.

  “He's going to be fine,” Mrs. Turner said, setting

  plates and napkins for Nancy, George, and Kincaid.

  “We talked to him on the phone about a half hour ago.

  The bullet went clean through and missed all his vital

  organs. It'll take a little time to heal, but he should be

  okay.”

  “No thanks to Badger Brady and his worthless

  family,” Mr. Turner said, slamming his coffee mug

  down on the table. Drops of coffee spurted onto the

  green-checked tablecloth. “They've launched a

  manhunt for the whole gang,” he continued. “I'd like to

  get Badger alone for a few minutes. I'd make him sorry

  he ever came back to South Dakota.”

  “Well, I hope that never happens. And I hope he

  doesn't come back to our place,” Kincaid said. “He's

  like a loose cannon.” She turned to Clayton. “So, how

  was your day, old buddy?” she asked.

  “We had a pretty wild time at the Badlands,”

  Clayton said.

  Nancy, Clayton, and George told the Turners about

  the probable poachers. Then Nancy decided to tell

  them they had gone to Badger Brady's.

  “What!” Mr. Turner said. “You actually went there

  and got inside that rustler's house?”

  “That was pretty dangerous,” Mrs. Turner said. “It's

  a wonder you didn't get into trouble.”

  “Well, actually . . .” Clayton began. Then they told

  the Turners and Bess about the coyote.

  “Yikes!” Bess said. “Usually, I'm sorry to miss one of

  Nancy's adventures, but I think I'm happy I passed on

  that one.”

  Nancy pulled out the fragment of paper she had

  found under the heavy cabinet.

  “You know what this might be,” Mr. Turner said,

  looking at the paper scrap, “it could be a union card.

  See these little letters here around that seal? They're

  pretty messed up and can't really be read. But they

  remind me of union membership cards I've seen.”

  “Good idea,” Nancy said. “Thanks.”

  “By the way, Nancy,” Mrs. Turner said. “Jack

  Allbright called. He did paint the illustration for the

  Justice for Animals brochure. He said Antoinette

  Francoeur fixed him up with some local animals for

  models. He said to give him a call if you need any more


  information.” She handed Nancy a paper with the

  artist's phone number on it.

  After dinner, everyone helped clean up. Then

  Clayton left, saying he'd had enough for one day.

  Kincaid's parents went to the hospital to visit Sheriff

  Switzer while Nancy, Bess, George, and Kincaid went

  back to the guest cabin.

  Bess booted up Kincaid's laptop computer and

  logged on to the Internet. She checked several sites

  about labor unions. Finally she checked a list of local

  labor organizations for a union name that might

  include the syllables ure, ine, and ors. Scanning down

  the list, she found only one that fit: Moving Picture

  Machine Operators.

  “What are those? The guys who run the movies in a

  theater?” Kincaid asked.

  “Must be,” Nancy said. “We'll call the local chapter

  tomorrow to make sure. But they're probably

  projectionists in movie theaters. I also want to find out

  if there's any chance Badger Brady is a member of that

  union.”

  The four sat in front of the fire and talked about the

  case. “I want to know who locked us in the basement,”

  George said. “The way I see it, there are three

  possibilities: Badger Brady, the two men we saw in the

  Badlands, or total strangers.”

  “I really don't think it was Badger Brady,” Nancy

  said. “Especially if he was by himself. That cabinet is

  just too heavy.”

  “Don't forget Miss Francoeur was in the area,”

  George said. “Could she and one of her henchmen

  have done it?”

  “Not likely,” Nancy said. “How would she have

  known we were there? Besides, she would have

  liberated the coyote first. It could have been the guys

  from the Badlands, though,” Nancy said. “They may

  have seen our license plate when we drove away. They

  saw me talking on the phone, so they probably figured

  we were calling the ranger station. Maybe they

  followed us to Badger's and locked us in the basement

  so we wouldn't identify them.”

  “But you took their picture,” Bess said.

  “Yes, but they don't know that,” Nancy pointed out.

  “When they looked up, I was holding the binoculars.

  They never saw my camera.”

  “It still could be the total strangers theory,” George

  pointed out. “Someone who was using the house and

  was surprised to find us there. Maybe even some of

  Brady's family.”

  “I don't think that works, either,” Nancy said. “After

  all, we were trespassing. They could have kicked us

  out. Why lock us up—especially if they knew about our

  roommate in the basement? It seems pretty extreme.”

  “Hey, guys,” Kincaid said. “I hate to say this, but

  what has all this got to do with Lulu and Justice? We

  seem to be way off track here.”

  “It seems that way, doesn't it?” Nancy said. “If I

  could just find out who made the threatening call.

  After our confrontation at the Stomp, I'm pretty sure it

  wasn't Badger Brady.” She took out the scrap of paper

  she'd found at Brady's ranch. “And if I could just figure

  out who locked us in the basement—and why.” She

  stared at the paper.

  “It's like we're putting a jigsaw puzzle together,” she

  continued, frowning. “There are so many pieces. And

  none of them seems to fit. For example, there's that

  guy who knocked you down on the path at Mount

  Rushmore, Kincaid.”

  “You thought he might have recognized her,”

  George said. “Too bad we couldn't really see him in the

  dark.”

  “Right,” Nancy said. “I could tell he was tall, slim,

  and had light-colored hair. Well, one of the guys at the

  Badlands was tall, slim, and had gray hair.”

  “Maybe I'd recognize him if I could see his face,”

  Kincaid said. “Let's get those photos!”

  Kincaid pulled up to the drugstore drive-in window,

  and Nancy paid the clerk and then opened the

  envelope of photographs. She had ordered a double set

  of prints so she'd have extras to send to the Badlands

  rangers. Quickly, she shuffled through them until she

  got to the shots of the Badlands.

  There were only two pictures, but both were very

  clear and close, thanks to the zoom lens. Instantly,

  Nancy remembered that moment when the man

  looked up from his digging. She remembered the

  feeling of his eyes boring into hers through the

  binoculars. She thought of the rage in his expression,

  and an icy chill cascaded down her arms.

  “Wait a minute,” Kincaid said, grabbing one of the

  photos from Nancy's hand. “I know him. That's Jasper

  Stone!”

  13. Peril in the Pines

  “Jasper Stone!” Nancy said, studying the photograph.

  “You mean the man who was an instructor when you

  were a summer intern?”

  “Yeah,” Kincaid said, her eyes blazing. “The poacher

  who stole the jawbone from my dig. Wow! It's kind of a

  shock seeing him in this photo.” She passed the photo

  to Bess and George in the backseat.

  “Looks like he hasn't changed his activities much

  either,” George said.

  “So he did recognize you on that path at Mount

  Rushmore,” Bess said.

  “No, not him,” Kincaid said. “The other one. I don't

  know who the tall gray-haired guy is.”

  “Jasper Stone is the other one,” Nancy said softly,

  staring at the photo.

  When they got back to the ranch, Kincaid called

  Clayton and told him about the photos. “He offered to

  take the prints out to the Badlands tomorrow,” Kincaid

  told Nancy. “He says he can tell them what he knows

  about Jasper Stone. It might help them track him

  down.”

  “Let's start early tomorrow,” Nancy said. “First, I

  want to call the union about Badger Brady—and Jasper

  Stone. If neither of them is a projectionist, I want to

  check out all the movie theaters in the area. We can

  show them this photo. Maybe the other guy dropped

  the scrap of paper.”

  “That's a lot to do before lunch with Miss Fran-

  coeur,” Bess said.

  “And don't forget,” George said. “You promised to

  take us back to Mount Rushmore tomorrow evening,

  Kincaid. And this time we're going as tourists. We're

  going to see the lighting show and everything.”

  “I remember,” Kincaid said. “And I'm looking

  forward to it. But now, I'm exhausted.” Kincaid left,

  and Nancy, Bess, and George fell into their beds for

  well-deserved sleep.

  Thursday morning was gray and cool, with a soft

  light rain that misted the landscape. Nancy called the

  South Dakota chapter of the Moving Picture Machine

  Operators labor organization. They confirmed that it

  was a union for movie projectionists. They also told her

  they had never had a member named Badger Brady or

  Jasper Stone.

  Af
ter breakfast Kincaid drove Nancy, Bess, and

  George to each of the four movie theaters in the area.

  Nancy talked her way into the offices and questioned

  the managers. None had ever employed a projectionist

  who looked like Jasper Stone or the other man in the

  Badlands photos.

  Disappointed, the four girls went to RuthAnn's Tea

  Room to wait for Antoinette Francoeur. At fifteen

  minutes past one, there was a rustle as the

  Frenchwoman swept in. She was dressed in green

  gauze pants and tunic with navy blue embroidery. Her

  feet were strapped into sandals. Long gold-and-blue

  stone earrings dangled from her ears. When she was

  ushered to their table, Nancy braced herself.

  “Oh no!” Ms. Francoeur said in her trumpeting

  voice. “It is you! My trespassers!” It seemed as if she

  would turn and stalk out.

  “Ms. Francoeur, please wait,” Nancy said, standing.

  She knew she had to appear very apologetic to spark

  the woman's curiosity. “We really need your help.

  Please talk with us.”

  Antoinette Francoeur's eyes narrowed as she studied

  Nancy. Nancy held her ground and never looked away.

  She didn't even blink.

  Ms. Francoeur studied the other three. Finally she

  let out a long sigh. “You have fifteen minutes,” she said,

  waggling her finger at Nancy. “If I don't like what you

  say, I leave.”

  “Fair enough,” Nancy said. “Shall we all order lunch

  first?”

  “You talk first,” Ms. Francoeur said. “I may not have

  the stomach for lunch.”

  Nancy, George, Bess, and Kincaid ordered sand-

  wiches and lemonade. Nancy ordered an extra

  lemonade. “Just in case you get thirsty,” she told Ms.

  Francoeur.

  Nancy flashed the woman the sweetest smile she

  could manage. She could feel that their guest was very

  skittish. If Nancy asked the wrong question or

  disturbed her in any way, the woman would be out of

  there in a flash. Nancy resolved to take advantage of

  her opportunity.

  After introductions, Nancy began, “How is your

  organization shaping up—Justice for Animals? It is

  such a worthy cause, of course.”

  “Is that really why we are here?” Ms. Francoeur

  asked, studying Nancy carefully. “Are you all really

  going to start a young adult organization? Or was that

  merely a ruse to gain some time with me? And if so, for

  what purpose?”

  Nancy took a deep breath. The woman was very