Nancy clung to the saddle with her knees and finally managed to quiet the horse enough to walk him out of the gate. Obviously, that day’s ride was going to be more challenging than that of the day before, she thought as the horse galloped away from the ranch house, intent on setting his own fast pace.
The afternoon was hot, and before long Nancy found herself freely perspiring. Dozens of little gnats buzzed around her, and every so often the gray would toss his head angrily, shaking off the horseflies that landed on his flanks. As Nancy was riding through a dense stand of sage and young mesquite, she realized that cowboys wore chaps for a good reason—to protect their legs from thorns and brambles.
The small canyon where she had glimpsed the spotted buck was cut steeply back into the limestone bluff, Nancy realized when she saw it again. It must be what was referred to as a box canyon, a good place to hide any activity from the curious eyes of others.
The little canyon wasn’t very wide, and the opening was screened with a thicket of willows so dense that Nancy couldn’t see through them. In fact, she couldn’t see much at all from the entrance to the canyon. But what if she rode up on the bluff and looked down into the canyon? Maybe then she could see whether or not anything was going on.
Nancy reined her horse in and took her binoculars out of her saddlebag. After looping the reins around the saddle horn, she put the strap around her neck and held the binoculars to her eyes, searching for a trail up the side of the bluff. Impatient, the gray pawed the ground and flicked his tail at the flies.
Crack! Startled, Nancy dropped the binoculars. What she had heard sounded exactly like a high-powered rifle! Its sound echoed through the canyon, and the gray danced nervously to the side.
Bam! That time there was no mistaking it. The bullet thudded into a tree only a few feet from Nancy. Somebody was shooting at her!
Chapter
Six
NANCY DIDN’T HAVE time to worry about the rifle shot, or even to wonder who was shooting at her. She was too busy trying to control her horse. He had decided that it was time to put himself out of harm’s way—a long way out of harm’s way. Eyes rolling in fright, he reared up on his hind legs, nearly throwing Nancy, then took off back across the sagebrush at his fastest gallop, ears back, tail streaming.
Nancy grabbed for the reins, but they were flying loose. The only thing she could do was grip the saddle with her knees, clutch the saddle horn with her hands, and pray that the horse wouldn’t step into a prairie dog hole.
Suddenly Nancy heard hoofbeats pounding hard on the rocky ground behind her.
“Hang on, Nancy!” somebody shouted. “I’m coming!” A few seconds later Gene was riding beside her, leaning off his horse to reach for Nancy’s loose reins. It was like a stunt in a cowboy movie.
But while the runaway scene of most westerns ended with the hero clasping the heroine in his arms and reassuring her that everything was all right, this one ended with Gene’s demanding, “Just who put you up on Bad Guy? And who was doing all the shooting? Is somebody trying to kill you?”
“What?” Nancy asked, breathing hard. Her binoculars were still dangling from their strap, and she took them off and stuffed them into her saddlebag. She wiped the sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand. “Bad Guy? Who’s Bad Guy?”
“This crazy horse,” Gene said disgustedly. “That’s who.” He looped the reins over the gray’s neck and Nancy took them up again. “He’s the meanest-tempered horse on the ranch. Last year he bucked Mark off and stomped him pretty badly. Who told you to take him? Or did you saddle him up yourself?”
Nancy shook her head. She had the growing suspicion that that day’s ride had been sabotaged even before she started out. “At lunch I asked Joe Bob to saddle a horse for me,” she told Gene. “And then I found this one in the corral, already saddled.”
“Joe Bob must be getting weak in the head.” Gene scowled. “He knows better than to put a newcomer on Bad Guy. I’ll have a talk with him.” The two of them reined around and began to ride back toward the ranch.
“Was it the gunshot that started him off?” Gene asked. “Did you get a look at whoever was doing the shooting?”
Nancy glanced at Gene’s profile, a thought suddenly occurring to her. Maybe he had fired the rifle! Maybe he was hiding something in the canyon and wanted to keep her away, or else maybe he wanted her out of the way entirely. She shivered. It would be just as well not to let him know that she knew the shots had been fired at her.
“I guess it was the noise that set him off,” she said slowly, playing dumb. “Anyway, he just started to run. And, no, I didn’t see who was firing the rifle. Whoever it was, he—or she—was too far away.”
“Well,” said Gene, giving her an approving glance, “you did a mighty good job of hanging on. I was checking fence down in the draw and caught a glimpse of you flying by. When I realized you were on Bad Guy, I figured it was all over. I would’ve laid odds that we’d be prying you out of a big prickly pear or scraping you off a rock by now.” He chuckled. “Not everyone can manage a big horse like this.”
Nancy didn’t respond to Gene’s admiration. She was deep in thought, trying to sort through the things that had happened. Somebody had hit her on the head the night before, and immediately afterward, she thought she had seen Joe Bob ducking around the corner. That afternoon Joe Bob had given her a horse that had a reputation for being impossible to handle. And then somebody had shot at her—with the intention of either scaring her away from the canyon or doing away with her for good.
Was it just luck that Gene had been close by, close enough to stop her runaway horse? It was tempting to speculate that Joe Bob and Gene were working together, Nancy thought. But she hadn’t found anything to connect the two of them to the ransom notes or to Catarina herself. And Mr. Reigert had insisted that Gene was the only one on the ranch who could be trusted. Was he wrong?
• • •
When they got back to the ranch, just before four o’clock, Gene went to the stables to find Joe Bob, and Nancy went to Mr. Reigert’s office to question him about Gene’s background.
“Gene Newsom’s worked for me for the last four years,” Mr. Reigert-said firmly in answer to Nancy’s first question. “I knew his daddy for forty years, and I’ve known Gene ever since he was a kid in diapers. If you think he’s got anything to do with this ransom business, you’re dropping your loop on the wrong calf. Gene doesn’t have it in him to think a dishonest thought.”
Nancy scrutinized Mr. Reigert’s stern face. He certainly believed what he was saying, and there wasn’t anything concrete to connect Gene with the gunshot—except for the fact that he’d been in the immediate vicinity. The night before, however, she had seen the back of Joe Bob’s shapeless old coat disappearing around the corner.
“Well, then, what about Joe Bob?” she asked. “Do you trust him?”
Mr. Reigert laughed. “Joe Bob? He’s Gene’s man. He’d never do anything that Gene didn’t approve of.”
Nancy frowned. That meant that if Joe Bob had hit her on the head or intended her to ride Bad Guy, he’d done it with Gene’s approval. Hearing a knock at the door, she turned to see Gene walking into the room.
“There you are,” he said to Nancy with a grin. “I thought I’d find you here.”
“Nancy was just asking about—” Mr. Reigert began.
“About the different people who work at the ranch,” Nancy interrupted with a warning glance at Mr. Reigert. “I thought it might be helpful for my work if I knew a little bit about their backgrounds.”
“Well, if it’s Joe Bob you’re asking about, I’m the one who can tell you,” Gene said gruffly, pulling up a chair and straddling it. “He showed up here a couple of years ago, broke and out of work. I don’t know where he came from, but I do know one thing—he’s the best horse man in these parts. He really knows his animals.” Gene shook his head.
“And, by the way, he says he didn’t saddle Bad Guy for you, Nancy. He says he sadd
led up the palomino mare. He did it right after lunch and left her in the corral.” Gene frowned. “Looks like we’ve got a mystery on our hands. Who switched those horses?”
“What’s this about Bad Guy?” Mr. Reigert asked sharply. “Somebody been fooling with that horse again? I thought I left orders—”
“It’s all right, Mr. Reigert,” Gene said. “Nancy rode him out today and he ran away with her. But it turned out okay in the end. Nancy managed to stay on board while I caught up with her.” He grinned. “Bad Guy must be slowing down a little in his old age. When he dumped Mark, he wouldn’t let anybody catch him.”
Nancy stared at Gene. If Joe Bob hadn’t saddled up Bad Guy, who had? Of course, it was possible that Joe Bob was lying, or that Gene was lying—or both. As a matter of fact, she added to herself, anything was possible.
In terms of the case, Nancy had five suspects—six, if she counted Angela—and nothing to indicate how any of them were connected to the kidnapping. If there was a kidnapping, she reminded herself. Maybe the ransom notes were hoaxes.
Gene turned back to Mr. Reigert. “Actually, I stopped in to ask whether you’re going to be needing Nancy tomorrow night. The rodeo starts in Rio Hondo, and it occurred to me that she might enjoy it.”
“By all means,” Mr. Reigert said. “You two go and have yourselves a fine time.”
“But—” Nancy started to protest. She wasn’t sure it was a good idea for her to go out alone with Gene, at least until she had a clearer idea about what had happened that day. Anyway, she had plenty of detective work to do at the ranch—and a trip to the rodeo surely wasn’t going to help her search for clues. However, Mr. Reigert didn’t give her a chance to say no.
“No buts,” Mr. Reigert said stubbornly. “You do what Gene says.”
“Thanks,” Gene replied, getting to his feet. “Be ready about six,” he told Nancy. “It’s a forty-minute drive to Rio Hondo.” He grinned engagingly. “And wear your jeans and boots,” he added. “After all, it’s a rodeo.”
Mr. Reigert glanced at the clock. It was nearly four-thirty. “Gene, speaking of Rio Hondo, I want you to drive to town with me this evening. Al Patterson’s agreed to talk about selling me that new Brahma bull of his.”
Gene brightened. “Sure thing,” he said. “That’s good news.” He turned to Nancy. “You want to ride to Rio Hondo and watch a couple of old cowmen haggle over a bull?” he asked.
Nancy couldn’t help smiling. “I think I’ll pass on that one,” she said. “I’ve had enough excitement for one day.”
• • •
By the time Nancy climbed out of a hot bath and into her velvety pink nightgown that night, the day’s events were beginning to take their toll—especially the jolting ride on Bad Guy. Every joint was stiff and her muscles were complaining bitterly.
But she couldn’t go to sleep just yet. She needed to talk to Ned. She needed to hear his voice and know that he was thinking about her. And she needed his ideas. Working alone—especially in a situation where there didn’t seem to be many leads—was terribly frustrating.
Ned listened while Nancy told him what had happened since she had talked to him the night before: the crack on the head, the gunshot and the ride at breakneck speed on Bad Guy, and the encounter with Angela.
After a minute he said, “I don’t like the sound of things down there, Nancy.” There was a note of real worry in his voice. “You could be in serious danger. You don’t even know who to trust.”
“Oh, I don’t think there’s much danger,” she said as lightly as she could. “The real problem is not being able to put any of this stuff together. There are the ransom notes, and the notes I received last night, which are in an entirely different print. Now there’s a horse that nobody saddled and a gunshot that might or might not have been accidental.
“Something else puzzles me, too, and that’s the way Angela behaved this morning. I have the feeling that she’s a rather unusual housemaid. But none of this points to the whereabouts of Catarina—that is, if the girl’s still alive.”
“You think the kidnapping might be a hoax, designed to trick Mr. Reigert out of the ransom money?”
“It’s entirely possible,” Nancy said. “Anyway, there hasn’t been any evidence yet that would indicate that Catarina is alive. All we have is an old scrap of cloth and a baby shoe.”
“Listen, Nancy,” Ned said, “I don’t have any classes for the next few days. How about if I fly down and give you a hand?”
Nancy sighed and closed her eyes, thinking how wonderful it would be to have Ned with her. It would be too difficult to explain his presence on the ranch, but maybe he could help her in a different way—if he was willing, of course.
“If you want to help,” she said, “maybe you could go to Dallas and see what you can learn about Jonelle and Mark Blake.” Quickly she filled him in on everything she already knew about the pair. “It seems like a long shot,” she admitted. “And I’m not sure it’s worth making a trip to Dallas just to—”
“I’ll be on my way first thing in the morning,” Ned said eagerly. “I’m sure I can stay with my uncle. In fact, he’ll probably be eager to help out. Maybe he can lend me a hand with the investigating.” He gave her his uncle’s phone number. “Better give me a little time to see what I can dig up before you call me.”
“Wonderful,” Nancy said enthusiastically. Dallas wasn’t very close, but it was a lot closer than Emerson College, and she felt better just knowing that Ned wanted to help. Their relationship had been uncertain for a long time, and his concern meant a lot to her.
Suddenly an enormous yawn overtook her. “I’m really tired, Ned, and I ache all over. I’d better call it a night.”
“Take care of yourself, Drew,” Ned said tenderly. “Stay away from wild horses and dark stables. And hang in there.”
“Thanks, Nickerson,” Nancy said, smiling a little. “I’ll try.”
When she had hung up the phone, Nancy went back to her notebook to review the situation once more. But even though the questions posed by the case were intriguing, she couldn’t keep her eyes open. Drowsily, she got up to check the door and make sure that it was locked, then she turned off the light and instantly fell asleep.
But she didn’t stay asleep for long. The lighted face of the clock beside her bed read eleven when she heard a hand fumbling at her locked door. She was wide awake immediately.
The full moon shining through the window gave just enough light for her to see that the door handle was turning, and she could hear the metallic clink of a key in the lock. Somebody had just unlocked the door of her room!
Chapter
Seven
THE DOOR SWUNG open slowly, creaking ominously, as Nancy sat up in bed, her heart pounding. In the moonlight that streamed through the window, she saw the shadowy bulk of a man.
“Nancy Drew!” a voice spoke from the doorway. “Are you awake?”
“I am now,” Nancy said, getting up and pulling on her pink robe. Mr. Reigert stepped into the room. “What’s happened?” she asked.
“This,” Mr. Reigert grunted, thrusting something at Nancy.
“What is it?” Nancy asked. She went to the window and pulled the curtains tight before she turned on the bedside light. Mr. Reigert had handed her the plastic case of a videocassette!
“Come to my bedroom and I’ll show you what’s on that tape,” he said, sounding tense.
Nancy followed Mr. Reigert down the dark hall, clutching the cassette in her hands. When they reached his room, he closed and locked the door.
“Sit down,” he commanded. He went to the VCR and inserted the tape. “I found this in my office,” he said, “after I got back from Rio Hondo. It was wrapped in that.” He gestured toward some brown paper crumpled up on the floor.
Nancy examined the wrapping paper. Mr. Reigert’s name was printed on it in large block letters, with what looked like a crayon. But other than that, there was nothing.
Nancy looked up as the screen sho
wed the full-color image of a young woman seated in a chair, her hands tied behind her back and her ankles lashed together. Her straight dark hair hung down over her shoulders and her thickly lashed brown eyes were wide with fear. She was wearing a full blue cotton skirt and a ruffled peasant blouse. She seemed to be struggling against the ropes, trying to get free.
“Now do you believe that we have your daughter?” a deep male voice asked through the VCR. “And just in case you’re not sure that this is your daughter, look at this.” The image of the girl vanished and another appeared in its place—a photograph of a beautiful young woman, dark haired and dark eyed, wearing a lacy white dress. Beside her, one arm wrapped protectively around her shoulders, stood Mr. Reigert.
“That’s Isabel,” Mr. Reigert said in a strangled voice, staring at the screen. The woman in the photograph and the bound girl on the tape looked quite similar. “It’s the only picture I kept.”
“But Mrs. Arguello said that there weren’t any pictures,” Nancy said, surprised.
“I destroyed all the others. But this photograph was taken on our wedding day.” He nodded toward the dresser. “I kept it hidden in the bottom drawer of that chest.”
“It’s gone?”
“Yes.” The answer was an anguished whisper. Mr. Reigert kept his eyes on the screen.
“Who do you think—?”
“Maybe Mrs. Arguello,” Mr. Reigert said. “Or maybe my wife.” His voice was bitter. “She’s always poking around in here.”
Nancy looked back at the screen. The wedding picture had been replaced by another, this one a snapshot of Isabel holding a small child, both waving at the camera.
“And this picture?” Nancy asked.
“It appeared in the local paper two days after I got word of the crash,” Mr. Reigert said dully. “It had been taken a few weeks before Isabel left. That’s the same dress Catarina was wearing on the day she left with her mother, and those are the shoes with the bells on the laces. That outfit was her favorite.”
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