148 On The Trail Of Trouble

by Carolyn Keene

  “So they had to have some kind of vent for the

  smoke,” Nancy said, standing up. She moved the beam

  of light back and forth across the ceiling. Finally, she

  found an area that seemed to be darker than the rest of

  the ceiling.

  She looked around for a stick or a branch. There was

  nothing but bones. She prodded at them until she

  found what she wanted. “How are you feeling?” she

  asked, rolling out a bone nearly seven feet long. “Can

  you give me a hand?”

  “I'm feeling okay,” George said. “You know me.

  Whatever it takes to get out of here.” Nancy thought of

  all of George's athletic achievements. She was sure her

  friend could handle this, too.

  Together, they held the long bone upright and

  poked at the ceiling where Nancy saw the darkened

  area. Showers of black powder fell on their faces.

  Nancy rubbed some of it off her cheek and smelled it.

  “Soot,” she said, with a grin. “Come on. There must be

  an opening up there somewhere.”

  Nancy and George hoisted the prehistoric bone,

  jamming it into the ceiling of the room. Clumps of dirt

  pummeled them from above, then splinters of wood.

  “I'll bet there's a trapdoor up there,” Nancy said

  when the bits of wood began falling. “The miners

  probably opened it as a vent when they built a fire.

  Keep pounding.”

  At last, the bone seemed to break through to

  another level. Dirt and roots rained down on them,

  then pine needles. “We're through,” George cried, as

  Nancy felt the bone move up with no resistance.

  “Okay, now what?” George said, as they looked at

  the hole seven and a half feet above the floor.

  “How about this?” Nancy asked. She tugged at an

  enormous skull lying against the wall. She and George

  were able to roll it across the floor to a spot beneath

  the vent in the ceiling. “We don't know who—or

  what—might be out there,” Nancy warned. “I'll go

  first. Wait until I signal.”

  Nancy climbed onto the skull and was able to get

  her head and shoulders through the opening in the

  ceiling. She hoisted herself up and out.

  “Okay, I'm clear,” she whispered through the vent

  back to George. “Wait while I check the front door.

  Maybe I can pick the lock.”

  “No way,” George said. “I'm out of here.” And she

  popped up through the trapdoor.

  They were on top of the small hill that the mine cut

  through. After scrambling down the hill, they followed

  the trail made by George's dragged body back to the

  fallen tree. They stayed hidden in the forest and didn't

  talk, in case their captors were still around. Finally,

  they reached the Private Property signs they had

  passed before. Then they crossed back into the federal

  land that surrounded the Mount Rushmore Memorial.

  After another half hour, they rejoined Bess and

  Kincaid, who were frantic. “What happened to you?”

  Bess asked.

  Nancy imagined how she must look—soot on her

  face, weeds and pine needles in her hair. “We'll talk on

  the way. We have to find a ranger—quick!”

  The four walked back down the nature path to the

  Mount Rushmore Visitor Center. On the way, Nancy

  and George related what had happened.

  When they reached the visitor center plaza, they saw

  a ranger standing on one of the terraces. “Good,”

  Kincaid said under her breath. “I've met her before

  with Clayton. Maybe we won't get into too much

  trouble sneaking around after hours.”

  She walked up to the ranger. “Hi,” she said with a

  winning smile. “I'm Kincaid Turner. I met you once

  with Clayton Simmons. His dad's a ranger here, too—

  Hillard Simmons.”

  The ranger frowned at them. “I know Clayton and

  his dad,” she said. “I don't know you. And I sure don't

  know what you're doing here after hours.” She spoke

  into her walkie-talkie and another ranger soon joined

  them.

  When the second ranger arrived, Kincaid introduced

  herself again. Then she introduced Nancy, Bess, and

  George. Before the two rangers could get another word

  out, Nancy and Kincaid began telling their story.

  They related their first experience here with the

  man on the trail. Then they told about the poachers at

  the Badlands and showed the rangers the photos.

  Nancy showed them the scrap of union card. Kincaid

  explained that they wanted to set up a sting to catch

  the possible poacher here. Then Nancy and George

  told what had just happened to them.

  The ranger called Clayton's dad. “He wants to speak

  to you,” she said to Kincaid.

  “Ranger Simmons, we really need your help,”

  Kincaid said. She listened for a minute, then said to

  Nancy, “He's completely up to speed. Clayton told him

  everything.” Then she spoke back into the phone.

  “We're sure we've found poachers' fossils,” she said,

  “and if someone doesn't get out there quick, they're

  going to lose the men and their hoard. We think one of

  them works here.”

  Ranger Simmons vouched for Kincaid and her

  friends to the other rangers and said he'd be right out

  with more men. Kincaid, Nancy, and George used a

  map to trace a rough path to the abandoned mine.

  “And you'll let us know what happens in your

  investigation?” Nancy asked as the rangers prepared to

  leave for the mine.

  “Yes, we will,” one of the rangers assured her. “Now,

  I suggest you leave here and get back home as quickly

  as possible. When that man finds you've escaped and

  can identify him, you could be in danger.” The girls

  hurried to their car.

  “George, how are you feeling?” Nancy asked. “Do

  you think you should get checked over?”

  “Nah, I'm fine,” George said. “I feel like Bess did

  when she nearly fell off the mountain. Just lead me to

  that shower and bed.”

  “One thing I don't understand,” Bess said. “How

  come those guys used a mine cave so close to the

  memorial?”

  “It's on private property,” Nancy said. “Maybe they

  own it. It's almost an hour's walk from the memorial

  and completely hidden and surrounded by trees and

  undergrowth. The opening is camouflaged in the side

  of a hill. If I hadn't followed the trail of dragged pine

  needles, I'd never have found it.”

  “So how did they get the bones in there?” George

  asked.

  “Because it's private property,” Nancy said, “we

  don't know what kind of roads might be back in there

  on the rest of the land.”

  “They had to have some way of getting the gold out

  at one time,” Bess said, nodding.

  “Matt's out of the hospital—we'll call him from the

  ranch,” Kincaid said. “It's after midnight. If I know

  Clayton's dad, he's probably called my
folks and told

  them what's happened. They're going to worry until

  they see me home safe and sound.”

  Kincaid drove back to the ranch in record time.

  When they arrived, Melissa Turner ran out to meet

  them. “Hillard Simmons called us,” she said, running to

  the car. “George, how are you?”

  “I'm okay, Mrs. Turner,” George said, with a

  lopsided smile. “Really.”

  When they walked into the kitchen, Mr. Turner was

  seated at the table with Sheriff Switzer. The sheriff had

  his arm in a sling. “Matt, you didn't have to come out,”

  Kincaid said. “We were going to call you as soon as we

  got in.”

  T called Matt before we heard about your trouble,”

  Mr. Turner said. “We just had twelve more bison

  stolen!”

  15. All the Pieces Fit

  “No!” Kincaid said, tears welling in her eyes. “Twelve

  more?” She turned to the sheriff.

  “We just can't seem to get a handle on this thing,”

  the sheriff said, rubbing his shoulder. “There were

  tracks out there that made a pretty good match with

  the ones you lifted near Lulu's shelter,” he added. “But

  we can't match them up with anything around here or

  on file with the FBI. They don't match Badger Brady's.

  We know that.”

  “What about that gang from Canada you men-

  tioned?” Nancy asked.

  “That's not panning out,” Mr. Turner said. His

  elbows were on the table, and he held his head in his

  hands. “If we don't get this solved pretty soon, I don't

  know what I'm going to do. This last bunch included

  some of my best breeding stock.”

  “How about Ms. Francoeur?” Bess asked. “Did you

  ask her about the hubcap?”

  “Yes,” the sheriff replied. He told them what the

  Frenchwoman had said. It was the same story she had

  told Nancy and her friends at the tearoom, and they all

  agreed it was probably true.

  “Well, we have a new truck for you to check,” Nancy

  said. She could see in her mind the license plate of the

  truck in the Badlands.

  “Sit, everyone,” Mrs. Turner said, pouring coffee

  and tea. “I want to hear what happened to the girls

  tonight. Matt, I think you'll have a whole new case on

  your hands when you hear this.”

  When everyone was seated around the kitchen table,

  Nancy and her friends retold the entire story. Then

  Nancy showed Sheriff Switzer the photographs. “I

  recognize Jasper Stone all right,” he said. “We've had

  trouble with him before. I didn't know he was back in

  town. The other guy's a new one on me. But I'll check

  with the rangers at Rushmore and the Badlands

  tomorrow.”

  “I've got major work myself tomorrow,” Mr. Turner

  said, running his hand through his dark hair. “I've got

  to round up some more hands and pull the herd in

  even closer.”

  “You did that once, didn't you?” Nancy asked.

  “Yep,” Mr. Turner said, nodding. “But it wasn't close

  enough. It looks like I need to get them practically in

  the backyard to keep whoever it is from picking them

  off.”

  “Well, you girls have had another big day,” Mrs.

  Turner said. “Why don't we all go to bed. George, I

  really think you need some rest. Tomorrow we can all

  start fresh.”

  As they walked to the guest house, Nancy, Bess, and

  George were quiet. Nancy was frustrated. She felt as if

  she was working from both ends of a puzzle and

  couldn't get it to meet in the middle. That night, she

  had a hard time sleeping. She tossed and turned while

  her mind worked.

  Friday morning was sunny with a wide blue sky and

  tumbleweed clouds. Nancy, Bess, and George dressed

  quickly in jeans, shirts, and boots and hurried to the

  ranch house to meet Kincaid. Mrs. Turner offered the

  girls some breakfast, but Nancy shook her head. “I

  have an idea,” she said.

  “It must be a good one,” Bess said, “if you can brush

  off one of Mrs. Turner's doughnuts.”

  “Well, what is it?” George asked. “Spill it.”

  “What if the buffalo rustling isn't the point at all?”

  Nancy suggested.

  “What do you mean?” Kincaid said. “How could that

  be?”

  “What if it's just a ploy—a diversion?” Nancy said.

  “A diversion!” Kincaid repeated.

  “Something to keep all of you busy and distract you

  from what's really happening,” Nancy said. “And

  especially to keep you away from remote areas of the

  ranch.”

  “I don't get it,” Kincaid said.

  “When the buffalo are rustled, your father's

  response is to pull the herd in closer, right?” Nancy

  said.

  “Right,” Kincaid said.

  “Suppose something's going on at a remote area of

  your ranch,” Nancy suggested. “Something secret. And

  the best way to keep it secret is to keep all of you away

  from that area and so busy trying to solve one problem

  that you don't realize what's really going on.”

  Kincaid looked at Nancy and her eyes seemed to

  glow like spotlights. “A dig,” she whispered. “Oh,

  Nancy, that's it!”

  “A dig?” George said. “On the ranch?”

  “Of course,” Bess said, jumping up. “Think, Kincaid.

  Where are your secret spots? Are there any you haven't

  visited for a while?”

  “Sure,” Kincaid said. “Several.”

  Nancy grabbed a doughnut and headed for the door.

  “Come on, everybody. Let's go take a look.”

  At that moment the phone rang. It was Sheriff

  Switzer. Mrs. Turner switched the call to the speaker

  phone. “I talked to the rangers at Rushmore and the

  Badlands,” the sheriff said. “The second man in

  Nancy's photo was Ephraim Tell. He and Jasper Stone

  have a reputation with the FBI as criminal

  archaeological poachers. Stone owns the property that

  the abandoned mine is on.”

  “Have they arrested them?” Mrs. Turner asked.

  “The Mount Rushmore rangers found the mine and

  the fossils, but there was no sign of the two men. Since

  Nancy thought they might have been the ones who

  followed her and the others to Badger Brady's and

  locked them in the basement, I had them check out

  there, too. But they weren't there, either. Neither was

  the coyote, by the way.”

  Kincaid sighed, saying, “Where are they?”

  “We'll find them,” Sheriff Switzer said. “At least now

  we know who we're looking for. Oh, and Badger Brady

  has been arrested. He was picked up in Kansas.

  They're bringing him back tomorrow.”

  Nancy told the sheriff her theory about the men

  poaching on the Turners' land. “We know Jasper

  poached that jawbone from here years ago,” she added.

  “We're going to take a look around.”

  “You be careful,” the sheriff said. “Those guys might

/>   be dangerous. I'll be out with some men right away,”

  he concluded before hanging up.

  The girls raced to Kincaid's vehicle, as Mrs. Turner

  repeated the sheriff's warning.

  “There are two possible spots,” Kincaid said, as she

  took off across the pasture. “One of them is near where

  I found the jawbone. It's on the other side of the ranch.

  I haven't been there for a long time.”

  “Let's go there first,” Nancy said. “We know Jasper

  has been there before.”

  As they neared the area, Nancy noticed Kincaid's

  ringers. They were gripping the steering wheel so

  tightly, her knuckles were white. “Kincaid, what is it?”

  Nancy asked.

  “It's different,” Kincaid said. “There used to be

  some shrubs here. And what's that building?”

  Nancy and the others looked where Kincaid was

  pointing. There was a crudely built lean-to at the base

  of a hill. Kincaid parked the car, and they cautiously

  crept up to the shed. It was locked. Lying in the grass

  near the shed was a small pickax with the initials E.T.

  on it.

  “Ephraim Tell,” Bess said in a whisper.

  “Come on,” Kincaid said. Nancy and her friends

  followed Kincaid over the rise of a hill. “Whoa,”

  Kincaid said. The side of the hill was completely veiled

  in a tarpaulin anchored to the ground with dozens of

  stakes roped together. George and Kincaid pulled up

  the stakes. Nancy and Bess rolled back the tarp.

  There, embedded in the hill, was an enormous

  skeleton lying on its side. “It's a giant sea reptile!”

  Kincaid said. “I can't believe it. I've seen pictures of

  them, but never thought I'd ever be this close to one.

  They don't even have a name. It lived here when this

  spot was the bottom of a sea—over a hundred million

  years ago.”

  Bess put an arm around her friend's shoulder,

  saying, “Maybe they'll name it the Kincaidosaurus

  when you finish recovering it.”

  The sound of an approaching truck startled them.

  The girls ran back around the hill in time to see a black

  truck wheel around with a screech of its brakes and

  head away from the dig.

  “It's them—in the same truck we saw in the

  Badlands,” Nancy said, racing to Kincaid's vehicle.

  “They must have just seen our car. Come on, they're

  getting away.” Within minutes they were chasing the

  truck.

  For a mile or two, they sped over open pasture-land.