As I studied the surroundings, I remembered what 3J said—there are bats, snakes, and spiders in some of the caves, cliff crevices, and old mines around here. Not a comfortable idea. Of course, I already knew about the bats.
The forked trail I’d just traveled on was no longer visible. Only Superman can see through corners of solid rock, I reasoned. The sheriff was not Superman. It was not a difficult climb, maybe ten feet. The entry to the cave provided natural protection from anyone approaching from the south. The element of surprise would certainly be on the side of the Faceless Bandit, especially if the sheriff thought he was still on horseback.
The entrance was tall enough for me to stand straight. The cave was deeper than it appeared from the ground. The deeper I went into the cave, the cooler and damper it became. I kept moving back cautiously, not yet using the flashlight to save the batteries.
I began thinking of the verse William had told me… What was it?
’Star Light… Star Bright…
Fallen star come in to sight…
Lost by one in an awful fight…
Find the star to set things right.’
I moved back slowly. The cave was getting darker. This was not what I had imagined. I had hoped finding Prospectors Canyon would be the hard part, and then whatever clue I was supposed to find would drop in my lap. Apparently, that was not going to happen. I could use a little help. Where were Mary, Carlos, and 3J, I wondered?
I was becoming irritated with their absence when I heard horse hoofs.
I smiled and moved to the front of the cave to let them know where I was. This is the cave I would have selected if I had been the Faceless Bandit. There was probably a dozen or more caves in this canyon.
The pounding hoofs came closer. Strange, I thought, that they would be riding so fast. I moved to the entrance of the cave.
I was surprised that the sound was coming from the opposite direction than I expected. Was there another trail into the canyon?
A single horse rounded the curve into Prospectors Canyon. I pulled back, pressing against the cave’s wall and watched Fletcher Tibbs pass by.
Chapter 41: Scooter vs. a Rattlesnake
The thundering sound of horse hoofs faded down the crooked canyon trail. I watched the rider disappear from view, knowing he could be headed toward Mary, Carlos, and 3J. Where were his companions, anyway? I had been gone thirty minutes, certainly enough time for my friends to eat a sandwich and ride down into the canyon. Weren’t they curious at all? I could hardly contain myself, thinking about what possible clue might be nearby, while my goof-off friends were sitting up on the mesa, eating sandwiches, drinking water from a thermos, and joking around.
I edged back into the cave. The cool, damp air made me shiver—or could it be my innate ability to sense danger? But what danger could there be?
I briefly clicked on my flashlight. The dim beam played on the walls showing a multitude of holes and crevices. I wonder if 3J knew what he was talking about, or was he just trying to impress Mary with his spider and snake talk? The more I thought about it, however, the more I believed what 3J said, and decided not to stick my hand in the holes and crevices to find out if anything was there. Since lizards are a favorite meal of rattlesnakes, could the rattlers be far off?
What would Kemo Kelly do? Usually this thought process worked for me. Kemo always solved the case, and rarely did it take more than one episode to do so. I usually could associate a near identical situation that Kemo faced and respond in a similar fashion. But not this time. In a show last spring, Kemo confessed he was scared to death of snakes—all snakes, not just rattlesnakes. This was one more similarity between us. No, Kemo would not be of assistance on this one.
I moved back to the entry of the cave. Where were those guys? I wouldn’t wait any longer. Maybe I could find myself a pole, a strong stick to poke in the holes and crevices of the cave.
Sure enough, I found a sturdy branch, about three quarters of an inch at the top, narrowing to a half inch at the bottom, with a little ‘y’ at the end. I used the pole as I climbed back in the cave. Once inside, I moved to the side and focused my flashlight just long enough on the wall to pick and poke my stick in the holes, crevices, and cracks along the floor and walls. I wiggled the stick, cringed, and listened, moving from one hole to the next, one crevice then another, each one farther back in the dark and damp cave. No sign of any recent human activity in the cave, that was certain. No footprints or rusty cans, or charred wood that I could see. Not in this cave, anyway.
Whatever it was I was looking for wouldn’t be easily found. After all, eighty-some years had passed since the crime. Maybe this was a wild goose chase. Dad always told me I had a vivid imagination. Could this be my imagination running wild—helping a ghost prove he was innocent of a crime that happened eighty-two years ago? Mary thought so, otherwise she’d be here with me.
Carlos was going along with me because we were cousins and I was his guest. 3J simply wanted to be with Mary. This was all just a game to them.
But it was not a game to me. This was serious detective business involving a situation that changed the lives of a lot of people. It changed history. What if this had never happened, and great-great-grandfather William moved west with his family?
It would have changed me, that’s for sure. Maybe I’d be a cowboy instead of a detective. I didn’t used to believe in ghosts, but I’m a believer now—big time. That is, if this search turns up evidence. But if I don’t find anything, does that mean this ghost thing is a dream, or my imagination? Or does it mean I’m a lousy detective?
I moved farther into the cave, poking and digging with my stick. I shook my flashlight then shined the light at a gap in the floor. It was a narrow crevice and not too deep, but the dim light and the sides made it difficult to see. I rotated the light, trying to see what, if anything, was there. I noticed two tiny reflections in between some rocks. The reflections moved. I poked the stick in the opening.
I heard a noise I immediately recognized even though I’d never heard it before—a soft rattle, like a baby’s rattle, but I knew it was not a baby rattle. A chill of danger tingled my spine. I aimed the light toward the sound. Coiled, head held high, tongue lashing out between long fangs, a brownish snake with large blotches of lighter hues glared at me. I heard the soft rattle again.
I jumped back. “Holy Toledo,” I yelled. Gasping for breath, I muttered to myself, “Cool, stay cool. Back up slowly.”
As I edged back, I held the flashlight steady, focusing it on the eyes of the rattlesnake. I could tell the snake was not happy being poked at, and would appreciate it if I would disappear; if not, I may receive a nip from those fangs.
I took another step back, and as I did, the light reflected on a metal object close to the head of the snake. It was about the size of a shoe heel, but it appeared to be silver.
The snake jumped toward me. Its hiss and rattle sent the message—stay away. It seemed as if the snake was on guard duty. I thought this might be the object of my search and I wasn’t leaving without it. It would be a battle of wits, and I hoped I was smarter than a rattlesnake.
What was it 3J said about rattlesnakes? Something about leaving them alone and they will leave you alone? I thought that was it. I’d hoped that was it, because that was my plan. I’ll keep my distance and stay quiet. I turned off the dying flashlight.
My heart beat rapidly, my breath was short, but my determination didn’t wavier. Standing back from the crevice in the darkened cave, the rattler’s and my eyes locked. I didn’t move a muscle. The rattler repeatedly hissed, and then gradually settled down, but it never looked away from me.
I waited… and waited. Slowly, the rattler lowered his head to the floor of the crevice. I knew it was time to make my move. Cautiously, on tiptoes, I inched forward, the flashlight in my left hand, the stick in my right. I turned on the flickering torch and saw the metal item. There would probably only be one chance.
The snake noticed my movements a
nd lifted its head. Quickly, I flipped the metal object out of the crevice with the branch, and onto the cave floor a short distance away from the snake.
The snake hissed and jumped. I backed away instantly. But I wanted that object. It was only a few feet away, but Mr. Rattler was even closer to it. I reached out with my stick, trying to bring the object closer to me. I moved it a few inches, but then came another angry hiss. How fast are rattlesnakes, I wondered? I hoped I could out run a snake, if it came to that.
I reached out again with my stick, and this time was able to flip the metal object away from the snake and close to my feet.
I scooped up my find, moved quickly to the front of the cave, and half slid down to the canyon trail, looking behind me to make sure the rattler wasn’t in hot pursuit. I climbed onto a bolder near the cave’s entrance and examined my find. Looking up, I saw my friends.
“Hey Scooter, there you are.” Mary waved.
“What do you want us to do?” 3J checked the canyon.
“Yeah, what’s the plan?” said Carlos.
I stood, brushed off the seat of my pants, sighed, then studied the curious trio. “No plan is necessary. I’ve solved the riddle. We can go home. I found the star that will set things right.”
“What are you talking about?” asked Mary.
“Do you remember that old poem, ‘Star light, star bright’?” I asked Mary.
“Sure, but what does that have to do with anything?”
"I… heard a slightly different version of that poem and it goes like this:
’Star Light… Star Bright…
Fallen star come in to sight…
Lost by one in an awful fight…
Find the star to set things right.’
“It’s not just a poem. It’s a riddle. It turned out that it’s not a light, as in flashlight or streetlight, its light as in not weighing much. And it’s not a star that fell from the sky, but rather a star-shaped object that some man lost.”
“What are you talking about, Scooter?” asked Mary again.
I reached in my pocket and held up the found object up. “See.” I lightly tossed the item in my hand. “It’s light and it’s star shaped.”
“What is it?” asked Carlos.
“It’s an official star-shaped badge with one point missing. On the front it says, ‘Deputy Sheriff, Appaloosa County.’ Engraved on the back is a name and date: ‘J. Glotz. 1871.’”
Chapter 42: The Town Meeting
“I think you guys stirred up a hornet’s nest,” Uncle Armando said, as he reached for the pitcher of orange juice.
He’d joined Mary, Carlos and me at the breakfast table. Mrs. Miller served scrambled eggs, hash browns, English muffins, and crisp bacon to a hungry group.
“A hornet’s nest? What do you mean, Dad?” said Carlos.
“I mean finding that old Deputy Sheriff badge. That’s all everyone in town is talking about. Why, you’d think this was the most important discovery in the world. I must have had a hundred phone calls already. Everyone is excited, but not in the same way. Some think it is a significant find, a piece of important evidence, and others just think it was like stumbling onto anything else from the old days. Interesting, but no more than that.” Uncle Armando slathered an English muffin with butter and strawberry jam.
“Who wouldn’t think it was evidence?” I asked.
“George Glotz, for one,” replied Uncle Armando. “He says finding that badge in the cave means absolutely nothing.”
“How does he explain it being in the cave?” I asked.
“He says it could have been brought in by a bird or squirrel or something that picked it up off the trail.”
“I would think he would be more interested than anyone. His relative’s name is on the back of it. What about Dr. Jones? Isn’t he the one who decides if it is evidence enough to reopen a case?” asked Mary.
“Yes. But usually there is consideration for families involved. Especially in a situation like this when the death was so long ago. Often families don’t like the past of their loved ones disturbed,” said Uncle Armando.
“Are there family members of Sheriff Dell still living around here?” asked Mary.
“I don’t know,” said Uncle Armando. “We have scheduled a town meeting to discuss this situation. It’s probably going to be a wild one. I can hardly wait for the fun to begin.”
# # # # #
Mary, Carlos, and I rode our bikes to the meeting. We parked them near the entry to the building. The high school gym was as packed like it must have been when the New Dry Gulch Miners played the Howling Springs Warriors for the conference championship. The only thing missing were the two teams and the cheerleaders.
The room was noisy—excited voices exchanging ideas and theories as to the meaning of the found Deputy Sheriff badge. Animated conversations expressing different viewpoints, everyone seemed to have a strong opinion.
“Who’s to say it’s authentic?”
“Surely they can tell.”
“Are we to believe a ten-year-old outsider?”
“Who knows if it’s always been in that cave?”
“If it’s authentic, why wasn’t it found before now?”
BANG, BANG, BANG. Uncle Armando pounded his gavel on the podium. Gradually, the people sat and quieted down.
“Good townspeople of New Dry Gulch, thank you for coming. Tonight, we are going to discuss the badge that was found and whether it has any significance. We are not here to accuse or excuse anyone. We may not leave here tonight with any clear answers. What we do hope for is an understanding of the historical meaning of the recent discovery, and where we go from here. This is not something that citizens vote on, but since we are a small, close community, I thought it best if all those interested could hear for themselves what the situation is. Even though this matter occurred eighty-some years ago, if an injustice was done, and we can prove it, we feel obligated to seek the truth.”
“Armando.” A man stood up from the middle of the bleachers. “I’m for justice as much as anyone. If my understanding is correct, we’re involved in this because some ten-year-old kid found an old badge. That may be interesting, but for the taxpayers to pay for an investigation that makes no difference to anyone alive today is just a waste of our money. It’s that simple.” He sat down. Several citizens applauded his remarks.
A redheaded woman raised her hand.
“Yes, Jean,” Uncle Armando acknowledged the woman.
“We often hear remarks like those from Tom Lembo, and I believe he is sincere in his belief. But should there be a price on truth? Should we say that if it costs too much money, we aren’t interested? We don’t care? Would we rather not know the truth than spend some of the taxpayers’ money? I’m a taxpayer, too, and I say bravo to the ten-year-old for finding and turning in the badge. If we can learn the truth by investigating further, it’s money well spent.”
“Atta girl, Jean,” an apparent friend shouted from across the gym. Loud applause followed. Jean smiled and waved to the crowd.
“Armando, may I have the floor?” George Glotz stood erect and unsmiling.
The crowd hushed as the leading citizen cleared his throat.
“Certainly, George, go ahead.”
"I see both view points on this issue. Of course, we’re all interested in the truth. After all, this is America. Truth and the right to know are some of the basic fundamentals on which our society is based.
"However, there are elements of our community that are constantly looking back, like driving using only the rear-view mirror. These individuals want things as they were. Progress to them is a dirty word. No new roads or houses or businesses. They want to spend the taxpayer’s money to return to the days of old.
"I’m not like that. I’m also the largest taxpayer in this community. I like to look ahead, look toward the future to make New Dry Gulch a town that remembers its authentic roots, yet progresses with modern times. We need to be open to new ideas and ventures.
> “Certainly, we can do better with our tax dollars than investigate a crime that took place in the 1800’s. We could spruce up the town square, make the park and recreation area nicer for our citizens, or promote tourism. Let’s look forward, not backward. Thank you.”
A murmuring of voices and light applause followed.
“Anyone else have something to say?” asked Mayor Armando Estrada.
A spry old woman stood. She brushed back her white hair that was fixed in a bun.
“Yes, madam,” said Uncle Armando. “Would you please identify yourself?”
"My name is Sarah Rutherford. I’m eighty-five years old and the granddaughter of Sheriff Jesse Dell. I didn’t personally know my grandfather, but he was talked about a great deal when I was growing up. My father often told me of his many deeds and the principles which lead him to be the sheriff of Appaloosa County.
"Dry Gulch was one of the few truly law-abiding towns of the day, and it was due largely to the integrity of Sheriff Dell. He played no favorites, and enforced the laws fairly, evenly, and compassionately. His honesty was never questioned and his quest for the truth had no limits.
“If Sheriff Dell could speak to you today, he would say continue the investigation until you’re satisfied justice has been served.”
The crowd burst into applause not only for the speech, but for the woman’s spunkiness.
“Sheriff Duncan, would you like to add anything?” asked the Mayor.
The sheriff stood and faced the assembled audience. “As you may or may not know, there is no statute of limitations on the charge of murder. I feel we would be negligent in our duties if, based on this new information, we did not continue with this investigation, and that is exactly what we are going to do.”
“Thank you, Sheriff. The meeting is adjourned.” Uncle Armando banged the gavel.
Mary, Carlos, and I waved to Uncle Armando and hurried outside to retrieve our bikes.
The Haunted Hanging Tree Page 11