Mystery at the Ski Jump

by Carolyn Keene

  “I brought back your grub.” He grinned. “Wanta eat?”

  “Do we!” cried Burt, dropping the line he was holding. “I’ll swap an uncaught fish for a stack of hotcakes any day!”

  The others echoed his sentiments as they rushed to join the trapper and relieve him of the food.

  Directly after breakfast Nancy and Ned fastened snowshoes to their hiking boots and set out for Longview Inn. The snow was crisp and just hard enough for firm going. Shortly before noon they arrived at the entrance to the big resort hotel.

  “What a grand spot for winter sports!” Nancy exclaimed. She gazed admiringly at the high ski jump and the numerous ski trails and toboggan slides.

  “Sure is.” Ned nodded. “I wish we had time to try ’em. But I suppose you want to find out about Dunstan Lake. Well, where do we begin our investigations?”

  “Pardon me. But would you two be interested in purchasing tickets to our charity contest?” a strange voice inquired.

  The couple looked around to face a smiling elderly woman. She went on to explain that the tickets were for a skiing party the next afternoon, to be followed by a trapper’s dinner at the inn.

  Ned was just about to say that they could not make it, when Nancy surprised him by telling the woman they would take seven tickets! Ned dug into his pocket for the money.

  But as they entered the hotel, he asked, “Nancy, why did you do that?”

  “Sorry, Ned, I’ll pay for the tickets.”

  “That’s all right, Nancy, but maybe the crowd won’t want to go.”

  “I was thinking of Mitzi Channing,” Nancy said. “If she’s in the neighborhood, she might show up.”

  “You’re right. Well, let’s call on the manager.”

  Mr. Pike had been with the inn for five years, but he had never heard of a Dunstan Lake, nor anyone named Channing. He promised, however, to make inquiries among the guests and to let Nancy know.

  When they left the hotel, Ned said eagerly, “Let’s go over and look at that Olympic ski jump.”

  The jump was truly spectacular and near the base of it was a skating pond. At the edge of the ice stood two mammoth figures which had been carved out of snow.

  “Aren’t they wonderful!” Nancy cried out. As she and Ned stood staring at the snow giants, Nancy felt a hand on her arm.

  “Nancy Drew—this is a surprise!” said a familiar voice.

  “Why, Chuck Wilson!” Nancy gasped. “What are you doing here?”

  “Pinch-hitting as a ski instructor.” Chuck grinned. “The regular pro has a broken leg. And now tell me what you’re doing here.”

  Nancy introduced the two young men, then told Chuck about the house party at her aunt’s camp.

  “Oh, Chuck, I have a grand surprise for you!” she added. “Guess what! John Horn’s here!”

  “Here!” The skier looked incredulous. “At your camp? I’ll be right over!”

  Ned looked none too pleased at this suggestion. “John’s not staying with us,” he said.

  Ned lost his glum look, however, when Chuck insisted upon lending the couple skis, boots and poles, and suggested that they take a few runs. For the next half hour Ned and Nancy enjoyed themselves on the ski slopes.

  “Nancy, your skiing has certainly improved,” Ned said, smiling.

  “The credit for that goes to Chuck.”

  Below them, Chuck Wilson waved his hand. “Hey, why don’t you try jumping off that mogul?” he called.

  “I’m game,” Nancy cried, pushing off, after leaving her poles against a tree. “Come on, Ned!”

  Nancy went first, taking off beautifully from the top of the huge bump. Ned followed but his was by far the higher and the longer jump.

  “Well, at least I didn’t spill.” Nancy laughed as they pulled up alongside the ski instructor. “And now I think we’d better start back to camp.”

  “Nancy, I’ll see you again soon, won’t I?” Chuck pleaded.

  “We’re all coming over here tomorrow,” she promised. Then, with a teasing glance at Ned, she added, “But there’s no reason why we can’t see more of each other today. Ned and I haven’t had lunch, so why don’t you join us in the dining room?”

  “Thanks, I will. But let’s go downstairs to the snack corner.”

  Nancy and Ned returned the borrowed equipment, and Chuck checked his skis and poles at the long rack outside the beam-ceilinged room, which was crowded with skiing enthusiasts.

  Their appetites whetted by a morning in the crisp mountain air, the trio ate heartily. When they finished, Ned and Nancy insisted they must leave, instead of joining the group which lingered by the fireplace discussing slalom and downhill racing.

  Outside, as they were fastening on their snowshoes for the long hike back to camp, Nancy turned to Chuck. “By the way, do you know of any mink ranches around here?”

  “There’s one up on that ridge where the run for the ski jump starts. The ranch is owned by Charlie Wells.”

  “Let’s go home that way,” Nancy suggested to Ned. “We may pick up some information about the Forest Fur Company and Dunstan Lake.”

  They rode up on the lift and trekked off along the ridge. Half a mile farther on, they neared the ranch buildings. A man came running toward them.

  “Did you meet anyone or see anyone leaving here?” he asked excitedly.

  “No,” Ned replied. “Is something the matter?”

  “I’ll say there’s something the matter,” the man growled. “Some of my finest mink pelts have been stolen!”

  CHAPTER XV

  Racing a Storm

  STOLEN!

  An idea clicked in Nancy’s mind. Could the person who had taken the pelts from Wells’s ranch be one of the Forest Fur Company gang? Quickly she introduced Ned and herself.

  “Did you lose many minks?” Nancy asked.

  “About two thousand dollars’ worth,” the man replied. “Half my take for the year.”

  “You own the mink ranch?” Ned inquired.

  “Yes. I’m Charlie Wells.”

  “When were the pelts stolen?”

  “I’m not sure. Just a few minutes ago I noticed the door of the storage house was half open.”

  “Did you see any new tracks in the snow?” Nancy asked.

  “No, but we had a hard blow here early this morning. The snow could have filled up the tracks.”

  “Perhaps the furs were taken last night,” Nancy commented. “A thief wouldn’t dare prowl around in the daylight. May we see where you kept the pelts, Mr. Wells?”

  “Certainly.” He led them to a small building attached to the back of his house.

  As they approached the door, Ned remarked, “I notice only one set of footprints here, and they must be yours, Mr. Wells.”

  Nancy stooped down. With her glove she lightly brushed away some of the powder snow. Another man’s prints were visible in the crust underneath the recently blown powder. “I wish we could follow these tracks,” Nancy said.

  “You’re not going to try brushing away all this snow!” Ned exclaimed.

  Nancy smiled. “If I thought it would lead us to the thief, I’d try it.”

  “I’m afraid my pelts are in another state by this time,” Mr. Wells said mournfully.

  “Maybe we can help you get them back,” Nancy suggested. “Have you ever heard of the Forest Fur Company? Or Mr. and Mrs. R. I. Channing? Or Dunstan Lake?”

  At each question Mr. Wells shook his head. “Have you notified the police about the theft?” Nancy asked.

  “No.”

  “I’ll do it for you,” she offered.

  The rancher led them into his small house, which was furnished with rustic pieces. A large deer head hung over the living-room fireplace.

  Nancy telephoned the State Police. She reported the theft at the Wells Ranch and then told about the stock swindle and the arrest of Boyd.

  “I believe a man named Channing may know something about this theft,” she said.

  The trooper was grateful
for the information and said, “We’ll follow up your lead right away!”

  When Nancy returned from the telephone, she found Mr. Wells pointing to the deer head and telling Ned how he had shot the animal in a nearby woods.

  Ned was impressed. “I’d like to shoot one and hang the head in our fraternity house!”

  The ranch owner winked at Nancy. “It’s all yours, son, if Miss Drew nabs the fur thief.”

  “I’ll do my best,” the young detective promised. “Mr. Wells, this is my first chance to see a mink ranch. May Ned and I look around a bit?”

  “I’ll go with you,” the rancher replied. As they stepped outside, he glanced at the low, dark clouds rolling in from the north. “More snow on the way,” he predicted.

  “Then we mustn’t stay long,” Ned said.

  Mr. Wells led them to one of several small, shedlike buildings set back some distance from the house. The shed was about six feet wide and had separate pens on either side of a central aisle. Some fifty glossy little animals occupied the pens.

  “They’re beautiful,” Nancy remarked. “But they must require a lot of care.”

  Mr. Wells shook his head. “All they need is the right kind of food and a clean, cool place where there isn’t too much sunlight.”

  “Sounds like a good business,” Ned said.

  “It is, for an outdoor man,” the rancher replied. “If you want to establish a mink farm, you should start with the finest, healthiest animals you can buy. Then get settled in a cold climate—makes the fur grow thick. In this country you find most of the mink ranches in Maine, Vermont, New Hampshire, Massachusetts, and northern New York.”

  “What do minks eat?” Nancy asked.

  “A mink likes lean meat and fish best,” Mr. Wells said enthusiastically. “But he’ll eat table scraps, vegetables—even field mice. Wild minks are fierce little fighters and very cunning.”

  “Very interesting,” said Ned. “Now we’d better leave. We want to get home ahead of the storm.”

  As they left the building, Nancy suddenly spied a small, dark object half hidden under the snow. “The thief may have dropped this!” she thought excitedly.

  The rancher, walking ahead of the couple, did not see Nancy run over to the spot, stoop down, and reach for the object. Suddenly Ned cried, “Don’t touch that!”

  He gave Nancy a shove which sent her reeling away from the object.

  “Ned, what—”

  “It’s a trap, Nancy!”

  Mr. Wells turned and hurried back to them. “That’s a fox trap!” he warned. “I keep them all around the grounds to catch foxes who try to raid the mink pens.”

  “Thanks, Ned,” Nancy said. “I’m glad you recognized it.”

  The young people said good-by to Mr. Wells and started off. “Hurry!” Ned urged. “I don’t like the looks of that sky.”

  “Let’s go along behind the mink sheds,” Nancy suggested. “The thieves may have left clues.”

  “Okay.”

  Back of the sheds a thick row of evergreens marked the Wells property line. Nancy and Ned followed it, scanning the ground hopefully.

  Once Ned happened to look up. Near him, hanging from a shoulder-high branch, was a strand of white yarn. “Here’s something!” he exclaimed.

  Nancy plodded over. “Well, Mr. Detective, what’s your theory?”

  “Anyone trying to keep out of sight against the snow would wear white,” Ned said. “Maybe our man snagged his shoulder or sleeve on these trees as he approached the mink pens.”

  “How right you are,” said Nancy. “Let’s see if we can find more of that yarn.”

  The two followed the line of evergreens into dense woods. From time to time, wisps of white wool on tree branches marked a clear trail.

  But soon the woods gave way to open ground, dotted with knee-high clumps of berry bushes. A brisk wind hit Nancy and Ned with full force as they emerged into the open. The cold stung their faces.

  “We’d better make for camp in a hurry,” Nancy said. “We’ll retrace our steps.”

  They turned, then stopped. The wind had blown snow over their tracks.

  “Seems to me we came from over that way,” Nancy said, trying to sound cheerful.

  Ned nodded. “Let’s go! And make it fast!”

  Neither spoke as they tramped along. The daylight grew dimmer. For two hours they trudged ahead through the snow.

  Finally Nancy called, “Ned! We should have reached camp long ago.”

  “I know that,” the youth said grimly. “I don’t want to worry you, Nancy, but I’m afraid we’re lost!”

  CHAPTER XVI

  An SOS

  For several seconds neither Nancy nor Ned spoke. Each was trying to figure out how to get back to the cottage before the storm.

  Ned sheltered his eyes with one hand and peered through the rapidly falling dusk. All he could distinguish at first were rolling stretches of snow-covered landscape. The lost couple might have been in the arctic wastelands. Then Ned spied a lean-to and they hiked to it.

  “Wood!” he exclaimed, seeing a pile of logs in one comer. “I’m going to build a fire. That may attract someone’s attention.”

  “And we can eat,” said Nancy. “I have two chocolate bars in my pocket.”

  The crackling fire and the candy revived their spirits, though no one came to guide them out of the snowy wilderness. Finally, when the fire died down, they set off again. Their way lay downhill, which at this moment seemed the easiest to take.

  “I have a flashlight,” said Nancy. “I’ll blink an S O S. Three short, three long, then three short. Right?”

  “Right,” Ned agreed.

  Nancy clicked the signal several times as they crunched along. Again they had just about given up hope of help, and were floundering in a snow-bank, when Ned said:

  “Listen! I thought I heard a shout.”

  Nancy glanced quickly over her shoulder. “You’re right!” she cried. “There is a man over there. John Horn!”

  The trapper came plunging toward them through a drift. “I saw your distress signal, folks!” he yelled. “You lost? Why, Nancy! Ned!”

  When Ned explained that they were indeed lost, the old man looked hurt. “You shoulda asked me to guide you,” he reproached them. “But anyway, I can show you a short cut through the woods. You can make it home before it snows.”

  “You’re certainly a lifesaver,” Nancy said gratefully. “As a reward, I’ll tell you some good news. Chuck Wilson is staying at the inn. We saw him this afternoon.”

  “You don’t say!” Horn exclaimed, his leathery face spreading into a delighted grin. “Well, I’ll sure have to tramp over there in a hurry and visit with the boy.”

  He started off, with Nancy following and Ned bringing up the rear. Presently Nancy noticed that the trapper had about a dozen beautiful mink pelts strapped to his knapsack. She admired them, then asked where they had come from.

  “Oh, I picked ’em up,” John Horn answered vaguely. “They’re the best mink there is!”

  Nancy frowned worriedly as she tramped silently behind the trapper. Twenty minutes later they came to a well-defined trail, marked with the stompings of many feet.

  “Just follow this,” said their guide, “and you’ll come to your camp. So long. I’ll drop over tomorrow.”

  As the couple watched their rescuer’s sturdy figure vanish into the night, Ned said, “Nancy, you look upset. Surely you’re not afraid we’ll get lost again?”

  “No, it’s not that,” she replied. “I was wondering about those valuable pelts John Horn was carrying, and the ones that were stolen from Mr. Wells.”

  “Good grief! You don’t think that old man’s a thief, do you?” Ned demanded.

  “I hate to think that,” Nancy admitted. “He could have set a lot of traps, I suppose, and had some luck.”

  Ned shrugged, then said if Horn had stolen the pelts, more than likely he would have hidden them.

  Nancy agreed, saying, “I guess I’m so
tired and hungry that my suspicions are getting the better of me.”

  The trail led almost directly to the back of the cottage. “We were going in circles,” Ned remarked ruefully, “before John Horn found us.” As they climbed the porch steps, snow began to fall.

  They were welcomed by a frantic group. Aunt Eloise had been chiding herself for letting the couple go off without a guide, and actually wept with joy to see her niece and Ned.

  Again they all enjoyed supper before a blazing fire, while Nancy and Ned recounted their adventures. The prospect of attending the big ski party at the hotel aroused the young people’s enthusiasm. They agreed to follow Aunt Eloise’s advice and retire early in preparation for the big day.

  Nancy was so weary that she tumbled into bed like a rag doll. It seemed as if her head had barely touched the pillow when she heard her aunt’s voice.

  “Nancy! Wake up!” Miss Drew urged. “It’s a lovely, sunny day. And there’s a telegram for you, dear. A boy just brought it from the village.”

  “Read it to me, please,” mumbled sleepy Nancy. “Very well.” Her aunt hurriedly slit the envelope and scanned the teletyped lines. Then she read the message aloud: “‘Nancy, phone me from Longview Inn. Love, Father.’ ”

  “Aunt Eloise, I don’t understand,” Nancy said, now fully awake and sitting up in bed. “Why should Dad send me a telegram like that?”

  “Perhaps he has learned something that will help you solve this fur mystery,” her aunt sug gested.

  “Perhaps. But why should Dad ask me to phone from the hotel instead of the village? And why would he sign the message ‘Father’ instead of ‘Dad,’ as he always does? Aunt Eloise, it looks as if that telegram might be a fake.”

  “Oh dear!” said Aunt Eloise. “Those thieves have probably found out you’re here. Well, that settles it. No more trips except in a group. And I’m going to phone your father myself from the village.”

  When Nancy entered the living room a short time later, she found George and the three boys busily waxing their skis. “We’ve decided to go to the party on skis,” Ned explained. “The snow’s just right, and we’ll work up a better appetite for that trapper’s dinner.” He grinned.