Ten Mile Treasure

by Andre Norton

  *'Well, it's done now—and perhaps you will be lucky." Mrs. Wildhorse went to the cupboard and started checking over the few supplies still there. "Suppose you help me now to finish making out your mother's grocery list. If you will write down what I tell you—"

  Christie was relieved nothing more was said about her letter. She gladly took up the tablet and the pencil. "Mother has some things here already—sugar, beans, bacon, peanut butter, jam, bread—"

  "Coffee," Mrs. Wildhorse dictated, "canned peaches, some mixes—say, gingerbread, and biscuits, and a couple of cake ones—matches, syrup, pancake mix, onions, potatoes—"

  "That sounds like an awful lot," Libby commented.

  "Judging by today, they are going to need every bit of it," her mother answered. "Put down lemonade mix, Christie, crackers, cheese, cookies—I would say that visitors here are only beginning to come. Even more will come over the weekend."

  Christie hoped they would not. She did not mind people like Mr. Simmons and some of the others. But Mr. Toner—if he could be counted as visitor—she did not want to see him again! Mr. Toner was like a big black shadow stretching over the whole station, tall and thin though he was. She did not want to think about him and what he said. But she kept doing so in spite of all her efforts.

  10

  Ghost Town

  "This is just a lull before another storm, I suppose," Father said. "At least no one has shown up yet this morning. Maybe they'll hold off if Wylie sets things in motion at the courthouse. I'll be glad of a breathing spell. One good thing—the publicity has tied Toner's hands for a while. Wylie and the council members informed him that his court order is suspended in the public interest. Wylie told me he's making a point of seeing Judge Framely to that effect this morning. He was very sure Framely would agree."

  "All this uncertainty." Mother shook her head. "We're worse than just camping out now. I never know when I'll have to be packing up again. And that mess out in the yard—"

  "I know. When Colby gets here we surely must be able to sort everything out. He said over the phone he's making it in at least two days. Meanwhile, Patricia, we'll just have to sit tight and do a lot of hoping. However, we can turn to in the yard and clear up some of that. If the public descends upon us again in flocks—or droves—or whatever you want to term it—of cars, we can make slightly more room. If we didn't have this trouble with Toner, all this publicity would be the best thing we could hope for. Simmons wants to bring in his traveling TV crew as soon as they reach Giles-burg."

  There was no news from Sheriff Wylie, and, while a few cars did come out from town (the delivery truck from the market one of them), there was no jam-up in the yard such as there had been before. Christie was counting days impatiently. She could only guess how long it might take her letter to reach Maine—maybe a week. Then, if the postman did know a Wood-bridge family, how long would it be before an answer came? Always assuming they would answer at all. To her even one week seemed to be a very long time.

  However, they were not just going to sit around waiting for anything—Mr. Toner, a letter, or the sheriff. They helped Father pile and store into neater stacks the material to be used in restoring the station. Pinto came back out of hiding, though he still disappeared quickly into the smithy at the arrival of any new car, slamming the door behind him. Nor did he bring the horses and the burro family back into the corral, stating that visitors upset them.

  "I'd say we've done a pretty good day's work," Father announced that evening. "In fact we've done so well we deserve a vacation. So suppose we each think of what we would like to do most. You first, Pat." He looked to Mother.

  "Really want to do?" She laughed. "Really truly?" That was what Parky always asked.

  "Really truly!" Father said firmly.

  "Then I would like to go in to town, have my hair washed and set, get a facial, and have a dinner I haven't cooked myself in a nice air-conditioned restaurant."

  She paused, looking from one to another of them. "I see my kind of really truly is not in favor with the rest of you. But suppose I say it is really truly for me alone, that none of the rest of you have to share it? Would that be all right? You see, Marina has an appointment with Mr. Simmons, who wants to interview her on TV. I could ride in with her, so I wouldn't need the car."

  "Done!" Father slapped his hand down on the table so hard his coffee mug bounced. "Now—Perks, Parky. What's your really truly." The twins always chose the same thing, so a single question was all that was needed.

  "Go out there." Parky waved a hand toward the open door. "See some place we haven't been to before."

  "Christie?"

  She was undecided. It would be nice to go in town with Mother. But just sitting around waiting at the beauty shop would be boring.

  "I don't know—maybe to go off, like Parky said."

  "Neal?"

  He was excited and ready. "I'd like to go and see the ghost town Pinto told us about— Darringer. I've never seen a ghost town—except on TV."

  "And you, Harvey?" Mother asked the question now.

  "Oddly enough, I had Neal's suggestion in mind. Lucas is back and would be willing to guide us. Libby and Toliver would probably like to go along—leave you girls free for your day in town. As I understand, there's enough of a road left so we can use the station wagon. I want to take some pictures. We can carry a picnic lunch and water with us."

  "You think it wise—just to leave here, I mean?" Mother asked.

  "Now that all the 'treasure' is safe in town, yes. Nothing worth taking here. If any sightseers come, they can poke around and Pinto will keep an eye on things. Be a good idea for all of us to get away for a day. However, if we're going to Darringer we'll have to get an early start. That means bedtime for all you adventurers now."

  "What do adventurers do?" Perks wanted to know.

  "Have adventures—like explorers," Neal answered. "We were adventurers when we found that cave, weren't we, Dad?"

  "Very much so, I would say."

  "Maybe we'll find something at Darringer!" Parky was excited.

  "Don't get your hopes up too high, Parky. Darringer has been visited by a lot of explorers. I'm afraid you can't count on much luck there. Now bed for each and every one of you—and that pronto!"

  "Chris," Perks said as they settled down for the night, "does a ghost town have real ghosts in it?"

  "Of course not! It's just a town where everybody moved off and left the buildings standing empty. You know—like on the TV when a cowboy rides into one of those places and there are tumble weeds blowing around and he's all alone—"

  "But sometimes there're bad men hiding out there waiting to get him," Perks said uncertainly.

  "That just happens in stories, Perks. Father and Mr. Wildhorse will be with us. No, this is just an empty town we're going to—nobody's lived there for a long time."

  "Why did everyone go off and leave it?"

  "Because there wasn't any more silver to be dug out of the mines there. Most of the men worked in the mines. So when there was no more work they had to go and find someplace where there was."

  "Oh." Perks seemed satisfied.

  Christie lay in her bunk with Shan purring into her ear and thought about Darringer and the ghost towns she had seen on TV. Perks was right about the herd always getting into trouble in one. Usually someone was hiding out, ready to start a fight. But that was only in stories. All they would see would be some lizards and spiders in the old buildings.

  It was early the next morning when they were called. And on the table in the big room there was not just one picnic basket but two. Father filled the canteens and some extra water bottles and Mother put out breakfast.

  "There's supposed to be a spring near the town, but the old pumps are certainly not working," Father said. "Water is the one thing we want to be sure we have. Lucas will load some, too." He screwed the lid on the last container. "I suppose Shan is going as well as Baron?" He looked to where the brown cat was crunching dried food from his bo
wl.

  "We couldn't leave him!" Christie was startled. "Even if we shut him in here, someone might open the door and—"

  "Then be sure he has his leash on, and you'll be responsible for him, Christie."

  "Yes, Father," she answered through a mouthful of cereal.

  Before they were through breakfast the Wild-horse family had arrived. Lucas and Father loaded the cans of water and the baskets into the back of the station wagon, along with some bundles the Navajos had brought. Baron jumped into his usual place behind. The children took the middle seats while Lucas and Father were in front. They waved goodbye to Mother and Mrs. Wildhorse and were on their way.

  For a while they followed the town road. Then, at Lucas's direction, Father swung off to the north. Now and then there were faint traces to be seen on the ground as if this too had once been a road. But the riding was even more bumpy than on the town road and Father drove very slowly.

  "The new highway cuts northwest within about two miles," Lucas was saying. "To open a trail in from that direction would be the best. You might get some backing from Gilesburg for that. After all, the town wants all the tourist trade it can get. Darringer would make a good added attraction to people going to and from the park. Does your partner intend trying any restoration?"

  "Depends on what interest he can raise in such a project. A lot of Hollywood money is going into such schemes now—Disney paved the way. There certainly isn't much road left here—that's sure. Can we make it by car?"

  "You could last year. Movie outfit came here looking for an authentic background. They were here for about a week, then there was a flash flood and they cleared out. My cousin Brad set up their camps for them. Now—wait a minute!" Lucas pushed forward in the seat to survey the ground ahead. "Yes—see that rise over there? You turn here, use that for a guide point. Now—see those ruts—" He pointed to depressions in the ground. "Ore wagons made those. In spite of all the time gone by since then, those have been left to mark the road."

  "When did the last digging close down?"

  "Let's see. The Letty Bell was working about quarter time back in nineteen twenty. She ran out a couple of years later. There were still some small pockets where men held on maybe two, three years longer. The rich ore was gone and what was left cost too much to extract. I don't know when the last of the small operators closed. Been no one there since I can remember. Some of the prospectors use the town for a camp now and then while they poke around the hills, but no one else goes there."

  "When did the first mine open?"

  "Slim Gordon made the big strike there in eighteen seventy. He'd been nosing around before the Civil War and staked out then what he thought was a promising claim to come back to later. Even put up his monuments—"

  "Monuments?"

  "That's how they staked their claims in the old days. A man built a pile of stones and put a tin can inside, sealing in the can the description of the section he claimed. Sometimes it might be weeks before he could get in to register it legally. Well, Gordon did that in '60 on his first trip before the war broke out. Then he could not get back here until the army came in again. He found that claim was a rich one—the Western Star. Later he opened up the Good Chance, too. Sold out in eighteen-eighty and went to California. He was getting along in years and wanted to live soft for a while. But others had followed him. Now—angle right here—"

  The station wagon bumped on. Sometimes they could still see the old ruts of the forgotten road, other times there were no marks at all. They came closer and closer to the hills and now more ruts showed plainly. The car climbed up a small hill, then a higher one. Father stopped there so all could see ahead into a dip between the hills, which grew taller the farther they stretched away.

  There were buildings ahead. Some were of wood, some of adobe. Most stood in two straggling lines with what might have once been a street between. More were scattered around on the slopes of the hills. Some no longer had roofs. In others part of a wall had fallen, letting the roof sag at a corner.

  "That's Darringer," Lucas told them.

  Father drove the car very slowly down the slope and into the main street, moving between buildings where doors and windows had bits of board nailed across them. Above the doors of some where faded names, mostly so far gone they could not be read at all.

  "See that?" Lucas half-turned in his seat to point out one building to the children. "That's the end of the Bright Stage Line—the Darringer office."

  "Look, Dad, see? It says 'sheriff!" Neal pointed to the next building.

  Baron barked and pushed his head between Neal and Toliver. Even Shan put his forepaws on the edge of the window to look out.

  "Can we go and look inside, Daddy?" Parky asked. "I want to see the sheriffs office!"

  "Shades of Wyatt Earp," laughed Lucas. Then he looked at them all, his face once more sober. "We stick together. You don't go anyplace unless we say so, understand? The boards in the floors are rotten, the walls and roofs shaky—it could be dangerous."

  "You mind what Lucas says." Father backed

  Ghost Town

  him sternly. "This is no place to go exploring on one's own."

  They had started very early, before the sun was up. Though it was much later now, there were still clouds overhead. Lucas studied those thoughtfully as they got out of the car.

  "Rain coming. We'd better see if any building can give us shelter if it hits hard." He had a flashlight ready as they came to the rotted boardwalk that led to the doors of the old stage station and the sheriffs office.

  The windows of both were boarded up by slats of wood crisscrossed over them. But their doors hung open. Lucas flashed his light into a dim interior and then walked forward cautiously. They could hear him stamping inside the stage office as if to make sure the floor was safe. Then he waved to them from the door.

  "This is okay. Not much left, though."

  They crowded in behind Father, Shan clinging to Christie's shoulder, Baron nosing around and then giving a big sneeze as if he had sniffed up a lot of dust. There was a counter across the room and shelves in the wall behind it. An old rolltop desk with its top stuck halfway down stood to one side. Next to that was an iron safe with gold lettering—Bright Stage Line. Dust and dead flies lay everywhere. Christie thought it looked miserable but Father had out his camera with flash bulbs and was taking pictures.

  "How about the sheriffs office, Dad?" Neal asked. "If it's all right to go in there, it ought to be more exciting than this—"

  "Right—sheriff s office it is."

  They detoured around the worst holes in the plank walk and for the second time Lucas went in first.

  "Smells funny," Perks whispered to Christie, and Christie agreed, lingering by the door with Libby as the boys pushed in.

  "Father, if we promise to stay with the car, can we stay outside?" Christie wanted to know. She did not like the darkness nor the smells at all. And there was nothing to see really but old broken furniture and floors with holes in them.

  "Right by the car, yes." He was busy taking pictures again.

  The two older girls, trailed by Perks, went out. Christie breathed the fresh air thankfully and looked around with more interest at the town itself. There was no sun breaking through the clouds and it felt chilly. She was glad they had brought sweaters.

  "I wonder if any girls like us ever lived here?" She looked down the street and the lines of falling-to-pieces buildings and tried to imagine what Darringer had been long ago—that was easier to do than when one looked at all the broken rooms inside.

  "There must have been some children,"

  Libby said. "Maybe there's a school somewhere. See that steeple—that was a church."

  The steeple was crooked—another windstorm might well send it crashing to the ground. Shan kicked to get down and Christie let him jump into the thick dust of the street, but kept careful hold on his leash. He smelled the ground and then sneezed as Baron had done. Nor did he pull at the leash as if he wanted to go of
f on his own.

  They could hear voices from the sheriff's office, but the rest of the town was very quiet. Suddenly a crash startled them all.

  "Christie!" Father shouted.

  "We're here!"

  He ran out of the office looking anxious. "That noise—"

  "It came from there somewhere." She pointed.

  "Probably part of an old building falling. See? That's why you must not go off on your own."

  That was the last thing Christie wanted to do. The town was—spooky. It made her feel as if people were hiding, peeking at her from between the slats nailed over the windows or from behind the sagging doors. She could understand very well why such places were called "ghost towns." Perhaps they really were homes for the ghosts of a town that had once been so busy and alive.

  Father and Lucas went into two more of the old buildings—a bank and a saloon—with Father taking pictures. Though this time he told the boys to stay out also. That crash seemed to have changed his mind about any young explorers who might well get into trouble.

  "The interiors are in a better state than you would think," Christie heard him tell Lucas. "Maybe something can be done here after all that wouldn't cost a fortune. We could restore just the main attractions."

  "I'm wondering about Gordon House—down there at the end of the street. It was considered quite a showplace in its day." Lucas pointed to a building that seemed larger and in better condition than those around it. The lower story was of stone and above that was a second floor of wood with a roofed balcony running along the whole front.

  "Gordon built it and made it into a hotel. It was considered pretty fancy for that time and this place. It's probably been a shelter for every drifter passing through since then. But if it's storm tight, we'll need it—and soon."

  "I'll take the car as close up as I can get it."