Sean gave a gigantic gulp. “We weren’t talking about the horse,” he said impatiently. “You were doing all the talking, Brian. We’re here to have fun at the dude ranch for two weeks, not to go searching for a stolen horse.”
“Dad told me that a lot of his success comes from years of experience,” Brian said, ignoring Sean’s objections, “so it makes sense that I get in all the experience I can. A horse who’s stolen and disappears is a perfect case to try to solve.”
“Okay, okay,” Sean said, “but you didn’t bring your detecting stuff with you. You know, magnifying glass, flashlight, and whatever else you usually use.”
“I brought it all,” Brian said, “and I’ve already started making notes.”
Sean groaned. When Brian was determined to solve a case, Sean knew it was a lot easier to just go along with him. At the very least, however, Sean decided he wouldn’t have to solve the case on an empty stomach. “If you’re not going to eat your flapjacks, I will.”
“I’m going to eat them,” Brian said, and deliberately took a large bite. “We can think and talk and eat at the same time, can’t we?”
“You think and talk. I’ll eat,” Sean said. “Do you want that piece of bacon?”
“Be serious,” Brian said. “Help me think about where the horse could be hidden.”
“In a barn?” Sean said.
Brian shook his head. “Way too obvious,” he said.
“Well,” Sean joked. “How about in one of the other cabins?”
Brian rolled his eyes. “Very funny,” he said. Then he had an idea. “How about in a cave?”
“Or a mine!” Sean said.
Brian thought it over. “It’s possible. But which one? Mr. Austin said there were abandoned mines all over this part of Nevada.”
Carter suddenly jumped out from behind the thick trunk of an oak tree. “So!” he said, pointing an accusing finger at Brian. “It’s not just the mine you’re after! You think you can find the stolen horse, too, and be a real hero, do you?”
Brian jumped to his feet. “You were spying on us!” he shouted angrily.
“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Sean said. “I was going to tell you, Brian, but I forgot. Carter was awake and listening in last night, too.”
“So what if I was?” Carter said. “I know this countryside better than you two do,” he bragged. “If anybody’s going to find Nightstar, it’s going to be me!”
“Keep your voice down,” Brian said. “Do you want to get us all in trouble?”
“You think you’re such a hotshot just because your dad’s a private investigator,” Carter hissed. “But if that horse really is hidden around here, you’re not going to find him! I am!”
“How?” Sean asked. “By getting lost again?”
Carter glared at Sean, then turned to Brian. “I’ll find him,” he said, “but since Hank insists on the buddy system, I’m willing to let you tag along with me. Just don’t get in my way.”
“Forget it,” Brian said. “I’ve already got a buddy.”
Carter’s mouth turned down in a sneer. “Who? Vaughn?” He laughed meanly. “Okay, big investigator. You’re about to lose a case!”
5
BOBBY WAS OUT OF breath as he ran up and plopped down next to Sean. “Aren’t you through eating yet?” he asked. “Hurry up. We’re going to ride along the east ridge trail.”
Sean and Brian picked up their empty plates, utensils, and tin mugs and walked to the trail wagon, where the cleanup was taking place.
“Hurry up,” Bobby insisted as Sean and Brian rejoined the group. Sean groaned. It looked like Bobby was back to sticking to him like glue.
“Let’s go!” Mr. Austin called out after the boys had mounted their horses.
The trail led upward through the forest along a narrow ridge that wound back and forth across the mountain like a yellow ribbon. As the boys rode, the sun climbed higher, gleaming off the tops of the thickly clustered pines.
All Sean could see in any direction was forest. Except for a thin wisp of smoke from what Sean decided must be the lodge’s chimney, there was no sign of the Austin Dude Ranch. Sean thought about the campfire tale of the lost mine and the dead prospector whose ghost never gave up haunting it. He wasn’t surprised that the poor prospector couldn’t find his mine if it was hidden somewhere in these mountains.
Soon the trail wound down along the opposite side of the mountain, and the riders emerged from the trees into a large clearing. Carter, riding just ahead of Brian, turned and called, “That’s Wade Morrison’s ranch. This trail divides his property from Hank Austin’s.”
Brian glanced across at the house and barns and fenced-in exercise fields, but his thoughts were interrupted as something flicked against his face: a peanut shell!
“Cut it out, Carter!” he called. “Stop throwing peanut shells!”
Carter just laughed, faced forward, and popped a handful of peanuts into his mouth.
Woody rode up beside Brian. “Anything wrong?” he asked.
Brian shook his head and said, “It’s okay. I was just talking to Carter.”
As Woody fell into place beside him, Brian asked, “What kind of horses do they keep on that ranch?”
“Horses used for working the ranch and horses used for breeding,” Woody said.
Brian nodded. “Can you tell me about Nightstar?” he asked. “Was he Mr. Morrison’s most valuable horse?”
“You’ll have to ask somebody else your questions. That’s Wade Morrison’s business.”
Brian tried again. “Do the Morrisons raise and sell many horses? I mean, it doesn’t look like a very big ranch.”
“I told you,” snapped Woody, “if you want answers to all those questions, you’ll have to ask Wade Morrison himself. I work on the Austin ranch and keep to myself. Nothing Mr. Morrison does is my business.”
Brian was about to try asking one more question when Woody abruptly rode off.
A short time later a husky, deeply tanned rider appeared from out of the woods and pulled his horse to a stop along the trail. He raised a hand in greeting, and Mr. Austin and some of the boys waved back.
Carter shouted, “Hi, Mr. Morrison!”
So that’s Wade Morrison, Brian thought. He saw Mr. Morrison look right at Woody and say something to him. Woody looked angry. As Brian rode by, he could hear them arguing.
“You’ll do what I say or else!” Mr. Morrison said. Then he turned and rode away.
For the rest of the ride Brian avoided Carter. Later Brian joined Dan and some of the other boys watching a demonstration on calf roping.
“Where’s your brother?” Dan asked Brian.
“He’s helping brush down the horses, then he’s going swimming.”
Dan was perched on the top rail of the fence next to Brian. “I wonder what the statistics are,” he said out of the blue.
“What statistics?”
“On how long it takes, on the average, from start to finish, to rope a calf. Then there’s what percentage of calves get away,” Dan continued matter-of-factly. “You know, stuff like that. If I could feed all the data into a computer, I could come up with a precise statistical profile.”
“For just this ranch?” Brian teased. “Or the whole state of Nevada?”
Dan’s eyes shone. “There’s no limit. For the whole world!”
“Fascinating,” Brian said.
“Yeah,” Dan said dreamily. “I know.”
“My father uses computers in his business as a private investigator,” Brian told Dan.
Dan turned to study Brian. “How?” he asked.
“Computer searches,” Brian said.
Dan gave a nod of approval. “That’s very interesting,” he told Brian. “Do you know that, someday, everything it’s possible to know about everyone will be on computer?”
“Not about me it won’t!” The boys both turned and saw Cookie. He leaned on the fence next to them. “Anybody wants to know about me, they can just step up and as
k.”
“Actually,” Brian said, “I’ve got a question. But it’s not about you. It’s about the horse stolen from the Morrison ranch.”
Now it was Cookie’s turn to look surprised. “Well,” he said, scratching his head, “Nightstar ain’t exactly a specialty of mine, but I’ll tell you what I can.”
“Is losing Nightstar going to hurt Mr. Morrison’s business?” asked Brian. “Nightstar was a valuable piece of property.”
“I’m sure he feels real bad about losing the horse,” Cookie said, “but an animal like that is always insured. He may not get Nightstar back, but he’ll get reimbursed for some of his worth.”
As they talked, a tall ranch hand named Will, who had been standing nearby, walked over. “It ain’t as if Morrison ain’t had trouble enough without losing his most valuable horse,” he said.
“What kind of trouble?” asked Brian.
“Some of the colts Nightstar sired over the past three years are developing weak ankles,” said Will. “I heard that at least one customer’s been giving Morrison a real bad time about it.”
“Why blame Nightstar?” Brian asked. “He was a racehorse. He couldn’t have had weak ankles.”
Will shrugged. “That’s the funny thing,” he said. “The weakness didn’t come from the mares. That much I’m sure of.”
Brian had pulled out his notebook. “How can you be so sure?” he asked Will.
“By checking the mare’s lineage,” Will explained.
“What about Nightstar’s lineage?” Brian asked. “And what about the colts he sired earlier?”
“Never heard of any problems with either,” Will said.
“Are you sure?” Brian asked.
“As sure as the sun sets in the west,” Will said. He told Brian he had work to do, and Brian thanked him as he walked away.
Brian said to Cookie, “I’ve got one more question. Mr. Morrison came up while we were riding by and waved to us. He said something to Woody, but Woody wouldn’t even look at him.”
Cookie shook his head. “All I know is there’s some kind of bad feeling between the two of them, stemming from when Woody used to work for Morrison on his ranch.”
“He worked for him?” asked Brian, surprised. “How long ago was that?”
“Woody was there for a number of years,” Cookie said. “They were good friends, even. When Woody needed money to buy his own ranch, Wade Morrison loaned him the money to get started. It didn’t work out, though. Woody didn’t have much of a head for business. Even so, Woody was one of the few people Mr. Morrison ever trusted around Nightstar.” He shook his head. “Then three years or so ago Morrison and Woody had some angry words.”
“About what?” asked Brian.
“I’m not sure,” Cookie said. “Woody pretty much keeps his thoughts to himself.”
“Was he fired?” Brian asked. “Or did he quit?”
“I don’t know that neither,” Cookie said, “but he left Morrison and came to work for Mr. Austin.”
Cookie sauntered off to talk to some of the other boys, and Brian went carefully over his notes. Now he was even more puzzled about Woody.
“You think Woody has something to do with the disappearance of Nightstar?” Dan asked.
“It’s possible,” Brian said. He tucked his notebook back into his pocket and leaned on the rail again.
“A few minutes ago we were talking about computer searches,” he told Dan. “How’d you like to help me do one right now?”
Dan’s eyes lit up. “Sure!” Then he groaned and made a face. “I can’t. I promised my parents I wouldn’t touch a computer while I was here, remember?”
“You don’t have to touch it,” Brian answered slyly. Dan gave him a quizzical glance. “I’ll do that part,” Brian explained.
“What do you want to look up?” Dan inquired.
“Nightstar’s lineage,” Brian said.
Dan whistled. “How about something easy?”
“There have to be records somewhere. Want to try?”
It took Dan only a second to make up his mind. “Let’s go!” he said.
6
BRIAN KNOCKED ON THE office door and waited. “Cool,” he told Dan after a few minutes. “Nobody’s home.”
Dan nudged Brian. Through the window he could see a computer on a desk.
Brian opened the door, and they tiptoed in. The office appeared deserted.
“Maybe we should ask permission to use it,” Dan said.
“There’s no one here to ask,” Brian pointed out. “Besides, Mrs. Austin said she was here to answer any question we might have, right? Well, I have a question only her computer can answer.”
“Right,” agreed Dan.
Brian sat down at the computer and flipped the switch that turned it on. Dan bent over his shoulder, his eyes on the screen, and they waited impatiently until the menu came up.
“Press code and F3 to get the directory,” Dan said.
Brian did, and Dan studied it. “There,” he said and pointed to a listing of stock. “Try that. Press exit and get back to revise document.”
As Brian followed directions, Dan said, “Type in stock. When it comes up press find. Then type in nightstar.”
Brian did, but the message appeared on the screen: “nightstar not found.”
Dan frowned. “They don’t have a modem,” he said. “They’re not hooked into any of the programs. If they were, I could probably hack into Mr. Morrison’s computer, figure out his code, and check his records.”
“I need to know more about what kind of information’s kept on a horse,” Brian said. “I’m going to try thunder. That’s one of the Austins’ horses.”
The computer brought up thunder along with a couple of paragraphs of information. Some of it was abbreviated, but Brian could figure it out.
“Here’s his parents and grandparents,” Brian said, pointing. “And here is the location and date of birth. Here’s some other dates, whatever they mean. But what’s this string of numbers?”
“I don’t know,” Dan said.
Brian scrolled back a page to a listing for another horse. “Here’s goldie. Hey, look! Here’s another string of numbers.”
Mrs. Austin burst into the office.
“What are you boys doing?” she demanded.
Brian and Dan froze. She didn’t look nearly as friendly as she had the evening before.
“We were going to ask permission,” Brian said, “but nobody was here.”
“The offices are out-of-bounds,” Mrs. Austin said sternly.
“We didn’t know,” Dan said, improvising. “It’s not in the rules.”
Mrs. Austin folded her arms and sighed. Brian thought she looked a bit less angry. “In the meantime, suppose you answer my question and tell me what you’re doing.”
“We wanted to see what kind of records are kept on a horse.”
“What on earth for?” she asked.
Brian explained.
“So you’re the one my husband told me about,” she said. “The boy with a million questions. Very well, what can I do to help?”
Brian smiled and pointed at the screen. “Is this an identification number for the horse?”
“Yes, that’s exactly what it is.”
“Does every horse have one?” asked Brian.
“Every registered horse does.”
“Are the numbers listed anywhere else besides in a rancher’s records?”
“Yes, the number is listed with a particular group, such as the Racehorse Club Association or the Horses of the Americas Registry. All the groups are listed in the National Encyclopedia of Associations. And the identification number is also tattooed inside the horse’s lower lip.”
“Do most ranch owners keep this kind of computer information about their horses?” Brian asked.
“We all keep records, and nowadays most are on computers. Which horse are you trying to look up?” she asked.
“Nightstar,” Brian said.
Mrs. Austin
’s eyes widened. “Nightstar’s Mr. Morrison’s horse. He’s not one of ours. You know, don’t you, that Nightstar was stolen?”
Brian nodded and said, “That’s what made me curious about him.” He went on to explain what he had learned so far and why he had accessed the computer. Mrs. Austin actually seemed impressed.
“Turn off the computer and come with me,” Mrs. Austin said. “I’ve got something that might be of interest to you.”
The boys followed Mrs. Austin into another room and waited as she reached into a bookcase on the back wall, pulled out a book, and opened it on the desk.
“Here he is,” Mrs. Austin said, pointing to a picture of a beautiful coal black horse. Brian and Dan leaned over her shoulder and read about Nightstar. Brian pulled out his notebook and jotted down some information from the entry.
“Do you know if the police have Nightstar’s ID number?” Brian asked.
“I can’t imagine why they wouldn’t,” she said, closing the book and getting up to put it back on the shelf. “When a horse is stolen, the identification number is one of the first things the police ask for.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Austin,” Brian said. “That information was very helpful.
“And thanks for not yelling at us about the computer,” he added.
Mrs. Austin laughed. “You’re welcome,” she said. “Just keep in mind that from now on the offices are out-of-bounds.”
Brian and Dan promised her they would remember, and left. “I’m sorry I couldn’t access Mr. Morrison’s computer for you,” Dan told Brian as they walked along the path back to their cabin.
“It’s okay,” Brian said. “You heard what Mrs. Austin said. There are other places to get Nightstar’s ID number.”
“Now what are you going to do?”
“I’m going to try to find out how much Nightstar was insured for,” Brian answered.
“How are you going to do that?”
“There was a name of an insurance company listed with Thunder’s information. I’ll take a chance that Mr. Morrison used the same company to insure his horses.”
“What if he didn’t?” Dan asked.
“One step at a time,” Brian said. He fished in the pockets of his jeans and came up empty. “Have you got a quarter I can borrow?”
The Legend of Deadman's Mine Page 3
