“We had fun fishing today, didn’t we? I like to have fun, too, but I want to keep the search for those fish uppermost in my mind. Don’t you think exploring caves is going to be fun?”
“It wasn’t any fun today. I don’t want to find any more wildcats.”
“I’m sure that doesn’t happen very often. Uncle Andrew didn’t even warn us about wildcats, and neither did Mrs. Moore or Linnie. Instead, Uncle Andrew said that wild animals have pretty well left the Ozark woods—that they’ve been hunted and killed. He said they hardly ever see even a deer anymore. We see lots of them in your woods back home. Mrs. Moore said that only a few years ago, deer used to come up in her yard and feed with the chickens.”
“How wonderful!” Honey, dressed in dry jeans and shirt, pushed back the new curtains she had hemmed and hung at their bedroom window. “You can see for miles,” she said. “I believe that’s the mule wagon coming up from the hollow. Isn’t that it, Trix?”
Trixie looked, then called to the boys in the next room, “Uncle Andrew will be here soon. Let’s go downstairs and wait for him; we’ll help him unload the supplies.”
When Linnie drove the mules into the yard and turned them expertly, just at the lodge’s back door, the boys and Trixie and Honey were there waiting and waving. Jacob wriggled his body ecstatically and jumped onto the seat with his mistress.
I see you’re safe after the storm,” Uncle Andrew said as he handed the supplies into waiting arms. “Linnie told me you were off in the woods or down at the lake fishing. Did you have any trouble?”
“We sure did—” Honey started to say.
Trixie put her hand firmly over her friend’s mouth and hushed her. “We’ll tell you all about it later, when you’re eating the bass we caught. What on earth is in all those boxes?”
“Take them inside, and before Mrs. Moore stows them away, you can see what’s in them. What trouble did you have, Trixie?”
But Trixie had gone through the lodge door.
The boys unharnessed the mules for Linnie and led them to the shed. Mart was rewarded with a swift kick from Shem, while the other mule, Japheth, looked at him with a wild eye.
“A person never could get much attached to a mule, that’s for sure,” Mart said, rubbing his hip where the blow had landed.
“They’re one-man mules—or one-girl mules,” Brian said. “They’re crazy about Linnie. She never even ties them in the shed. They’d never wander off from where she is; they just follow her around the way Jacob does.”
The minute Trixie’s uncle walked into the kitchen, Mrs. Moore told him what had happened to his niece that afternoon. His face drained white. He paced up and down the room, clenching and unclenching his hands. “That’s one I didn’t count on,” he kept repeating. “When I invited you here, I thought you’d not be in any more danger than getting your feet wet. You haven’t been here two full days, and already Trixie has been attacked by a wildcat. Oh, Trixie!”
“I’m all right. I wish everybody would stop worrying. I’m safe. I’m alive.”
“You just don’t know these woods,” Mrs. Moore said.
“I really can take care of myself,” Trixie said quickly. “Back home we get in lots of tight places, but we always get out of them. Moms and Dad think we all have to learn to look out for ourselves.”
“If you don’t mind, since I’m responsible for you, I’ll call the turns while you’re here, Trixie.” Uncle Andrew’s voice was kind but firm. “I have a few bad memories, you’ll remember, of how you went after the sheep thieves on my farm in Iowa. This is terrible!”
“She’s off on another hunt now,” Mart said. “She’s after some ghost fish.”
Uncle Andrew raised his eyebrows. “Ghost fish?” So they told him all about the story Trixie had found in the scientific magazine.
“A five-hundred-dollar reward!” Trixie said. She went to get the magazine from the table in front of the fireplace. “Did you ever see a fish like this?”
“I can’t say I ever did. I’ve never gone cave crawling, though. I just like to go after bass. That’s my sport.”
Conversation continued as Mrs. Moore put a delicious dinner on the table, but no one seemed able to eat much.
“Bass are all right to eat, and it’s fun catching them,” Trixie said, “but I’m dying to start hunting those ghost fish. I want to get up at dawn tomorrow and start. Just think... five hundred dollars toward a station wagon for handicapped children!”
“I am thinking about it,” Uncle Andrew said, “but I’m thinking more about the danger you’d run into if you tried spelunking. I’m still shaking from your run-in with the wildcat.”
“Spelunking?” Honey asked.
“Of course!” Mart said, tilting his nose knowingly. “Amateur cave-exploring, that means. Professionals are called speleologists. The science is speleology. It comes from the Greek word spelaion, meaning ‘cave.’ All kinds of scientists are interested in caves. Some of them want to find the sources of underground water. Medical researchers look for molds that may lead to new antibiotics. That editor,” Mart explained to his uncle, “is looking for ghost fish in three stages of evolution—sighted, half-blind, and eyeless—so doctors can learn more about the effects of environment on blindness....” Mart was breathless.
“Well, la-de-da!” Trixie said. “Where did you learn so much about caves and spe—spe—”
“Spelunkers?By keeping my eyes open, Trixie, and by reading instead of sleuthing.”
“Never mind, Mart,” Uncle Andrew said. “I’ll have a lot to say later about this idea of cave exploration— I assure you. Now that we’ve finished our dinner, let’s go into the other room. Mrs. Moore, too. Leave the dishes where they are. The young people will help after a while.”
Uncle Andrew sat in his armchair in front of the fireplace and motioned to Trixie to sit on the ottoman at his feet.
“This is one of the things that bothers me,” he said. “Speaking of ghost fish... I’d like to know first what ghost fired the shot that killed that wildcat.” Uncle Andrew brushed his hand lovingly over Trixie’s curls.
“We looked everywhere we could, and there wasn’t a sign of him,” Brian said. “Whoever got that big cat was a dead shot; that much we know for sure!”
Mrs. Moore sat quietly in her chair, twisting her hands in her lap. No one spoke for a while. Then she asked timidly, “Mr. Belden, do you believe in haunts?”
“Ghosts, you mean?” Uncle Andrew asked. He took his pipe from his mouth and smiled. “No, Mrs. Moore, I don’t. There isn’t any such thing as a ghost—though it does look as if a ghost saved my Trixie’s life today, doesn’t it?”
“I think so. Don’t say you don’t believe in them, Mr. Belden. They don’t like that.” Mrs. Moore’s voice was very serious.
“No, sir.” Linnie spoke up. “There are plenty of ghosts in the Ozarks. We know, don’t we, Mama?”
“Yes,” Mrs. Moore answered, then was silent.
“Ghosts?” Trixie asked, all ears. “Tell us about some of them. Maybe that was a ghost today,” she added, my guardian ghost.”
“I think it could have been,” Mrs. Moore said.
“Ghosts don’t like being denied. They really haunt our mountains. Anyone will tell you that. Right down the hollow from here, Mrs. Massey lived. Jake Massey’s second wife she was, and she was mean to his children. She beat them. She didn’t feed them right. One day— she told this herself—she was alone in the cabin, and a hard blow knocked her flat on the ground. Then she heard a voice say, ‘Be good to those children!’ She showed the red mark the ghost’s hand made on her face. It changed her into a better mother.”
“Hmmm,” Uncle Andrew said.
“Tell us more!” Honey urged.
“Go on, please!” Trixie begged.
“I know of so many ghosts around here, I wouldn’t know where to stop,” Mrs. Moore said. “There’s an old cabin not far from here on the trail to White Hole Springs. Linnie will point it out to you. The peo
ple who once lived there murdered a stranger who stopped for a night’s lodging. They stole the few dollars he had and buried his body out in the cow lot. He came back every night to haunt them. His ghost drove them out of these parts. No one will go near the cabin. If they did, they’d still hear him moaning.”
“Didn’t anyone ever have nerve enough to stay there?” Mart asked. “I would. I’d like to see a ghost.”
“No one I know of ever stayed in that cabin, and you’d not stay long, either, if you heard that man moaning, Mart. Another place, though, an old man was murdered for his money. His ghost came back there, too, and people were afraid to stay in the cabin. One night a man who didn’t know about the ghost was traveling through, and he took shelter there overnight. Toward morning, he woke up and saw the ghost sitting by his bed. ‘Follow me,’ the ghost said, ‘and I’ll show you where they buried my money.’
“They went outside, and the ghost pulled some boards away from the cellar wall. The money was there, wrapped in some old rags. ‘Give it to the poor,’ said the ghost. But the man was greedy. He wanted the money for himself and said so. He told the whole story to one of the Cardway boys who passed the cabin right afterward. Anyway, he was going to town to put it in the bank, when the mule he was riding stumbled as he was crossing Ghost River, and the man was drowned. That’s where the river got its name. They never found his body or the money.”
“Jeepers, Mrs. Moore, you really do know about ghosts, don’t you?” Trixie said, shivering.
“I do. I know many a story, and they’re all true. The thing that bothers me all my days is that I’ve never had a chance to talk to the spirit of my husband—to find out how he was killed. There! I’d better get the dishes done. Do you want to help me, Linnie? No, sit still, the rest of you. Mr. Belden wants to talk to you about the dangers of caves. At least, I hope he does.”
The Bob-Whites drew their chairs close around Uncle Andrew.
‘It’s this way,” he said. “I’ve no objection at all to your exploring any of the caves around here, and there are many of them—all fascinating, I imagine.” Trixie drew a breath of relief and winked happily at Honey.
“However—” Uncle Andrew paused and looked intently at Trixie—“I must make a definite rule that not one of you is to go into any cave at any time unless he’s with someone who knows all about this area’s caves.” Trixie’s face fell. “That takes away half the fun. A guide would just take us into sissy caves, like the one we were in today.”
“It wasn’t so sissy,” her uncle reminded her.
“Inside it was, Uncle Andrew. There wasn’t a sign of a crawlway or sinkhole or hidden stream or anything that even looked like a place where that editor said a ghost fish might be found. I want to go into some caves that haven’t been explored.”
“I’ll not even object to that if you have a good guide with you. I think I know just the person, too—Slim Sanderson. He was born and raised around here, I believe. He helped Bill Hawkins build this lodge. He’s probably around eighteen—young enough to be as adventuresome as you’d like, Trixie, but he should know this whole country and know all the rules of safe cave exploring. As far as that goes, I have a book here somewhere that tells the rules set down by the National Speleological Society. It’s a small book with a red binding. See if you can find it over on the shelves, please, Trixie.”
Trixie found the book and handed it to her uncle. “Listen, please,” he said. “These are the rules:
“ ‘One: Never go into a cave alone. Go in threes. If one person is hurt, someone can then stay with that person while the other goes for help.
“ ‘Two: Always leave word where you are going and when you expect to return. Leave a note outside the cave, telling the time you entered and when you plan to come out. Inside, leave a trail on the floor or on the cave wall, showing which way you have gone.
“ ‘Three: Always carry three sources of light—a carbide lamp attached to your cap, a flashlight strapped to your belt, and matches and candle stubs wrapped in oilpaper.
‘Four: Never take chances. Extensive cave exploring should be done by experts, not amateurs.’ ”
“It’s all sane advice,” Brian said. “Is there more?”
“No. It goes on to warn spelunkers to be sure and get permission from the owner of the land before they explore a cave on the premises. No need to worry about that, though, because most of the land you expect to explore belongs to me. Oh, yes, there’s something about the kind of clothing to wear and the special gear you will need. I think you all have stout boots, blue jeans, and sweaters. You don’t have carbide lamps, though, so we’ll go to town tomorrow and buy them and see if we can find some helmets to protect your heads from rockfall. And you’ll need strong nylon ropes, too. I think the store in White Hole Springs will have the stuff. I’ll get word to Slim at the same time.”
Oh, dear, that’ll waste a whole day!” Trixie said sadly. “Can’t we just hunt around here close to the lodge first?”
“I’m sorry. No cave hunting anywhere without Slim, please. Especially after what happened today. Will that be all right with you?”
“I guess so,” Trixie said reluctantly. Mart kicked her foot. “I mean... yes, of course, Uncle Andrew. But I just hope someone else doesn’t get in ahead of us and win the reward.”
A Trip into Town ● 4
IT’S JUST LIKE the roller coaster in the amusement park at White Plains!” Trixie shouted as the Bob-Whites whooped and bounced while Shem and Japheth pulled them up the rocky incline. They were on their way to White Hole Springs to buy the equipment they would need to search for the ghost fish. Sometimes the road was little more than a path, and the wagon tilted precariously over limestone ledges that led to brush-covered hollows, how deep, no one knew.
A summer haze filled the air. The warmth of the morning sun scarcely penetrated the trees and close underbrush. A screech owl’s mournful cry, loud and persistent, caught Trixie’s attention, and she stopped bouncing and playing to listen. “There’s the loudest stillness in these woods. No wonder you think there are ghosts around. It even smells like ghosts, Linnie.”
“And what kind of a smell, pray, does a ghost give off?” Mart asked.
“Chilly and damp, like an old cellar—like that old house in the woods, where Jim’s uncle lived. Don’t you notice it, Uncle Andrew?”
“Are you sure it isn’t my tobacco?” Uncle Andrew asked. He pointed with his pipe stem across the creek they were approaching. “It wouldn’t be too hard to imagine ghosts around that old cabin, would it?” Honey shivered and pushed closer to Trixie, who had stood up in the wagon to see better. “Gosh, what is it?” she asked. Around the dilapidated old log cabin, a white mist swirled in spirals to form slowly moving draped figures. The mist then vanished into the clearer sky above the trees.
Linnie stopped the mules. “It’s the cabin where the stranger’s body is buried out in the cow lot. Mama said I’d point it out to you. Remember? That wasn’t any screech owl you heard a while ago, either. It was the murdered man, still groaning as he did when they were killing him.”
“Was he the one who went up into thin air just now?” Jim asked, teasing.
“Don’t make fun of haunts,” Linnie said solemnly. “You don’t honestly think there’s such a thing as a ghost, do you?” Mart asked.
“Yes, sir, I do!” Linnie clucked, and the mules, who had been standing patiently, heads down and ears back, started up again. “And you will, too, Mart Belden, before you leave these parts. That cabin’s haunted. Hold tight; we’re going through the creek again!”
Jim and Brian, fascinated by the rock formations on either side, hadn’t paid much attention to the talk about ghosts. Trixie had. So had Mart. Honey heaved a deep sigh of relief when they found the level road again and started uphill.
“I’d give a lot to see more of that ghost,” Mart whispered to Trixie. “Shucks, it’s nothing but old mist coming up off the swampy ground. Back home we see it a lot of times, don’t w
e?”
“We call it will-o’-the-wisp,” Trixie agreed, keeping her voice low. She didn’t want to offend Linnie.
“Even the name always makes me feel creepy,” Honey said. “If you and Mart plan to visit that cabin, just count me out.”
The mule wagon rattled on. From time to time, small trails led off into the woods where ground had been cleared for family homes. Blue smoke rose lazily from rough stone chimneys. Hens cackled, announcing their morning offering of eggs. A cowbell clanked tonelessly now and then as a bony animal reached for tasty grasses.
That’s Bill Hawkins’s place,” Uncle Andrew said.
We’ll stop there a minute, please, Linnie.”
A neat cabin faced the road. Back of it, several acres of cleared ground spread, green with corn and other vegetables.
Linnie called, “Whoa!” and a group of laughing children ran out, seven of them, all ages.
“Hello, Linnie!” they chorused. Linnie answered, calling them each by name. Bill Hawkins hurried from the nearby field, and his wife came out of the house, smoothing her apron.
“It’s near time we were eating; won’t you stop and join us?” she asked hospitably.
“Pa killed some squirrels, and Ma made a potpie,” the oldest boy said. “We’d like it if you’d stop.” He shook hands with the strangers from New York. Then each of his brothers and sisters did the same, repeating their names as Linnie introduced them. “We haven’t seen another girl since school was out,” one of the gingham-clad little girls said. “Ma made dewberry shortcake, too,” she coaxed.
“We’re in a kind of hurry,” Uncle Andrew explained. “These young people want to do some cave hunting, and we’re on our way to town for some equipment. Another time, Minnie, we’ll stop. Thank you for asking us. Mrs. Moore’s the only one I know who can equal you for cooking. Come over soon, all of you, and sample some of it.
“Oh, by the way, Bill, I’ve sent for Slim Sanderson to come over to the lodge this afternoon to talk about acting as a guide. I’ll feel a lot better about the safety of these young people if someone who knows caves goes along. Don’t you think that’s a good idea?”
The Mystery at Bob-White Cave Page 3
