The Second Girl Detective Megapack: 23 Classic Mystery Novels for Girls

by Julia K. Duncan

  “I’ll put you two girls in here,” Mrs. Saylor said, opening a door and switching on a shaded light which revealed a whitewashed bedroom. On its walls hung gay Indian blankets, half a dozen of which also covered the broad, low, Spanish-style twin beds of some yellow wood.

  “It is lovely,” said Doris, complimenting the agreeable hostess.

  “And Mrs. Mallow, you’ll sleep next door,” the ranch-woman continued with a pleasant smile, ushering her into a similarly furnished room.

  “You boys will bunk in here together,” Mrs. Saylor said, leading Dave and Marshmallow into a room the counterpart of the girls’, except that a buffalo hide Indian shield, with bow and fringed quiver of arrows, decorated one wall.

  “There’s no running water, but plenty in the buckets,” Mrs. Saylor said. “We make our own electricity, but we can’t have running water, as we have to get it from wells, and they’re fifteen hundred feet deep. Now I’ll make you some supper.

  “I didn’t expect anybody, so you’ll just have to take pot luck,” she added. “Come into the kitchen when you are ready, and I’ll see if I can’t scare up some fried chicken and tomato soup, with some squash and yams and corn-pudding. I think I had some left over, and pie and coffee.”

  After Mrs. Saylor had gone back to the kitchen, Doris and Kitty examined their room more closely.

  “Isn’t this attractive?” Kitty asked. “The whole country, too.”

  “Lovely,” replied Doris. “So lovely I wish I didn’t have to think about any unpleasant things while we’re here. But I’m afraid I’ll have to get right down to business.”

  “Well,” came the suggestion from the irrepressible Kitty, “there’s such a thing as combining business with pleasure.”

  CHAPTER X

  Nothing But Trouble

  “Say, this is the real thing all right,” Marshmallow exclaimed.

  “What do you mean?” Dave asked.

  “Oh, the primitive frontier life but with most modern conveniences,” Marshmallow answered. “Cowboys and Indians, rattlesnakes and cactus, electric lights and swell food! Do you think we could get ourselves some of those leather sailor pants?”

  It was the next day after the arrival of Doris and her friends. The two boys were in the courtyard of the Crazy Bear ranch-house, waiting for their three charming companions to appear for breakfast.

  Overhead the bluest sky in the world was arched. The whitewashed adobe walls of the house framed green grass, fragrant in the early morning air.

  “I’d feel funny dressed up in chaps,” Dave admitted. “What I’d rather locate is an auto.”

  “Say, that’s an idea!” Marshmallow exclaimed. “Let’s ask Bill Saylor if there is one we can hire around here.”

  “Let’s go find him, but don’t let on to the others,” Dave suggested.

  While the young men were plotting their little surprise, Doris and Kitty were discussing what attire they would don for the first day on the ranch.

  “I guess it will have to be our riding habits,” Doris said. “We will want to explore a lot, and I have to get into town to see about the deed.”

  “Horseback is the way to travel in this part of the world,” Kitty added. “That doesn’t make me mad at all.”

  A few minutes later the girls stepped out of their room into the patio, Doris trim in whipcord breeches and top boots, with a green polo shirt worn open at the throat. Kitty wore long trousers faced with chamois, and jodhpur half-boots nattily strapped across the ankle, with a yellow shirt which showed her brown hair and tanned complexion off to best advantage.

  “Wonder where Marshmallow and Dave are?” each said aloud. “They were talking here a minute ago. Oh—good morning, Mrs. Mallow.”

  “Good morning. Are the boys up yet?”

  Mrs. Mallow was dressed for comfort, not for action, in a summery cotton print frock.

  “I’m worried, girls,” she said. “I think unpleasant news is a bad appetizer for breakfast, but I have lost my handbag!”

  “Oh, was there money in it?” Doris cried.

  “Yes, there was,” Mrs. Mallow admitted. “Except for the bank letter of credit, which I kept in my suitcase, there was all the money I took along. Over a hundred dollars, and my rings and other personal things.”

  “Oh, you surely must have left it in the auto last night,” Kitty said soothingly. “We will call Ben Corlies—if there is such a thing as a telephone around.”

  “I hope so, but I just can’t remember having the bag at all,” Mrs. Mallow frowned. “The last time I recall having it was way back in Indiana.”

  Doris looked at her left hand, where the great ruby given to her by the Gates twins flashed fire. She was glad that precious jewel was not mislaid, for its romantic history made it valuable to her far above its not inconsiderable worth in money.

  “Hey, slow-pokes!”

  The hail came from a doorway opposite the worried little group.

  It was Marshmallow, announcing breakfast.

  “Go ahead, you two,” Doris said. “I’ll just search our room to make sure your bag did not get mixed up with our things last night, and then I’ll join you.”

  While the others began breakfast Doris searched through the effects of Kitty and herself, but no handbag was found.

  * * * *

  At the breakfast table, the lost bag was the main topic of conversation, with Mrs. Saylor listening sympathetically.

  “You can telephone to the G Clef Ranch, all right,” the pleasant woman said. “The ’phone is in the sitting room. I’ll show you where.”

  Breakfast over, Doris called up the opera singer’s ranch, but learned that no one in authority was at home. Miss Bedelle was already trying out her new airplane, and Ben himself was supervising some tractor work a mile from the house.

  “Please explain to Mr. Corlies that we think we left the bag in his car,” Doris repeated. “And have him call up Mrs. Mallow at the Crazy Bear Ranch whether he finds it or not.”

  With that the travelers had to be satisfied.

  “If you girls want horses just walk over to the corral and whichever one of the ranch-hands is out there, tell him what kind of mount you want,” Mrs. Saylor told Kitty and Doris.

  The boys had already started out.

  “It’s sort of selfish of them to run off without waiting for us,” Kitty pouted.

  The corral, built of skinned pinon poles, /housed a dozen wiry cow ponies varying from coal black to pure white and spotted “pintos,” or “paints,” as the girls learned the cowboys called them.

  “There is no one here,” Doris said, looking around. “I wonder where Dave and Marsh could have gone?”

  “Here come a couple of cowboys now,” Kitty pointed.

  Two chap-clad and sombrero-topped figures shambled around the corner of a long, low building, and a third hurried and joined them. The last comer seemed to be in some sort of pain, from the way in which he pressed his hands to his side and staggered as he walked.

  “Why—it’s— Doris, look! It’s Marshmallow and Dave!”

  Doris stared at Kitty’s command and burst out laughing.

  “What’s the matter?” Marshmallow demanded, removing the “ten-gallon” hat and running a finger around the belt of the too-snugly-fitting chaps.

  “Yes, why the mirth?” Dave asked.

  The genuine cowboy, whose agony proved to be that of mirth and not of pain, wiped his eyes.

  “They—they—put the chaps on backwards first,” he gasped. “Excuse me, ladies, for laughin’ at your friends, but it shore is queer to watch dudes puttin’ on trappin’s for the first time.”

  “What do you mean, dudes?” demanded Marshmallow, nettled. “Do you think this costume is fancy?”

  “’Scuse me, sir,” the cowboy grinned. “Dudes is what we call all tenderfeet. No, them clothes is the real article. Ike and Lew won’t miss ’em. Now, you-all want hosses?”

  He took down a lasso from a peg on a corral post, and climbed over the bars
.

  “Better let me pick ’em for you,” he said.

  “I—I’m not sure I want to ride,” Kitty whispered as the horses, ears back, teeth bared and manes flying, dashed around the enclosure.

  “They do look vicious,” Doris agreed.

  The cowboy’s wrist jerked and his noose settled around the neck of one white-and-black pony, which instantly stood still. The others bunched in a corner and rolled their eyes.

  “Here’s a gentle bronch,” the cow-hand said, leading the animal to the bars and slipping a halter over its head.

  In that manner four horses were caught, and one by one saddled, bridled and led forth.

  Kitty chose a buckskin and Doris the “pinto.” Dave drew a rangy chestnut mare, and Marshall won a black one, which insisted on waltzing constantly.

  “You’ll soon tire her out,” grinned the horse wrangler, eyeing Marshmallow’s substantial form.

  “Where shall we go first?” Kitty asked.

  “Dave and I are riding off on a little secret mission toward town,” Marshmallow said. “So you two go off somewhere by yourselves.”

  “As if we wanted you tagging around anyhow,” sniffed Kitty.

  “Perhaps you will guide us around?” Doris smiled at the cowboy, ignoring the two city boys. “It would be best for us to have an experienced man with us at first.”

  The cowboy blushed, grinning broadly.

  “I’m shore proud to ride with you, ladies,” he declared.

  Dave stopped in his tracks.

  “Maybe—say, you go on ahead to Raven Rock, and I’ll go along with the girls and take care of them,” Dave announced to Marshmallow.

  “Hey, what’s the idea?” that young man snorted indignantly. “What will I do with the horse?, It’s a two-man job, this!”

  “Oh, all right,” grumbled Dave, shooting a sharp glance at the ecstatic cowboy. “Don’t go far, Doris.”

  “Don’t worry about us,” Doris replied sweetly. “We’ll be in safe company.”

  She wheeled her pony and cantered across the yard, followed by Kitty, while the cowboy hastily vaulted the corral to the back of a surprised broncho which began vigorously to object to its rider.

  “Say, there’s a real Wild West show! Bareback bucking!” Marshmallow exclaimed.

  “Come on, we must hurry,” Dave said curtly, and dug spurs into his mount. The animal took its bit between its teeth and streaked off in a cloud of dust.

  “Hi, wait up!” yelled Marshmallow, slapping his pony with the reins and starting in pursuit.

  “They’ll be killed!” Doris cried. “Oh, why didn’t they come with us?”

  The flying hoofs of the boys’ horses soon carried them out of sight, and the cowboy, who introduced himself as Ben Bostock, rode up on his subdued broncho.

  “There’s lots to see, ladies,” he said. “Let’s take it easy, though, and ride out to watch ’em branding some young stock up the line.”

  Two hours later, when the girls returned to the ranch yard a little stiff from the unaccustomed riding in high Western saddles, Dave and Marshmallow had not yet returned. Mrs. Mallow was chatting with Mrs. Saylor, exchanging professional secrets and recipes, in the shade of the cottonwoods.

  “How far off is the town?” Doris asked, as she sank to the ground beside Mrs. Mallow.

  “Only about eight miles,” Mrs. Saylor replied. “It isn’t much of a town. Just the court-house and a theater where we have movies every Saturday night, and a couple of stores and a dozen houses.”

  “I wonder what the secret mission is that the boys went on,” Kitty mused.

  As if in reply to her query there came a great honking from the road, while into the yard there rolled in triumph a light touring car of popular make with Marshmallow at the wheel.

  Behind came Dave, trotting along on his chestnut mare and leading Marshmallow’s skittish black. “Look what I have!” shouted Marshmallow. “Where did you find it?” Kitty sniffed.

  “What’s the matter with this car?” Marshmallow demanded. “This was the purpose of our secret mission. We rented this for ten days, and what a job it was to find it, too.”

  “How did you?” Mrs. Saylor asked. “I didn’t know there was a car for rent in the town.”

  “Oh, it belongs to a chap who is in jail,” Dave explained cheerily. “We went around to see him and he was glad enough to have it earning a little money. But he gets out in ten days, so he’ll want it back then.”

  “Oh, I forgive you everything,” Doris laughed. “And I’ll be in your debt in the bargain if you will take me for a ride this minute.”

  “Sure thing. Where to?” Marshmallow asked. “Oh, just around,” Doris said vaguely. “Come on, let’s all go.”

  The entire group, excepting Mrs. Saylor who could not leave her household duties, climbed into the car and Marshmallow took to the road.

  “Drive back to town, Marshmallow,” Doris said. “And right to the court-house. We have no time to lose doing the work we came here for.”

  “All right!” Marshmallow agreed, pushing the accelerator to the floorboard. “Here we go.”

  Raven Rock was reached in twenty minutes, and could have been thoroughly explored in half that time. The town had but one street, and many of the buildings had false fronts to make them appear twice their height of one story. The court-house was the most imposing structure of all, the only one that was two genuine stories in height, and was surmounted by a mission tower in which hung a bell.

  Every building in Raven Rock was of adobe, or sunbaked brick plastered over and whitewashed, or tinted pink, blue and green. The railroad station stood next door, a one-room salmon pink edifice.

  Doris left her friends, who were to explore the two shops, while she went about her business in the court-house.

  The registrar of deeds proved to be a tall, lanky person in shirt sleeves and blue denim trousers tucked into high-heeled boots. A flowing sandy moustache covered his mouth.

  “Yes, Ma’am, and what kin I do fer you?” the official asked, taking his feet from his desk and removing his sombrero in greeting.

  Doris looked around for a chair, at which the man jumped up and offered his.

  “I’ll sit on the desk,” he said.

  Doris explained that she wished to establish title to three tracts of land, the deeds of which had been stolen.

  “They were bought about thirty years ago—not less than twenty-nine, not more than thirty-one,” she said. “The owners’ names are Azalea and Iris Gates, unmarried, and a Mr. John Trent.”

  “I’m not expert at this job yet,” the official said. “I only been here since last November’s election. I’ll look up the books.”

  He opened an old-fashioned safe with a huge key, and removed some ledgers.

  “Lucky thing nobody buys much land here, ever,” he said. “These two books got the history of every parcel of land in the county. Now, let’s see.”

  He pored over the volumes, while a silence broken only by the buzz of a fly and the crackle of the turning pages settled down upon the room.

  At last he turned to Doris.

  Her heart sank as he shook his head slowly.

  “No, Ma’am,” the registrar said. “There ain’t no record of any property under them names at all.”

  CHAPTER XI

  Unpleasant Encounters—And Others

  “What does that mean?” Dave asked, seriously.

  “It means that whoever has the deeds in his possession can establish ownership,” Doris sighed, as she settled back into the car after leaving the registrar.

  “But surely you can warn the county official that whoever tries to register the deeds is acting fraudulently,” Mrs. Mallow said.

  “We should have to prove it,” Doris replied. “I talked all that over with the registrar. He seems to be a sort of political job-holder, not very ambitious or smart. But he did suggest that someone might have bought the deeds in good faith from whomever stole them, in order to complicate matters.”<
br />
  Gloomily the five sat in the parked car, its nose to the hitching rack in front of a store which dealt in saddles, drugs, ammunition and radios.

  “Not even an ice cream soda in this burg,” Marshmallow groaned. “Warm pop, that’s all.”

  Doris glanced listlessly along the hot, dusty street. Half a dozen ponies were hitched here and there, standing with drooping heads. One other car, yellow with alkaline dust, stood in front of the structure which advertised itself as the “Raven Rock Ritz—Meals at All Hours.”

  A man emerged from the restaurant and stood for a moment vigorously manipulating a toothpick.

  He climbed into the car and backed violently into the road, describing a wide arc.

  “Oh! Look out!” Doris cried.

  “Hey, you—you—” Marshmallow shouted in alarm.

  Crash!

  The rear of the automobile struck Marshmallow’s rented car.

  Dave leaped out, furious at the stranger’s carelessness.

  “No harm done,” he cried. “The bumpers met, thank goodness. Say, stranger, do you think you’re in the middle of the prairie?”

  “Whadda you want to park in the middle of the road for?” snarled the stranger, as he shifted gears noisily and tore off up the street.

  As Dave watched him go, he clenched his fists, and fumed.

  “I’d like to teach him a lesson in driving courtesy, and I will if I ever meet him again.”

  “Oh, come on, no harm done,” said the more easygoing Marshmallow. “You’ll never see him again.”

  Marshmallow was thoroughly mistaken, although none of the party realized it then. Doris’s intuition suddenly made her remark:

  “That man looked downright vicious. I hope he is not connected with any crooked land deals. He seems to be unscrupulous.”

  “Let’s go back to the ranch,” Mrs. Mallow said. “I think this village is depressing. And perhaps Mr. Corlies may have called up about the lost handbag.”

  Silently and glumly Marshmallow turned the car about and headed it toward the ranch.

  “Oh, Marshall, not so fast on this narrow road,” his mother cautioned him.

  “Look, there’s a road that goes off to the left,” Doris pointed. “It may be a short cut, and then again it may go some other interesting place. You see, we don’t know the country.”