defensive and suspicious. But she also seemed to enjoy
turning the questioning back on Nancy.
“We certainly have talked about a young adult
animal protection league,” Nancy said. “We also
wanted some time with you.” She was pleased to see
Ms. Francoeur take a long swallow of lemonade and
call the waitress over.
After ordering a cheese tart and a plate of fruit, Ms.
Francoeur turned to Kincaid. “Don't I know you?” she
asked. “You are with the bison ranch. You show your
animals in competitions?”
“That's right,” Kincaid said.
“Mmmm,” Ms. Francoeur murmured. Then she
turned back to Nancy.
“Speaking of bison, Jack Allbright tells us you helped
him find local animals to model for the brochure
illustration.”
Antoinette Francoeur seemed embarrassed. When
her order arrived, she held up her hands, saying, “I am
no longer hungry. Take it away.”
Then she turned to Nancy. “You do not want to
know just about my organization, am I right?” she said,
leaning back in her seat, her arms crossed in front of
her. “You have other questions burning your brain.
Why don't you ask them.”
“All right, I will,” Nancy said, scooting forward to
the edge of her seat. “Why didn't you call the sheriff or
a guard when you found us in your auto barn? Why did
you just let us go?”
Ms. Francoeur's eyes lit up with surprise. She
looked intently at Nancy. “Why, I ... I didn't want to
get you in trouble,” she said. “My automobiles are very
famous. People wander in there. I do not have them
arrested for it.”
She folded and unfolded her napkin several times.
Nancy could tell this was a question the woman had
not expected. Nancy continued quickly. “We saw a
truck in your auto barn. It had very distinctive
hubcaps.”
“And what of it?” Ms. Francoeur said. “They are
custom-made by a friend.”
Nancy told the woman about the hubcap found near
Lulu and Justice's trashed shelter. At this point,
Kincaid seemed to explode with emotion. “Please, Ms.
Francoeur, tell me the truth,” she pleaded. “Did you
take my bison? Where are they?”
The shock in Antoinette Francoeur's eyes seemed
genuine. “I did not take them,” she said. “I did not!”
She looked at Nancy, then at Kincaid again. “Believe
me, I did not take your animals.”
“Were you on her ranch?” Nancy asked.
“Yes,” Ms. Francoeur sputtered. “I heard you had
isolated bison for grooming and training. I always
worry when some of my animal friends are penned up.
I drove out to check on them.”
“And then what?” Nancy asked.
“I saw they were fed and sheltered,” the French-
woman said. “They had enough water. They were as
well as bison who are not free can be.”
She looked down at the table. “And . . . well . . . they
were perfect subjects for my illustration. They were
easy to paint precisely because they were isolated. My
artist could be close to them without being confronted
by the rest of a herd. I picked up Jack and took him out
there the next day. He spent an hour making sketches
and taking photos. We would have stayed longer, but
we saw a truck approaching across the pasture.” She
motioned to the waitress to bring back her lunch.
“I assumed it was people from your ranch,” Ms.
Francoeur continued. “Jack and I escaped quickly—so
quickly I banged a rock as we drove off. That is
probably when I lost the hubcap.”
Kincaid's eyes were filled with tears. Ms. Francoeur
seemed sympathetic. “I am so sorry to hear your bison
are missing. Believe me, please. They were fine when
we left.”
They all picked at their food. Nancy knew that
Kincaid was hoping the Frenchwoman had taken Lulu
and Justice. And she was also counting on getting them
back. Now, no one knew where they were.
Was Ms. Francoeur telling the truth? Nancy
wondered. Or was it a well-played act to hide the fact
that she had indeed taken Lulu and Justice?
“By the way,” Nancy said, “I understand you were in
the Badlands yesterday.”
“I was,” the woman answered. “We were there to
see if the parade of tourists is disturbing the native
animals in the Badlands.” She stabbed a strawberry
with her fork. “I am leaving now,” she said. “Thank you
for my lunch.” She stood and glided away, with no
further word.
Nancy and the others talked about their conver-
sation with the eccentric Frenchwoman and concluded
that she seemed to be telling the truth.
After they left RuthAnn's Tea Room, they ran the
few errands that Kincaid had promised her parents. By
then, it was time to head out of town and up into the
Black Hills again.
Nancy could tell Kincaid was depressed about Lulu
and Justice, but was trying not to let it ruin their
afternoon.
“We don't have to see the Mount Rushmore show
tonight,” Bess said gently, as Kincaid started the drive
up the mountain.
“No, I'd like to,” Kincaid said. “It's really exciting.
And it'll help take my mind off Lulu and Justice. I've
almost given up ever seeing them again. I might as well
face up to it.”
Nancy's heart ached for her friend. She searched her
brain as they rode, going over all the clues again and
again. She felt as if her mind was just going in circles.
“I've already told Nancy and George a little about
the show,” Bess said. “But not everything. I want them
to be as thrilled as I was when I first saw it.”
Kincaid and Bess guided Nancy and George around
the visitor center complex. They toured the preserved
studio of Gutzon Borglum, who spent the last thirteen
years of his life carving the presidents' heads. They had
supper in the restaurant and spent nearly an hour in
the gift shop.
Finally, it was time for the show. Nancy, George,
Bess, and Kincaid took their seats on a wooden bench
in the amphitheater. When everyone was seated, it was
almost dark, and the sculptures across the canyon were
nearly invisible.
Then music echoed through the canyons. A voice
began narrating the history of the famous carvings,
which were begun in 1927. While the narrator spoke,
lights went up on a flat plane of granite that served as a
movie screen. A film illustrating the narration began.
“Of course!” she whispered to Bess, George, and
Kincaid. “It's a movie! And it must have a projectionist.
We'll stay after the show to see if we can spot our
man.”
“All the lights go off for a few minutes after the
film,” Kincaid explained in a low voice. “And it's pitch
black.”
“Then they suddenly shine spotlights on the
sculptures and the music plays,” Bess added. “It's so
dramatic. I cried when I saw it last summer.”
“Okay, we'll make our move when the movie ends
and all the lights go out,” Nancy told them. “Follow my
lead. I'm going to head for the studio. We'll stay in the
woods behind it.”
The film was entertaining, but Nancy couldn't keep
her attention on it. She kept waiting for the moment
when all went dark. A keen alertness filled her body.
She was ready to jump and run.
Finally that moment came—the end of the movie.
As the music wound to a close, the lights went out. It
was very dark. Nancy stepped quickly out of her row,
the others following. They all darted up the aisle and
out of the amphitheater.
By the time the music began again and the
sculptures were bathed in spotlights and fireworks,
Nancy and the others were concealed in a grove of
spruce trees behind the sculptor's studio. It was the
same path they had taken on Tuesday night on their
way to Antoinette Francoeur's.
At last people began leaving the amphitheater
heading toward the parking lot. Nancy and the others
spotted their man, his cap pulled down over his face.
He was moving up the path, favoring his right leg with
a slight limp.
“Bess, you and Kincaid stay here,” Nancy said. “If
we all go after him, he's bound to hear us. You can be
our lookouts.” They waited until he passed, then Nancy
aimed her flashlight at the ground, and she and George
quietly stepped through the forest after the stranger.
At first he followed the same trail they had taken
Tuesday night. But then he veered off to one side and
plunged into the dark, dense forest. They walked past
several Private Property signs.
They walked for about half an hour. Nancy tried to
keep up with the stranger, but she lost sight of him.
Wary of a trap, she moved carefully, closely followed
by George. It was so dark. Only a few beams of
moonlight filtered down through the sharp needles of
the trees. Because of her flashlight, Nancy was afraid to
follow too closely. She didn't want to call the stranger's
attention to them. She stepped very carefully to avoid
crunching the thick bed of pine needles on the trail.
Nancy motioned to George to stop next to a large
fallen tree. They both stood very still. Nancy strained
to hear, but there was no sound ahead. She gestured to
George to stay down and be quiet. Then Nancy
stepped cautiously forward.
She walked about forty yards up the rough trail, but
saw no sign of him. Resigned, she doubled back to
return to the fallen tree and George. When she had
walked back about thirty yards, a shaft of moonlight
pierced the curtain of branches. As it shone on the
forest floor, Nancy felt uneasy. She knelt and looked at
the path more closely. “Something's happened here,”
she murmured.
The pine needles had been pulled or pushed away
from the dirt. It looked as if something had been
dragged across the trail. Nancy's heart sank as she
rushed to the fallen tree. “Oh no,” she murmured.
Broken branches and scattered pine needles indicated
a struggle had taken place. Lying in the exposed dirt
was George's sports watch, its band twisted and
broken.
14. Finding the Mother Lode
Nancy twirled around. “George!” she called in a loud
whisper. “George! Where are you?” She reached down
to pick up her friend's watch and dropped it in her
pocket.
There was no response, no sound at all. Nancy took
out her flashlight and aimed it at the ground next to the
fallen tree. There's definitely been a struggle here, she
thought. Her heart pounded and, for a minute, she felt
as if she couldn't breathe. No wonder I lost his trail,
she thought. He must have doubled back and found
George waiting here.
She flashed the light on the ground. The dragged
pine needles led to the right, and Nancy followed that
trail.
Within minutes she had stumbled into a clearing in
front of a hill. If she hadn't followed the trail of
dragged pine needles and dirt, she would never had
found the spot. It was completely surrounded by trees
and dense undergrowth. An opening was cut into the
side of the hill.
Nancy aimed her flashlight beam into the opening
and gasped. George lay on the ground. Her hands were
tied behind her back. Her ankles were bound together,
and she lay very still.
Nancy rushed through the opening. “George!” she
called. “Say something! Are you all right?”
Nancy put her flashlight on the ground and knelt
beside her friend. George's pulse was steady, but she
was knocked out cold. Nancy slipped off her backpack
and took out her flashlight and a bottle of water.
She aimed the flashlight at George, then lifted her
head and poured a little water on her lips. At first the
water dribbled down George's chin. Then she
sputtered and coughed. Her eyes blinked open, and
they widened with fear as she peered over Nancy's
shoulder.
“Ach, you found us at last,” a man muttered behind
Nancy. “Welcome.”
Nancy whipped her head around to see a short
stocky man slam a wooden door down over the
opening. Nancy laid George back down and moved to
the door. It was solid and didn't budge when she
pushed on it.
Nancy went back to George. “The door is locked or
jammed shut somehow,” she said, untying the knots on
George's wrists. “What happened?”
“I don't really know,” George said, rubbing her
wrists. “I sat waiting for you, and the next thing I knew
I was in here waking up.” She reached up and touched
the back of her head. “Yow, that hurts,” she said,
rubbing her head.
“He must have knocked you out,” Nancy said. “I
didn't see who locked us in very clearly. But I
recognized the voice. It was the same man who made
the threatening call to the Turners' Monday night.”
She untied George's ankles. “And he appeared to be
the same shape and size as Jasper Stone.”
“So it wasn't the guy we were following?” George
asked, slipping off her backpack.
“Nope,” Nancy said, sweeping her light around the
small room. “But they're clearly partners in crime.”
George turned on her flashlight and swung it
around. “Looks like a mine of some kind,” she said.
“Maybe gold. Kincaid said there used to be a lot of gold
found around here. Maybe we've stumbled on an
abandoned mine.”
Nancy walked toward the back of the room. An
arched opening led to another room. “There's a larger
room back he
re,” she said. “Maybe there's another way
out.” She flashed her light around the second room.
“Whoa—there's something in here.”
She stepped carefully into the second room.
“George! Come here,” Nancy gasped. “You're not
going to believe this!”
George hurried over, and her light joined Nancy's to
illuminate the second room. Several stacks of bones
lined the room. Massive skulls and feet, huge curved
tusks, bones longer than Nancy was tall. All were
obviously from another time.
A cool shiver rippled through Nancy as she gazed at
the eerie sight. “We've stumbled onto something big,
George,” she said. “Somebody's been stashing
prehistoric fossils here.”
“Poachers, right?” George asked. “Why else would
bones be stashed in such a remote place?”
“Exactly,” Nancy said. “If they were legitimate, why
lock us in here?”
“Speaking of which,” George said, “let's get out. I'd
love to look at all these bones. But I'd rather not do it
as a prisoner.”
Nancy and George went back to the door. They both
pushed with all their strength but couldn't budge it.
“Easy, George,” Nancy said. “You need to rest. You
might still be a little groggy from the blow to your
head. Besides, I hear something banging against the
door each time we push,” Nancy said. “I have a feeling
it's a padlock.”
“We're sunk,” George said.
“Don't give up yet,” Nancy said. “Let's look around.”
The two flashed their beams around the room, over the
floor, around the walls, and across the ceiling. Nancy
went into the second room. As she swept her light
across the floor, she noticed a couple of pieces of
charred wood in the far corner. She picked one up. It
was so old it crumbled into black dust when she
touched it.
She flashed her light around and found more in the
same area. “Look,” she said, pointing them out to
George. “And look here.” She crouched in the area
where the charred wood was scattered. The ground
dipped into a shallow hollow there.
“What is it?” George asked.
“This looks as if someone had fires here a long time
ago,” Nancy said. “Maybe when this was a real mine.
South Dakota winters can be horrible. They had to
keep warm while they worked.”
“So?” George said.
“So they had to have some kind of vent for the
On the Trail of Trouble Page 11
