On the Trail of Trouble

by Carolyn Keene

  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