148 On The Trail Of Trouble

by Carolyn Keene

  yards to where the prints seemed to turn, then back up,

  then stop once and for all.

  “It's as though they disappeared,” Bess said in a

  hushed voice.

  “Or were hauled away,” Kincaid said. “They'd have

  to use a special livestock trailer.”

  She continued brushing the dirt, and little by little, a

  set of tire tracks appeared—first two, then two farther

  ahead, then three fairly close together.

  “We don't have all the tracks, but it looks like a large

  trailer, pulled by a sport utility vehicle or a four-by-

  four,” Kincaid said. “The tracks seem to go off to the

  west. I'm going to ride out that way and see if I can

  find anything.”

  “I'll go with you,” Bess said, climbing into her

  saddle. She seemed eager to start the chase.

  “George and I will stay here,” Nancy said. “I want to

  nose around a little more.”

  As she watched Bess and Kincaid ride off to follow

  the tire tracks, Nancy had an idea. “Come on, George,

  we have work to do,” she said.

  She walked to the shattered shelter and dug through

  the debris until she found a pitchfork. “I thought I saw

  this sticking through the boards,” she said.

  “So what are we doing?” George asked.

  “Well, Kincaid said the dirt in this area is almost like

  clay, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Grab some shorter pieces of broken boards,” Nancy

  said. “I want to try something.”

  While George picked out some boards, Nancy found

  a bucket and filled it from Lulu and Justice's water

  trough. Then she led George back to the tire tracks.

  Carefully, Nancy cleaned the tire tracks of as much

  extra dirt as she could with Kincaid's grass brush

  without wiping away the tracks themselves.

  Then she and George took turns with the pitchfork

  digging up clumps of dirt from the ground a few yards

  away from the tracks. They piled the dirt into a mound;

  then Nancy pushed out a well in the center of the pile.

  “What are we doing?” George asked.

  “Making modeling clay,” Nancy said. Slowly, she

  dribbled a little water from the bucket into the well in

  the center of the mound of dirt. Little by little, she

  pulled dirt from the edge of the pile into the well of

  water in the center. As the dirt absorbed the water, it

  became gooey.

  “Looks like we're making mud to me,” George said,

  shaking her head.

  “Exactly,” Nancy agreed. “Mud pies.”

  Carefully, she added more water, then more dirt,

  then repeated both steps until she had the consistency

  she wanted. It was no longer gooey; it held together

  like clay. When she pressed the palm of her hand into

  it, it made a perfect print. “Hand me a board,” she said.

  George handed Nancy one of the short pieces of

  board from the shelter. Nancy smeared some of the

  clay she had made onto the board, then placed it, clay

  side down, on one of the tire tracks. “We have to push

  very gently,” she said, pressing carefully with just a few

  fingers. “We want to get the print, but we don't want to

  smear it, and we don't want the clay to fall off.”

  It took a few attempts, but she finally got the

  technique right—just the right amount of mud-clay on

  the board, just the right amount of pressure against the

  tire track. By that time, the track she had been working

  on was too smeared to be of any use, but she and

  George imprinted the other tracks.

  When they were finished, they had four boards

  imprinted with tire tracks and laid out, clay side up, in

  the sun to dry. George gazed into the distance,

  shielding her eyes from the light. “I think I see Bess

  and Kincaid returning,” she said.

  “Let's look around a little more until they get here,”

  Nancy said, leading George back into the corral.

  When Kincaid and Bess arrived, they were tired and

  discouraged. “We found nothing,” Bess said, slipping

  down off Miss Penny. “The trail just petered out.”

  “It looks like they went over the grass at one point,”

  Kincaid said, “and we couldn't pick up the trail after

  that.”

  Nancy and George showed them the models they

  had made of the tire tracks, and Bess's and Kincaid's

  spirits seemed to lift a little.

  “We were just looking around to see if we could find

  any more clues,” George said.

  “We'll help,” Bess said as she and Kincaid joined the

  search. Occasionally, one of them would find

  something, but none of the items seemed significant.

  Bess found a hammer, but Kincaid recognized it as one

  of her dad's. They came across some rusty barbed wire,

  shotgun shells, and a coil of rope, but Kincaid had

  explanations for all of them.

  “Hey, what's this?” George called out. She held up a

  curved gray-white object, about eleven inches long.

  The other three rushed over. “Oh, that's a tooth,”

  Kincaid said casually. “Probably from a saber-toothed

  tiger. Keep it.” She turned and walked back to where

  she had been searching.

  “A saber-toothed tiger!” George said, turning the

  object over in her hand. “Cool.”

  “Sure,” Kincaid called back. “We find stuff like that

  all the time. This whole area is crawling with

  prehistoric remnants. People come from all over the

  world to set up digs around here. Here's some petrified

  wood.”

  She reached down and picked up two pieces of what

  looked like rectangles of red-brown stone. The surfaces

  looked as if someone had run a comb over them,

  etching tiny lines in the rock.

  “This is why I call it one of my secret places. This is

  almost at the center of our ranch. There's no road here.

  Part of the area is concealed by the hill. I have several

  places like this scattered around where I've done some

  archaeological digs. It should have been a very safe

  place for Lulu and Justice.”

  She gave the pieces of petrified wood to Nancy, then

  said, I know that looking for clues is important, but I've

  got to tell my parents what happened. I'm going back.”

  Nancy could hear the distress in Kincaid's voice. She

  was sure the initial shock was wearing off. The full

  impact of what had happened was beginning to register

  with her new friend.

  As she turned to leave the area, Nancy noticed

  something shining in the grass. “Look,” she said. “This

  may be something.” She leaned over to look closer. As

  the others gathered around her, Nancy untied the

  bandanna from around her neck and used it as a glove

  to pick up a big, rusty metal disc.

  “Looks like a hubcap,” George said.

  “Yeah, but a weird one,” Bess said, squinting in the

  sunlight. “What's that mark in the middle?”

  They all looked closer. It was an old hubcap, dented

  and poc
kmarked with rust. “It looks like some kind of

  design,” Nancy said, looking at the rusty scratches

  across the center. “Could it be the brand of one of the

  ranches?”

  Kincaid leaned in to look closer. “I don't recognize

  it,” she said. “But it's so messed up, I can't really see

  what it is exactly.”

  “But it's not familiar to you, right?” Nancy asked. “It

  wouldn't be from one of the vehicles on your ranch?”

  “No,” Kincaid said, shaking her head.

  “Maybe it's from the vehicle that took Lulu and

  Justice away,” Bess said. “Nancy, that's a real clue.

  Kincaid, I'm sure we're going to find Lulu and her

  calf.”

  “Oh, Bess, I hope you're right,” Kincaid said. “I'm

  going back. Do you still want to look around? I can

  send someone to lead you home.”

  “No, I'm ready to go,” Nancy said. Carefully, she

  picked up the hubcap with her bandanna and gently

  slipped it into her saddlebag.

  The others mounted their horses, and Nancy

  handed each of them a board with the tire track

  impression. Kincaid, George, and Bess carefully held

  the short boards in front of them. Nancy placed the

  board she would carry on a pile of rubble from the

  destroyed shelter. Then she climbed on Paha Sapa and

  walked him over to the pile so she could pick up her

  board.

  She started to reach for the board to hold it over her

  horse's back for the journey home. As she leaned over,

  Paha Sapa became a little jittery. He backed up,

  turned, then moved forward again. A whinny of protest

  rippled his lips.

  “Easy, boy,” Nancy cooed to the Appaloosa. “Just let

  me get this board and we'll start on home.” Paha Sapa

  would go only so far forward, and when Nancy urged

  him on, he resisted.

  “What's happening?” George called.

  “My horse won't get near that pile of rubble,” Nancy

  said. “I'm trying to grab the last board.”

  “Here,” Kincaid said, riding over. “I'll get it and

  hand it to you.”

  They both heard the sound at the same time. It

  started soft and slow, then grew loud and very fast.

  Nancy saw the snake first, almost camouflaged in the

  wreckage. It was a thick, mottled coil with a tapering

  head in the center. At the end of its tail, a small brown

  rattle shook with menace.

  “Kincaid! Do you see it?” Nancy whispered.

  “No, but I sure can hear it,” Kincaid said. She reined

  in her horse. “There it is. I see it.”

  Nancy could feel Paha Sapa's heart beating as she

  tried to calm him. Her own heart was pounding just as

  fast.

  Suddenly—as if it were on a spring—the snake shot

  forward.

  3. A Chilling Call

  Paha Sapa reared up, and Nancy slipped down on the

  saddle. She threw her arms around the horse's huge

  neck and clung there.

  “Nancy!” Kincaid said. “Hold on. I'll take care of the

  snake.” She reached for the pitchfork and rode to

  where Nancy was desperately trying to stay on her

  horse.

  Paha Sapa was still reared up, dancing on his rear

  hooves, trying to dodge the poisonous fangs of the

  rattler. The snake sidled this way and that, aiming for

  the legs of Nancy's horse.

  Nancy's arms were still wrapped tightly around Paha

  Sapa's thick neck, her fingers holding the reins so

  tightly they were numb. She was hanging almost

  vertically, her legs dangling out of the stirrups.

  At last Kincaid and her horse, Misty, reached Nancy.

  With one experienced swoop, Kincaid thunked the

  pitchfork into the rattlesnake, directly behind its head.

  Its tail thrashed for a moment. Then it was still.

  “Easy, boy, easy,” Kincaid cooed to Paha Sapa. At

  last the great horse lowered its front legs back to earth.

  Nancy, her hands still grasping the reins and the

  horse's neck, plopped back onto the saddle.

  “Thank you,” Nancy said, smiling at Kincaid. “I sure

  understand the term horsepower now.”

  Kincaid picked up the last board with the clay tire

  tracks and handed it to Nancy. Nancy placed it gently

  over Paha Sapa's back. She held the board tightly with

  one hand and gave her horse several grateful pats with

  the other.

  At last, carefully holding the boards across their

  horses' shoulders, the four friends headed toward the

  open pasture. They followed Kincaid along the trail

  back to the ranch compound. After they put their

  horses into their stalls, they carried the tire impressions

  up to the ranch house. Nancy also carried the hubcap,

  which she had dropped in a burlap bag she had found

  in the stable.

  Melissa stepped off the back porch to greet them.

  “What on earth are those?” she asked as the girls

  arranged the tire track models on the grass.

  “This is terrible,” Melissa Turner said when her

  daughter told her what she and the others had

  discovered. “Lulu and Justice. Kincaid, honey, I'm so

  sorry. I know you feel awful, but don't worry. We'll get

  them back, I'm sure. Your dad's in town picking up

  some feed. I'll call him.”

  Nancy saw the sadness in Mrs. Turner's eyes. She's

  not that sure, Nancy thought. She's trying to cheer up

  Kincaid, but she's worried that they'll never see Lulu

  and Justice again.

  Nancy and the others followed Mrs. Turner into the

  kitchen to call Kincaid's father. Then she called the

  sheriff. “They'll both be here as soon as they can,” she

  said when she finally hung up the phone. “Your dad's

  real upset,” she reported to Kincaid, putting an arm

  around her daughter's shoulders.

  Mrs. Turner sighed, peered out the kitchen window

  and then back at her daughter. Nancy could see that

  Kincaid's mother was also very upset. The broad

  welcoming smile she had greeted them with had

  changed—her lips were now set in a tight straight line.

  Nancy was sure she was fighting back tears, too.

  “You go get cleaned up,” Mrs. Turner finally said.

  “I'm going to start dinner. By the time we get through

  talking to the sheriff, it'll be time to eat.” She took a

  deep breath.

  George followed Kincaid and Mrs. Turner into the

  huge kitchen to help with dinner before freshening up.

  Nancy and Bess headed toward their cabin, Nancy

  carrying the burlap bag with the hubcap in it. When

  they arrived, she slipped the hubcap out of the bag and

  onto a small table by the window.

  “What are you doing?” Bess asked, looking at the

  odd scratches in the middle of the hubcap.

  “I'm going to make a pencil rubbing,” Nancy said.

  “Maybe then we can see the design better.”

  “Nancy, what did you mean when you said that Lulu

  and Justice might have been taken by a different

  criminal?” Bess asked. “Are you saying thi
s might not

  have been just a rustling? That maybe by tearing their

  shelter up, someone was trying to give the Turners

  some kind of warning?”

  “It could be,” Nancy said. She took a blank piece of

  paper and placed it over the center of the hubcap,

  where the rusty scratches were.

  “Or do you mean that maybe it wasn't a regular

  rustling?” Bess suggested. “Maybe someone was

  specifically after Lulu and Justice?”

  “That's possible, too,” Nancy said. She took a soft

  pencil and lightly rubbed across the paper.

  Slowly, a picture began to form on the paper. It was

  like a photographic negative—dark with faint white

  markings in the middle.

  “It sort of looks like a flower,” Bess said. “But not

  exactly. What is it, Nancy?”

  “I'm not sure,” Nancy said, standing up. “Well, let's

  get washed up and back to the house. The sheriff will

  be here shortly and I want to make sure he gets the

  hubcap and this rubbing.”

  Nancy and Bess returned to the ranch house just as

  Bill Turner strode in. He was tall and handsome, with

  brown wavy hair. He looked very angry, but when he

  gave Kincaid a lopsided grin, his whole expression

  changed. “Don't you worry, honey,” he said. “We'll get

  that buzzard once and for all, and Lulu and Justice will

  be back before you know it.”

  Kincaid hugged her father, burying her tear-

  streaked face into his shoulder. Nancy watched as

  Kincaid's parents flashed worried glances at each other

  over Kincaid's head.

  Then Mr. Turner focused on Nancy. His dark blue

  eyes squinted as he stared at her intently. “Missy tells

  me you're quite a detective,” he said, nodding toward

  Melissa Turner. “Let's see what you brought back.”

  As the girls showed Kincaid's father the tire track

  impressions, Nancy heard the sheriff's truck pull to a

  stop outside the ranch house.

  “Hi, Bill . . . Melissa,” the sheriff said, tipping his

  wide-brimmed hat. “What's been happening here?

  More bison gone, hmmm?” He reminded Nancy of a

  football player with his thick, muscular body and close-

  cropped blond hair. Nancy figured he was probably

  about the same age as Kincaid's parents.

  “Matt, this has got to be stopped,” Mr. Turner

  yelled. “This time it was two of my daughter's—the one

  from the fair and her calf. They were isolated from the