She had soon scanned the first page and turned over to the next one. Suddenly she exclaimed, “Oh!”
“Bad news?” George asked.
“I don’t know,” Nancy replied. She pointed to a headline which read:RUMOR OF GOLD IN NEVADA DESERT RUSH TO SPOT EXPECTED
“Is it where we’re going?” Bess asked. “And do they mean the gold—”
George grabbed her cousin’s arm before she had a chance to give away their secret to anyone who might be snooping.
“Here’s a map of the area,” Nancy said, pointing it out in the paper.
The three girls studied it carefully and finally Nancy said, “Apparently it’s in the opposite direction from the one we’ll take out of Las Vegas.”
Bess sighed with relief. “Thank goodness. We’ve had enough trouble with strangers already.”
In a few minutes the boys rejoined the girls and Nancy showed them the newspaper story.
Ned whistled. “I hope none of the gold seekers come our way. That would spoil everything.”
As the group walked toward the boarding area, Nancy said suddenly, “What number are we? It’s like being in a maze. We’d better watch carefully for our sign.”
For a couple of seconds her friends said nothing. To an outsider Nancy’s conversation would seem perfectly rational. To her friends, using the third word in each sentence, she was saying, “Are being watch.”
One by one, members of Nancy’s group found an excuse to turn around completely to see who was watching them. All agreed upon a casually dressed young man. He seemed to be walking around aimlessly, but he always stayed close enough to hear as much of the young people’s conversation as possible. When he realized that they had detected his purpose, the man hurried away.
“One thing I’m sure of,” said Nancy, “is that he is not going on our plane. But he may want to make certain we’re aboard so that he can telephone the news to someone in Las Vegas.”
The trip to the Southwest was uneventful. On their arrival the young people taxied into the city in two cabs. They exclaimed over the garish downtown area.
“There must be billions of electric lights on these hotels, restaurants, and clubs,” remarked Bess, who was riding with Nancy.
It was a busy city, with taxis and private cars going up and down the streets in a steady stream. In a little while their cabs reached the residential area, which was very attractive and much quieter. The cabs pulled up in front of Neil Anderson’s home. It was spacious and had a beautiful flower garden.
Neil and his parents were charming people who made the visitors feel at home at once. A girl who was about fourteen years old came into the room and was introduced as Debbie, Neil’s younger sister.
“I’ll take you to your rooms,” she offered.
On the way through the split-level house, they passed the dining room. In it was a very long table set up as if for a banquet.
Debbie saw the looks of surprise on the visitors’ faces. “Big party here tonight,” she explained. “The rest of the Emerson group is in town and all the people going on the dig are coming here to dinner.”
“That’s great,” said Nancy. “Now we’ll be able to meet everyone. Debbie, I just can’t wait to see our caravan.”
“It’s pretty super,” the girl said. “I wish I could go on the dig, but they tell me I’m not old enough. I guess because I have so many little accidents, they think I don’t know how to be careful. I might ruin something precious that’s dug up.” She giggled.
“We’ll take lots of pictures,” Bess said kindly. “We’ll see that you get some.”
Since the dinner hour was only thirty minutes away, the young people quickly bathed and changed their clothes.
By the time they appeared, the other diggers had arrived. There were introductions, a lot of conversation, and a great deal of laughter.
Nancy was thrilled. What fun it was to join this jolly group and to try solving the mystery of the Forgotten City!
After dinner, the young people gathered in the garden. A graduate student from the University of Nevada, named Archie Arnow, immediately walked over to Nancy’s side to speak to her. At first she answered his questions lightly, but eventually she realized that he was trying to get information from her.
“I’ll pretend not to notice this,” she thought, giving him vague answers.
Several times Nancy tried moving away from him so she might talk to other people. He followed her very closely, and before she could say anything to her new friends, he would ask her another question.
“What a pest he is!” she told herself.
Nancy spotted Neil Anderson at one side of the garden. She made a sudden move, wedged her way through a group, and managed to get to Neil before Archie was aware of what had happened. Quickly Nancy asked Neil what kind of a person Archie was.
“Oh, he’s an archaeological whiz,” Neil replied, “but he’s not well liked. He’s very opinionated and secretive. Be careful, Nancy, or he may try to solve your mysteries for you.”
Nancy smiled. “Thanks for the tip.”
She said Archie had been following her around and asking questions. “I don’t know how much he has heard about what we’re going to hunt for out on the desert, so I thought it best not to tell him anything I knew.”
“You were wise, Nancy,” Neil said, “and you’d better warn your friends.”
Nancy alerted each one in her group.
George made a wry face. “I didn’t like Archie from the moment I met him. I wondered how you could be so patient, talking to him as long as you did.”
Nancy chuckled. “I couldn’t get away, but he didn’t learn anything from me.”
The following morning Nancy telephoned her home in River Heights. Hannah Gruen answered and told her that the police had phoned.
“They reported that Fleetfoot Joe had definitely left town,” she said. “McGinnis had phoned the Las Vegas police to be on the alert. So far he has heard nothing and suggested that if you should call, I should tell you to phone the police out there for information.”
Nancy did so at once but was told there was no news of the elusive thief.
As she left the phone, Nancy saw Ned coming toward her. She relayed her latest clue.
“Keep your eyes open,” he urged her.
Ned now told Nancy that he and the other boys would be busy the following day, helping to get the caravan ready.
“Is there anything we can do?” Nancy asked.
Ned shook his head. “Why don’t you girls go off and do some sightseeing in town?”
“I’d rather go out in the desert and visit the Lost City Museum.”
George and Bess were intrigued by this idea and immediately agreed to go with her. Nancy rented a car the next day and the three set off. The place was about fifty miles from Las Vegas and was situated in a desolate spot.
The museum was an attractive oblong tan stucco building. In front was a beautiful PaloVerde tree, which was unusual because everything about it was green—bark, stems, and leaves.
The girls were welcomed by a friendly man who said he was the curator. He offered to show them through the museum and explained that everything in it had come from the surrounding area.
“Are you girls interested in archaeology?” he asked.
“Yes we are,” Nancy replied. “In fact, we’re part of the group of diggers who are coming out to the desert tomorrow to work for a little while.”
The curator smiled and said he was glad to hear it. “Where are you going to locate?” he asked.
“Above the Forgotten City,” Nancy answered.
“Which one?” the man queried. “You know the Indian villages were strung along the Muddy River for some thirty miles. Of course, now they’re all buried. In fact, you wouldn’t believe it but four civilizations are buried in this territory.”
“Four?” Bess asked in astonishment.
“That’s right,” he said. “Their civilizations were built one on top of another. The to
p one was settled by people we here at the museum call the pit dwellers. This is because they built their dwellings or houses partially underground. Come outside and I’ll show you some that have been restored.”
He led the girls toward beehive-shaped clay huts. They were reddish tan in color. The visitors peered inside the first one. In the center of the floor were the remains of a fire.
“You see there’s a hole in the roof,” the curator explained. “The smoke went up through there.”
“How do you get in?” Bess asked. “There’s a doorway but no steps. Did the Indians jump down? I know from studies that they were rarely tall people.”
“They managed somehow,” the man replied. “But most of them entered through the roof. They climbed up a ladder to get there. Why don’t you step down inside? I think you can make it.”
Bess grabbed the sides of the doorway and put one foot down onto the floor. The next moment she skidded, turned her ankle, and went down in a heap.
“Oh, oh!” she cried out, pain creasing her face.
CHAPTER IX
The Weird Valley
INSTANTLY the curator jumped down through the opening and assisted Bess to her feet.
“I’m very sorry,” he said. “I should have stepped in first and helped you.”
By this time Nancy and George had come through the doorway.
“I see what happened,” Nancy said. “Here’s a little round stone. Bess, you must have skidded on it.”
She knelt down to look at Bess’s ankle, hoping it was not sprained.
“Let’s see if you can stand on it,” George suggested.
Bess found that she could but said it hurt to do so.
The curator spoke up. “My wife, daughter, and I live in the house connected to the museum. My daughter has had nurse’s training. Let’s see what she can do to help you.”
Bess put an arm around Nancy and George’s shoulders and hobbled on one foot back into the museum, then out onto a porch. Here it was shady and cool in contrast to the heat outside.
The curator went to get his daughter, who was very pleasant. In a short time she had bandaged Bess’s ankle tightly and the girl declared it felt much better.
“Bess, I suggest,” the young woman said, “that you leave the bandage on until you can ask a doctor just what the trouble is. My personal opinion is that it’s only a sprain.” The others were relieved to hear this.
Nancy and George felt that Bess should remain on the porch while they looked through the museum.
“Okay,” she agreed willingly.
The fascinating collection of relics in the museum included many different kinds of objects. There were arrowheads, stone spears, petrogylph tablets, bits of turquoise jewelry, pottery bowls, and scraps of baskets made from grasses.
“These baskets are probably the oldest things that have been found,” the curator said. “The Basket Makers belonged to the first civilization that was here.”
Nancy said, “Then some of the archaeologists have dug that deep?”
“It’s hard to say,” the man replied. “This basket might have been carried to this area in a stream, and picked up by someone from a later civilization. It’s very fragile. That’s why we have it behind glass.”
The girls spent a lot of time looking at each article.
Finally the man called to them. “I want you to see something special over here.”
They hurried to his side. He was standing beside a large case containing a complete human skeleton and many artifacts.
“This was a thirty-two-year-old woman,” the curator stated.
George remarked that the position of the skeleton seemed like a strange one in which to bury a person.
“It was the custom,” the man told her. “The Indians always buried their dead in the prenatal position.”
He told the girls that the cause of the woman’s death was a mystery. He looked at his visitors with a twinkle in his eye. “Perhaps you’d like to guess what it was?”
Nancy studied the objects in the case. Finally her eyes settled on a small stone plaque on which two sets of marks, one under the other, had been painted.
She said, “These lines are so jagged, they remind me of lightning. Is it possible that this woman was struck by lightninng and killed?”
“That’s a reasonable guess,” the man replied.
George, asked, “Do you have bad storms around here? I thought it rarely rained in the desert and that’s why it’s so hot and dry.”
The curator said she was partly right. “However, we do have thunderstorms and when we do, they’re dillies, let me tell you.” He grinned. “When you’re camping out in the desert, and one of those storms is coming up, you have to batten down good and stay under cover. The wind can be fierce, and sandy dirt and uprooted weeds blow all over the place.”
George asked if this was what was called tumbleweed, and did it actually roll across the desert?
“Some of it, yes,” was the answer.
The man excused himself, telling the girls to continue looking around. In a few minutes he returned with his wife. She was a smiling, motherly type of woman.
“We’d like to have you three girls stay to lunch,” she said.
“Thank you,” Nancy replied. “I’ll accept for all of us.”
She and George followed the woman out to the porch, where Bess and her “nurse” were sitting at a table. The others seated themselves. The curator said grace and Nancy was much impressed with his giving thanks for the works of the Deity, including the wonders of the desert.
Afterward he described the foods that might be found in the arid territory. “There are many uses for the cacti, even candy, and of course there are wild animals that can be shot and cooked.”
Bess remarked, “You have such a pretty garden. Where do you get water for it and for yourselves?”
“From an artesian well.”
Nancy was intrigued to hear this. So there was water deep under the surface. Maybe at some time this had been part of the Muddy River!
When there was a lull in the conversation, Nancy asked the curator if he knew Mrs. Wabash.
“Oh yes,” he answered. “A very fine woman.” He laughed and looked directly at Nancy. “She has a fantastic secret. Why don’t you ask her about it sometime?”
Nancy and George were afraid Bess might say something, but this time she kept quiet.
“I’ll do that,” Nancy said, deciding to ask the woman how much the curator knew.
He inquired, “Where are you going from here?”
Nancy said the girls planned to visit the Valley of Fire.
“Yes, do that. It is a fantastic place—one of nature’s great wonders. After you go to the Visitor’s Center there, ride on ahead for a little way and see the Mouse’s Tank.”
Bess giggled. “What a funny name! What is the Mouse’s Tank?”
The curator chuckled. “It was the hideout of a famous bandit.”
“With this bad ankle, that leaves me out,” Bess remarked.
“I’m afraid so,” the curator’s wife said, “You must climb to get there.”
The girls learned that at one time the area had been very wild, but now there was a good road leading to it, and a picnic spot had been built below the Mouse’s Tank.
When the group finished eating, the visitors thanked their host and hostess and their daughter, then drove off.
The three sightseers reached the first part of the Valley of Fire, where they looked around in awe, for they had never seen such an amazing sight. Enormous sandstone rocks were piled up, helter-skelter, to the height of a big hill.
Presently Bess cried out, “Look at that rock formation! It’s the perfect image of an elephant!”
They drove on a short distance, then George asked Nancy to stop. “See that strange formation up there! I want to get a picture of it.”
The rocks looked like three huge, perfectly formed birds’ claws, attached to part of a foot.
“This is like a
wild animal jungle turned to stone!” Bess exclaimed.
“It’s too bad we don’t have time to get out and walk among these rocks,” Nancy commented.
George returned to the car and a few minutes later asked Nancy to stop again. She pointed to a huge rocky mound surrounded by green ground cover.
“That rock looks just like a sleeping cow,” she said. “You can almost imagine that it’s going to get up soon and start grazing.”
Nancy had been silent for some time. Bess asked what she was thinking.
The girl detective smiled. “I was just trying to figure out this place. Perhaps once upon a time the area was fertile and huge beasts roamed around.
“One could almost imagine that there was a sudden volcanic eruption that tossed out rocks and a type of sandstone lava. The great beasts and birds were taken unaware and had no chance to escape. They died from the gas coming from the volcano.”
George looked at the girl detective. “Do you also believe the poor things turned to stone like a petrified tree?”
“Who knows?” Nancy countered. “The beasts might have been covered with lava that hardened. I suppose you’d have to crack the rocks open to see if there were any bones inside. Of course lava is so hot that it might have disintegrated the beasts’ whole body but left an outer coating.”
Bess sighed. “There are times, Nancy,” she said, “when your theories are way beyond me. I’m afraid this is one of them. Where do we go now?”
“To the Mouse’s Tank.”
The spot was deserted. The luncheonette-and-gift shop at the base of the rock was closed, and there were no cars around. Nancy parked and she and George got out.
“I’ll stay here,” Bess said. “My ankle doesn’t hurt, but I’d better not do any climbing.”
Nancy and George left her and walked forward. They were sorry no one was around to give them directions, but they finally found their way up to the entrance of the bandit’s cave and walked in.
“This sure is spooky,” George remarked. “What a place for a hunted man to hide! I wonder how deep the cave is.”
Nancy reminded her that since they had not brought flashlights and it was late in the afternoon, they had better not walk very far inside.
The Secret of the Forgotten City Page 5
