Mystery in Arizona (15 page)

“I guess you shouldn’t,” Trixie admitted reluctantly. “I heard her talking to Tenny—you know, the cowboy. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop but I couldn’t help it because they were on the patio right outside my window. It sounded to me as though she were in some awful trouble. I mean, as if she had done something so disgraceful that she was expelled from school and couldn’t go home.”

Mrs. Sherman snorted. “Since you’ve got exactly the wrong impression, I’d better tell you what’s what. You know that Rosita’s father is a famous silversmith and that her mother helps him make the jewelry. Rosita knew that they could accomplish a great deal more with
less work if they used modern tools. So she persuaded them to buy some sort of newfangled contraption which was obviously beyond them because the father cut his hand very badly right away. Instead of having it treated by a doctor, he fooled around with the tribal medicine man until it reached a stage where even the medicine man advised him to go to a surgeon. The surgeon charged a hundred dollars for the operation, and before Rosita’s father can use his hand again he will have to have treatments to the tune of another four hundred dollars.” She sighed. “Nothing would make me happier than to give that pretty child the money, but of course she is too proud to accept charity.”

Trixie nodded. “So she left school to earn the money herself? But her family doesn’t know that she’s
working
here, so how does she explain the money she sends them?”

“It’s very complicated,” Mrs. Sherman said exasperatedly. “Rosita arranged it all with the surgeon. Her father thinks he paid for the operation and is paying for the treatments himself with bits of jewelry. The surgeon accepts whatever he brings and then sends the bills to Rosita.”

“But isn’t Navaho jewelry expensive?” Trixie asked.

“Some of it is,” Mrs. Sherman agreed. “But during the weeks when Rosita’s father was unable to work they sold all of the best pieces. They had to eat, you know. The rings and necklaces he brings to the surgeon are, I gather, worth about five dollars each. Even that
concha
belt which I bought from Rosita along with the other baubles is only salable to a museum—for about twenty dollars. If only she’d let me
give
her the money!”

She groaned as she crammed a wad of frothy lingerie into a bureau drawer. “Frankly, I’m sick and tired of being rich. It complicates everything. When Ned and I were running our restaurant I was as happy as a road runner because I was busy the livelong time. But his dying wish was that I should sell out and live in the lap of luxury forever after. He knew I’d always had a yen to spend a few months during the winter at a dude ranch and so here I am. But fun is fun for a little while. After that it gets dull. If only Maria would quit, I’d be as happy as a queen.”

She gave Trixie a little push. “Now run along, honey. I can manage the rest of this mess.”

Trixie slipped out into the living-room. The mystery of Rosita’s problems was solved, but why did Mrs. Sherman keep saying that she would be perfectly happy if Maria left? It didn’t make sense. Trixie knew now that
Mrs. Sherman was so kindhearted that she couldn’t dislike anyone. So why did she want Maria to leave?

Trixie, guessing that she must have spent a whole hour with Mrs. Sherman, hurried out to the first cabin on her list. She worked as fast as she could but she knew she didn’t have a prayer of getting through before luncheon.

As she made beds and dusted she kept thinking,
The
mystery
of Rosita’s problems is solved, but the problems aren’t. There must be something somebody can do to help her so she can go back to school at the end of the holidays
.

To get that close to a high-school diploma and then leave seemed dreadful to Trixie, who always lived in the fear she wouldn’t be promoted. Thinking about school reminded her of the assignments which were waiting for her and she began to feel very sorry for herself.

Another day without a ride! “I won’t eat lunch,” she decided. When she heard the bell chime, it seemed as though she had eaten that peanut butter sandwich days instead of hours ago. “But I’d rather die of starvation than miss the rodeo,” she told herself.

It was one-thirty when she finished the last of her chores and staggered wearily into the kitchen to help the girls with the dishes.

“Where on earth have you been?” Honey asked, frowning. “When you didn’t show up for lunch at twelve-thirty we guessed you were studying so I made you a batch of sandwiches and took them to our room. But you weren’t there, and, oh, Trixie, you hadn’t been studying. Where were you?”

“I got stuck with Mrs. Sherman,” Trixie said, trying to sound cheerful. “Isn’t it great? She’s going to stay!”

“Yes,” Honey agreed, “but it’s a shame that you got stuck with her. If you haven’t done your assignments by two-thirty the boys won’t let you go riding. Forget about these dishes, and hurry, hurry, hurry.”

Trixie raced off, and while munching the sandwiches Honey had left on the desk she managed to write two pages on her theme. “That should satisfy Brian,” she told herself, and started on the math problems.

Honey appeared then and peered over her shoulder. “Oh, my goodness,” she wailed. “You haven’t even corrected the first one on the page, and we’re supposed to leave in about ten minutes. Jim will never let you go, so I’m not going either. I don’t care if it is sort of cheating—I’m going to stay and help you with those problems so at least you can go to the rodeo.”

“Don’t be silly,” Trixie said rather crossly. “I don’t feel much like riding anyway, and if you’ll just stop
bothering me I’ll have these problems corrected before the rodeo.”

“Well, all right, if you feel
that
way about it,” Honey said in a hurt tone of voice, and she quickly changed into riding clothes and departed.

Trixie was sorry that she had spoken crossly to Honey but she knew that was the only way to make her friend go off without her. And pretty soon she began to wish that she had accepted Honey’s offer of help. The first problem was easy and she quickly found the mistake she had made in the second one. But the third was baffling; it made no sense. Finally in desperation she skipped it and corrected the others. When she went back to Problem Three it was just as baffling.

Trixie began to pace the floor of the tiny room. Now it did indeed seem to be a prison cell. Finally she took her workbook and went out through the window to the patio.

“I’ve just got to figure out how many gallons of gas that silly old farmer used,” she muttered to herself. “If only he’d lived in the days of horses and mules instead of the gasoline age!”

“What seems to be the trouble?”

Trixie jumped and whirled around. She had been muttering so loudly that she hadn’t heard Tenny come out of the dining-room. He was grinning broadly.

“What’s all this about hosses and mules?”

Trixie could no longer control her pent-up feelings. “Oh, stop it,” she stormed. “I know you’re not a real cowboy,
Mr. Stetson
. I don’t know why you’re masquerading as one but you’re wasting all of that lingo on me. I’ll bet you’re a college graduate.”

He howled with laughter. “Wal, now, I’ll be hog-tied. You’re a right smart little filly, you are. How did you guess?”

“I heard you talking perfect English to Rosita,” Trixie said, grinning herself now. “And again last night to a teacher at the school after
La Posada
.”

He threw up his hands. “Okay. But it’s got to be our secret, Trix. I’ll lose my job if you give me away, although Mr. Wilson knows of course that I’m working for my Ph.D. at the University. This is just a part-time job so I can earn the money for my expenses.”

“Oh!” Trixie exclaimed. “Then some day you will be Dr. Stetson?”

He nodded. “After I finish my thesis—and if it’s good enough. There’s an assistant-professorship waiting for me at the University when I get my degree. Last year I earned my expenses teaching math at the Indian school. But a boarding-school teacher doesn’t have
much time to himself in the evening. Among other things, there are always papers to be corrected, pupils who need extra instruction, and—”

“Math!” Trixie croaked. “If ever a pupil needed special instruction in that subject it’s me … I mean I.” She thrust her workbook at him. “Does Problem Three make any sense to you?”

He glanced through it swiftly. “Easy as fallin’ off a hoss. Come sit here beside me on the glider and I’ll show you where you went off the beam.”

In less than a minute Trixie discovered to her amazement that the problem was really very simple after all. In another minute she had worked out the right answer.

“You certainly are a wonderful teacher,” she sighed with relief. She explained to him then why she had to study during the holidays. “The trouble with the boys is,” she finished, “they have no patience with me. No,” she corrected herself with a giggle, “the truth is that
I
have no patience. I didn’t really read that problem carefully. If I had I wouldn’t have had the answer come out in gallons instead of square miles. No wonder Jim glares at me when I make such stupid mistakes.”

Tenny laughed. “I’d like to keep on helping you while I’m here, but I can’t. A lot of the dudes wouldn’t
like it if they knew I was working for my Ph.D. They want their cowboys to behave and talk like the cowboys they’ve read about and seen in the movies and on TV. So you mustn’t give me away, Trix.”

“I won’t,” she promised solemnly.

He took her hand and swung her to her feet. “Get rid of that workbook. The rodeo will be starting pretty soon.”

Trixie reached in through the window and dropped the workbook on the floor. Then she and Tenny started off for the corral.

“I’ve been wondering,” he said, “why you didn’t go riding with the other kids. I’m glad that mystery has been cleared up. You look as though you could ride like a streak.”

“I’m nowhere near as good as Honey and Jim are,” Trixie told him, “but I just love it.” Then she added thoughtfully, “Now I know why you didn’t bother to speak cowboy lingo to Rosita. She recognized you right away because you were her math instructor last year.”

He nodded. “I feel awfully sorry for that kid. It’s a shame she can’t finish school. Her ambition is to be an airline stewardess, you know, but she can’t apply without a high-school diploma.”

“Oh, that’s awful,” Trixie moaned. “Don’t you think
she’ll go back to school when her father is able to use his hand again?”

He stopped on the gravel path to stare down at her in surprise. “So you know all about that accident?”

“Yes,” Trixie said, “and I also know now why you said Mrs. Sherman has a heart as big as a horse blanket. You found out that she bought Rosita’s jewelry for a hundred dollars.”

“Rosita finally told me,” he said, “because she was afraid I might think she had stolen it.” He shook his head. “Rosita is her own worst enemy. She is so very proud. Leaving school now will mean that if she wants to get her diploma she will have to go back next fall and repeat the whole year. I’m afraid she won’t do that because it would look as though she had been kept back; moreover, she would be the oldest girl in her class. Kids of that age are very sensitive about things like that. No,” he finished, “she’ll stay on here or get a similar job at another place. And there goes her dream of being a flight stewardess.”

“We’ve got to do something about Rosita,” Trixie said determinedly. “I’ll talk to the other Bob-Whites. Maybe they’ll have some good ideas.”

“Are you going to ride in the rodeo?” Trixie asked Tenny as they continued on down toward the corral.

He roared with laughter. “That would be a dead giveaway. All I know about roping and bulldogging and bronc-breaking I got out of books and from watching real cowboys at work.”

“But you ride very well,” Trixie said. “Honey and Di and the boys told me that you ride as well as Regan.”

“Who’s Regan?” Tenny asked curiously.

“He’s the Wheelers’ groom,” Trixie explained. “He’s just wonderful to all of us boys and girls although I know we drive him crazy lots of times. I mean, when we’re in a hurry we’re apt to neglect the tack and not groom the horses properly. But even though Regan’s hair is as red as Jim’s he hardly ever gets really and truly mad at us.”

“He must be a redheaded angel,” said Tenny with a laugh. “And I guess you could say that Howie is an angel, too. Most of the dudes try his patience sorely but he
seldom gets really and truly mad. Not for long, anyway.”

“You made him sound like an ogre the other night,” Trixie said. “I’m glad to hear he’s sort of like Regan. His bark is a lot worse than his bite, I guess.”

Tenny nodded. “As a matter of fact I owe this job to Howie. He knows I’m not a real cowboy and he could have refused to hire me even though Mr. Wilson asked him to take me on. Lucky for me he really did need somebody to give riding lessons to beginners and he thought I would fit the bill.”

“Where did you learn to ride so well?” Trixie asked. “Were you brought up on a ranch out here?”

He shook his head. “No. My home is in the East, too. My father loved to ride and always kept a couple of saddle horses, and I had a pony when I was a kid. I can’t remember when I didn’t know how to ride.”