Mystery in Arizona (5 page)

“I’m never going on a desert picnic,” Di moaned.

“That’s final.”

Mart spoke again, quite loudly. “Since the bite of the centipede can be very painful, I have no intention of attempting to rope and throw one of that species.
However, I must assure you timid squaws that he will not attack unless cornered and forced to defend himself. Now the scorpion is something else again. He doesn’t bite, but does he sting!”

“Never mind,” Jim interrupted. “You don’t have to scare the girls to death, Mart. It’s perfectly true that in the Gila Valley there are plenty of death-dealing scorpions, black widow spiders, coral and rattlesnakes—so what? In our own Hudson River Valley there is the deadly copperhead. And we all go for rides and hikes in the woods just the same.”

“True,” said Mart. “True. I personally have no fear of the desert fauna or flora. If possible, I intend to hunt both with my camera. If I do not return to the East with a picture of the Gila monster I shall consider that I have wasted my vacation.”

Di uttered a faint scream. “The Gila monster?”

“A very poisonous but most sluggish lizard,” Mart explained loftily. “A direct descendant of dinosaurs that once roamed about the Gila Valley. In fact, I understand that he closely resembles in loathsomeness both the flesh-eating
allosaur
and his larger vegetarian cousin, the
diplodocus
.”

Honey turned around to face Mart then. “If you have to use all those big words why don’t you think up
some pleasant ones? I don’t want to hear any more about dinosaurs. Please! I don’t even like the harmless lizards, though I once saw a chuckwalla that looked kind of cute—from a distance.”

Mart nodded. “I shall tame one for you along with the horned toad which is another friendly little lizard. Each of you squaws may expect to find a pet in the toe of your stocking on Christmas morn.”

“Oh fine!” said Trixie sarcastically. “I’m going to fill your stocking with prickly pear cacti just for fun.”

“Why, thank you,” replied Mart. “All contributions gratefully received. Could I, perhaps, induce you to present me with a super specimen of the giant saguaro cactus? One that is fifty feet high and weighs not less than ten tons?” He turned to Honey. “You might join with Trixie in giving me this small present. If you do, pick out one that is filled with woodpeckers and owls. As you may or may not know, they nest in this variety of cactus.”

“Let’s pay no attention to him,” Trixie said in a loud whisper, “and maybe he’ll go away. Besides, we’re not going to hang up our stockings or give each other presents until we go home. This year we Beldens are going to celebrate Christmas at New Year’s.”

“Really?” Di and Honey asked in one voice. “I’m afraid you’ll have to celebrate Christmas at Tucson, too,
Trix,” Honey added. “There’s sure to be a gala party on Christmas Eve at the ranch. And Di’s uncle will be awfully disappointed if we don’t give and receive some presents there on Christmas Day.”

“That’s right,” Di agreed. “You Beldens can buy one another little presents in the ten-cent stores.”

“Not me,” Mart interrupted firmly. “I insist upon a huge saguaro. Its blossom is the state flower of Arizona, for your information. Just as the yucca blossom is the state flower of New Mexico. Indian women used to gather the hearts of the yucca, which is a member of the lily family, and bake them. You squaws might well emulate them and thus produce a succulent Indian dish on one of our forthcoming desert picnics.”

“He’s insane,” Trixie hissed. “In his imagination he has been roaming the desert for days and days, alone and on foot, having previously killed and eaten his horse. Crazed with thirst, he will pounce upon the first barrel cactus he sees, cut off the top, and drink the liquid he squeezes from the pulp. As they say in Spanish, he is
el hombre loco
, the crazy guy.”

“No, no,” Mart argued, “I am merely a cactomaniac. For the simple reason that I promised my English teacher that I would write an article on that extremely fascinating subject.”

“That reminds me,” Brian broke in. “I couldn’t help overhearing some of the interesting things our stewardess was telling you girls a while ago. Don’t you think you’d better make some notes for your theme, Trix? The sooner you get going on it, the sooner Jim and I can start correcting your grammatical errors.”

Trixie turned around to glare at him. “How do you know I’m going to make any grammatical errors? And, in case you’re interested, I’ve already done enough research so I can write reams and reams about the Navahos any time I feel like it.”

Mart shook his forefinger under her pert nose. “A slight exaggeration, to put it mildly. Why, little one, must you always pick subjects about which you know nothing?”

Trixie sniffed. “You don’t know much about cactus. I’ll have you know that those yucca hearts which you crave have to be baked between heated rocks for three days. Apache women may have hovered over a hot stove for that length of time, but no modern woman would think of such a thing.”

Mart shrugged. “If you know so much about Apaches, why did you pick Navahos? However, I am very well-informed on the subject, so you may feel free to seek my advice at any time when I am
at leisure. For the small fee of a dollar an hour.”

Trixie snorted with disgust. “Go find another bonanza.”

“A what?” Di demanded curiously. “Are you talking about some of those awful lizards?”

Mart chuckled. “A bonanza is nothing for you to be afraid of, Di. If you were a miner and found one it would mean that you had struck a rich vein of gold or silver. In slang it simply means anything yielding a large return of money.”

“Which thing,” Trixie said emphatically, “I definitely am not. I have exactly two dollars—a dollar a week for spending money. Period. Full stop, Mart.”

Just then the pretty Apache stewardess began to serve lunch. Mart let out a yelp.

“Roast turkey with stuffing and candied sweet potatoes as I sniff and die!”

“A sniff,” said Babs cheerily, “is all you’re going to get for quite a while. I am going to serve Mr. Lynch now and then the girls. The boys get their trays last.”

“You’re not a true Apache woman,” Mart groaned. “If this were a wickiup or hogan the womenfolk would have to wait until we menfolk were through.”

Babs, on her way back to the galley for two more trays, stopped to pat his freckled cheek. “In this big flying wigwam it’s ladies first. In fact, with my people it always has been ladies first. We who do the cooking must always taste, must we not?” She narrowed her dark eyes, laughing softly. “One can do a great deal of tasting before one pronounces the meal ready for the big braves!”

Mart collapsed, his face flaming. “I never thought about that angle,” he admitted gruffly. “The average female probably had already consumed a full meal before she yelled, ‘Come and get it.’ ”

“You have a lot to learn,” said Trixie complacently, when the girls started to eat. “Most Indians had a great deal of respect for their women, especially the grandmothers. Navaho women were mistresses of their homes—are, I should say, because they still contribute a lot of money to the family income. They make rugs and jewelry and grow corn and they own the herds of sheep and goats.”

“How and where did you pick up all that knowledge?” Mart demanded suspiciously. “Sounds to me as though it came out of a tourist’s guide booklet.”

Trixie tossed her blond curls. “You probably don’t know either that Navaho husbands are terrified of their mothers-in-law. In fact, they never meet face to face if they can possibly avoid it, because it is believed that if
they should look at each other one or both of them will become blind or wither away.”

Mart started to laugh but Babs, bringing the boys’ trays, joined in the conversation then. “Trixie is right. Navaho women are greatly respected by their men. At some dances the girls choose their own partners and when they marry young couples live with the wife’s family in a nearby hogan.”

She shook her head, smiling faintly. “In Navaholand there is no such thing as a dependent woman. When the widowed grandmother becomes aged, a healthy young boy or girl is given to her so that she will receive proper care and affection until she joins her ancestors.”

Everyone, even the boys, listened attentively as she continued in her soft low voice. “Contrary to general belief, Indian marriages are not arranged by the parents. A girl may remain unmarried all of her life if she chooses without receiving any criticism whatsoever. But both Navaho and Apache girls have coming-out parties. I made what you might call my debut at the ceremony of the Big Wickiup which lasts for three days. You can imagine how much it cost my father to provide food for many guests during all that time. But he has never once scolded me for deciding to have a career instead of getting married.”

Mr. Lynch, from his seat across the aisle, laughed. “You’re still too young to be considered an old maid, Miss Slater,” he said.

Smiling, Babs took his tray and went back to the galley for dessert and coffee.

When they had all finished lunch, Brian said sternly to Trixie, “Study hall is that empty seat way up in front. Come on. We’re going to do fractions and then more fractions. By the time we land in Tucson you should be able to reduce at least a few of them to the lowest common denominator.”

Trixie groaned. “I’d like to reduce you to the lowest speck of dust on earth.” But she meekly followed him up the aisle, and studied hard until the plane circled above Tucson and came down to land at the Municipal Airport.

“Welcome to the Sunshine City!” Di’s uncle called to them as they followed the crowd into the waiting room. Mr. Wilson was not much taller than Jim but he was so thin that he looked much taller. Like his sister, Di’s mother, he had very blue eyes which usually twinkled merrily.

But now, although he greeted them cordially, Trixie sensed that he was worried about something. His eyes were frowning in spite of the broad grin on his weather-beaten
face, and right away he drew Mr. Lynch and Di off to a far corner of the waiting room.

While the boys were collecting the luggage, Trixie whispered to Honey, “Did you notice how worried Mr. Wilson seems? I’ll bet he wishes we hadn’t come now.”

Honey nodded. “I wonder what could have happened. He certainly wanted us very much when he telephoned Mrs. Lynch on Friday morning. What could have happened during the weekend to change his mind?”

“I have no idea,” Trixie moaned. “Oh, look at Di. She’s on the verge of tears.”

“So am I,” Honey admitted. “Oh, Trixie! I have a feeling that we’re going to be sent back home on the next plane!”

Di’s huge violet eyes were filled with tears as she and her uncle and father came slowly back across the waiting room to join the others.

“Under the circumstances,” Trixie heard Mr. Lynch say, “I am forced to agree with you. I’ll make arrangements right now so that the kids can be flown back home tomorrow morning.”

“It’s a shame,” Mr. Wilson said sorrowfully. “I wouldn’t have had it happen for the world.”

The boys stared at him in speechless amazement. “But I don’t understand, sir,” Jim finally got out. “Why—”

“I’ll explain while we drive out to the ranch,” Di’s uncle said.

Dismally they followed him out of the terminal and over to the parking lot. As she climbed into the station wagon Trixie said to herself fiercely in order to keep back the tears of disappointment,
I don’t care. I’d much rather spend Christmas at home anyway. I don’t care. I don’t care!

But she did care and so did all of the others. Even
Mart, who usually said something funny in moments like this, was wearing a subdued and puzzled expression on his freckled face. They all stared unseeingly out of the windows as they passed through the city.

“What a sunset!” Mr. Lynch murmured. “Glorious, isn’t it? Did you ever see such flaming colors?”

Honey, always polite no matter how awful things were, said, “All of the colors in the rainbow. You never see anything like this back home—not in winter anyway.” Her voice dwindled away, and at last Mr. Wilson began to speak.

“I’m just sick about it,” he began, “but there’s nothing I can do. The servant problem is always acute at this time of the year when all of the guest ranches are packed and jammed. Reservations are made months in advance, you know, and a great many ranch owners hire extra help for the Christmas season. So I haven’t a prayer of getting anyone who might take the Orlandos’ place, nor is there the slightest chance that I could farm you kids out at another ranch until the emergency is over.”

“I still don’t understand, sir,” Jim said. “Who are the Orlandos and why—”

“Oh, Jim,” Di broke in tearfully, “I don’t quite understand it myself and neither does Uncle Monty. The
Orlandos are a Mexican family who work for him. Suddenly last night, without any warning, they went away. So now he has a houseful of guests but no help except the cook who can’t do everything, especially since she has a little boy about Bobby’s age.”

“That’s right,” Mr. Wilson said dolefully. “The
señora
is my housekeeper; her husband,
Señor
Orlando, is my major-domo. Their sons and daughters serve as waiters, waitresses, and maids. Their daughter-in-law, Maria, is my cook, and why she didn’t depart with the others I’ll never know. I am very grateful that she stayed on, but of course in a household as large as mine, not to mention the guest cabins, she can’t be expected to do anything except cook. She really can’t even do that without some help. Who is going to prepare the vegetables, wash the dishes and pots and pans?”