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Authors: Carolyn G. Keene

BOOK: The Secret of Shadow Ranch
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The Indian girl shook her head regretfully. “I threw the box and the other items away since they were worthless. You must take the watch, Nancy,” she added earnestly. “Please.”
Not wanting to hurt the girl’s feelings, Nancy consented. As she was thanking her, Dave strode into the store. He reported that the thief had not been caught. “Sheriff says he’ll keep an eye out for him, Mary.”
“That’s good,” the young shop owner said, then showed Dave the watch. “I’m giving this to Nancy,” she added, and repeated the history of the timepiece.
Dave seemed to be interested and examined the watch closely. When he returned it, Mary pinned it shyly to Nancy’s blouse.
As the girls were leaving the shop with Dave, Nancy noticed a small pastel drawing propped up on the counter. “What a beautiful scenel” she remarked.
Mary said it was the work of an artist who lived on Shadow Mountain. Struck by the lovely Western landscape, Nancy bought the picture.
When the group walked outside, Nancy saw a tall man in black jacket and pants seated on the bench under the cottonwood tree. He wore a black ten-gallon hat, and his light-brown eyes followed Nancy as she passed him. It seemed to her that his gaze was fastened on the watch. Could he be the frustrated thief?
“He might have left his coat and hat somewhere,” Nancy reasoned, “and put them on again after his escape. But why should he be interested in the watch, unless he’s after the Humber treasure and hoped to find a clue in it?”
As Dave drove out of town, Nancy saw the tall stranger staring after them. “The name of the ranch is on the side of the truck,” she thought uneasily. “If that man is after this watch, he’ll know just where to find me!”
Halfway to the ranch, the girls pointed out Indian cliff dwellings high on the mountain slope. Nancy asked if this was the area once owned by the Humbers and Dave nodded.
“Good place to look for curios like pieces of pottery,” George remarked.
“You girls stay away from there!” he advised sharply. When Nancy asked why, Dave explained that the stairs leading up from the valley floor were worn and broken. “Very dangerous,” he said.
When they reached the ranch, Dave parked the truck at the stable. The girls heard laughter coming from the corral and saw Tex Britten perched on the fence. Bess was mounted on a brown quarter horse and holding a coiled lariat.
“Watch me!” she called. “I’m learning to rope a steer.”
Nancy and George walked over and saw Bud Moore put his hands on his head like horns and prance in front of Bess’s horse. “Come on and rope me, pardner!” he said.
“Come and rope me, pardner!” Bud challenged Bess
 
Bess frowned, bit her lip, and managed to get a noose twirling. Then
plop
—it dropped over the head of her own horse!
Tex gave a piercing whistle. George and Nancy burst into laughter while the “steer” helped blushing Bess to dismount.
“Never mind,” said Nancy. “You didn’t want to be a cowboy, anyway!”
As the boys called joking remarks about the next roping lesson, the girls walked off together. At the house Nancy told Bess, Aunt Bet, and Alice all that had happened in town. She showed the watch and related its history.
“Shorty Steele is the one who told us the legend of the phantom horse,” said Aunt Bet, “but he never mentioned the treasure. Maybe he doesn’t know that part of the story.”
“Or perhaps he kept it to himself,” Nancy thought. Aloud she said, “Would it be all right if we hunt for the treasure?”
“By all means.”
While the others were examining the old-fashioned watch, Nancy took the pastel picture from her bag and propped it on the living-room table.
Alice saw it and turned pale. “Nancy! Where did you get this?”
As Nancy explained, Alice picked up the painting. “My father did this—I’m sure of it!” She told them that Ross Regor was an amateur artist and always carried a small case of pastels with him. Whenever he had a few leisure minutes he devoted the time to sketching and Alice was positive she could recognize his work.
“We must find the artist,” she said. “I just know he’s my father!”
The others could not help feeling that Alice was clutching at straws. Nevertheless, Aunt Bet offered to take her young niece to town the next morning to question Mary Deer.
That night after supper Nancy slipped into a heavy jacket, took a flashlight, and went for a walk alone. She made her way past the stable, chicken coops, and corral to the edge of the big meadow. As she stood thinking, the wind whistled down the valley and tossed the treetops. Chief came padding over from the stable and nuzzled her hand.
Nancy turned and looked back. There was a light shining through a crack in the spring-house wall! “Who’d be there now?” she wondered.
As she hurried to investigate, one foot stepped on a large twig.
Crack!
In a moment the light went out!
Her sleuthing instincts aroused, Nancy tiptoed to the door, pulled it open, and shone her light inside. Empty!
A shiver ran up Nancy’s spine. It was impossible!
She walked away slowly, puzzling over the incident. Suddenly a long weird whistle sounded in the direction of the meadow. From among the bordering trees—as if in response to the whistle—galloped a white, filmy horse! The phantom!
CHAPTER VI
Shorty’s Shortcut
FOR a moment Nancy froze at the sight of the ghostly steed galloping across the meadow. Then she raced toward the fence, calling the alarm.
At the same time a yell came from the stable. “Phantom—phantom!” It was Shorty’s voice. “Saddle up, everybody!”
There were answering shouts as the cowboys appeared on the run and dashed to the stable. The other girls rushed up to Nancy who was staring tensely over the fence into the meadow. Chief joined the excited group. He began barking and made a beeline for the phantom horse, which had turned and seemed to be floating toward the far end of the meadow.
Soon the mounted ranchmen thundered out of the stable. Shorty took the lead. “Come on! This time we’re gonna run that critter to earth!”
But the phantom horse was already far ahead of the pursuers. Only the dog was getting close. As the girls watched, the eerie figure reached the stand of trees at the far end of the meadow. In the wink of an eye it vanished.
Bess drew a shuddering breath. “The ghost’s gone! Right into thin air!”
“Nonsense,” George said gruffly.
“How can anything disappear like that?” asked Alice.
“It’s amazing,” Nancy admitted. “We should have been able to see it glowing among the trees for a few moments.” Suddenly she remembered the prophecy that destruction would follow any appearance of the phantom. “Come on!” she exclaimed. “The real trouble is somewhere else.”
She and the other girls hurried back to the house. All seemed quiet there. A glance into the kitchen showed Aunt Bet trying to calm Mrs. Thurmond. The girls hastened on to their rooms.
With an exclamation of dismay Nancy stopped in the doorway. The room she shared with the cousins was a shambles! Pillows were ripped, blankets lay on the floor. All the drawers had been dumped. Alice ran next door to her room and came back to say that it had not been touched.
“Someone wants us to leave Shadow Ranch, all right,” George declared.
“More than that,” Nancy said thoughtfully. “Someone may be looking for Frances Humber’s watch.”
“But only we girls and the Rawleys know Mary Deer gave it to Nancy,” Alice objected.
“You’re forgetting the man in town,” Nancy said, “and Dave. Both were very much interested in it.”
“Well, where is the watch?” asked Bess, looking fearful.
“I’m wearing it,” said Nancy, “under my sweater.” Before supper she had changed to a yellow blouse and skirt with a matching slipover.
While she and Bess and George began to clear up the mess, Alice hurried to the kitchen to tell her aunt and Mrs. Thurmond what had happened. They hurried back to help. By the time the beds were made again and the pillows replaced with spare ones, the men had returned.
“The phantom got away,” Ed Rawley said gloomily. “Chief was at his heels, but he has not come back and it worries me.”
“I’m sorry,” said Nancy. “I’m afraid we have other bad news for you.” Quickly she reported what had happened.
“The purpose of the phantom is clear,” she declared. “It’s to frighten you and attract attention to the meadow while the real damage is being done somewhere else.”
“If we could only catch the thing, it would surely give us a clue to who is doing all this,” Ed Rawley said, and Nancy agreed.
The next morning at breakfast Dave reported that Chief still had not returned.
“The phantom got him, poor dog,” Mrs. Thurmond said dolefully. “Same as it will get us all.”
As soon as the meal was over, Nancy said she was going out for a canter. She put on riding clothes and hastened to the stable where Tex saddled a handsome bay for her. Nancy was a skillful rider and she enjoyed the gallop in the meadow looking for clues to the phantom. But whatever marks it had left had been obscured by the pursuing horsemen.
At the far end of the field, Nancy rode into a stand of cottonwood where the strange creature had vanished. Here she found a path which led to the foot of the mountain and up the slope. Had the phantom gone that way?
Nancy reined her horse about and hurried to the ranch house, where she rounded up Bess and George. “Want to join me in a search party?”
“You bet,” her friends chorused.
Shorty offered to lead them and within half an hour the four riders were following the path up the mountain.
It was a steep, high climb. All was silent, except for the creak of the saddles and the clop of the horses’ hooves on the stones. Finally the path leveled off and they came to a narrow stream, which they splashed across.
“This is just a crick now,” said Shorty. “But come one good cloudburst—and it’ll turn into a roarin’ flood so bad only a river horse could cross it. That’s the kind you’re ridin’ now. They’re big and don’t get rattled—know how to swim with the current.”
Near noon Nancy suddenly reined up. “Listen!” she said. Somewhere among the rocks overhead a dog was barking. Apache Chief?
Within a moment George glimpsed the roof of a cabin among the crags above. “Maybe Chief’s up there!” she exclaimed.
Nancy observed that it looked as though the path they were on would lead to the cabin.
“I know a shortcut. Come with me,” Shorty said quickly.
He rode ahead and led them to a side path. He explained to the girls that the other route became impassable farther up the mountain. After they had ridden for fifteen minutes Shorty stopped, pulled off his hat, and wiped his forehead with his bandanna.
“I gotta confess we strayed onto the wrong trail.” He shrugged. “No use goin’ back up. Get-tin’ too late. We better make tracks for the ranch.”
Disappointed, Nancy and her friends followed him along a new trail which eventually rejoined the first path. They reached Shadow Ranch in midafternoon.
When they dismounted in front of the stable, Shorty said, “I’m mighty sorry we didn’t find that dog.”
Nancy replied, “So am I.” She could not help suspecting that Shorty had pretended to be lost and deliberately kept them away from the cabin. She made up her mind to go back. The three girls discussed the possibility of his having double-crossed them.
“I’ll bet he did!” George declared.
At the house they found Alice waiting for them, her face glowing. “Nancy,” she cried out, “Mary Deer says the artist’s name is Bursey and he lives in a cabin on Shadow Mountain!” The older girls exchanged meaningful looks.
“Alice,” Nancy said happily, “I think I know where it is. We’ll go there tomorrow. Maybe we’ll find Chief, too.”
That night Alice came to the girls’ room. She was puzzled. If the artist
was
her father, why was Chief with him?
“I wish I could answer,” said Nancy. “And, Alice dear, please don’t get your hopes up too high. It may not be the cabin where the artist lives, although I have a hunch it’s connected with the mystery of Shadow Ranch.”
As Nancy spoke, she was turning the old-fashioned watch over in her hand. Absently she ran her finger along the front edge and suddenly felt a tiny obstruction. She pushed it and instantly a thin lid sprang forward.
“Why—it’s a secret compartment!” she exclaimed.
On the top side of the lid was the small faded photograph of a handsome man with flowing dark hair.
“That must be Dirk Valentine!” Nancy cried, and showed it to the other girls. In the frame next to the picture of the man was a tiny corner from another picture.
“That one’s been torn out,” said Alice.
“It must have been a photo of Frances Humber,” Bess observed.
Carefully Nancy removed the old picture. On the back in faded ink was the initial “V.” In tiny script under it were the words:
“green bottle in—”

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