Chapter 12 The Mystery at the Ski Jump by Carolyn Keene
A Disastrous Jump
Chuck Wilson chatted cheerfully as he led Nancy up the long slope where they were to begin their skiing lesson. But Nancy’s thoughts were far away. She kept wondering about R. I. Channing and whether her hunch about the man was correct. Was Mitzi Channing’s husband really in Montreal? Was he the mystery jumper?
“Maybe I should have tried harder to find him,” she chided herself.
The ski instructor noticed her faraway look. When they reached the top of the slope, he said:
“Time for class! Suppose you take off from here. I want to study your skiing style.”
With a quick shove on her sticks Nancy glided away.
“Not bad. Not bad at all!” Chuck called as she completed her trial run. “You have self-confidence and a fine sense of balance. Have you ever done any cross-country touring?”
“No,” Nancy admitted. “But I’d like to learn.”
“We can try some jumps tomorrow,” her companion said, smiling. “You shouldn’t have any trouble. Now take off again and try not to bear so much to the left, Nancy. You need more of what the French call—abandon.”
“Abandon?”
“You know—easy does it.” Chuck smiled. “Learn to ride lightly on your skis. To sway rhythmically at the turns. Rigid muscles and a stiff back can cause broken bones and bad falls.”
When the lesson was over, Nancy turned to her instructor. “Thanks for everything,” she told him. “Tomorrow I’d like to try some field jumps. But now I mustn’t take any more of your time.”
“My time is yours,” Chuck said. “I have no more lessons scheduled for today.”
Nancy was pleased. Perhaps she could get Chuck to forget skiing and talk about himself. He almost read her mind.
“I’d like to take you out to dinner tonight,” he said, “and perhaps go dancing.”
Nancy hesitated. Her father—again the young man read her mind. “If Mr. Drew would care to come with us—”
“Suppose I ask him,” Nancy replied, pleased with her first observation of Chuck Wilson.
“Then it’s settled,” Chuck said. “I’ll drive you back to the hotel now and be on hand again at six-thirty. Or is that too early?”
“Six-thirty will be fine,” Nancy agreed.
Mr. Drew was pleased when Nancy told him that Chuck Wilson had invited them to dinner, but he said that he would not go along.
“I’d rather have you encourage him to talk without me there,” he said. “Sometimes a young man will talk more freely to a girl than to his lawyer. I feel Chuck has been holding something back. See if you can find out what it is.”
Promptly at six-thirty Chuck walked into the hotel lobby and greeted the Drews. He expressed regret that Mr. Drew was not joining Nancy and him.
“Your daughter can become a very fine skier, Mr. Drew,” Chuck observed. “All she needs is practice.”
“I’ve no doubt of it.” The lawyer smiled proudly. “But I guess Nancy will always be better on ice skates than she is on skis. She was fortunate to have had a very fine teacher. I sometimes thought he might encourage her to become a professional!”
“Why, Dad, you’re just prejudiced,” Nancy protested.
“If you like skating,” Chuck spoke up, “how about going to see a contest that’s being held here tomorrow night? I’m going to skate. If you could use two tickets—?”
Mr. Drew shook his head. “I’m afraid Nancy and I shan’t be here, my boy. Thank you, though. And now, I must leave you two.”
Nancy wondered if her father’s decision to leave Montreal had anything to do with Chuck. Mr. Drew had said nothing about their time of departure. In any case, she had better get started on her work!
It was not long before Nancy and Chuck were seated in an attractive restaurant.
“Chuck,” she said, “have you skated professionally very long?”
“Several years.”
“Did you ever hear of a Mitzi Adele?”
“No, I never did. Is she a skater?”
Before the girl could reply, the orchestra started a catchy dance number. Chuck grinned, rose, and escorted her onto the floor.
Nancy had never danced with a better partner. She was thoroughly enjoying it when suddenly Chuck seemed to forget he was on a dance floor. The musicians had switched to a waltz and Chuck became a skater.
He gave Nancy a lead for a tremendous side step backward which strained the seams of her skirt. Then he lifted her from the floor and spun her in a double circle.
“Chuck thinks he’s on an ice pond,” Nancy thought woefully. “What next?”
He swung around alongside her and they glided arm in arm in skating style around the dance floor. Another twirl through the air, then the music ended. Chuck clapped loudly.
“Nancy, you’re wonderful,” he said.
Back at the table she remarked that he must have been dancing all his life. Chuck looked at her searchingly a moment, then said:
“My parents were dancers. Would you like to hear about them?”
“Oh, yes.”
“They were quite famous, but they were killed in a train crash when I was twelve years old. It stunned me and for a long time I wished I had died too. I had to go live with an ill-tempered uncle. He hated dancing, and would never let me even listen to music.”
“How dreadful!” Nancy murmured.
“That wasn’t the worst of it,” Chuck went on. He explained that only recently he had found out that his grandfather had left him an inheritance, but apparently it had been stolen from him by his uncle, who had taken charge not only of his nephew but of his inheritance as well.
“Uncle Chad had a small ranch in the north country,” Chuck went on. “He gave me a miserable time in my boyhood. My only friend was a kindly old trapper. He took me on long trips into the woods and taught me forest lore. It was from him that I learned to ski and snowshoe and to hunt and fish, too. I guess Uncle Chad became suspicious that the old man knew about the money my grandfather had left me and might cause trouble. So he scared him away.
“Later on, as soon as I was old enough, I ran off to Montreal,” Chuck continued. “And now I’ve asked your father to be my lawyer. I want him to bring suit to recover my inheritance.”
“Dad can help you if anybody can,” said Nancy confidently.
“Yes, I know that. But it’s such a hopeless case. I have no legal proof of my uncle’s dishonesty, Nancy. My one witness has disappeared.”
“You mean the old trapper?” Nancy asked.
“Yes.” Chuck nodded. “And there never was a finer man than John Horn.”
John Horn! Nancy was startled to hear that a trapper named John Horn was the missing witness. Could there be another such man besides the one in River Heights?
She decided to say nothing to Chuck of the possibility that she knew the one person who could help him. After all, there was no need of arousing false hopes until she had made a definite check.
Three hours later, after an exciting evening of conversation and dancing, Chuck left Nancy at her hotel, with a promise to meet him at the ski lift the following morning. She hurried to her father’s room to tell him her discoveries. The lawyer was not in, so Nancy decided to make a long-distance call to her home in River Heights. Hannah Gruen answered the telephone but there was little chance for conversation.
“I can’t hear a thing you say, Nancy,” the housekeeper protested. “There are two jaybirds chattering at my elbow. I’m so distracted I can hardly think.”
“Oh, you mean Bess and George?” Nancy laughed. “Put them on the wire, please.”
“Nancy, I’m so happy it’s you!” cried Bess an instant later. “George and I came over here because we thought Mrs. Gruen might be lonely.”
“Besides, we had a feeling you might call,” George put in on the extension phone.
“Tell us what you’ve been doing. Tell us everything!” Bess urged eagerly.
“Well, I had a skiing lesson this afternoon. My instructor was a client of Dad’s named Chuck Wilson.”
“And what did you do this evening?” Bess persisted.
“Chuck and I had dinner together, and danced, and talked.”
“Hypers!” George whistled. “So you’re calling him Chuck already.”
“And I suppose this Chuck Wilson is young and very good-looking?” Bess asked. Nancy could detect disapproval in her tone.
“He is,” Nancy chuckled. “But I don’t see—”
“I’m thinking of Ned Nickerson,” Bess reproached her. “Don’t you break Ned’s heart, Nancy Drew!”
“Nonsense,” Nancy countered. “Now listen carefully, Bess. I have a job for you and George. I want you to see that old trapper, John Horn. Ask him if he ever knew a boy named Chuck Wilson.”
“We’ll do it first thing tomorrow,” Bess promised.
Nancy was up early next morning. At breakfast she told her father Chuck’s complete story, ending with the item about the old trapper.
“That’s a stroke of luck for us.” The lawyer nodded. “If your man proves to be our missing witness, Chuck Wilson may really have a case. You’ve done a fine job, my dear. Are you seeing Chuck today?”
“I’m meeting him at the ski lift at ten.”
“Well, have a good time. I’ll see you at lunch. By the way, we have reservations on the five o’clock train.”
“I’ll be ready.”
Chuck Wilson was waiting for Nancy at the ski lift. “You’re going to enjoy field jumping,” he predicted. “And it’s a positive must if you intend to be a really good skier. One never knows when he’ll come to a fallen tree or some other unexpected object. When that happens, the skier must be able to jump or risk a bad smashup.
“Now there’s a slope with a sizable hummock at its foot.” He pointed. “Suppose we climb up there and have a go at it.”
“Just tell me what to do,” Nancy urged.
“The first thing to remember is that when you hit a bump it will lift you into the air,” her companion cautioned. “Your job is to crouch down before you hit your obstacle. To spring upward and sort of synchronize your spring with the natural lift the bump gives you. Is that clear, Nancy?”
“I think so.”
“Good! Then here are a few other rules,” Chuck continued as they reached the crest of the little hill. “Try to pull your knees up under your chest as you jump, Nancy. And push down hard on your heels so that the points of your skis won’t dig into the ground and trip you.”
“That’s a lot to remember,” Nancy replied. “I’d feel better if there weren’t so many people milling about the field. When I come down, I want a clear track.”
“Oh, you’ll be okay,” Chuck assured her. “All you need is practice. Well, Nancy, this is it. Take a good grip on your sticks. Get set . . . GO!”
In an instant Nancy was off. Flying gracefully as a bird, down the long, smooth slope, she watched the snow-covered bump ahead of her loom larger . . . LARGER. And then, suddenly, her heart skipped a beat, and she gave a gasp of dismay.
An amateur skier floundered directly into her path, stumbled—and fell! Nancy had to choose between jumping over his prostrate body or crashing into him.
She must jump!
Nancy dug in her sticks, crouched, and sprang upward. She came down in a heap.
Chuck Wilson cried out as she spilled, and sped down the slope to his pupil’s rescue.
“Nancy! Nancy!”
The girl lay motionless!