Chapter 19 The Mystery at the Ski Jump by Carolyn Keene
The Fur Thief
“Cheer up!” Aunt Lou encouraged her guests. “The situation isn’t too black. I left a few canned staples in the pantry here. If you don’t object to beans—”
“Beans! Oh, welcome word!” cried Bess, rolling her eyes ecstatically. “I’m ravenous enough to eat tacks.”
“Then you’ll have to earn your supper,” George said firmly. “Get a mop. This place must be cleaned up before we eat.”
It was in the midst of their tidying the cottage that a knock came on the door and John Horn walked in. The old fellow looked rosy and fit after his long trek on snowshoes. He explained that he had come up the day before and was camping out in the hills Indian style. When they told him of their predicament about food, he appeared merely amused.
“Shucks, nobody need go hungry,” he chuckled. “I shot some rabbits on the way. I’ll bring ’em in and give you folks a real treat.”
So, thanks to the beans and John Horn’s truly delicious rabbit which he cooked himself on a spit in the fireplace, everyone felt satisfied and content. Then, gathering around him, Aunt Lou and her guests listened for two hours to the old trapper’s yarns. Later, when Nancy asked him if he had found out anything about Dunstan Lake, he shook his head.
“Nope. Nobody I met ever heard of the man, Nancy. Nor of that Forest Fur Company, either. But they do say there’s three mink ranches around here owned by other folks.”
Suddenly Eloise Drew snapped her fingers. “I just recalled that the first time I heard the name Dunstan Lake was early last summer at the Longview Inn. I was leaving the dining room when I overheard a woman mention the name.”
“Maybe he was selling her some stock,” Nancy spoke up. “I think I’ll go over there right after breakfast tomorrow and speak to the manager. I’d like to hike over. Could I make it on snowshoes, Mr. Horn?”
“Oh, sure—that is, if you got good muscles, and you look as if you do. Well, folks,” the trapper said, rising, “I’ll be on my way.”
He would not accept a bunk with the boys and went off whistling in the darkness. The house-party guests rolled wearily into bed and slept soundly.
Next morning, the prospect of a second meal of beans for breakfast had little appeal for the campers. At Nancy’s suggestion the young people trailed down to the frozen lake, resolved to try some ice fishing.
The boys hacked a hole in the ice fifty feet from shore and carefully lowered several lines with baited hooks. But although they waited patiently, there was not a bite.
“I guess we’ll eat beans—and like it,” George groaned.
“Hal-loo there! What you doin’? Lookin’ for a walrus?” called a voice from the shore.
They looked around to see John Horn standing there with a heavy pack on his back. The old trapper explained that he had risen before daylight and gone down to York Village.
“I brought back your grub.” He grinned. “Wanta eat?”
“Do we!” cried Burt, dropping the line he was holding. “I’ll swap an uncaught fish for a stack of hot cakes any day!”
The others echoed his sentiments as they rushed to join the trapper and relieve him of the food. With a grin he set off, saying the time to catch criminals was before they were awake.
Directly after breakfast Nancy and Ned fastened snowshoes to their hiking boots and set out for Longview Inn, five miles away. The snow was crisp and just hard enough for firm going. Shortly before noon they arrived at the entrance to the big resort hotel.
“What a grand spot for winter sports!” Nancy exclaimed, gazing admiringly at the high ski jump and the numerous ski runs and toboggan slides.
“Sure is,” Ned nodded. “I wish we had time to try ’em. But I suppose you want to find out about that mysterious fellow, Dunstan Lake. Well, where do we begin our investigations?”
“Pardon me. But would you two be interested in purchasing tickets to our charity contest?” a strange voice inquired.
The couple turned to face a smiling elderly woman. She went on to explain that the tickets were for a skiing party the next afternoon, to be followed by a trapper’s dinner at the inn.
Ned was just about to say that they could not make it, when Nancy surprised him by telling the woman that they would take seven tickets! Ned dug into his pocket for the money, but he asked, “Why did you do that?” as he and Nancy entered the hotel.
“Sorry, Ned, I’ll pay for the tickets.”
“That’s all right, Nancy, but maybe the crowd won’t want to come.”
“I was thinking of Mitzi Channing,” Nancy said. “If she’s in the neighborhood, she might show up.”
“You’re right. Well, let’s call on the manager.”
Mr. Pike had been with the inn for five years, but he had never heard of a Dunstan Lake. Nor anyone named Channing, either. He promised, however, to make inquiries among the guests and to let Nancy know.
When they left the hotel, Ned said eagerly, “Let’s go over and look at that super ski jump.”
The ski jump was truly spectacular. A long, smooth runway with a skating pond near its foot. And, right at the edge of the ice, two mammoth figures had been carved out of snow.
“Aren’t they wonderful!” Nancy cried out.
As she and Ned stood staring at the snow giants, Nancy felt a hand on her arm.
“Nancy Drew—this is a surprise!” said a familiar voice.
“Why, Chuck Wilson!” gasped Nancy. “What are you doing here?”
“Pinch-hitting as a ski instructor.” Chuck grinned. “The regular pro has a broken leg. And now tell me what you’re doing here.”
Nancy introduced the two young men, then told Chuck about the house party at her aunt’s camp.
“Oh, Chuck, I have a grand surprise for you!” she added. “Guess what! John Horn’s here!”
“Here!” The skier looked incredulous. “At your camp? I’ll be right over!”
Ned looked none too pleased at this suggestion. It seemed to give him great pleasure to say that Chuck would have to look elsewhere for John Horn.
He lost his glum look, however, when Chuck insisted upon lending the couple skis and suggested that they try a few field runs. For the next half hour Ned and Nancy enjoyed themselves on the snowy slopes.
“Nancy, your skiing has certainly improved,” Ned said, smiling.
“The credit for that goes to Chuck.” Nancy was amused at her escort’s sudden change of expression to one of hurt.
Below them, Chuck Wilson waved his hand. “Hey, why don’t you try that low jump?” he called.
“I’m game,” Nancy cried, pushing off with her sticks. “Come on, Ned!”
Nancy went first and cleared the fence nicely. Ned followed but his was by far the higher and the longer jump.
“Well, at least I didn’t spill.” Nancy laughed as they pulled up alongside the ski instructor. “And now I think we’d better start back to the camp.”
“Nancy, I’ll see you again, won’t I?” Chuck pleaded.
“We’re all coming over here tomorrow,” she promised. Then, with a teasing glance at Ned, she added, “But there’s no reason why we can’t see more of each other today. Ned and I haven’t had lunch, so why don’t you join us in the dining room?”
“Thanks, I will. But let’s go downstairs to the snack corner.”
Nancy and Ned returned their borrowed equipment, and Chuck checked his skis and poles at the long rack outside the beam-ceilinged room, crowded with skiing enthusiasts.
Their appetites whetted by a morning in the crisp mountain air, the trio ate heartily. When they finished, Ned and Nancy insisted they must leave, instead of joining the group which lingered by the fireplace to discuss Telemarks and Christianias.
Outside, as they were fastening on their snowshoes for the long hike back to camp, Nancy turned to Chuck. “By the way, do you know where any mink ranches are located around here?”
“There’s one up on that ridge where the run for the ski jump starts. A Mr. Wells owns it.”
“Then let’s go home that way,” Nancy suggested to Ned. “We may pick up some information about the Forest Fur Company and Dunstan Lake.”
They rode up on the lift and trekked off along the ridge. Half a mile farther on they came to the ranch buildings. A man started running toward them.
“Did you meet anyone or see anyone leaving here?” he asked excitedly.
“No,” Ned replied. “Is something the matter?”
“I’ll say there’s something the matter,” the man growled. “Some of my finest mink peltries have been stolen!”