Chapter 20 The Mystery at the Ski Jump by Carolyn Keene
Racing a Storm
Stolen!
An idea clicked in Nancy’s mind. Could the person who had taken the peltries from Wells’ ranch be one of the Forest Fur Company gang? Perhaps even Dunstan Lake?
“Did you lose many minks?” Nancy asked Mr. Wells.
“About two thousand dollars’ worth,” the agitated man replied. “Half my ‘take’ for the year.”
“Pretty tough,” Ned remarked. “When were they stolen?”
“I’m not sure. Just a few minutes ago I noticed the door of the storage house was half open.”
“Did you see any new tracks in the snow?” Nancy inquired.
“Come to think of it, I didn’t. We had quite a blow here early this morning. The snow could have filled up the tracks.”
“Perhaps the furs were taken last night,” Nancy said. “I hardly think a thief would prowl around in the daylight. May we see where you kept the peltries, Mr. Wells?”
“Certainly.”
The man led Nancy and Ned to a small building attached to the back of his house. As they approached the half-open door, Ned remarked:
“There are only one set of footprints. They must be yours, Mr. Wells.”
Nancy leaned down to examine the snow. With her glove she lightly brushed some of it away. The evidence of another man’s prints was vaguely visible below the light snow.
“I’m sure your peltries were stolen last night,” Nancy surmised. “I wish we could follow the thief’s tracks.”
Ned looked at her quickly. “You’re not going to try brushing away all this snow!” he cried.
Nancy smiled. “If I thought it would help catch the thief, I’d try it.”
Mr. Wells let out a moan. “Now I’ll never catch the thief,” he said. “My peltries are probably in another state by this time.”
“We’ll try to find them for you,” Ned offered. “Nancy is a detective.”
“You!” Mr. Wells stared at the girl. “Well, I’ll be jigged!”
Nancy wished Ned had not told him, but said she would do all she could. She asked him if he had ever heard of the Forest Fur Company, the Channings, or Dunstan Lake.
“No, never have,” he replied.
Nancy did not explain further. Instead she asked, “Have you notified the police about the theft?”
“No.”
“Then I’ll do it for you,” Nancy offered. “I’d like to speak to them, anyway. Where’s your telephone, Mr. Wells?”
The rancher led them into his small house. Nancy noticed that for a man who lived alone, his place was very neat. The living room contained rustic furniture, and a fine, large deer head hung over the fireplace.
“Here’s the telephone,” he said, pointing to a hall table.
Mr. Wells and Ned entered the living room, and Nancy telephoned the barracks of the State Police. After identifying herself as the niece of Eloise Drew, she reported the theft at the Wells ranch. Then she told about the Forest Fur Company gang and the arrest of Boyd.
“I believe men named Channing or Dunstan Lake may know something about the theft,” she said.
The trooper was grateful for the information. “We’ll comb the countryside for the thief, Miss Drew,” he promised. “And, by the way, drop in to visit us some time. We’d like to meet a girl detective!”
Nancy said she would and hung up. She returned to the living room to find Mr. Wells pointing to the deer head and telling Ned how he had shot the animal in a near-by woods.
Ned was impressed. “I sure would like to shoot one, so I could hang the head in our fraternity house at Emerson!”
The ranch owner winked at Nancy. “It’s yours, son, if Miss Drew nabs the fur thief!”
“I’ll do my best,” the young detective promised. “Mr. Wells, I’ve heard a lot about mink ranches but never been to one before. May Ned and I look around a bit?”
“Glad to show you,” the rancher replied. As they stepped outside, he glanced at the low, dark clouds which were rolling in from the north. “Looks like more snow,” he observed.
“Then we mustn’t stay long,” Ned spoke up. “We have quite a hike home.”
Mr. Wells led them toward one of several small shedlike buildings which set back some distance from the house, and the group went inside. It was about six feet wide and had separate pens on either side of a central aisle. In these pens were some fifty, glossy little creatures which some day would make luxurious scarfs and coats.
“They’re beautiful,” Nancy remarked. “But they must require a lot of care, don’t they?”
Mr. Wells shook his head. “Not a mink, Miss Drew. All he needs is a clean, cool place where there isn’t too much sunlight. And, of course, the right kind of food.”
“Sounds like a good business.” Ned grinned.
“It is, for an outdoor man,” the rancher replied. “Anyone who wants to start a successful mink farm should start with the finest, healthiest animals he can buy. And he should establish himself in a cold climate, so that the fur will grow thick. In the United States that generally means the states of Maine, Vermont, New Hampshire, Massachusetts, or northern New York.”
“What do minks eat?” Nancy asked.
“So far as feeding goes,” the man went on, “that’s no problem at all. A mink likes lean meat and fish especially. But he’ll eat table scraps and vegetables, too—even field mice. Fact is, it costs less than five dollars a year to feed a mink!”
“Mighty interesting,” said Ned. Glancing at the sky, he added, “Nancy, I think we’d better start back. It gets dark quickly up here. And we don’t want to be caught in a snowstorm in the dark.”
Nancy agreed they had better not tarry. As they trudged back toward Mr. Wells’ house to put on their snowshoes, Nancy suddenly pointed to a small, dark object half hidden under the snow crust.
“It may be a clue to that thief,” she said excitedly. “He might have dropped it.”
The rancher, who had walked ahead of the couple, did not see Nancy walk quickly toward the spot. Ned followed close behind her. Perhaps she was right. If the fur thief had dropped just one clue, it would help a lot.
Now Nancy was directly over it. She bent down to pick the object from the snow when Ned yelled:
“Don’t touch it!”
He gave Nancy a sudden shove, which sent her reeling away from the object.
“Why, Ned!” she exclaimed.
“It’s a trap, Nancy!”
By this time Mr. Wells was running back toward them. “Don’t touch that!” he shouted. “It’s a fox trap.”
“Oh!” Nancy exclaimed. “Thanks, Ned. I’m glad you recognized it.”
The rancher explained that marauding foxes sometimes approached the mink pens and that he had to keep traps set for them.
“We don’t want to catch you, though.” He chuckled. “We’ll have enough trouble snaring the fur thief!”
When the young people had their snowshoes on again, they said good-bye to Mr. Wells and started off. Ned urged speed because a brisk wind had come up and the dark clouds were rolling in faster.
“Let’s go along behind all the mink sheds,” Nancy suggested. “If the thieves did happen to leave any clues, we might pick them up.”
“Okay.”
Behind the sheds, Mr. Wells had planted a thick row of evergreens to serve as a natural snow fence for his property. Nancy and Ned followed along the edge of this barrier, scanning the ground hopefully.
Just by accident Ned happened to look up, and there, wiggling from a shoulder-high branch, was a strand of white yarn.
“This time I think I’ve found something, Nancy. See if you agree.”
As quickly as Nancy could make it on the snowshoes, she plowed over to the tree.
“Agreed, Mr. Detective,” she chuckled. “Any further theories?”
“Since you ask,” Ned answered, with a bow made clumsy by layers of warm clothing, “I have. Anyone trying to keep out of sight against the snow would wear white. Probably a sweater he could slip on and off easily. Maybe our man did just that, and snagged his shoulder on these thick trees.”
“Let’s see if we can find any more,” Nancy suggested, crashing through the evergreen fence just under the scrap of wool. “I’ll follow this side. You take the other.”
The evergreens led into dense wood. From time to time, the couple found similar bits of wool caught on tree branches, but then the woods gave way to open ground, dotted only with knee-high clumps of berry bushes.
Ned sighed. “Well, there goes that clue.”
The brisk wind that had started back at the mink farm hit them with full force as they emerged from the trees into the open. The bitter cold stung their faces.
“We’d better make for camp in a hurry,” Nancy advised. “It’s going to storm.”
They turned to follow their tracks back to the mink ranch and the trail to Aunt Lou’s. The pair was dismayed to find that the wind-blown snow had blotted out their tracks in the woods.
“Seems to me we came from over there, a little to the right,” Nancy called to Ned. “Shall we try it?”
“Let’s accelerate,” he ordered, taking the lead. “Pick ’em up and lay ’em down fast!”
Neither spoke as they raced along. The daylight was growing dimmer by the minute. For two long, arduous hours, the pair tried this direction and that toward home as they pressed on in the face of the rising storm. Then Nancy called:
“Ned! Do you know where we are? We should have reached the camp long ago.”
“No,” he replied grimly. “I don’t want to worry you, Nancy, but I’m afraid we’re lost!”