Norton, Andre - Novel 32 (15 page)

Father sounded more as if he were thinking
aloud, speaking of all that was
on his mind
rather
than talking to them. Christie sighed.
Their
own plan would have worked out so well
with
all Father had wanted to do.

Maybe Father heard her sigh, for he glanced
down and smiled. "Trouble has a way of hang
ing around, but that's no reason to invite it to
come and live with us. We don't have to move
out yet. Colby may not only have some ideas
about how to handle Toner, but he's going to
be very excited about this find of yours. I don't
think he's ever seen before the cargo—if you can
call it that—of a stagecoach intact after a
hundred years."

They went to the
sheriffs
office
first when
they came
into town. It was not the least like
a sheriffs office in the TV Westerns, Christie
discovered, but more like a real
office. One man
was using
a typewriter, and there was no big
wall rack with guns in it or an old stove with
a coffeepot sitting on top.

The man who met them did have on boots
and a wide-brimmed hat hung on the
rack by
the door. He
wore a gun belt with a holstered
gun and a badge pinned to the breast pocket of
his khaki shirt.

"I'm Wylie." He held out his hand to Father.
"You're Kimball—heard about
you from Lu
cas when
he passed through. What can I do for
you?"

"Well, maybe you can tell us just what to do
with this." Father set the
strongbox down on the nearest desk, the mail sack laid across it.
"I suppose the mail goes on to the post office—
about a hundred years late!"

The sheriff looked for a moment as if he was
not quite sure he had actually heard
what
Father had
said. Then he turned his head and
stared at the pouch and the box, almost as if
he expected them to explode. The
man who
had been
typing swung around in his chair to
stare, too.

"A hundred years," the sheriff repeated, as
if to make sure that really was
what Father had
said.
"Suppose you tell me just what we have
here anyway!"

Father did just that—telling about the cave, the lost
luggage, and all the rest of the story,
while the sheriff looked more and more sur
prised.

"A strongbox—and mail—" he repeated
when Father had finished.
"This is something
to make eyes open around here.
A story like
this"—he shook his
head—"well, I guess you
have the evidence, so the case is proven all
right! But you've got yourselves a
real mystery
story,
you sure have!"

"Talk about instant publicity!" Mother leaned
back in her chair and pushed a
straying wisp
of hair
off her forehead.
"
Marina
, just
look
at
that crowd!"

"If the motel were only open
for business
now!"
Marina
Wildhorse
smiled as she glanced
through
the nearest window at the many cars
parked around the station yard.

There
was the sheriffs
with its
big star on
the
door. Next to that one the post office man
had come in. But those were only the first two. Behind
was one from the newspaper, and then two owned by town council
members.
Crowd
ing into what space was left were others, be
longing to who knew who.

Christie counted. Ten, eleven, twelve! And
another was raising a dust cloud
on the road!

There would not be any parking space for that
one unless he just pulled to the
side of the road
outside
the station yard.

"And the local TV-radio station people—the
blue car's theirs," Mother
continued. "That
man
has been positively besieging us. Wants the children and everything they found
to be
featured on
some program. It's beyond belief!"

At least now, Christie and Neal had decided
privately between themselves when
they had
seen the
excitement begun in the sheriffs
office, growing greater as they went to the post
office, Marlene would have to
work to prove
that
she
had any right to Lady Maude. Why,
the postmaster had sent a telegram about their
find to
Washington
, and when they had opened
the strongbox they had discovered
a small bag
of gold
dust and some important papers inside.

It
was then that the newspaperman had come
with
a camera and followed them all the way back to the station, taking
pictures—even of
Shan, because Shan
had really found the cave. Other men had asked them about a million
questions. Christie was afraid Shan's picture
was not going to be very good—he was spitting
at his dislike of the whole affair when it had
been taken. Though it was late afternoon now,
still more people continued to come.

"You've been feeding them," Mrs. Wild-
horse said.

"Yes. They've about cleaned us out of a
week's supplies.
Look here—they left all this
by their
plates." She had a small bowl with
money in it. "I don't know who left what. They kept coming and
going, so I couldn't return it."

"Why should you? After all, you are or are going to
be in business here. Just use that to
replace your supplies."

"Who would ever think of something such as this
happening?"

"
Gilesburg
is not a city,
though it would like
to
think it is," Mrs.
Wildhorse
commented.
"I think that the newspaper,
the TV, the coun
cil
members are all very much aware of the
value of publicity. They want to promote tour
ism here. Most of them must think
this is a
wonderful
way to begin. After all, this find is
probably unique—what must have been the
complete cargo of a stagecoach in
excellent condition—to say nothing of the mystery of where and why it was left.
Also, there is the
added
attraction of Lady Maude—who can re
sist her?"

She nodded to a small table at the other side
of the room where the doll,
carefully un
wrapped,
stood, her fantastic wardrobe spread
out around her, just as she had been placed for
a whole series of photographs.

"She alone ought to bring a big price, if you
want to sell her."

"We don't know who has the right to sell
her," Mother answered.
"Not that that matters
at present. What I am wondering is how this
will affect Mr. Toner's claim."

"That will get a good talking over today.
Every sightseer out here knows all
about what
he is
trying to do. It's a good thing you don't
have a phone connected yet. At least you don't
have a lot of calls to plague
you."

"Small mercies thankfully received." Mother
laughed. "This is like being
caught in a rush
hour on the subway, with
the role of short-order
cook added. I'm
holding back enough food for
our own
supper and looking forward to when
I
can say, 'We've no more supplies. Sorry.'
Only I shan't be sorry really."

Christie was only half-listening—rather she
was thinking about this morning in
the post
office.
While Father and the sheriff, with Neal
tagging behind, had gone in to see the post
master in his private office, she
had bought her
stamps
and had pushed her fat letter through
the slit in the wall marked
out of town.
If there
was anyone to get that letter it might be soon
decided about Lady Maude.

"Howdy, ma'am."
A tall young man stood
just outside the door. "I
have a telegram for
Mr.
Harvey Kimball. You know where I can
find him?"

Mother shook her head. "Just now he might be
anywhere.
Up at the cave—or—well, just
anywhere.
I haven't seen him for about an
hour. I'm Mrs. Kimball, can I
take it?"

"This says Mr. Kimball." The young man
looked doubtful. "But
seein
' as how you're his
missus, I expect it's proper. Say, whatever is
goin
' on here anyways?"

"Do
you mean"—Mrs.
Wildhorse
laughed—
"there is one person left in
Gilesburg
who
doesn't
know about the treasure?"

"Treasure.
You mean that one of them there
lost mines has been found?"
The young man
glanced
at the crowded yard. "How come the
sheriffs mixed up in something like that?"

"Not a mine, no. They just found some
things taken off one of the old
stagecoaches and
walled
up in a cave."

"I'll be! Could that be off the ghost stage
maybe?"

"The ghost stage?"
Christie moved closer.
"What's the ghost
stage?"

The young man looked as if he were sorry
he had mentioned the subject.
"Oh, that's just
a
story the old-timers used to tell to scare little
kids around here. They said that
there was a
stage
pulled out of here in Indian times and was
never seen again. The rest of the story is that
some people have seen it running along the old
road in the moonlight, not making any noise, but
with the horses going full gallop. It's just one of them old stories,
ma'am," he said to
Mother, as if
to reassure her.

"Interesting," she answered. "But hardly to
be wished for. That
road's pretty narrow. I'd
hate to have to share it with a wild-running
ghost stage at night."

You won't, ma'am.
Just an old story.
Say,
is it all right
if I look around some?"

"No reason not to," Mother answered. "Just
follow the trail beyond the
corral."

"You
see?" Mrs.
Wildhorse
came away from
the window to take a humming kettle off the
stove and pour steaming water into a dishpan.
"There's another ready-made tourist attrac
tion—a ghost stagecoach."

"I can do without any more attractions for
the time being, and probably for
quite a while!
Listen,
Marina
—you mustn't try to wash all
these. Just let me—"

"I
shall wash and Christie will dry, while you
rest.
If you must do something, work out your
grocery list. Make it large—you
may have vis
itors for more than just today.
Even if Jim Wylie
carts everything
back to town, there'll be peo
ple out
to see where it was found."

Mrs.
Wildhorse
began to wash
mugs and
plates,
while Christie dried and piled them in
the old wall cupboard. They were still using as
many paper plates and napkins as
they could,
but most
of those were gone now. Mother got
a tablet and a pencil and started a list.

"Give it to Jim when you're finished," Mrs.
Wildhorse
said. "He'll drop it off at
the market.
They'll
truck it out."

"This far?
They wouldn't!"

"Sam
Birke
drives the truck
and it's a won
der
he isn't out here now. Sam wants to be a
history teacher. He'll be very glad of a good
excuse to learn what's going on.
No—save
yourself all
you can—do it that way."

"Mother"—Libby ran in—"one of those
men from the TV car, he went over
and looked
in the van
windows—then he wanted to know
if you
were
that
Marina and were you painting some more pictures now? I slipped
out through
the bushes.
Toliver's
taken the horses and the burros and gone up canyon with Pinto. The
newspaper people took Pinto's picture twice,
and he said if they tried it again he'd fix them
good. He's so mad he won't talk to anyone
now."

"Oh, dear!"
Mother gave a big sigh and laid
down her pencil. "Everyone is
going to be up
set
before this is over. How the children can
sleep through this racket." She got up and went
to look into the room into which
the twins had
retired
earlier. "It's so hot, and I've started a
headache."

"Now it's your turn to go and lie down. Take an
aspirin and do it right now! Christie, Libby,
and I can manage beautifully. You
Kimballs
have had more than your share of troubles these
past two days."

Mother tried to protest, but Mrs.
Wildhorse
hurried her off.
Christie went to look in on the
twins. Baron lay on the floor by one bunk,
where
Parky
was stretched out,
staring
straight up. Perks was actually asleep, curled in a knot
on her own bunk with Shan on the pillow beside
her.

"What do you want?"
Parky
demanded in
a hoarse
whisper as Christie tiptoed over.

"Mother thought you were asleep."

"I'm being punished." His whisper came a
little louder. "That's why
I'm here. And if you
come
and talk to me, it isn't being punished. So you just keep away—hear?" He
put his
fingers in his ears and squeezed
his eyes tightly
shut.

Christie obediently slipped away. Poor
Parky
—he had chosen a very hard punishment.
It did not mean just staying in his room and not
going into town, but had also turned out to be
missing all the exciting things that had hap
pened since. However,
Mother had said he was
to come out and have
his picture taken with the
rest of the
children. After that
Parky
had
marched right
back to his self-imposed impris
onment, where
Perks had joined him in the
early
afternoon.

Libby and her mother were in front of the
table where Lady Maude stood. Christie sighed
as she joined them. There was very little
chance,
she was sure, of keeping the doll. It
would be such fun to try on all those clothes—
to dress her in the lovely brocade ball gown
with the long kid gloves or see her in the pale
green dress Mother said was called a morning
gown or the tea dress of pink satin
trimmed
with red velvet for a front
panel.