The Secret of Black Cat Gulch

Accompany Georgia Cameron to Taos, New Mexico.

Leaving Monday evening. You will assist her with research
for textile campaign on canyon colors.
Reid and Renshaw
For Connie Blair adventure rings in every syllable of this
wire which she receives from the advertising agency while
on vacation in Meadowbrook. Indians, adobe, sagebrush
everything Connie has ever heard about New Mexico whirls
in her delighted brain.
On the trip down Connie and Georgia make friends with
Jeff Chandler. Jeff, an enthusiastic young archaeologist, is
on the track of a mysterious little man with a limp and a
missing fingerwho may hold the key to untold historical
treasure. Connie throws herself wholeheartedly into Jeffs
quest, and in doing so uncovers a modern mystery in ancient
Taos. Why does Dolly Morgan, the ugly but fascinating
innkeeper, behave so strangely? Who is trying to keep
Connie and Jeff away from the abandoned mineand why?
How Connie solves Jeffs mystery as well as her own is told
in a thrilling story of mystery and romance in colorful New
Mexico.

The CONNIE BLAIR Mystery Stories

The Clue in Blue
The Riddle in Red
Puzzle in Purple
The Secret of Black Cat Gulch
The Green Island Mystery
The Ghost Wore White
The Yellow Warning
The Gray Menace
The Brown Satchel Mystery
Peril in Pink
The Silver Secret
The Mystery of the Ruby Queens

A CONNIE BLAIR MYSTERY

The Secret
of
Black Cat Gulch
By
BETSY ALLEN

Grosset & Dunlap

PUBLISHERS

NEW YORK

 1948 BY GROSSET & DUNLAP, INC.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

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Westward Ho!
The Mysterious Stranger
Casa Bonito
The Turquoise Shop
A Man with Four Fingers
At the Little Dipper
Fruitless Journey
Black Cat Gulch
Uproar at the Inn
Night Maneuver
Jeff Rides Alone
MissingOne Archaeologist
Connie Joins a Posse
In the Abandoned Mine
The Chase Begins
Connies Evidence
On the Santa Fe Platform

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CHAPTER

Westward Ho!

Dressed in white tennis shorts, her bare, brown legs

crossed at the ankle, Connie Blair lay at full length
on the garden chaise. She stretched her arms
luxuriously and yawned, her bright head flung back
against the green sailcloth cushion.
Vacation, she told her twin sister, Kit, who was
sitting cross-legged on the clipped grass, is a boon
and a blessing. For two weeks I intend to do nothing
whatever but loaf.
And play a little tennis with Don Fitzgerald,
murmured Kit, glancing at the racket, in rubber
cover and press, which leaned against the trunk of a
near-by tree.
Well, that.
Kit stretched out a hand to rumple the ears of the
family cocker, Ruggles, who was dozing at her side.
By the middle of next week Ill bet youll be as
1

restless as a beagle pup, she teased. Why,

anything could happen in the advertising agency
business while youre away!
Not in August. Connie shook her head
languidly and her taffy-colored hair glinted in the
afternoon sun. In August, Reid and Renshaw just
vegetates. Its too hot in Philadelphia to work.
Its nice here, isnt it? Kit looked affectionately
across the broad, back lawn toward the square,
clapboard house where she and Connie had been
born and raised. She had none of her twins career
ambition, which had drawn Connie inexorably
toward the city. She was very content right in
Meadowbrook, living at home.
Wonderful, Connie agreed. Then she lifted her
head and listened. Is that the doorbell?
Could be. How about it, Ruggles? Kit looked
down at the dog.
Ruggles lifted his ears, and an instant later
streaked across the lawn, barking, to return with a
perspiring boy in a Western Union messengers cap.
Hello, Buddy. Kit knew everybody in
Meadowbrook, but it took Connie several seconds to
recognize one of the younger Trotter boys.
Telegram for you, Miss Connie, said the lad
after greeting Kit. The office thought theyd better
send it, on account of it was quite long. As he
proffered the yellow envelope and a pencil to sign
2

the receipt pad he looked impressed. Telegrams still

seemed portentous in young Buddys life.
But Connie tore at the flap with a nonchalance
bred of a year spent in the daily whirl of an
advertising agency. Then, as she read the message,
her brown eyes widened and she gave a little squeal
of excited surprise.
Oh, Kit, look!
As Buddy retreated reluctantly across the lawn,
Kit read the pasted strips of capital letters over
Connies shoulder.
CAN YOU ARRANGE TO ACCOMPANY
GEORGIA
CAMERON
NEW
MEXICO
LEAVING NORTH PHILADELPHIA SIX
THIRTY MONDAY EVENING? YOU WILL
ASSIST MISS CAMERON WITH RESEARCH
AND SKETCHING FOR COMING AMERICAN
TEXTILE CAMPAIGN ON CANYON COLORS.
PLAN IS TO HIRE CAR SANTA FE AND DRIVE
TO TAOS FOR THREE WEEKS TO MONTH.
WIRE REPLY.

The wire was signed with the name of George

Renshaw, one of the partners in the business, and
Kit had to read it twice to get its full import.
Not so Connie! New Mexico! she breathed, her
eyes already shining with anticipation. New
Mexico! I cant imagine anything more exciting, can
you?
Kit was trying to remember photographs from
hall-forgotten geography books. It seems terribly
3

far away.
It is! Connie cried, delighted rather than
alarmed. Practically out of the United States. At
least, just on the edge. Santa Fe. She tasted the
name with the tip of her tongue. Indians. Adobe.
Sagebrush. Mesas. She tried to think of all the word
pictures New Mexico recalled.
And, as she said them, adventure rang in every
syllable. Gone, for Connie, was the lazy pleasure of
a summer vacation at home. Kit knew, even before
her twin had consulted their parents and won their
approval of the unexpected assignment, that she
already was mentally on her way.
If Kit didnt share Connies thirst for far horizons,
young Tobythe baby of the familydid. He
looked at his older sister with unconcealed envy as
the bustle of departure made her the center of
attention.
Lucky you! he muttered. Bring me home a
tomahawk or somethin, will you, Connie?
I dont think the Indians of New Mexico were
the tomahawk type, but Ill see what I can do about
an arrowhead, Connie replied, grinning.
Arrowheads! Toby snorted in disgust. I can
find them in our woods right here.
Fortunately Mrs. Blair and Kit were less
demanding. They made polite murmurs about the
turquoise and silver jewelry Jane Trotters aunt had
4

brought home from a trip to the Southwest, but they

gave Connie no express commissions, trusting to her
own good judgment when the time came.
Mr. Blair said gruffly, when he kissed his
daughter good-bye, Dont bring me a thing
except yourself! I resent having you torn away from
us, right at the start of your vacation like this.
The whole family looked sorry to have her go, yet
they waved Connie off with the gayest of good
wishes. And Connie herself, as always when she left
home, was torn by mixed emotions. The leavetaking made her sad, but the anticipation of new
adventure brought color to her cheeks and sparkle to
her eyes.
Miss Cameron, when she met her young assistant
at the North Philadelphia station, seemed almost
equally eager. In spite of the tepid-bath closeness of
the summer evening, she looked crisp in a shantung
traveling suit, and somehow younger than she
usually appeared in the office, where she had an
executive position.
Connie! Im so glad you could come with me.
Georgia Cameron walked across the station floor
with graceful poise, holding out her hand, and
Connie was filled with the same feeling of
admiration of which she had been conscious on their
first encounter nearly a year ago. Someday, she
had thought then, Id like to look like that.
5

Now, though she in no way was a replica of Miss

Cameron, she was equally as attractive, in a younger
style. Connies navy dress and broad-brimmed sailor
hat were in flawless taste. Her stocking seams were
straight and her short white gloves immaculate. She
could have stepped from the pages of a fashion
magazine, except that she looked more alive and
glowing than many a model looks.
Youve no idea how thrilled I am! Connie told
her superior. Ive never traveled at all, really. And
to get a chance to see the Southwest
Miss Cameron nodded understandingly, her gray
eyes lighting with appreciation. Youll love it, she
told Connie. Its unimaginably colorful. And
thereby, she added with a businesslike intonation,
hangs our job.
She told Connie more particularly about that job
when they were settled in the diner an hour later,
facing each other across a white tablecloth and
letting the fruitful Pennsylvania countryside stream
by as a blur outside the windows.
I think what it amounts to is that American
Textile wants to rediscover New Mexico. Burton
Smith, the new advertising manager, who works
very closely with the agency, came back from a trip
to the Southwest all steamed up about the marvelous
color of the country. Looking forward to next
spring, they want to feature a series of earth and sky
6

colors done with vegetable dyessomething very

primitive and direct in conception, yet with that
subtle fading sun gives to some shades. Theyll
develop the cloth, but our job is to get ideas for
background, color combinations, costume effects.
You can imagine the advertising agencys
responsibility in a campaign of this sort.
Connie nodded. It sounds fascinating.
I think well have a lot of fun, Georgia
Cameron agreed. Im supposed to come home with
some distinctive ideas, and youre to help me get
some of the color down on paper. No finished
drawings, of course, just color sketches for the artist
to follow. Rough layouts. That sort of thing.
Connie could tell that the stout man with a pearl
stickpin in his conservative necktie, whom the
dining steward had seated at their table, was looking
at Miss Cameron curiously, and she was amused. To
Connie the jargon of the advertising business was
now as familiar as the social patter of the crowd
with whom she had grown up in Meadowbrook.
The textile designer who covered the ground
was a man. Were to get the womans angle, and
even pick up some native cloth or costumes if we
see anything appealing or adaptable. The
manufacturer has really given us a very free hand.
Miss Cameron sounded pleased.
Thats marvelous. Connie was enthusiastic as
7

her conception of the job before them broadened.

Theres just one thing I dont understandand
thats why Mr. Renshaw decided to send me along.
Georgia smiled. Mr. Canfield recommended
you, she told the younger girl, mentioning the
agencys art director. He says your art school work
shows an imaginative color sense. She leaned
forward, her dark, smooth hair in close contact with
Connies blond head. Its a trade secret, but I think
hes grooming you for a job in his department.
Would you like that?
Would I! Connies expression was answer
enough. With this very hope in mind she had been
studying art at night school, developing a talent
which had been apparent since junior high school
days. Swaying with the lurch of the train, and
leaving her dessert untouched for a while, her brown
eyes grew dark with dreams. A chance to show what
she could doworking directly under a well-known
art director! Connie sighed rapturously. It had all
been worth itall the long months at night school,
all the terrifying moments there before she finally
found the answer to the Puzzle in Purple . . . Yes,
Miss Marvilles gift, Connies tuition at art school,
for her help in solving The Riddle in Red, was
certainly beginning to pay off!
After dinner Connie and Miss Cameron spent an
hour or two in the club car, turning the pages of
8

some of the interesting magazines the railroad

provided and chatting at intervals.
Tomorrow, Miss Cameron said, Ive got to get
to work on some copy I wasnt able to finish up
today at the office. I can mail it back from Santa
Fe.
Santa Fe! Again a little shiver of anticipation
traced its way across Connies shoulders, but she
only said, with businesslike politeness, If theres
anything I can do to help, Miss Cameron
Thank you. But I dont think theres a thing.
And while were on this trip, Connie, why dont you
call me Georgia? It would seem morefriendly,
somehow. And you know Im not so terribly old.
Of course youre not! Connie guessed that Miss
Cameron must be in her late twenties. Id be glad
toGeorgia.
A little later they went to bed, and Connie was
entranced by the compact efficiency of the roomette
she occupied. She played with all the equipment as
she had once played with the appointments of a dollhouse she and Kit had received for Christmas. The
experience of being shut away alone in the snug
little room made her feel very young and naive and
very adult and traveled, all at the same time.
Smiling to herself at the idea of combining such
mixed emotions, Connie fell asleep. Once or twice
during the night the long-drawn, eerie Woo-oo,
9

woo-oo-oo of the train whistle awakened her, but

quickly, lulled by the rhythmic lurching of the
racing express, she dozed off again. She was fresh
and alert in the morning, ready to see something of
Chicago during the few hours wait between trains.
Connie and Georgia took a bus along Michigan
Boulevard, which bloomed with hotels and
expensive shops, then taxied back along the Outer
Drive to their station, looking out with interest at the
boat-studded blue lake. They hurried aboard the
Chief, a crack train of the Atchison, Topeka and
Santa Fe, in the early afternoon, and got settled
again for another night on the way.
Georgia Cameron had a small table set up in her
roomette and immediately got to work on her
advertising copy, while Connie explored the train all
the way back to the observation car. They met again
for dinner and were fortunate to be seated alone at a
table for four.
But directly on their heels came a tall, slender
young man, with crisp black hair, cut crew fashion,
and tortoise-shell glasses sitting slightly askew on
his straight nose. He stood waiting for the steward at
the buffet end of the car, and Connie glanced at him
with idle interest, thinking that he was quite
handsome, even with spectacles. She murmured as
much to Georgia, who nodded in agreement, adding,
In an intelligent kind of way.
10

A woman came in from the other end of the diner,

and succeeded in attracting the stewards attention
first, so that she was seated at the only vacant table
remaining. Then the young man with the spectacles
was led toward Connie and Georgias table.
With your permission, murmured the steward
obsequiously as he pulled out a chair.
Miss Cameron gave the usual brief nod of
courtesy, and went on writing out the order. Then
the three sat in rather constrained silence while the
waiter went off with their slips.
Georgia, Connie knew, was still absorbed in
thinking about the copy she had to finish for mailing
tomorrow from Santa Fe. And Connie, personally,
felt rather talked out about the advertising
business, the one subject they had in common. So
she wasnt sorry when the young man broke the
awkward pause with an innocent introductory
remark. He looked out the window at the twilit
landscape and said, Rather interesting country, isnt
it?
To Connie the endless fields of waving corn
seemed monotonous. Ever since they had pulled out
of Fort Madison, Iowa, she had lost interest in the
passing scene. But as they fell to chatting about the
vast distances of the West she could see why this
farmland held a certain fascination. Though I still
prefer the rolling Pennsylvania countryside, she
11

said.
Im from Pennsylvania too, the young man
said. Philadelphia.
Philadelphia? So are we, Georgia Cameron
murmured. It seemed to offer a basis for
acquaintanceship that was quite substantial. The
young man introduced himself.
His name was attractiveJeff Chandlerand he
was attached to the Philadelphia Museum of Natural
History, he explained over dessert and coffee. Im
working for the museum summers while I study for
my doctorate, he told the girls.
Youre an anthropologist, perhaps? Georgia
probed.
An archaeologist, the young man said.
Connie stifled a yawn. Either profession sounded
dry as dust to her. She was glad she was in such a
young and vitally alive business as advertising.
When Georgia excused herself to return to her
copy writing, Connie couldnt resist asking Jeff
Chandler a question.
What do you find thats especially exciting in
the study of antiquity? I should think, after a certain
time, it would get dull.
Never! Sincerity rang in the archaeologists
tone. He took off his glasses and polished them on
his dinner napkin, and his clear blue eyes crinkled
with amusement. Its a fascinating business
12

unearthing the drama of past civilizations. He

leaned across the table and lowered his voice. Its
sometimes even mysterious.
Now Connie suspected that he was teasing. The
Sherlock Holmes of Ancient Annals, she said with
a knowing nod.
Im not joking, Jeff surprised her by saying
seriously. Right now Im on the trail of a mystery
that would put some of our lighter detective fiction
to scorn.

13

CHAPTER

The Mysterious Stranger

Mystery?
Connies ears pricked up. No longer did she feel
any urge to yawn. Nor did Jeff need great powers of
persuasion to induce her to accompany him back to
the club car after dinner. Connie trotted along as
willingly as a curious puppy tugging on a leash.
As the train plunged ahead through the night,
cutting across one corner of the state of Missouri,
the young archaeologist told Connie an interesting
tale.
Last spring, he said, a Philadelphia lawyer,
who happens to be a friend of my family, came
home from a western trip with a curious old
ornament of jet and turquoise mosaic which he had
picked up in a little Indian jewelry store in Taos, a
hill town about sixty miles above Santa Fe.
Taos? cried Connie. Why, thats where were
14

going!
Jeffs eyebrows raised with interest and pleasure,
but he forebore from saying the obvious What
luck! Instead he continued with his story. This
lawyer, Mr. Warner, brought the ornament over to
show Dad one night, because he thought it quite
unusual, and I asked him if I might take it to the
curator of our museum. It certainly looked
uncommon to me.
Our curator, Mr. Courtlandt, got really excited
about the piece. He said that some similar ornaments
had been found back in 1921 in the ruins of Chaco
Canyon, which, as you probably know, was a real
treasure chest of aboriginal American history.
Connie shook her head, feeling rather ignorant,
but she said, Go on.
Well, we wrote to the shop where Mr. Warner
picked up the piece. As a matter of fact, we wrote
three times, but we never got a reply, which, in
itself, seems odd.
Connie considered, cocking her bright head to
one side and looking at Jeff quizzically. Not very
odd. Small-store proprietors are often disorderly
about their business correspondence, arent they?
But this chap wasnt Indian himself, according
to Mr. Warner. He was American, apparently a
rather rough old type. After all, if a guys in
business, he ought to answer his mail.
15

Connie agreed. Well, yes.

Anyway, the upshot of the matter was that Mr.
Warner and Mr. Courtlandt got together and decided
that, if the ornament was of local origin, there might
be vaults of buried treasures still unearthed in the
Taos area. It seemed an important enough clue to
investigate. Mr. Warner has a good deal of money
and the museum has a little set aside for such
projects, so here I am.
Connie scarcely heard Jeffs final sentence.
Clue, she said softly. The buried treasure of
history. She sighed, almost nostalgically. So
youre to track down the source of the curio?
Jeff nodded, a bit ruefully. First Ive got to track
down the shopkeeper who sold it. I hope he hasnt
gone broke and moved away.
Connie discarded the possibility of such ill
fortune. She was off on another tangent, busily
planning ahead. Quickly she told Jeff about the
advertising project that was taking them to Taos, and
explained that Miss Cameron was authorized to hire
a car in Santa Fe.
If shes willing, and you have no special plans, I
think it would be fun if you rode along with us,
Connie proposed.
Georgia was more than willing. She was frankly
delighted. Hes obviously a very decent sort, she
said of Jeff. The name Chandler alone would be
16

recommendation enough; its good old substantial

Philadelphian. And, she added roguishly, he
would come in awfully handy in case we should
have a flat.
Connie chuckled, and agreed. She was finding
Miss Cameron an attractive traveling companion,
younger in spirit and in inclination than she would
have guessed from previous office contacts with her.
At breakfast she retold Jeffs story of his mission,
and found a sympathetic ear.
I wish him luck, Georgia said when Connie
finished, but neither of the two girls guessed how
much he was to need it.
It was midafternoon when the train pulled into
Santa Fetoo late, Miss Cameron thought, to make
arrangements for a car and drive to Taos that same
day. Connie wasnt in the least sorry to postpone the
trip and stop overnight at the big, busy La Fonda
Hotel, where they had dinner in a colorful patio and
were served by waitresses in the bright costumes of
the Spanish Southwest.
Jeff spent the afternoon at the local museum, then
joined the girls for dinner. He chafed a bit at the
delay, but he could find no public transportation that
would take him on to Taos that night, so he, too, put
up at the hotel.
Connie was entranced by the old town, by the
Indians squatting in the plaza selling their crude
17

pottery, by the adobe buildings, buttressed like early

European cathedrals, and by the extraordinary light
and shade that is every artists delight.
After dinner, in the time before dark, the three
wandered up and down the hilly streets, feeling that
they had stepped into a foreign country, into another
world. Only the bedrooms at the La Fonda were
disappointingly ordinary. Elsewhere everything had
flavor and a special charm.
In the morning Connie and Georgia breakfasted
early, then started out promptly in the rented car.
Jeff offered to drive, and the girls rode with him in
the front seat, feeling like tourists on a holiday, not
like businesswomen at all.
The streets of Santa Fe soon were left behind, to
be replaced by open prairie dotted with sagebrush
and mesquite, punctuated by an occasional tall,
white bloom of yucca, rising straight from its quilled
green leaves. In the distance were red, rising hills,
over which Connie exclaimed repeatedly. Never had
she seen such color, such brilliant, changing light.
Whats that? A prairie dog? Georgia pointed
across the coarse grass to the right, and Connie
turned just in time to see a small animal, not unlike a
woodchuck, dart back into its hole.
Meanwhile Jeff said, Thats right. We should see
lots more of them. They live in regular villages, Im
told.
18

From then on they saw several colonies of

mounds, but the occupants were scary little fellows,
and darted down into their houses as the car
approached.
The soft morning light changed to glare as the sun
crept higher in the sky, and a detour sign stopped
their passage on the ribbonlike highway and took
them over tortuous dirt roads dotted with occasional
poverty-stricken Spanish dwellings with miles of
wasteland between.
Connie found herself getting increasingly thirsty,
and was relieved when Georgia offered the
heartening opinion that when they rejoined the
highway they should be close to their destination.
They were all getting dusty and uncomfortably hot.
At a dip in the road a couple of Indians, taking
advantage of the forced detour, were selling pottery
under a thatched awning supported by rickety poles.
They sat immobile, dozing above their wares.
Lets get out for a minute. Id like to stretch my
legs, Georgia proposed, and Jeff obligingly stopped
the car and shut off the engine. Miss Cameron
wandered over and inspected the earthenware, but
Connies attention was caught by a sign planted just
opposite the Indians.
BLACK CAT CROSSING, it read.
She laughed, and pointed it out to Jeff. Like
Cattle Crossing?
19

The young archaeologist chuckled at her

nonsense but shook his head. See that Spanish
word belowarroyo?
Yes.
Dyou know what it means?
Connie didnt.
Out here there are lots of arroyos, or dry river
beds. He looked toward the deep gully just ahead
and traced its course down from the mountains,
which were closer now. When rains come they say
water falls like a curtain, as it does in the tropics,
and these arroyos can become plunging torrents in a
matter of minutes.
Under such blazing sun, with dust motes from the
sandy road gleaming in the air, such a contingency
seemed far removed. Really? Connie murmured,
and she stood trying to imagine water swirling down
this gulch. She wondered what unlucky accident had
won the arroyo its name, and was about to ask the
Indians, in the hope that they spoke English, when
Georgia called out, Im ready to go on if you are.
Isnt it hot?
Black Cat Crossing, Connie murmured under
her breath as she climbed back into the car. It was a
name promising ill luck, a warning to the unwary, a
threat to loiterers. Black Cat Crossing. In this
country of strange and violent contrasts, it was oddly
appropriate as a designation for a dangerous arroyo.
20

An involuntary shudder tickled Connies spine.

Ten minutes later Jeff sighted the highway again,
and the car began to climb toward Taos. Connie
could feel the air cool as the prairie was left behind.
A breeze even flicked the scrub cedar and sagebrush
along the road.
As they drove through a small, dusty Spanish
village called Ranchos de Taos, Georgia Cameron
got out a notebook. I wired ahead for reservations,
she said, to an inn recommended by a painter friend
of mine who occasionally winters here. She read
the name. Casa Bonito. Its supposed to be
smallish, and very attractive. I hope were not
disappointed.
Is it right in the village? Jeff asked.
I believe so.
That might be more convenient than the place
where I intended to staya place Mr. Warner
recommended, about a mile out of town.
Surreptitiously, Miss Cameron glanced at Connie,
and her right eyelid lowered in an unobtrusive wink.
Its open to the public, she told Jeff airily, neither
inviting him to join them nor discouraging him.
I could look it over, Jeff said hopefully, and
just see
They were driving along a narrow street, now,
between adobe houses and walled gardens and little
shops. The road they traveled led inevitably to the
21

plaza, as did all others, and here Jeff parked the car
in the likeliest patch of shade.
Im perishing of thirst, announced Georgia.
Before we do a thing, lead me to water.
Connie looked around hopefully for a drugstore,
but Jeff pointed out a little restaurant with an odd
Spanish name which he translated for them. The
Little Dipper. That should be just the spot. Ill buy a
sandwich, too, just to give them some business.
In the middle of the morning? questioned
Georgia.
Its almost noon, and frankly Im famished. It
must be the seven-thousand-foot altitude.
Together they trooped into the eating place, and a
pretty, dark-haired girl in a red cotton skirt and
white blouse came toward them at once. Buenos
das, seoritas. Then she saw Jeff and added,
seor.
She led them to a bare table, scrubbed white, and
brought them water while Jeff considered a simple
menu. He frowned at the assortment of Mexican
dishes. Could I just have a fried egg sandwich? he
asked.
Certainly. The girl apparently spoke English as
well as her native tongue. She had a soft, educated
voice, and nice hands. Connie looked up at her and
smiled.
The girl returned the smile in a friendly,
22

unaffected fashion. She moved off toward the

kitchen with free, graceful stride, her espadrilles
silent on the earthen floor. Isnt she pretty?
Connie whispered when she had gone.
Very, Georgia agreed. Well have to ask her to
direct us to the inn. She poured her third glass of
water and drank it down. Delicious, she murmured
with a contented sigh.
Jeff began to polish his tortoise-shell spectacles.
Then he put them absent-mindedly in his pocket.
Connie looked at him with understanding. Are you
just itching to get to your jewelry shop?
The young man grinned across the table at her.
Im trying to be adult and restrain my impatience,
he said.
Georgia pretended to sniff. Does that fried egg
sandwich indicate impatience? she asked.
Jeff shook his head despairingly. Always belittlin, he sighed.
The time they had spent together had engendered
a spirit of friendly camaraderie. Each took turns at
teasing and being teased.
More seriously, Connie asked, What is the name
of the shop, by the way?
The Alvarado, Jeff replied. I suppose its
named for the officer in Coronados army who
discovered Taos Pueblo.
Connie looked at him accusingly. Do you just
23

know these things or do you look them up?

I looked that one up, Jeff admitted.
Interesting, isnt it?
Before we look up our inn, Id like to stop at the
post office, Georgia broke in. Just in case.
Not a bad idea. Its probably right here on the
plaza. Jeff inquired of the girl who had served
them, and she pointed it out, almost directly across
the way.
You must come back again, she said graciously
when they left, and try our enchiladas. My mother
makes them. They are very famous in Taos.
Well do that, Jeff promised, for the three of
them. He said, as they crossed the tree-shaded
square, Nice girl.
At the post office there were no letters for either
Miss Cameron or Connie, but Jeff was handed a thin
air-mail envelope by the Spanish-American clerk.
He tore open one end hurriedly. From the boss,
he said.
Connie and Georgia, waiting while he excused
himself and read the message, could see
disappointment mirrored in his face.
Oh heck! he muttered boyishly.
Is
something
wrong?
Connie
asked
impulsively.
Mr. Courtlandt finally heard from the proprietor
of the Alvarado, Jeff told them. The fellow who
24

sold Mr. Warner the ornament just worked there, it

seemshelped around the shop on a part-time basis.
Mr. Normanthats the owners namesays he left
Taos some time ago, headed heaven knows where.
Which makes everything just ducky, sighed
Connie, almost as disappointed as Jeff.
Mr. Norman claims he doesnt know a thing
about the ornament. Probably some Indian relic this
other fellow picked up down Carlsbad way. Jeff
scratched his head. If I have to track the missing
man through the whole state of New Mexico Ill
have a job on my hands.
Miss Cameron looked sympathetic, but she was
also sensible. An impossible job, Im afraid, she
murmured. But as long as youre here it might pay
to have a talk with this Mr. Norman, I should think.
Oh, of course! Jeff looked astonished that there
should be the slightest question of such a move.
And maybe, after all, you can trace him, said
Connie with more confidence than she felt. Looking
for a needle in a haystack would seem simpler, by
comparison.

25

CHAPTER

Casa Bonito

The Casa Bonito, of adobe painted white, nestled on

level ground at the base of a small hill. A rough
wooden door, set into the arch of a high wall, let
Connie, Georgia and Jeff into a patio brilliant with
sunlight, around three sides of which ran a covered
walk.
At noon, the shadows of the creosoted wooden
poles supporting the roof pointed straight down, and
the fountain in the center of the courtyard, at which
a large black tomcat was drinking, gurgled
sluggishly. Double, slatted doors indicated the
entrance to the lobby on their left, and from the dim
interior, as Georgias foot touched the sill, a strident,
harsh, high voice screamed at them:
Come in! Come in!
Georgia started back and turned to Connie in
astonishment. Connie listened carefully as the
26

invitation was repeated.

Come in!
Its a parrot, I think, she said.
All three were blinking to adjust their eyes to the
inside light after the glare of the midday sunshine
when a husky, womans voice spoke with a laughing
inflection.
Quiet, Dodo! Youll frighten away our guests.
Gradually Connie was able to see the details of
the big room they had entered. A huge, unmantled
fireplace slanted upward on one wall, and long
windows looked out on the patio. Indian rugs lay
brilliant on the polished floor and comfortable,
ranch-house type furniture sprawled across the
lobby. Drying gourds hung from the rafters, and
down a few steps lay a low, sunny dining room with
gay cotton tablecloths and colored Mexican
glassware making a splash of color.
And toward them, walking with a swinging
motion of her ample hips, came one of the ugliest
women Connie had ever seen. She wore flat-heeled
huaraches, a full peasant skirt, banded with reds and
yellows, and a good deal of bulky Indian jewelry.
When she smiled at them, Connie decided she was
so ugly she was almost handsome.
How do you do? the woman said in her low,
pleasant voice. I apologize for our parrot.
Hi, Dolly! a large, beak-nosed bird began to
27

scream, as though he recognized her words. Hi,

Doll.
Sh! The woman turned toward the big ring on
which the parrot perched, then back to the group in
the doorway again. She singled out Georgia. You
must be Miss Cameron. Weve been expecting you.
It was nice to be welcomed into such an exciting
sort of establishment. Connies artists eye gloried in
the decor of the inn, so perfectly in keeping with the
atmosphere of Taos, casual, vivid, freehanded.
Im Dolores Morgan, the proprietor, the woman
went on, and glanced toward Jeff, as the cat came in
from the courtyard and started to rub against her
legs.
Georgia introduced Connie first, then the young
man. Mr. Chandler, Mrs. Morgan.
I have no reservation, but Ive been hoping you
could put me up too, Jeff said at once.
Mrs. Morgan considered him thoughtfully, and
apparently with approval, because she said, I think
we might have room. Ill be glad to see. Then she
turned back to Miss Cameron. Meanwhile, your
bags?
Theyre in the car.
Dolores Morgan clapped her hands sharply,
twice, and a skinny Spanish-American boy scuttled
through a swinging door and came up for her
directions. She addressed him in voluble Spanish,
28

and he hurried off again.

Connie and Miss Cameron registered, while Jeff
waited at the desk for Mrs. Morgans decision.
Presently they were all assigned to rooms, Connie
and Georgia on one side of the court, Jeff on the
other.
Connie found her small, square bedroom as
interesting, in its way, as the lobby of the inn. There
was a corner adobe fireplace, almost miniature in
size but apparently often used, because the interior
was smoke-stained and the crude black andirons
were laid with fresh pion logs. A carved Spanish
chest of very dark wood, an ordinary kitchen chair
painted white, and a simple bed completed the
furnishings, while between her room and Georgias
was a tiny, but adequate, connecting bath.
Isnt
this
charming!
she
exclaimed
enthusiastically after the boy who brought their bags
had departed.
It is, agreed Georgia. I think well be very
comfortable here.
Connie unpacked her art materials firstwater
colors, crayons, show-card colors, and two sketch
pads. Then she hung her clothing in a curtained
alcove, for the primitive, simple room, adobefloored, did not boast a closet. By the time she went
in to join Georgia and Jeff at lunch she felt very
settled, and comfortably excited at the prospect of
29

spending a fortnight or more in such a delightful

place.
The dining room was filled with tourists, some
transient, others guests at the Casa Bonito, as
Connie could tell from their informal attire. Mrs.
Morgan nodded to them and came over to their
table, solicitous of their comfort. When Georgia told
her what had brought Connie and herself to Taos she
seemed interested.
Perhaps you will let me join you for dinner
tonight? she proposed. I have lived here for ten
years. I might be able to offer some suggestions that
will make your task easier.
Splendid! Georgia agreed enthusiastically.
Then, when Mrs. Morgan had left, she suggested to
Connie that they go on a reconnaissance trip to the
pueblo of Taos that afternoon.
While they made plans, Jeff ate in comparative
silence. Connie felt sorry for the young man,
knowing that the letter from his chief had been very
dispiriting.
Cheer up! she urged him. Maybe therell be a
pot of gold at the end of your rainbow after all.
Cheer up! Cheer up! screamed the parrot from
his perch within hearing distance of Connies clear
voice. He was apparently delighted to imitate a
phrase from his limited vocabulary.
The birds hoarse screech made Jeff laugh, but
30

Georgia looked at the parrot with instinctive

distaste. He sounds like a dissipated old seaman,
was her opinion.
After lunch, in all of Taos it was siesta time, but
neither Connie and Georgia nor Jeff were aware of
the southwestern custom of napping after the noon
meal. The girls set out by car for the pueblo at the
same time Jeff started off on foot to look up the
Alvarado Shop. Spaniards and Indians dozed in the
doorways, straw hats pulled over their faces to
shelter them from the blinding sun. Burros with bent
heads took a siesta too, but Connie had never felt
more wide awake. Though the car seats felt as hot as
the inside of a bake oven, she and Georgia started
off in high spirits along one of the narrow little
streets that zigzagged to the north toward the pueblo.
They still felt they were on a holiday, not on a job.
It was a short run to the western foot of Taos
Mountain, where the pueblo lay. Two communal
buildings, one four and the other five stories high,
faced each other across a little mountain stream.
When Connie saw the piled adobe dwellings, with
outside ladders leading to the upper stories, she was
fascinated.
Like primitive apartment houses, if there could
be such a thing, she murmured to Georgia.
There could be, and apparently there is, Miss
Cameron replied.
31

Few tourists ventured out at this time of day, so

admittance to the governors office, where rules of
behavior for visitors were posted and the fee for
entrance into the pueblo was paid, was prompt.
The chief of the pueblo proved to be a stout,
solemn-faced Indian, who wore his straight black
hair in two braids which hung below his shoulders.
He spoke adequate English, and became very
businesslike about money when Miss Cameron
explained that she and Connie might want to return
to the pueblo again and again.
While Georgia negotiated, Connie considered his
strange costume, a blue denim shirt, khaki pants, and
a blue-and-white plaid cotton blanket, obviously
from a mail-order house, knotted around his hips. If
the other inhabitants of the village couldnt do
better, she was afraid their quest for colorful native
costumes would come to nothing at all.
But once they had been coached as to the proper
protocol which must be strictly observed by
visitors who wished to keep in the good graces of
the chief and his subjects, Connie and Georgia were
permitted to roam at will on one side or the other of
the dividing creek. Here they found color and
atmosphere aplenty.
As the hours of siesta drew to a close, Indian
mothers went about their business, washing in the
stream, hauling water in pottery ollas, working
32

around the outdoor adobe ovens built against the

pueblo walls.
The sun washed the colors of their full cotton
skirts and shawls to off shades of red, terra cotta,
blue, and green. Connies fingers kept itching for a
paintbrush. Some of the combinations of tones are
so interesting, she said to Georgia. That certain
shade of red with faded pink. The deep blue-green
with pale yellow-green. Dont you think so?
Miss Cameron did, indeed. With the practiced eye
of an advertising stylist she was translating what she
saw into usable form and storing it away in her
mind. The two wandered about until the sun began
to burn into their skin, then went back toward the
office, and stood for a while watching a lame Indian
artist making silver and turquoise jewelry with
skillful fingers and the most elementary of tools.
The workman held out a ring to the girl. Very
fine turquoise, he said in broken English.
Very lovely, Connie agreed.
Turquoise very blue. He held out another piece
of unset matrix turquoise, aqua-colored. See
difference.
Connie nodded. The first stone, mounted in a
twisted-rope frame of hammered silver, was the
color of the blazing blue sky overhead. In it there
was no hint of green, no pale water color.
The Indian nodded toward the ring with approval.
33

Jewel turquoise, he said.

Connie remembered that she wanted to take Kit
and her mother gifts of the handmade Indian jewelry
for which the Taos and Santa Fe regions are famous.
Though she didnt intend to come to a decision
hastily, she asked the price. Then, as she walked
back to the car with Miss Cameron, she said, Ill
have to compare that with prices for similar rings in
Taos. The stones did seem unusually lovely, I
thought.
Dont be in too big a hurry to buy, though,
Georgia cautioned wisely. Well be here awhile.
And besides, think how much fun it will be to go
comparison shopping. As a matter of fact, we should
visit Jeffs man at the Alvarado.
Lets! agreed Connie, quite ready to be enticed
in another direction. Maybe wed have time before
dinner. What do you think?
Miss Cameron, glancing at her wrist watch, was
doubtful. Time seemed to race along in this part of
the land even faster than it did in the office in
Philadelphia. Indeed, when Connie and Georgia got
back to the inn, there seemed to be barely time to
bathe and dress.
Connie, the speedier of the two, went out into the
patio when she had changed into a butchers linen
frock with a low, round neck and cap sleeves. The
linen was the clear brown of her eyes, and against it
34

her skin looked creamy and her hair very blond.

The fountain was playing a brisk tune now as the
jet of water struck the stone basin. Long shadows
fell across the courtyard, and the clouds above the
mountains were dyed with brilliant color. It was a
beautiful and quiet time of day.
Then a door latch on the opposite side of the patio
clicked, and Connie turned to see Jeff Chandler
coming toward her. He wasnt wearing his glasses,
and again Connie was struck by his lean good looks
when he was without them. Equipped with
spectacles, he always had too studious an air.
Hi, Jeff! she called. What luck?
Not much, Jeff replied disconsolately. He
would have continued, but just then Georgia joined
them, and they went in to dinner together, being
seated at a table for four this time, with Mrs.
Morgan in the chair facing the lobby, so that she
could keep an eye on the desk.
For a few minutes, over bowls of steaming
soupwhich, oddly enough, proved rather
coolingconversation was desultory. Then, before
Georgia and Mrs. Morgan should become launched
on the topic which had brought them together,
Connie repeated her question to Jeff.
Did the jewelry-shop owner have any idea where
the man youre looking for might have gone?
None, Jeff said. He was very vague about the
35

whole affair. Just couldnt seem to take it seriously.

Connie frowned. Thats too bad.
Jeff pulled a letter from his pocket. I do have
one clue, though. I stopped in at the post office
again and there was a letter from Mr. Warner, which
had been posted after he talked to my chief.
As Jeff started to read from the typewritten page,
Connie became aware that Mrs. Morgan was
listening to their conversation with one ear while she
was attending to something Georgia was saying with
the other.
It may be helpful to know that the man in
question was past middle age, that he had sparse,
grayish hair, walked with a slight limp, and had a
missing little finger on (I think) his left hand. I am
sure Mr. Courtlandt feels that you should leave no
stone unturned to find him.
Connie could feel Mrs. Morgans eyes, the color
of faded hyacinths, turn apprehensively toward Jeff.
For a minute she was certain that she saw fear and
suspicion mingle in their depths. Then, as though the
woman wanted to conceal her quick emotion, she
looked down and toyed with the biscuit on her
bread-and-butter plate.
Goodness, Miss Cameron, she murmured in
assumed amusement, you didnt tell me this young
man was a detective.
Only of sorts, Jeff confessed, putting on his
36

spectacles so that he could see the bones in the fish

he had ordered.
As a matter of fact, maybe you can help me. He
looked at the innkeeper like an innocent owl. Im
looking for an old fellow with a limp and a missing
little fingera chap who used to work for Mr. Percy
Norman at the Alvarado Shop. He has a rather odd
nameTwisty Schlessinger. You wouldnt have
seen him around, would you?
Was Mrs. Morgans negative shake of the head a
little too quick? Connie glanced at Georgia, who
seemed to detect nothing amiss.
Sorry, Mrs. Morgan said. I seem to remember
an old fellowbut then there are always drifters
around Taos. They come and go.
The speech was made with a cool smile, but Mrs.
Morgans eyes were still unquiet. For the rest of the
meal Connie watched her surreptitiously, and the
woman glanced more than once in Jeffs direction,
appraising him with a secret, stolen look.
She knows something about the man Jeff is
seeking, Connie decided. I wonder what?

37

CHAPTER

The Turquoise Shop

In Taos, Connie and Georgia discovered, many of

the shops close for a few hours at midday and stay
open in the evening. After dinner they walked down
through the crooked streets toward the plaza, and
paused before the lighted window of Percy
Normans jewelry shop.
Jeff had stayed at the inn to write a letter, so the
girls were alone. Shall we go in? Georgia asked,
looking up at the swinging Alvarado sign.
Lets! Id like to price the turquoise anyway.
And besides, youre just plain curious, teased
Georgia.
Connie wrinkled her nose. What if I am? she
asked with a chuckle. Then she paused, her foot on
the uneven adobe step. And besides, she
murmured more seriously, we might pick up a
cluea clue to the buried treasure of history. She
38

liked the phrase and welcomed the opportunity to

turn it luxuriously on her tongue.
Georgia smiled and shook her head
affectionately. Youre incorrigible, she teased as
the younger girl opened the door.
A large woman in green slacks and sunglasses,
worn like a uniform despite the lateness of the hour,
was just completing the purchase of a leather belt
studded with turquoise and tooled by hand. Connie
and Georgia waited while she counted out bills from
an ample purse.
Two, four, five.
The man behind the counter picked up one of the
bills and snapped it between his fingers, then held it
to the light and turned it over curiously. He had a
long, chiseled face that just missed being handsome,
dark hair graying dramatically at the temples, and
well-kept hands.
The woman in slacks looked at him with raised
eyebrows. Whats the matter, Mr. Norman? Isnt
my money any good?
Oh, perfectly, madam. The man looked a little
startled. Its just that one so rarely sees a two-dollar
bill these days, and to get two of them
They were given to me as change in Santa Fe
along with a silver dollar. Youre sure theyre all
right?
Quite all right. Mr. Norman was scooping the
39

money into a cash drawer. You dont have to

worry. I know a counterfeit bill when I see one.
Well, thats more than I would, said the
customer.
More than I would either, murmured Georgia to
Connie, in a voice that carried across the store.
Connie saw the proprietor, who overheard, glance
toward Georgia with admiration, as well he might,
for Miss Cameron was looking especially attractive
in a full-skirted, candy-striped chambray. The pink
and white of the dress made her hair intensely black,
and the New Mexico sun had stained her cheeks
with more color than usual. She was as striking as a
magazine-cover girl tonight.
Good evening, said Mr. Norman courteously
when the stout woman had waddled out the door. Is
there anything I can do for you, or would you just
like to browse? His accent was Midwestern and
rather cultivated, as though it were overlaid with a
coating of British influence.
Id like to look at some turquoise rings and
pins, said Connie promptly. Then Georgia added.
And if I may, Ill just wander around.
Mr. Norman brought out two trays of ornaments,
set in hand-wrought Indian silver, and set them on
the glass counter for Connies inspection. Connie
picked up a pin here, a ring there, and inspected
them with interest. It didnt take long to discover
40

that the Alvarados turquoise could not compare

with that which she had seen at the pueblo, if depth
of color were a criterion. This was a pale, watery
green, the color of the sea, and it was shot through
with a tan matrix. The turquoise the Indian trader
had shown her was a strong, deep blue, and the
matrix which crossed its polished surface was
almost black.
While Connie was turning the various pieces of
jewelry in her hand, Miss Cameron wandered
toward the back of the shop and through an arched
door which led to a larger room. Flames from a
corner fireplace flickered on walls lined with
paintings. It looked definitely inviting.
Georgia looked back over her shoulder. Am I
allowed in here? she asked with an ingenuousness
at odds with her sophisticated appearance.
But of course! Mr. Norman deserted Connie
and sprang to her service. Ill switch on a light.
Then he went on to explain, I sell oils and water
colors by some of our local artists, as well as Indian
ware.
After a few minutes he came back to the counter,
and Connie continued to examine the jewelry while
he wrapped some oblong jewelry boxes for mailing.
Finally she turned to him. Have you any turquoise
that is a deeper colora deeper blue?
Mr. Norman raised his eyebrows and smiled. So
41

you are a connoisseur!

Connie shook her head. Not really. Ive just seen
some of the other at the pueblo Her voice trailed
off.
Mr. Norman, who was unlocking a drawer,
paused and shot a sharp glance at his customer.
After a moment he turned and laid another tray
before her. The stones were unmounted, and Connie
gave a little cry of appreciation as she recognized
the same quality of color which had delighted her at
the pueblo.
Out here we call this jewel turquoise. Its
becoming rather rare, the proprietor of the
Alvarado said.
Oh, but its lovely!
It is nice. Its also considerably more expensive
than the green turquoise made into ornaments for the
tourist trade. For several minutes he talked to her
about the two types, explaining the difference, and
quoting prices on various pieces.
Connie was quite fascinated. I dont want to
decide on anything tonight, she explained, but Ill
be in again.
Mr. Norman put the tray of unset stones away,
then carried the jewelry boxes he had wrapped into a
back room. While Connie continued to inspect the
articles for sale at the front of the shoptooled
leather, pottery, and souvenirs of Taos, he joined
42

Miss Cameron in the art gallery, where the two

engaged in an animated conversation about one of
the paintings which Georgia apparently admired.
Connie could hear their voices and catch an
occasional word, and presently she joined them, as
intrigued as Miss Cameron by the exhibit of local
paintings, though there were many of them she
could not admire.
It seems so strange to see such awfully modern
art in such an ancient part of the world. Connie
tried to explain her distaste for surrealism and
cubism as she considered each painting in turn.
Mr. Norman laughed. Confidentially, I agree
with you that its out of place here. And yet its the
painter of the modern school who seems to be
attracted to Taos.
They talked, then, about the color of the country,
and Georgiawho seemed unusually animated
tonighttold the dealer about the advertising job
which had brought them to New Mexico. He seemed
immediately interested, and soon the three of them,
having introduced themselves by name, were
chatting like old friends.
Then another customer entered the shop, and Mr.
Norman had to excuse himself. But dont leave!
he urged. Ill be able to close up in another ten
minutes. If you can stay around Ill make us a pot of
coffee and we can all have a real talk in front of the
43

fire.
It was from just such local people that Georgia
knew she would get the best ideas, and she agreed
readily, to Connies delight, because she was really
enjoying herself.
This is fun, isnt it? Connie whispered to
Georgia while Mr. Norman was busy in the shop.
Lots of fun, Georgia agreed. Mr. Norman is
nice, isnt he? So enthusiastic and informal.
Everybody seems hospitable out here, Connie
added, thinking of Mrs. Morgans reception. But
then she remembered the womans reaction to Jeffs
description of the man with the missing finger and a
reservation arose in her mind. She decided to
question Mr. Norman about the owner of the Casa
Bonito if she found an opportunity. She was curious
about her reputation in the community.
The opportunity came a little later, as the jewelry
trader poured coffee from a thin-necked, tall copper
pot. Where are you stopping? he asked casually.
At the Casa Bonito, Georgia said.
Thats an attractive inn, dont you think?
Very. Were delighted with it.
Connie accepted a cup of coffee. Mrs. Morgan
has been so nice to us. Do you know her?
Dolly Morgan? Mr. Norman looked amused
that she should ask. Certainly. Everybody knows
Dolores. Shes quite a character in these parts.
44

Handsome sort of person, isnt she?

Georgia was a little hesitant. Shes certainly
striking.
Shes a woman with real flavor, Mr. Norman
said thoughtfully. Came out here a decade ago
without a nickel to her name and pulled herself up
by her bootstraps. You should have seen her bossing
the gang when she was building her inn. Getting our
Spanish caballeros to stay on the job for more than
ten minutes at a time is like pulling teeth, but Dolly
Morgan managed it. He chuckled at the thought.
Theres one thing, murmured Georgia.
Housing out here must cost little more than the
time and trouble.
Thats right, Mr. Norman agreed. Out here we
have all the time in the world, but we arent too
enthusiastic about the trouble.
Connie and Georgia both laughed. Back east,
Connie replied, we have plenty of trouble but no
time.
Back east. A trace of nostalgia saddened Mr.
Normans voice. Im going back east again,
someday, myself. His eyes seemed to harden as he
added, Maybe quite soon, now.
You wantso muchto go back? Miss
Cameron asked gently. I should think youd come
to love this country.
Norman shrugged. Its all right for a whileand
45

its fine if youre brokebut the monotony is

killing. Really killing. He clenched his fist as
though he were squeezing the lifeblood out of an
intangible something, and for an instant Connie
thought that his long fingers looked cruel.
But then the mood was dissipated, and he sat
back in his low chair and laughed. Oh, I suppose
Id miss all this. He looked around at the Indian
rugs and pottery which, with a few simple Spanish
pieces, furnished the room. But I must admit Id
like to see Chicago again.
Chicagos a wonderful city, Connie said
navely. I saw it for the first time on our trip out.
Its a great town, Mr. Norman said, but it
takes money to enjoy life there. Not a sockful, but a
little more than Ive got right now. He shrugged.
Im not like Dolores Morgan. Shes rooted here for
good. But Ive got a yen to see the bright lights
again.
Why was Mrs. Morgan rooted here? Connie
dared not ask such a question outright. Instead, she
remarked casually, I shouldnt think Mrs. Morgan
would be likely to stay here permanently.
Miss Cameron and Mr. Norman both turned
toward her in surprise.
Why, what do you mean, Connie? Georgia
asked.
Oh, I dont know, she gives me the impression
46

of being city bred, thats all. I thought perhaps she

had some special reason for being here, Connie
added tentatively.
But Mr. Norman merely shrugged. Dollys got a
lot of friends here. I think she just likes the place.
Then, because there came an awkward pause, he
changed the subject abruptly. Are you interested in
pueblo pottery, Miss Cameron? I have some rather
nice examples if youd care to see them.
He showed them, then, a water jar, a food bowl
and a cooking pot from Acoma, all of them
decorated with exquisite care. Then he showed them
the difference between vessels from the Zuni region,
Santo Domingo and Acoma, mentioning the points
prized by collectors. He was the art trader again,
intelligent and interesting, talking with sensitive
pride of the Indian ware he handled.
It was late when Connie and Georgia finally said
good-byepast ten oclock, and few lights showed
in the plaza. The shops were closed now, the
Spanish and Indians who had dozed in the sun all
day had found their way home, and only the brassy
music of a dance band, coming from a radio turned
too loud, disturbed the peace.
The night air was cool and fresh, and Connie and
Georgia walked along briskly, wishing they had
worn light coats.
As they climbed toward the inn Miss Cameron
47

yawned openly. Im really tired. Do you realize all

weve done today?
Connie thought back. Had it been only that
morning they had left Santa Fe? It seemed a much
longer time, so complete had been their transition
into a new and different world.
Ive loved every minute of it, she said softly.
Today was like a holiday. Tomorrow Ill get to
work.
We worked today, Georgia said comfortingly.
We made contactsMrs. Morgan and Mr.
Norman. Theyll stand us in good stead, perhaps.
But this was a different sort of work than Connie
recognized. Though she didnt say so, she kept
feeling that Reid and Renshaw should be paid for
giving her such an exciting vacation, rather than the
advertising agency paying her. She trotted along by
Georgias side in contented silence, breathing in the
fragrance of flowering shrubs which trailed over the
adobe walls of enclosed gardens, raising her head to
search the sky for the first sliver of a new moon.
Buoyed up by excitement, Connie felt anything but
sleepy. She felt that she could stay awake all night.
Only one thing marred the sheer perfection of the
day. Connie felt a little concerned for Jeff. She was
afraid that his trip to Taos was meeting with little
success, and she knew how important he counted it.
If only there were something she could do to help
48

him! She fell to wishing that she were a good fairy,

who could simply wave a wand and, presto, Jeffs
dream of buried treasure would materialize before
his eyes.
An airplane droned overhead, bringing Connie
back abruptly to the twentieth century, and she
realized that the inn lay just ahead. She pushed open
the door to the lobby and held it for Georgia, who
walked through silently, then waited for her.
It looks, she whispered, as though the Casa
Bonito has gone to bed.
Connie glanced around the empty lobby, in which
only a night light burned. The patio, when they
entered it, was also dark, except for a dim glow from
the window of Jeffs room and a brighter one from
the corner suite which Mrs. Morgan had pointed out
that morning as her own.
Suddenly the still night was pierced by a raucous
voice from behind this closed door, which Connie
and Georgia had to pass in order to reach their own
rooms.
Hi, Pop! came a hoarse salutation, and
immediately on its heels, in a deeper, whispering
tone, came a frenzied warning. Youve got to get
away from here! Theyre after you.
Connie halted abruptly, not sure that she could
believe her ears, and she could feel Georgias nails
bite into the flesh of her arm as Miss Cameron
49

clutched her in alarm.

Come on, Connie. Come on! It was the
instinctive reaction of the unwilling eavesdropper.
She wanted to get past that door.
Connie walked forward again along the porch of
the patio, her eyes still fixed on the tantalizing shaft
of light, and suddenly, in the darkness that lay over
the rest of the patio like a black cloak, her foot
struck something soft and she stumbled forward.
Her hands reached out to save herself, but she fell
to one knee, and she knew, in the next instant, that
the thing she touched was a bodya mans body,
lying prone before the door to the innkeepers suite.
Then Connie screamed, and screamed again, her
high young voice splitting the New Mexico night.
Georgia! Georgia, its Jeff!

50

CHAPTER

A Man with Four Fingers

Lights winked on all around the patio like signals at

a blacked-out airfield. Connies scream had
awakened all but the heaviest of sleepers, and heads
popped
from
bedroom
doorways
almost
simultaneously.
Connie dropped to her knees beside Jeffs inert
body. Above her, in a shaft of light from her own
doorway, stood Mrs. Morgan, a hooded lounging
robe tied with a corded girdle around her ample
frame.
Somethingsomethings happened to Mr.
Chandler.
It was Georgia who spoke, in that shocked,
senseless manner by which the most intelligent of
persons will report an accident.
Mr. Chandler. Why For a second Mrs.
Morgan stood as though paralyzed and, behind her,
51

in the bedroom, Connie caught a glimpse of the

parrots cage, hooded for the night. Then the
innkeeper closed the door and came forward,
solicitous and alarmed. Why, what can have
happened? Do you suppose hefell?
Connies heart was thumping like a trip hammer.
For one dreadful moment she had been afraid Jeff
was dead. Terror had swept her up, like a
nighthawk, into its clutches. Her throat felt dry and
tight.
Even when she realized that the young man was
breathingthat he was unconscious but breathing
quite evenlyher heart continued to pound. Hes
been hurt, Connie said. She brought her hand out
from under Jeffs head. It was covered with
something dark and sticky.
Georgia stepped back and her hand rose
instinctively to her throat.
Blood!
The word brought an anxious ring of faces to
hover around Connie. Bathrobes gathered hastily
about them, the guests at the inn looked like
frightened people routed by a fire, forced to flee in
disarray, and somehow welded together by the
disaster.
Is there a doctor near?
Wait. Ill get some water.
I have some aromatic spirits of ammonia. Would
52

that help?
Afterward Connie couldnt remember who
proposed what, but everyone seemed apprehensive
and eager to be helpful, though a little at a loss. It
was Mrs. Morgan herself who finally took command
of the situation.
Enlisting the help of two middle-aged men, who
were apparently traveling with their wives on a
pleasure trip, she had Jeff moved to his own room,
where the wound could be inspected in a better light.
Then a tall, rawboned young woman who professed
to be a nurse stepped forward.
If youd just let me look at the young man,
please.
She bathed and bandaged Jeffs head efficiently.
Just a gash, she announced. Nothing serious. But
hell have a bit of a headache when he wakes up.
Mrs. Morgan relayed the news to the cluster of
guests now waiting outside Jeffs door. The young
man will be quite all right. He must have fallen and
knocked his head against one of the wooden posts.
Thank you so much for your solicitude. And Im
sorry you were disturbed.
Her voice was easy and professional. She was the
hostess and owner of the inn once more, capable of
handling the situation with tact.
With tact and understatement, Connie thought to
herself. Jeff didnt fall. That bruise was never made
53

by a pillar. Somebody hit him on the back of the

head. But who? And why?
When Mrs. Morgan came back into Jeffs
bedroom, the nurse, whose name was Miss Smith,
supported Connies conjecture in a flat declaration.
This young man didnt fall. He was hit on the head
by a blunt instrument.
Connie shuddered. Miss Smiths phraseology
could have stepped straight from a crime novel.
Mrs. Morgan murmured, Really? Well, its best
that I didnt alarm my guests, dont you think?
But who could have hit him? asked Georgia.
Who could have wanted to? Connie wondered.
Hes a stranger out here.
Just at that moment Jeff began to stir. Connie had
a feeling that, in any case, her question would have
gone
unanswered.
With
a
murmuring,
uncomfortable groan the patient opened his eyes,
shut them against the light, and opened them again.
Whatwhat happened? He turned his head,
groaned again, and his eyebrows drew together.
Golly! My head
Ill get you some aspirin, said Miss Smith with
colorless efficiency. She tiptoed neatly from the
room.
Jeffs eyes sought out Connies. What
happened? he asked again. I had just knocked on
Mrs. Morgans door. There was a light, and I wanted
54

to ask her about mail collections. Somebody said

Come in. I had my hand on the knob. His glance
shifted to the innkeepers face.
It must have been Dodo who called Come in,
said Mrs. Morgan with quick assurance. You know
her propensity for welcoming visitors. Im afraid I
must have fallen asleep over my book.
Jeffs right hand reached to the back of his neck.
It sure feels as though somebody conked me on the
head.
Miss Smith was returning with the aspirin. In
Jeffs cubbyhole of a bathroom she filled a glass
with water. As they waited for her, Mrs. Morgan
said, Lets talk about all this in the morning. Right
now, the best thing for you, Mr. Chandler, would be
to get some sleep.
Thats right, Miss Smith agreed, proffering the
bottle of aspirin. Take two, she advised. And Ill
leave the bottle here, in case you need more.
Connie and Georgia said brief good nights as
Mrs. Morgan marshaled them out. The rest of the
patio doors were shut again, and most of the lights
were turned off.
Miss Smith padded off in one direction, and Mrs.
Morgan crossed the courtyard with Connie and
Georgia, turning right along the porch as they turned
left to their rooms. Somewhere outside the enclosing
wall a burro brayed in the night. To Connie the air
55

seemed chill and the dried blood on her hand an evil

omen. She wanted to run back and tell Jeff to lock
his door. She wanted to warn him, because she felt
he was in danger. Somebody resented his presence
in Taossomebody wanted to hurt him. Connie
went into the bath which connected with Georgias
room and washed her hands carefully with soap, but
she couldnt wash away the fear for Jeff that flooded
her thoughts.
Georgia, although almost equally concerned, was
also extremely sleepy, and Connie knew it would be
useless to try to engage her in further discussion that
night. So she undressed quietly, climbed into
tailored pink chambray pajamas, and lay in bed wide
awake, staring at the rectangle of window opened to
the patio breeze.
Perhaps half an hour later she thought she heard a
noise, a muffled footfall on the boards of the gallery.
She lay listening for a second, then slipped out of
bed silently and tiptoed to the window. The patio
was utterly quiet and utterly dark. Then a faint
creaking noise came to Connies ears. Could it be
the patio gate closing? She strained her eyes, but the
sliver of new moon threw no light against the garden
wall. Though she stood, listening, for five minutes
longer, there was no other sound.
At last she crept, shivering, back to bed, and as
she tucked her arm under the pillow and closed her
56

eyes a burro brayed again somewhere in the

distance. The long, uncertain braying was the last
thing she remembered before she went to sleep.
In the morning Jeff didnt join Connie and
Georgia for breakfast.
Were sending some fruit and coffee in to him,
Mrs. Morgan explained. She was wearing riding
clothesrather badly tailored jodhpurs and a mans
open shirt. He still has a pretty bad headache. Miss
Smith advises that he stay in bed for the day.
Miss Smith, who was apparently playing good
Samaritan in the very hour of leave-taking, came
into the lobby where Connie, Miss Cameron and
Mrs. Morgan were talking, and repeated her
admonition.
This sun, she said, will do his head no good.
Were friends of Mr. Chandlers, Miss
Cameron assured her. Well do our best to see that
he behaves.
Thank you. I have left the bottle of aspirin.
Good-bye, then, said orderly Miss Smith.
Bye now. Bye now! screeched the parrot from
its perch across the room.
Connie turned to look at the offensive bird and
suddenly she found herself staring. She was trying to
remember something that had kept tickling the top
of her mind last night when everyone had been so
excited about Jeff.
57

Dimly she heard Georgia thanking the nurse and

wishing her a happy journey. Even Mrs. Morgans
throaty voice, saying a routine farewell, fell softly
on her ears.
Suddenly she had it! The open door to Dolores
Morgans bedroom. The covered parrots cage.
Covered! Yes, she was sure it was covered! She
looked from the bird to the strong, ugly but
interesting face of the woman who was their hostess.
She could hear her saying again, as she had said to
Jeff last night, It must have been Dodo who called
Come in.
But parrots dont talk when their cages are
covered, do they? Canaries dont sing. Surely
parrots dont talk. Connie tried to think of stories
she had read about parrots. She was certain she was
right.
So, either Mrs. Morgan must have covered the
cage very hastily, after Connies scream, or there
had been someone else in the room with her,
someone else who called Come in.
Connie! Daydreaming? Georgia called her back
to the present.
I guess I was, a little. She forced a smile.
I think wed better pop our heads in Jeffs door
and then start for our happy hunting ground. We
dont want to miss this early light. Its so lovely and
soft.
58

Thats right, said Mrs. Morgan with approval.

She picked up a crop and gloves and walked with
them into the patio. Tell Mr. Chandler Ill stop in
later to see how hes feeling. But Im sure hell be
all right. She hesitated a moment, then spoke
directly to Miss Cameron. How much do you know
about that young man?
Georgia rose to the occasion with a poise that
Connie admired. Enough, she said coolly. Why?
Mrs. Morgan frowned. Im sorry about the
accident, last night. Sorry in more ways than one. I
dont like a disturbance of that sort at the Casa
Bonito. Gives the inn a bad name. Of course Ive
notified the police, but I might mention that in Taos
it doesnt do to be unduly prying. It may be that Mr.
Chandler has made an enemy. He has been here but
a short time, true. Still, investigators are never
popular. She lapsed into the Spanish idiom.
Cmo no? How could it be otherwise?
But Jeff isnt Connie was starting
impulsively, when Georgia stopped her with a
glance.
Perhaps you misunderstand Mr. Chandlers
business here, she said.
Dolly Morgan shrugged. Perhaps. She drew on
her gloves, as though she intended to dismiss the
entire incident from her mind. And perhaps, too,
she said in a placating tone, I am detaining you.
59

After all, what is over is over. With a swinging

stride she crossed to the gate and went quickly
through.
It was Georgias turn to shrug, as she and Connie
hurried along to Jeffs room. A strange woman,
she murmured.
You know, Georgia, I believe she thinks Jeff is a
detective.
It really isnt any of her affair what Jeff is,
Georgia said firmly, and I, for one, dont intend to
enlighten her. She chuckled. But I hope Im there
when she finds out that Mr. Chandler, who so
inconsiderately gets bopped on the head, is nothing
but an innocent archaeologist. I want to see Dollys
face!
There was time for only a brief hello to Jeff.
The girls wished him well, repeated Miss Smiths
advice to keep out of the sun, then left at once for
the pueblo, taking a picnic lunch which the inn had
packed. Georgia wandered around making notes
while Connie sketched from the bank of the creek
opposite the North Pueblo. Georgia came by once
during the morning and casually said, Doesnt it
seem odd to be more than fifty miles from the
nearest railroad?
Only fifty? I feel as though I were a thousand
miles from a train, Connie replied. And several
hundred years away from the twentieth century, she
60

added with a smile.

On the rooftops were lone, blanket-wrapped
figures, the days guard, and Connie had learned that
off in the fertile fields around Taos were most of the
men from the pueblofarmers who lived in oneroom houses on the land they tilled all summer, only
coming back to the communal buildings after
harvest in the fall. They followed a custom that had
remained unchanged over the centuries, as had their
manner of life and their colorful dress.
It was this dress that Connie was putting down on
paper as her first project. She painted, in water
color, the odd and interesting color combinations the
women wore. She was alert, too, to the splash of a
red shawl flung over a black beam against the warm
sand color of an adobe wall. These things could be
useful to them in advertising the new fabrics which
American Textile would bring out.
By the middle of the afternoon they moved to the
opposite bank of the stream which divided the
village, finding that the light was best on the South
Pueblo now. Connie sketched for another hour; then
they knocked off at Georgias suggestion, and
Connie gathered up her art materials and started
back to the car.
Passing the spot where the Indian jeweler was
again working at his craft, Connie stopped and
spoke in friendly fashion.
61

The man apparently recognized her, and gave the

nod and grunt that is the Indian equivalent of a
smile. I admire your turquoise even more now that
I have seen what they sell in Taos, Connie told
him. Where do you get such clear blue stones?
It come from old mine down Black Cat Gulch
way, he told her in fair English. Most jewel
turquoise gone. Fourfingers find a little, here, there.
He sell us what he get. Not much left.
In a crude but not ineffective fashion, the fellow,
Connie realized, was trying to make a sale. But one
word in his monologue caught her special attention.
Fourfingers, she repeated. Thats a funny
name.
The Indian held up one hand, tucking his little
finger down on his palm, and shrugged graphically.
Connie wet her lips, which were suddenly dry
with excitement, and asked, in as casual a tone as
she could muster, By any chance does this man
walk with a slight limp?
But the Indian, far more observant than he
looked, must have read too-avid curiosity in the
girls eyes, because he became suddenly deaf, and
when she repeated the question he just grunted, as
though he failed to understand.

62

CHAPTER

At the Little Dipper

Connie could have stamped her foot in frustrated

appeal. She could have taken the taciturn Indian by
the shoulders and shaken the information out of him.
She could have cajoled and beggedif it would
have helped. But she knew that anything she did
would be useless. The subject of the man called
Fourfingers was closed.
Even in the short time she had been in New
Mexico she had learned enough about the
personalities of the oldest Americans to understand
that they were independent, secretive souls,
impervious to white mens blandishments.
Trying to cover the fact that she was seething
curiosity, Connie smiled politely at the jeweler, said
good-bye with the promise that she would return
again to select some jewelry, and followed Georgia
to the car.
63

Miss Cameron already had the motor running,

and Connie hopped in quickly. In another minute
they were headed back towards Taos, leaving in
their wake on the pueblo road a cloud of golden
dust.
Connie told Georgia about her conversation with
the Indian at once, and could scarcely wait to tell
Jeff, although Miss Cameron advised her not to get
too excited.
There could be more than one man around Taos
with a missing finger, you know.
But theres a chance
Yes, Georgia admitted, theres a chance this
may be the man Jeff is seeking. Did the Indian say
that he was an Anglo?
He didnt say, replied Connie sorrowfully. Ill
try to get more out of him the next time we go back
to the pueblo. Maybe I can bribe him by buying a
ring or a pin.
And then again, said Georgia less hopefully,
maybe you cant.
Jeff was lying back in a lounge chair in the lobby
when the girls reached the inn. The big cat who had
been on hand to greet them on arrival, but who had
since stayed close to the kitchen where he was fed,
lay decoratively across his lap.
I have an affinity for animals, Jeff explained
with a wry smile. They love me. Napoleon here,
64

however, definitely does not love Mrs. Morgans

parrot. You should see the malevolent looks he gives
that bird.
I understand Napoleon completely, said
Georgia.
Connie, however, was unwilling to waste time in
small talk. Jeff, she broke in, theres a man who
sells turquoise to the pueblo Indians with a missing
finger. I mean the man has a missing finger. And it
just mightdont you thinkit just might be your
man.
Jeff sat up and spilled the cat unceremoniously
from his knees.
Does he walk with a limp? Whats his name?
Thats just what I dont know. And I cant find
out.
But didnt you ask?
Yes, Connie replied sadly, but the Indian
wont give.
Ill go see the governor, Jeff said at once.
You can if you like, Jeff, but I dont think it will
do you a bit of good, Georgia said quietly. The
minute the Indians find out youre on a trail of a
friend of theirs, for whatever reason, theyll close up
like clams.
Jeff sat back with a sigh. I suppose youre right.
He frowned in annoyance. I never saw such a
close-mouthed bunch of people, Spanish, Indian, or
65

Anglo, as you find in this neck of the woods. I

believe if I asked any of the guys that hang around
the plaza the name of his wife, he wouldnt tell me,
just on general principles.
Connie had to chuckle. Maybe youre right, at
that.
Miss Cameron. Telephone. One of the pretty
Spanish-American waitresses, on temporary duty in
the lobby, came up to Georgia.
Thank you.
As Georgia walked away, curious as to who could
be calling her in this town where she was not
known, Jeff again slumped back into his chair, while
Connie, on a hassock beside him, leaned her chin on
her cupped hands thoughtfully.
If the Indians know this guy with four fingers
somebody else in this town must know his
whereabouts, Jeff said after a while.
You dont suppose Mr. Norman is keeping
something from you?
I dont think so. Jeff looked at Connie. Do
you?
I cant imagine why he should.
Then lets cross Norman off our list, Jeff
suggested. Ill have to cultivate somebody else who
seems friendly and ask a few discreet questions.
Please be very discreet! Connie urged. The
next time somebody bangs you on the back of the
66

head, it may be for keeps.

But Jeff was paying her no heed. I know! he
said with a snap of his fingers. The girl at the Little
Dipper. I think Ill have supper there, this evening,
instead of here at the inn.
Enchiladas, remembered Connie. Youll have
to try them.
Why dont you come along?
I dont know Connie looked at Georgia, who
was coming toward them from the telephone across
the lobby. Then she said with forthrightness,
Georgia, would you like to eat down at the Little
Dipper with Jeff?
Georgia shook her head. I dont like Mexican
food. Anyway, that was Mr. Norman, to ask whether
we would be his guests tonight at dinner here.
Connie smiled. Mr. Norman doesnt really want
me tagging along. He just included me to be polite.
Now dont protest! You know thats true, Georgia.
So would you mind awfully if I ate down in the
village with Jeff?
Miss Cameron did protest but weakly. She soon
agreed to present Connies excuses to Mr. Norman,
on the condition that the younger couple would join
them after dinner. With plans for the evening settled,
the girls went off to their rooms to change.
An hour later Jeff and Connie strolled down
toward the plaza together, a fantastic New Mexico
67

sunset blazing in the sky above. They loitered, not

wanting to dine too early, when the Little Dipper
might be crowded. Besides, exploring the narrow
little streets which all led down to the original
walled town was fun.
Connie kept peeking over gates and walls,
intrigued by the interesting houses and colorful
gardens, but Jeff walked along dreamily, and after a
while he fell to talking about his job.
Ive just got to find this Twisty Schlessinger
now, he said. He may be the key to something big,
you see. The longer I stay in this country the more
convinced I am that there must be scores of
undiscovered diggingssites that might reveal more
about our early history than even Chaco Canyon or
the Sandia Cave.
Connie was always amused that Jeff thought of
American history not as something which started
with the voyage of Columbus to our shores, but
which had its beginning about 8000 B.C. He was a
complete romantic when it came to discussing the
business which had brought him west, and he
dreamed of the day when his museum might send an
expedition to unearth new treasures even more
exciting than anything yet found.
Jeff had the ability to transmit this sense of
excitement to Connie. She saw the little turquoise
and jet ornament which Jeffs lawyer friend had
68

brought to Philadelphia as a small key to a gigantic

puzzle, a clue which might lead to the discovery of
something bigger than she could possibly conceive.
Jeff made her understand the thrill which comes
from unearthing ancient history. She teased him a
little about his devotion to his job, but he was very
serious about it.
Theres always a great deal of mystery
surrounding the lives we try to reconstruct, Jeff
said. Thats part of the thrill. If you have the vision,
you can see, among the clouds of stirred-up dust,
something of the character and achievements of the
prehistoric peoples, and at the same time attain a
better understanding of history.
You should be a professor, Connie told him
with a sidelong smile. She could almost feel in her
nostrils the bite of the dust Jeff described. If i
werent an advertising gal Id turn archaeologist
myself.
Youd love it! Jeff insisted, but then Connie
laughed aloud.
Now dont try to convert me!
I wont, Jeff promised, a little sadly. I guess
youd make a poor proselyte.
Connie wondered a little about the meaning of the
word proselyte, but she didnt want to admit her
ignorance. Jeff was always using words that Toby
described as ten-centers. It was part of his
69

personality that he should. And Connie found the

young man, with his serious ways and his great
absorption in his work, very appealing. She thought
that someday a girl would fall very much in love
with Jeff. He would make a fine husband, steady and
devoted. But then she shrugged her shoulders as
though she would shrug away the thought. Connie
Blair wasnt ready to fall in loveyet.
They crossed the plaza, making a rather striking
couple as they walked along in step. Connies hair
was riffled by the breeze into a halo, and Jeff, nearly
a head taller than she, was contrastingly dark.
The Little Dipper was crowded when they
entered, but most of the dinner guests were eating
dessert or dawdling over large cups of black coffee.
The pretty girl who had served them on their first
visit was now seated on the cashiers stool, but she
smiled and welcomed them.
You came back for some Mexican food, eh?
You bet! Jeff told her. Were going to let you
order our dinner. If you will?
But of course! When she smiled, the girls teeth
were very white against her olive skin. She called
one of the waitresses and they held a low-voiced
conference while Jeff seated Connie opposite him at
one of the small, scrubbed tables.
As each dish was served, the waitress named it,
amused at Connies attempts to repeat the Spanish
70

words with the correct accent. In time the girl grew

talkative, and it was easy to discover that the cashier
was Maria Gonzales, daughter of the proprietor.
Maria is a bright one, the waitress said with
pride. She goes to Menaul School in Albuquerque,
winters.
Menaul? It was a new name to Connie.
The girl nodded vigorously. Someday she will
have a college degree.
By the time Connie and Jeff were finishing their
meal the restaurant had completely emptied, and
Maria came over to their table and said, Enjoy it, or
is our food too hot for your palate?
Its delicious, but it does make me thirsty,
Connie admitted. Then she added, a trifle hesitantly,
Wont you sit down and talk to us for a while?
Thank you! Maria accepted with alacrity, as
though she were thirsty for something quite
differentfor companionship, Connie thought. It
occurred to her that it must be lonely for a college
girl to live all summer in this isolated village, doing
work that offered little or no mental stimulation,
meeting few people close to her own age or
interests.
The three of them fell into casual conversation.
Connie told Maria what brought her to Taos, and the
Spanish-American girls eyes shone with interest. It
must be wonderful to have a job like that! she
71

cried.
Jeff thinks he has the priority on thrilling jobs,
though, Connie told her. His has all sorts of
angles. One minute hes studying dinosaurs bones
in a Philadelphia museum and the next hes playing
bloodhound in New Mexico. You cant beat that.
Maria smiled at the young man. Tell me more.
Youre a?
An archaeologist, Jeff said modestly.
Oh? Again Maria looked interested. And
youre on the scent of a new dinosaur?
Jeff laughed. Right now Im on the scent of a
man by the name of Twisty Schlessinger. Dont
happen to know him, do you?
Twisty Schlessinger. The girl repeated the odd
name slowly. Theres something familiar about it.
Does he live around here?
He used to work for Mr. Norman, over at the
Alvarado Shop. A slight, oldish fellow, with a limp,
and a finger missing on one hand. Jeff found it hard
to keep impatience out of his voice. He watched
Marias face closely as he spoke.
A glint of recognition appeared in the girls eyes
as Jeff mentioned the missing finger. Oh, yes, I
remember him, she said quite guilelessly. Let me
seePedro, our dishwasher, was talking about him
last week.
Hope leaped into both Connies and Jeffs eyes.
72

They waited without speaking.

Seems to me he said Twisty was hanging out in
a prospectors shanty a good bit north of here
maybe ten, twenty miles back countryI could
ask.
Would you? Jeff urged.
Maria asked the one remaining waitress to tell
Pedro to step into the dining room for a moment.
Almost at once a swarthy fellow, looking every inch
the Spanish peasant, came through the swinging
door. He wiped his hands on his big apron and
looked a little abashed when he saw Connie and
Jeff, but Maria was very matter of fact, and this
helped to put him at ease.
Pedro, you know Twisty Schlessinger.
Yesm. He couldnt dispute a flat statement like
that.
Know where he could be found?
Pedro looked surprised and a little wary. He
shook his head.
Connie knew that it was a repetition of the same
pattern they had encountered elsewhere. All Anglos
from the east were suspect. Out here the Spanish and
the Indians protected their friends.
But Maria, not discomfited, leaned back easily in
her chair and kept her eyes on the mans. Seems to
me Ive heard that hes hanging out up Black Cat
Gulch way. Is that right?
73

Pedro grunted and shrugged expressively, but not

before Connie had seen a flicker of emotion touch
the fellows mouth.
Maria must have seen it too, because she sat up
and said gently, Its all right, Pedro. These people
are my friends.
Might find him thereabouts. Pedro sounded
more surly than mollified, yet the admission in itself
was more than Connie had expected.
You couldnt say just where?
Nope. Couldnt.
Maria did not seem annoyed. She nodded and
said, Well, thank you, anyway, Pedro. And after
the kitchen worker had returned to his pots and pans
she said, Youll find the man youre looking for at
Black Cat Gulch, all right.
Jeff said, You really think so?
Maria nodded with certainty. Now I have a
question to ask. Why are you looking for him?
Quite readily Jeff repeated the story of the ancient
relic which had brought him west. This Twisty
might just have stumbled on a new diggings, dont
you see?
Maria smiled. Or he might have swiped the
piece from the museum at Santa Fe. You never
know.
No, you never know, Jeff agreed.
Yet it was with a great sense of accomplishment
74

and anticipation that Jeff and Connie started back

toward the Casa Bonito. I cant wait to tell
Georgia! Connie said. Youve got a real lead at
last.
Jeff was looking anxiously up at the sky, dark
now, and starless. The leaves of the trees in the
plaza were rustling menacingly. Wed better hurry
a bit, he suggested after a minute. Its going to
rain.
The words were scarcely spoken when the first
great drops fell on Connies head and nose. Hand in
hand, she and Jeff started to run along the narrow
road, racing the storm to the inn. But they had gone
scarcely a hundred yards when the heavens seemed
to open, and water poured down on both of them
with stinging force.
It was Connies first experience of such
blanketing, all-pervading rain. She had seen it rain
hard at home, but never like this. Water fell like a
curtain, swirling around her ankles, drenching her
completely in the space of a couple of minutes.
Oh! she cried. Oh! Oh! Oh! She was half
laughing in her astonishment, half fighting for
breath, because they were running uphill now, and
Jeff was ahead of her, urging her on.
Wait till I take off my shoes! she called to him.
I cant run properly in high heels.
A few minutes later, soaked to the skin, her hair
75

clinging to her shoulders in a heavy mass, she

caught up with her escort, and passed him. It was
her turn to shout, Come on! now. She felt nimble
in her bare feet, while Jeff was hampered by his
clinging gabardine slacks.
By the time they reached the inn, they were both
almost helpless with laughter, and they stumbled
into the patio breathlessly.
Wed better change, Connie said when she
reached the shelter of the gallery, before we
encounter Georgia.
Ill say wed better, Jeff agreed. Theyd turn
us out of the lobby for causing a flood.

76

CHAPTER

Fruitless Journey

Fifteen minutes later, sitting in front of an open fire

in the lobby, Connie was drying her hair. On a
couch facing the fireplace, which was always used at
the Casa Bonito on cool evenings, sat Georgia and
Percy Norman. Jeff was stretched in an easy chair
opposite Connies hassock. Except for an elderly
guest playing solitaire in a far corner of the room
they were alone.
We have good news! Connie said as the first
break in the conversation warranted a change of
subject from the sudden storm.
At least encouraging, qualified Jeff. We seem
to have a lead on Twisty Schlessinger.
Yes? Mr. Norman raised his eyebrows and
nodded, inviting Jeff to continue.
One of the kitchen boys at the Little Dipper
came through with the information that he might be
77

hanging out around Black Cat Gulch, wherever that

is. He started to uncross his long legs. Which
reminds me that Mrs. Morgan has a map He
looked toward the desk at the other end of the room.
Percy Norman raised a detaining hand. No need
for a map. I know the Black Cat Gulch country. It
lies a good piece north of here. A bit wild. Out of
the farming section the Taos Indians use.
How long would it take to get there? Jeff asked.
Driving, Id say twomaybe threehours.
Mr. Norman puffed slowly at his pipe. So Twistys
reported to be living at the gulch, is he? Its
perfectly possible, of course, he added as Jeff
looked at him curiously, but I cant see why hed
choose that neck of the woods. Dismal setup.
Sagebrush, desert, mesas. Never did fancy the
company of prairie dogs myself.
I think theyre sort of cute, Connie put in, but
wary.
Tell you what Ill do, Mr. Chandler, Mr.
Norman offered, Ill take the day off and drive you
to the gulch if you can go tomorrow.
But what about your shop? Connie, raised in a
household where Blairs Hardware Store was a
primary consideration, looked almost indignant.
Mr. Norman laughed at her righteous concern.
Ill close it for the day, he said. In Taos we lead a
very casual life.
78

Now dont look disapproving, Connie. Mr.

Normans doing me a big favor. Jeff waggled his
finger in admonition.
Of course he is! Connie had to laugh at herself.
Its just my upbringing. I cant help it.
What cant you help?
From the door, which led to a hall connecting
with the owners living quarters, came Dolores
Morgan, dressed in one of her customary peasant
costumes, silver earrings hung with little bells
making a faint tinkling noise as she approached.
Georgia turned and smiled, making room for Mrs.
Morgan on the couch. Connie has a fine sense of
responsibility. She isnt at all sure that Mr. Norman
should shut up shop for a day, even to do a favor for
Jeff.
Mr. Chandler and I are going to make an
expedition to Black Cat Gulch, Percy Norman
remarked to Dolly Morgan.
Connie, watching the woman, thought she saw a
flicker of alarm cross her dark, heavy-lidded eyes.
Yet her voice didnt betray her when she said,
Really? What on earth is of tourist interest back
there?
Im not going as a tourist, Jeff said
ingenuously. Ive just heard that this fellow Im
looking forTwisty Schlessingermight be living
up that way.
79

Connie, pretending to be absorbed in shaking her

hair out from her neck to catch some of the heat
from the fire, wished that she had told Jeff to be
cautious in what he said to this woman. Again she
had a definite feeling that Mrs. Morgan knew
something about the man with four fingers,
something she wasnt telling, and she promised
herself to talk her suspicions over with Jeff.
But there was no chance for a private
conversation that night, and the next morning Jeff
was up and off to the village before Connie and
Georgia breakfasted.
It was a strange sort of day. Clouds like scoops of
egg white were blowing across the sky, which
looked almost deceptively blue. Georgia proposed
going again to the pueblo, and Connie agreed
happily. To be allowed to sketch all day was sheer
delight for her. This trip still seemed more like a
vacation than a job.
The fields they passed glistened with the rain of
the previous night. An Indian farmer, cutting alfalfa,
made a picture in somber tones against the turbulent
sky, and Georgia stopped to take a snapshot,
remarking that she would soon need more color
film.
The road to the pueblo was wet, even muddy in
the low spots, but the country had a clean, washed
look. On either side of the picturesque Taos River,
80

Pueblo Indians were busy. Women in leggings of

white goatskin were baking bread at the round adobe
ovens, while others washed in the river or sat crosslegged before their doors, turning and shaping clay
utensils as such women had for generations past.
Connie, however, took her sketch pad to a point
from which she could look up at a man who was
spreading beef to cure on lines rigged up on a high
wooden platform. The color here was something she
wanted to capture. Outlined against the higher wall
of the pueblo, it was a study in blacks, reds, sand
and browns, with a subtlety that would interest any
maker of fabrics. Smart women in the east combined
toast and black for their winter wardrobes. Here was
a new play on the same interesting theme.
For two hours Connie worked with such
concentration that she was completely unaware of
the quick passage of time. Jeff and his expedition
were out of her mind, as was everything else except
her attempt to put down on paper each nuance of
color she wanted. Georgia didnt interrupt her once.
In another part of the pueblo she was bargaining
with a squaw for some cotton fabric dyed with
vegetable coloring, which she considered interesting
enough to take back home.
Meanwhile the activity of the pueblo continued.
An old woman, taking advantage of the rather stiff
breeze, came out and spread a large cloth on the
81

ground. Onto this she poured beans from a basket

held high above her head so that the chaff would be
blown away as the beans fell.
Finally the rattle of the beans, close at hand,
disturbed Connie, and she paused to watch her for a
minute, marveling that such a primitive operation
could still persist. Far off toward the governors
office, beyond the woman, she could see a group of
tourists huddled together, and near them the
uncommunicative Indian jeweler was showing his
wares to a potential customer.
Or was it a customer? Connies eyes narrowed as
they tried to pierce the distance. The man to whom
the jeweler was talking looked too grubby to be part
of the tourist party. He wore high-heeled Texas
riding boots, rolled-up dungarees, andyes, his
shirt was torn down the back. Yet he was an Anglo.
His thin, pale hair, blowing in the wind, pronounced
it.
Connie began to gather together her drawing
materials. It was probably noon anyway, time to be
looking up Georgia. And she wanted to get a closer
look at this man who was talking to the jeweler. He
was slight, almost skinny. That she could see from a
distance. She squinted again against the sun, and
saw that now the fellow was starting to walk away.
Unconsciously, had she been expecting him to
walk with a limp? Connie gave a quick gasp as she
82

recognized the identifying characteristic. Yet other

men than Twisty Schlessinger could limp, just as
other men could have lost a finger. Dont get too
excited, she warned herself.
But now Connie bundled together her brushes and
paints in untidy haste and almost ran across the
pebbly ground to the wooden footbridge spanning
the stream. A shawled Indian woman, carrying a
lard can full of water, was walking toward her
deliberately, and Connie waited impatiently for her
turn to cross.
Precious minutes had been lost by the time she
reached the jewelers outdoor workshop. The
squatting Indian seemed to anticipate her coming,
because he looked up with a change of expression
that could almost be interpreted as a sly smile.
Good morning, Connie said a little breathlessly.
The Indian nodded and mumbled a greeting, then
blew some silver dust from his file.
Connie was too impatient to waste time on polite
preliminaries today. She had sized up her man and
was convinced that no skillful beating about the
bush would be likely to sway him, anyway. If he
decided to give her an honest answer, he would do
so. But she doubted if any blandishments would
prove effective if he chose to remain mum.
Thatthat man you were just talking to. Is that
the man you buy turquoise fromthe one you call
83

Fourfingers?
The Indian rocked forward on the soles of his
feet. He looked up at Connie, started to shrug, then
changed his mind and nodded.
Gone home now.
Connies heart began to pound. Here was the man
Jeff was probably seeking at this very minute, at
distant Black Cat Gulch. While she had been
sketching, the legendary Twisty had been bargaining
with the Indian jeweler practically under her nose.
Maybe I can catch him!
The Indian selected a smaller file from the
instruments on the blanket in front of him. He
seemed to be weighing the suggestion in his mind.
For an instant Connie was hopeful. Then he slowly
shook his head.
Which way does he go when he leaves here?
Connie almost yielded to the impulse to race off
on the chance that she might catch up with the man
outside the governors office. Then she remembered
that five or ten minutes had elapsed since she had
seen him start to walk away. Such a haphazard chase
would be useless.
Its very important for me to see him, she went
on when the Indian didnt answer. I can explain
why later. She tried not to sound overwrought.
The Indians calm black eyes studied the girls
face. Apparently he read sincerity there, because he
84

said, in a kindlier tone, Too late now.

Oh, but are you sure?
The jeweler lifted his eyes to the hills beyond the
pueblo, and very solemnly he stretched out an arm
and pointed. Connie turned, and raised one hand to
shield her eyes against the sun. On a slope covered
with scrub cedar and sagebrush she could make out
a moving burro, and on the animals back was a
slight figure with lightish hair.
Overhead, a rain cloud suddenly blotted out the
sun, and Connie dropped her hand and continued to
stare into the hills. Isnt there a road? We have a
car.
But even at this distance she could see that there
was no road in the direction the burro was taking.
The rider was cutting directly across country, and
only a horse could overtake him now.
A minute later Georgia bustled up, alarmed by the
sudden change in the sky overhead. I dont trust
these New Mexico showers, she said, looking
upward. Lets run for cover before we get
drenched.
They reached the car, stowed away their
equipment, and started back toward Taos, but it
became increasingly apparent that the storm would
break before they could get to the inn.
I want to see if I can buy some color film
anyway, Georgia said as she drove rapidly along.
85

We could pick up some lunch in the plaza,

perhaps.
Theres the Little Dipper. Connie suggested.
Jeff and I found it quite good.
So while rain spatted on the roof, then fell
densely, as it had on the previous evening, Connie
and Georgia lunched at the little restaurant in the
village. Connie told Georgia what had happened at
the pueblo, then repeated the story for the benefit of
Maria Gonzales, who came over to their table in
friendly fashion, although she was not serving them
herself.
That sounds like Twisty, Maria said. I do hope
Mr. Chandler doesnt miss him. Perhaps their paths
will cross.
But Jeff and Mr. Norman went to the gulch by
car, Connie told her.
By car? Surprise colored the question. Mr.
Norman drove Mr. Chandler to Black Cat Gulch by
automobile?
Yes. Connie nodded. Why not?
Maria balanced her tray on the edge of the table
and shook her head. Mr. Norman ought to have
better sense, she said. After last nights rain the
valley roads will be quagmires. Travel is precarious
in this country after rain. Even with chains our
gummy adobe gets next to impassable. Mr. Norman
ought to know that!
86

Oh, dear. Connie looked distressed. Jeff just

seems to meet with one bad break after another.
Georgia Cameron nodded. He certainly does.
But on the other hand, Connie, theres no use crying
before were sure the day was wasted. We may be
pleasantly surprised.
Connie knew that Georgia had more faith in Mr.
Normans judgment than did Maria Gonzales. That
accounted for her optimistic attitude concerning the
outcome of their expedition. She tried to be
optimistic herself, but it was increasingly difficult as
the afternoon wore on.
The rain stopped after about an hour, but even the
road to the inn showed the effects of a thorough
soaking. When Jeff got back to the inn about five
oclock his boots were heavy with mud, his trousers
streaked and encrusted with it, and his shirt was
clinging damply to his back.
It took just one look into his eyes for Connie to
read confirmation of her fear that the trip had been
fruitless. In quick sympathy she ran to him across
the patio.
You missed him, Jeff! I know you missed him. I
saw him myself!

87

CHAPTER

Black Cat Gulch

Saw him? Saw Twisty Schlessinger?

Connie nodded. At least Im almost sure I did.
The man the Indians call Fourfingers was trading
turquoise at the pueblo, but I only caught two
glimpses of him, first in the pueblo and later riding
away on a burro.
Jeff leaned weakly against one of the wooden
posts supporting the gallery roof. Good grief!
Connie could imagine how he felt. It must have
been a long, exhausting day. Jeff looked as though
he, personally, had hauled and shoved the car a
dozen miles through mud and mire.
Never mind! she said as brightly as possible.
Well get him yet! And as she spoke she was
conscious that Dolores Morgan, standing in the door
to her bedroom, had certainly overheard.
Jeff didnt see Mrs. Morgan. There was a novel
88

in the bookcase at home when I was a kid, he said

wearily. I used to think it had a fascinating title
The Elusive Pimpernel. He chuckled wryly. Now
I think Id like to strike the word elusive out of my
vocabulary.
And Id like to help! said Connie in a tone that
couldnt possibly carry to Mrs. Morgans door. Ive
even got a plan.
A plan? A little interest began to return to Jeffs
tired eyes.
Ill tell you about it after youve had a shower
and changed your clothes, Connie whispered
hearteningly.
After the young man had trudged off to his room
she stood quite still in the patio for a few minutes,
thinking. Then she went through the gate and down
to the plaza alone.
The Little Dipper was welcoming a predinner lull
when Connie pushed open the door. Only one
waitress, setting up tables, was in evidence.
Is Miss Gonzales around? Connie asked.
She was, a few minutes ago. The girl walked to
the kitchen door, held a moments conversation,
then came back and said, She went across to the
drugstore. You might find her there.
Connie did find her there, coming out with
purchases under her arm. The moment she saw
Connie the Spanish-American girl smiled and said,
89

Hello!
Maria, Connie asked at once, how can we get
to Black Cat Gulch except by car?
By horseback, Maria said, as Connie had
expected.
Do you ride?
Oh, yes. Maria seemed to understand where the
conversation was heading. If you need a guide, and
if you and Mr. Chandler can hire horses at Watkins
Stable, Id be glad to take you up there.
Thats what I hoped youd say! Connie cried in
obvious delight. Tomorrow?
The only day Connie would be able to desert her
job and go along was Sunday, and she did want to
be in the party.
Tomorrows Sunday, Maria was saying
thoughtfully. Its a slow day for us at the Dipper.
Yes, I think tomorrow would be fine.
Elated, Connie carried the news home to Jeff, and
that evening they completed their plans. Jeff
engaged three mounts at the livery stable, phoned
Maria and thanked her for her generous offer and
arranged a time for them all to meet.
Before she left him to go to her room, Connie
tried to tell Jeff something of her growing suspicion
of Mrs. Morgan.
Ever since that first meal we ate at the inn, when
you described Twisty Schlessinger to her, Ive had a
90

feeling she knows something she isnt telling,

Connie said. And when you and Mr. Morgan were
planning your trip to the gulch she looked definitely
alarmed. Just for a minute, you understandnothing
you could put your finger on. But I could see fright
in her eyes!
But why would she beafraid?
I dont know, Connie admitted. I cant
imagine.
You think, though, that she might know this man
with four fingers?
Im almost certain she could tell you how to find
him. I cant say why. Its one-tenth observation and
nine-tenths hunch.
Jeff shook his head. Well, if we dont have any
luck tomorrow, maybe I ought to lay my cards on
the table and appeal to her for help.
It was Connie who now looked alarmed. Dont
do that! she begged. Shes against you, Jeff. I can
feel it. Shed never help you. Not in a million
years!
At nine the next morning the two girls and Jeff
were ready to start out. Fortunately, anticipating
rough country, Connie had brought along in her
traveling bag an old pair of blue jeans, and Maria
wore dungarees, with high-heeled Mexican boots.
As they walked the horses through town, Percy
Norman waved to them from the door of his shop
91

and Jeff reined in.

Going to have another try at reaching the
gulch! he shouted.
Mr. Norman shook his head and sent along his
blessing. After yesterday I give up, he called as
though he considered them eminently foolish.
But Maria, leading the way, seemed to have no
trepidations. By horse or pack mule this is an easy
trip, she assured them when they hit the open road.
We should make it in an hour and a half at most.
For Connie it was a new and interesting
experience. They passed the pueblo and several
summer houses of Indian farmers, then turned off
the dirt road into a roughly marked bridle path
which wound through semidesert country at the base
of Taos Mountain. After a while Connie lost sense
of direction, and the path seemed to disappear into a
clump of sagebrush, but Maria led her horse
unerringly forward. It was increasingly apparent to
the two Easterners that she knew the country well.
They crossed two or three arroyos, dipping into
the hollows down which water sometimes coursed
and up on the other side. You should see these river
beds during a storm, Maria told them. Its
unbelievable how quickly they can fill with ugly,
swirling water. She shuddered suddenly. The
arroyos always frighten me.
They turned again, back into the foothills, and the
92

country became more rugged by the moment. No

more did they encounter Indian farmers, their heads
wrapped in white sheets to protect them from the
sun as they went about their work. There was no
tilled land here, nothing but silver-green sage and
unsociable prairie dogs.
But it still seemed a welcome expedition to
Connie. Maria was very good company, now that
she had left her restaurant chores behind her. In her
melodious voice she talked about the customs of her
country, sometimes speaking of the Spanish who
made up eighty per cent of the population of the
village of Taos, sometimes of the Indians of the
pueblo and ranchos.
Are you going into Navaho country at all? she
asked Connie. If you are, you must see their mystic
sand painting. They cure their sick that way, you
know. Sands of seven colors, prepared from
varicolored rocks, are sieved through slits between
the thumb and forefingers hourglass fashion. They
make the most intricate designs, in wonderful colors,
and each line has a distinct meaning. The painting
receives blessings and prayers from the medicine
man, and then, with the patient present, there is an
elaborate ceremonial and the illness is blown
through the smoke hole in the roof of the hut.
Connie listened in fascination. She could imagine
the delicacy of the sand colors, greens, muted reds,
93

browns, blues. Ill have to tell Miss Cameron about

it, she said as Maria pulled ahead when the path
narrowed. Color is our business out here. She may
be very interested.
Far in the distance, from their present elevation,
they could see the beautiful Rio Grande Canyon
looping like a magenta-and-violet ribbon through
the vast red plain. Then they dropped downward
again and lost it, and the horses began to pick their
way carefully over shale and rock.
Riding trail this way Connie found very soothing.
Only infrequently did the horses have a chance to
trot. Usually they walked along with a smooth,
rolling motion which rocked Connie from side to
side. From a turquoise sky, sun burned into her bare
arms, toast-colored now, and bleached her hair to an
even paler shade of gold.
Connie twisted around so that she could see Jeff,
riding behind her. Im apt to go to sleep and fall off
this mare of mine any minute, she told him with a
contented yawn.
In that case Id better step carefully, Jeff said.
Take your nap now, though, if you must. A little
later I may need your help in bearding the hermit of
Black Cat Gulch in his den.
Its a lion you beard in a den, silly.
We ought to be getting close to the gulch now,
Maria called back.
94

Hear that, Connie? Youll have to wake up.

At once! Connie promised, straightening her
back and shaking her shoulders. Now lets just
hope that Twisty Schlessinger hasnt gone to Sunday
school.
Maria and Jeff both chuckled, because in this
wild back country there wasnt a house, let alone a
church, in ten or fifteen miles.
Then Maria pointed ahead, and Connie could see
a small, precipitous valley or gorge, at the bottom of
which lay the muddy bed of a stream. She looked
out over the country into which the ravine led. We
passed an arroyo on the way to Taos, remember?
she asked Jeff. Black Cat Crossing. Maybe this is
part of the same river bed.
I think it is, Maria agreed. It carries water
down from the hills at such a terrific rate of speed
that its a driving hazard in wet weather.
The warning name is a good idea, Jeff said.
Warning? Maria didnt understand.
Arent black cats supposed to be ill omens?
Only when they cross your path, Connie said.
Maria smiled. I never thought of any special
significance in the name, she said. I suppose you
dont when you live with a name all your life.
They were riding along the steep bank of the
gulch now, and suddenly Connie sat forward on her
mare. Look. Ahead in that clump of trees. Isnt that
95

a house?
Maria nodded. Thats the old prospectors shack
I was looking for. Your eyes are sharper than mine,
Connie.
By now they could all see a small log building
nestling in a clump of spruce trees. Though it had a
fair-sized chimney it looked to be no larger than a
one-room hut. There was a lean-to at one side, like a
sheep shelter, and under this a burro was tethered.
He turned and brayed softly as the horses
approached.
Twisty must be home. Theres his donkey! Jeff,
with boyish impatience, kicked his pony into a trot.
He was the first of the three to dismount. While
Connie and Maria stayed with the horses, he went at
once to the cabin door and knocked.
Now if this is only the man! Connie murmured,
uneasy at the last moment, fearing another wildgoose chase. Jeff knocked again and waited, then
turned to the girls with a frown.
Nobody home.
He went to the window at the right of the door
and, placing his hands like blinders beside his eyes,
peered in. Connie led the horses up to the cabin and
followed suit.
There was certainly nothing remarkable inside. A
cot bed, a couple of chairs, a deal table and a cookstove was the extent of the furnishing. A neat man
96

lived here, because pans were hung in an orderly

row above the stove and the bed was made up with
army blankets, carefully tucked in. Newspapers and
kindling were piled by the stove, and the floor had
been recently swept.
Twisty seems to be a good housekeeper,
Connie said.
Jeff went back and tried the door. It was locked.
He turned to Maria and shrugged. No soap.
Never mind, Maria said. He cant be far. Not
without his burro. Neighbors dont live within
walking distance, back here.
Ill bet he has gone to Sunday school, Connie
said, trying to offer a light touch. But nobody
laughed.
We could explore a bit, Maria suggested. He
might be cutting wood back in the hills.
On foot? asked Connie. We could tether the
horses at the lean-to.
But Maria was cautious. Better not, she said.
This is wild country, back here, and horse thieves
arent rare.
So Connie and Jeff mounted again, and followed
Maria around the cabin and farther up the ravine.
The country, almost at once, became quite rocky and
even wilder. Maria rode slowly, looking down at the
ground, and after a few hundred yards she turned
and said softly, Theres a path herea path that
97

has been in use recently.

Connie marveled at such campfire-girl ability.
She could see no traces of recent human passage
because she wasnt especially alert to signs in a
wilderness, as Maria evidently was.
The Spanish girl was walking her horse even
more slowly now. The path apparently led away
from the cabin in a shallow curve. It also, Connie
decided on her own, apparently led nowhere,
because Maria was riding almost directly into the
side of a hill.
Then, abruptly, the girl in the lead pulled her
horse to a stop. Connie and Jeff, coming up, could
see a cavelike entrance in the hillside, flanked on
either side by a pile of debris. The cave was quite
large, large enough for Maria to ride into the
entrance without dismounting, and this she promptly
did.
Jeff followed her, then Connie, who saw that the
cave was apparently very shallow. It was also very
dark.
Listen! Do you hear anything? Maria asked.
Connie listened. From the floor of the cave came
an odd sound, a repeated, rhythmic swish-swish.
Blinking to adjust her eyes to the dim interior,
Connie saw what had given both Maria and Jeff
pause. The ground opened almost directly under the
feet of the lead horse. Maria reined in the horse,
98

straining to see down into a shaft, roughly square,

which looked, to Connies Pennsylvania-trained
eyes, like the entrance to an abandoned mine.
This must be where Twisty gets his turquoise,
she whispered at once, though she had never seen a
turquoise mine, and it was the most audacious kind
of guesswork.
It could be, Maria, who knew that the blue
matrix was mined much like any other mineral,
agreed.
Jeff, whose eyes had grown accustomed to the
darkness, pointed to the shaft. Look! A rope
ladder.
Connie and Maria both followed his command.
There was indeed a rope ladder, a rather newlooking one, anchored to the side of the shaft.
Irrepressibly Connie suggested, Lets go down!
Well have to tether the horses outside, said
Maria practically, and turned her mount.
Connie led the way out of the cave, followed by
Jeff, with Maria bringing up the rear. She was
beginning to glow with excitement. I havent had
so much fun since I used to play Cowboys-andIndians with the boys next door, she said, and
kicked her left foot free of the stirrup.
As though her words had been a wryly humorous
signal, a pistol cracked, and cracked again, the shots
winging over Connies very head and ricocheting off
99

the rocky hillside. Instinctively she ducked, clinging

to her mares outstretched neck, and her foot felt
again for the stirrup.
She found it not a second too late. Snorting and
rearing into the air in fright and surprise, Connies
mount bolted, and started down the rocky path at a
mad, uncertain gallop, with the other two horses in
frantic pursuit.

100

CHAPTER

Uproar at the Inn

Whoa! Whoa, there!

Connie didnt realize she was shouting as she
clung to the reins. She shortened her hold and
pulled, but she could no more curb the mares mad
flight than she could have controlled a tornado.
Easy, girl! Easy.
Easy was a word the little western pony
apparently didnt recognize. Connies knees ached
with the effort she was making to retain her seat.
Hoofs pounded behind her, but she couldnt look
back without risking a fall. And she knew only too
well that if she should hit the ground in a runaway
horses path the consequences might be too dreadful
to contemplate.
At the clearing which surrounded the prospectors
hut she redoubled her efforts to pull the mare in, but
her mount knew that this girl was no authoritative
101

rider. It had been a year or two since Connie had

been on horseback, and the mornings ride had been
long enough to tire her leg muscles and weaken her
grip.
She could feel her breath growing short as she
tried to sit to the racking gallop. Her hands on the
reins seemed powerless against the mares driving
force, but she called all the technique she could
remember to her assistance. What was the name the
stableboy had usedSuky?
Suky! Calm down! Whoa!
The mare stumbled over the exposed root of a
spruce tree and caught herself. Connie lurched to the
right, almost lost a stirrup, but recovered just in time
to duck under a low-growing branch. The gulch, she
knew, lay on her left, and she kept pulling on the
right rein, knowing that at all costs she must keep
clear of the ravine.
Head high, nostrils dilated, the mare kept on
running, and Connie could feel her strength
beginning to ebb. If only she could stay in the saddle
until they were out of this stand of spruce and back
to the open prairie.
Whoa! she tried to call out again.
But the word was whipped back into her throat.
She could see sunlight ahead now, and low-growing
pion and sagebrush. With everything that remained
of her failing strength, she gathered the reins in as
102

far as she could, and bracing with all her might she
gradually pulled the mare down to a canter, then to a
trot.
The open prairie seemed to calm the mare more
than any of Connies urgent commands. In another
two minutes she was walking, with only an
occasional nervous two-step to show she hadnt
forgotten her fright.
Now Connie could look back, and she was just in
time to see Jeff break out of the stand of trees. He
looked alarmed, even from a distance, and Connie
could see that his horse wasnt under much better
control than her own had been.
She leaned forward then, and to avert a second
mad bolt began to stroke the mares neck and
murmur soothing words. Quiet, Suky. Quiet now.
Thats a girl. It didnt matter what she said; it was
the calmness of her voice that would count. And it
was hard to keep her voice level and mild when her
heart was pounding and her breath was still coming
in gasps. Quiet, girl.
Jeff was coming up at a trot now, and a few
hundred yards behind him cantered Maria, the only
one of the three who seemed to be in complete
command of her mount.
You all right?
Fine, Connie told Jeff, not liking to admit that
for a few minutes she had been actually terrified.
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Gosh, I was scared youd take a nasty spill.

The last thing I anticipated was a runaway,
Connie said.
The last thing I anticipated was to get shot at,
Jeff replied.
Maria reined in and came abreast of them. Good
work, Connie, she said with quiet approval. I was
afraid that little mare of yours wouldnt stop running
until she hit Taos.
So was I, Connie admitted a little shakily, now
that the danger was over. I was more scared of that
than I was of the shots.
Maria frowned. Whoever was firing that pistol
didnt aim to hit us, just to scare us, she said with
conviction. Every shot was high.
And a good thing, too! Connie retorted, while
Jeff muttered, Not high enough.
Maria looked at the young archaeologist with a
puzzled expression. You dont seem too popular
around here, Jeff. I wonder why?
Connie wondered too. She had been wondering
that ever since they had come to Taos. It was
becoming increasingly obvious that if Jeff would
just quietly pack his bag and go back to
Philadelphia, somebody would be a lot happier. But
why should his quest be thwarted at every turn?
Who wanted to keep him from finding Twisty
Schlessinger? Again Connie remembered the
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glimmer of fear in Dolores Morgans eyes.

While Connie was lost in thought, Jeff was
shaking his head. Youve got me, he told Maria
slangily. First I get bopped on the head. Then
somebody picks me out for a slight case of murder.
He looked at Connie ruefully. And youre the girl
who thought the life of an archaeologist was apt to
be dull.
I take it all back.
Maria was looking steadily at Jeff. Theres
nothing you havent told us?
Cross my heart and hope to die, you know
everything. Jeff eyes were as guileless as ever, and
Connie backed him up.
Thats right, Maria. I dont think Jeff could tell a
fib if he wanted to. Hes just not the type.
Maria laughed at Connies quick defense of the
young man. I believe you, she said. But its so
incredible that there could be such an uproar about
trying to trace the source of a piece of primitive
jewelry. It doesnt make sense.
An uncomfortable thought occurred to Connie.
The shots had been fired directly over her head, not
Jeffs. The Indian at the pueblo knew that she was
anxious to get to the man named Fourfingers, but he
knew nothing of the young archaeologist. Nothing at
all. Could the hidden assailant have been gunning
for her?
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It was such a different angle on the situation, and

such a fantastic notion, that Connie didnt mention it
to her companions. She walked her horse along
toward home silently, enwrapped in her own
tortuous thoughts.
Only one thing emerged completely clear.
Twistyor Fourfingers, if it were the same man
was not going to be easy to interview.
The sun was almost directly overhead now, and
was beating down with blinding intensity. Connie
began to get both hungry and thirsty, but she didnt
want to propose stopping for the picnic lunch Maria
had brought along until they were a little closer to
civilization. It was Jeff who finally called the halt.
Lets eat, he suggested abruptly. Im starved.
Maria checked her horse and slipped out of her
saddle at once. Mr. Chandler, she said to Connie
with mock formality, is the hungriest thin man i
ever saw.
Jeff took her teasing good-naturedly. He was
apparently used to being kidded about his appetite,
which really was prodigious. The three picnicked
very informally, munching on the thick sandwiches
Maria had prepared and passing the top of the
thermos, filled with cold milk, from one to the other.
When they climbed back on their horses again they
felt nourished and relaxed.
Connie was rather quiet on the rest of the ride
106

back to Taos, and so was Jeff. Only Maria seemed to

feel that it was important to keep up the spirits of the
group.
The more Connie saw of her, the better she liked
the friendly Spanish-American girl. She was glad
that she had come to know her. It was heartwarming to find that they had much in common.
Maria had never been out of her native New
Mexico, and her mind was so alert and her desire for
knowledge so strong that she was stimulated by both
Connie and Jeff, with their interesting jobs and
different backgrounds. And Connie and Jeff in turn
were entranced by Marias stories of the Southwest.
Until they reached the stable where they had
hired the horses, Maria seemed to have forgotten the
unpleasant incident of the shooting, but when Jeff
was paying the groom she drew Connie aside.
He should be careful, Maria said in an
undertone. I cant imagine whats up, but I dont
like the look of things. Try to persuade Jeff not to go
back to the gulch alone.
I will, Connie promised. She could see that
Maria liked the intent young archaeologist and
wanted to protect him, but she really had little
confidence in her own powers of persuasion. Jeff
had his mind fixed on a goal which he considered
even more important than his own safety. In his own
quiet way he would probably blunder right ahead in
107

spite of any warning. In fact, that was precisely what

he intended to do.
Now that I know the way, he said as he walked
with Connie back to the inn, I can go back there
tomorrow alone.
Connie was trying to step along as though she
hadnt just climbed down off a horse. The ground
under her feet seemed insubstantial and she felt a
little dizzy, a sensation she remembered from years
before, when she and Kit had taken riding lessons at
the Meadowbrook Academy. She was consequently
in no mood to be tactful.
You arent going to look very attractive with a
bullet in the back of your head, she said.
Oh, now, Connie!
And you arent going to be much good to the
Philadelphia Museumdead.
Connie, for Petes sake!
I mean it! Connie retorted, unsteadily swaying
toward Jeff.
The boy caught her arm. I dont intend to get
myself killed.
Then dont go back to the gulch alone! Get
somebody to go with you. Mr. Norman. Anybody.
Maybe they even have cops in this town and you can
get a police escort.
Dont be silly.
Im not being silly. Im being sensible, Connie
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stormed. Maria knows this country better than we

do, and if shes worried about youand she is!
thats important. Youve just got to take some
normal precautions, Jeff. Have you got a gun?
Of course not.
Connie sighed, and Jeff pushed open the door that
led into the lobby of the Casa Bonito and held it for
her. Well, if I were in your shoes, Id at least take
along a bow and arrow, she said.
Perhaps her very indignation made the scene
which greeted Connies eyes in the lobby even more
startling. Around the parrots cage was gathered an
excited, gesticulating group, including all the
kitchen help from the inn, three waitresses and the
two Spanish boys who usually acted as bellhops.
One of the kitchenmaids held a broom, wrong way
up, brandishing it furiously in explanation.
Missus Morgans going to be wild! she said.
For the first time Connie realized that the
proprietor was not there. She was also aware that in
another corner of the lobby sat three large and
perspiring women and an exceptionally sullen man.
They all looked at Jeff and Connie inquiringly,
almost hopefully, then settled back in positions of
lassitude. They were obviously waiting for someone,
probably Mrs. Morgan, because from the luggage
with which they were surrounded it was easy to
deduce that they were newly arrived guests.
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Connie and Jeff both approached the group

around the parrots cage. Whats the matter?
Connie asked, as Jeff spoke simultaneously. Is
something wrong?
A waitress, recognizing the couple, turned to
answer, but even before she spoke Connie could see
that the cage was empty. A sixth sense told her what
the girl would say.
Napoleon got the parrot.
Killed it? Connie was shocked, although she
had no love for the raucous bird.
The waitress nodded, and Connie glanced around,
half anticipating to see one of the group holding a
heap of rumpled feathers. Carlos took him away,
the girl explained.
That was a relief, at leastnot to have to look at
the dead bird. Connie murmured, How did it
happen?
Everybody tried to tell her at once.
Napoleon never did like Dodo . . . Mrs. Morgan
always said a cat should be kept in the kitchen, for
catching mice . . . stalking that bird for weeks . . .
nobody saw it . . . siesta time . . . Mrs. Morgan had
gone off before lunch.
Disjointed scraps of explanation bombarded
Connies ears, but only the final statement rang
clear. Mrs. Morgan had gone off before lunch.
Before lunch. Before lunch. Before lunch. With
110

the insistence of a broken phonograph record, the

words kept playing in Connies head. While we
were at Black Cat Gulch, Mrs. Morgan was not here.
Where was she? What does it mean?
Jeff was apparently untroubled by suspicions.
Its too bad, he said, but whats done is done.
He glanced at the new arrivals waiting sullenly at
the other end of the room. Dont you think it
wouldwell, look betterif you went back about
your business? After all, theres nothing you can
do.
The help seemed to appreciate a hand at the helm.
The waitresses moved off, murmuring to each other,
and the boys went obediently through the patio door.
Even the excited maid with the broom retreated in
good order. Only the stout Mexican cook seemed
too perturbed to move. Suddenly, with an
unexpected gesture, she flung her big apron over her
head and started to weep.
Connie and Jeff looked at each other and came to
a wordless decision. One on either side of the
woman, they propelled her by the elbows down the
steps from the lobby to the dining room and across
to the swinging kitchen door. Neither had been in
the quarters to which this door led, but they found
the kitchens and pantry immaculate. Cooking pots
hung neatly in rows above big worktables, and
freshly baked pies sat cooling on a shelf. At this
111

time of afternoon there was no disorder, no

dishwashing clatter. Jeff pulled out a stool and
Connie sat the cook gently down.
Awkwardly, she began patting the womans
plump shoulder. There, there, she said as though
she were comforting a child. Dont be so
concerned. It wasnt your fault.
The cook made an effort to dry her eyes. Its
justits just been a ver bad day.
Im sure it has, murmured Connie.
The parrot is not all. The cook seemed anxious
to justify her tears. No supplies come from Santa
Fe. They are due yesterday. The car break down.
Now today they have not come again, and Mrs.
Morgan, she go away just when she is needed.
Where did she go? Connie asked.
The cook shrugged. Verdad, I cannot say.
Was she in riding clothes?
I do not know.
Jeff began to look at Connie curiously and a hint
of suspicion appeared in his eyes. She might,
Connie said over the womans shoulder, have
ridden up toward Black Cat Gulch.
At her last words the cooks head jerked up and
she looked at Connie with obvious recognition of
the name. Oh, no, I do not think so, she said.
The swinging door to the kitchen squeaked, and
Connie turned to see the subject of the conversation,
112

Dolores Morgan herself, holding it open with a

heavily ringed hand. She wore one of her loose, full
peasant skirts, and she could not yet have heard the
sad news about the parrot, because she looked at the
cook in astonishment, speaking to her before she
addressed Connie or Jeff.
Whats wrong, Mirabel? Then she went right
on as though she scarcely expected an answer. I try
to spend an hour or two with my fortuneteller and I
come home to tears and disorganization and four
guests for whom I have no rooms, waiting in the
lobby. Where is Carlos? Where is Pedro? She
named the two Spanish boys. Then she repeated her
original question. What is wrong?

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CHAPTER

10

Night Maneuver

Fortuneteller, Connie was muttering to herself as

she pushed open the door to her bedroom.
Fortuneteller my eye!
She kicked the door shut lightly with her heel,
then realized that the connecting door between the
bath she and Georgia shared stood open. Georgia,
are you there?
Connie Miss Camerons voice lacked its
usual lilt. Connie went through the small bathroom
quickly and found Georgia, fully dressed, stretched
out on the bed. The minute she saw the younger girl
she sneezed. Isnt it too ridiculous, but I think Im
going to be ill, she said. I feel chillish and
feverish, all at once.
Connie crossed the room and put a hand on Miss
Camerons forehead. You have a temperature, she
said. Youd better get to bed properly. Ill bring
114

you some aspirin and call a doctor.

No doctor, Georgia protested. Im not that
sick. But aspirin might help.
Connie started toward the bathroom medicine
closet.
And Connie Georgia spoke again. Would
you mind phoning Percy Norman. He was going to
stop over tonight. Just explain that Im not feeling
well.
Of course! Connie was her usual cheerful and
efficient self. She put Jeff and his problems, as well
as the strange incidents of the day, deliberately
behind her, and did everything she could to make
Georgia comfortable.
Finally Miss Cameron herself, propped on cool,
clean pillows, brought up the subject of the trip to
Black Cat Gulch. Did you find this man called
Twisty? she asked.
Fearing to alarm her, Connie tended to be
uncommunicative, but Georgia finally drew out of
her the story of the shooting and of the subsequent
wild ride away from the mysterious cave.
That ends it, Miss Cameron said shortly when
Connie had finished. She was every inch the
executive now, in spite of the fact that she lay in bed
in a frilly bed jacket. Were out here on a business
trip for Reid and Renshaw, Connie, and I cant have
you taking any foolhardy chances with either life or
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limb. From now on, youd better let Jeff Chandler

cook his own goose, if thats what he intends to do.
For my money, I think hes being absurd. This isnt
a one-man job. It seems to call for a posse.
Connie felt a little like a child being scolded for a
misdeed. She sat in a straight chair by Georgias
bed, saying nothing while she was being lectured,
because she knew that there was essential fairness in
the older womans attitude.
Mr. Norman has been talking to me and he says
it really isnt safe to go off on unescorted trips into
the back country. Promise me youll let Jeff go
alone from now on!
I promise, Connie said.
Georgia sank back against her pillows in relief.
She drew one hand across her forehead as though
her head ached, and closed her eyes.
Suppose I run along for a while, Connie
suggested tactfully. Maybe you can go to sleep.
Georgia nodded meekly. Thank you for
everything.
Do you want me to bring you some supper?
Miss Cameron shook her head. But maybe it
would be smart to call in a doctor. Ask Mrs. Morgan
to recommend someone. He might be able to get me
back on my feet faster than I can by myself.
Right away, Connie nodded, relieved.
The doctor, a thin, gray-haired gentleman with a
116

carefully trimmed mustache, felt Miss Camerons

pulse, took her temperature, asked her a few routine
questions, and pronounced her malady a sort of
three-day grippe thats going around these parts.
Summer grippe is nothing to fool with, he told
her succinctly. You stay in bed until I come again
on Tuesday.
After the doctor had left Georgia fumed.
Confounded waste of time. But when Connie went
into the dining room for supper, she fell into a heavy
slumber, and her face was flushed with fever as she
slept.
Jeff joined Connie in the lobby and they had
supper together. Apparently Mrs. Morgan had been
able to bring order out of the chaos she had found on
her return to the inn. The parrots cage, as well as
the waiting guests, had been removed, and the cook
had prepared a meal that, while not up to standard,
was edible and filling.
Mrs. Morgan herself was playing the agreeable
hostess as she usually did at the dinner hour.
Apparently unruffled, she stopped at one table after
another to chat for a few minutes, and eventually
came to Connie and Jeff.
I hope Dr. Webster took good care of Miss
Cameron?
Oh, yes, thank you, Connie replied.
Summer grippe is such a bother. Let me know if
117

theres anything I can do.

Connie nodded. Thank you again!
It was good of youMrs. Morgans glance
now included Jeffto take charge of Mirabel this
afternoon. These Mexicans are so excitable.
Jeff said, We were sorry to hear about the
parrot.
For a moment Dolores Morgans eyes darkened.
Then she shrugged as though she were more
annoyed than sorrowful. Something like that was
bound to happen. Ive said She stopped abruptly,
stretched out one hand, palm upward, and looked
down at it curiously. I was told today that there
would be a death at the Casa Bonito, but I never
expected poor Dodo to be the victim. She shrugged
again and turned away.
Jeff looked at Connie and muttered in an
undertone, Wacky. Completely wacky. Show me
one sane person in Taos and Ill buy you a banana
split.
Maria Gonzales, said Connie promptly.
Jeff grinned across the table at her. You win.
Jeff
Yes?
Im not allowed to go on any more man hunts
with you.
Jeff said, Im not surprised. I thought Miss
Cameron would be plenty disturbed.
118

Connie changed the subject abruptly. Jeff, do

you believe Mrs. Morgan went to the
fortunetellers?
Does it matter?
Connie nodded vigorously. She could, you
know, have followed us to Black Cat Gulch.
I thought of that. But why?
Here Connie was stumped. I dont know, she
admitted.
Jeff frowned. What possible connection? He
spread his hands, at a complete loss.
I have no more idea than you. But watch Mrs.
Morgan, Jeff. Be careful what you say to her.
Connie paused, thinking. Could she have overheard
you phoning the stable for the horses we rode
today.
Jeff tried to remember. Its possible. I called
from the lobby.
Connie said, See?
Jeff let his eyes rove across the dining room to
the steps leading up to the lobby level. Mrs. Morgan,
her earrings shaking, was nodding and smiling at
one of her patrons. She doesnt look like a pistolpackin mamma to me.
You never know, Connie warned him out of her
wider experience. You mustnt judge by
appearancesher eyes began to twinkleexcept,
I suppose, when youre digging out a prehistoric
119

ruin.
Jeff grinned. Even then its often dangerous, he
told her with a villainous hiss.
Why?
Well, for one thing you might mix Pueblo I
culture with Early Basketmaker, Jeff said.
Oh, you! Connie never knew whether Jeff was
teasing her or talking sense. The jargon of
archaeology, she was discovering, was like the
jargon of any other profession or business, a
language in itself. She knew she could start talking
about reverse photostats and space rates and rough
layouts and Jeff would be just as much at sea as she
was now.
Jeff leaned back and laughed. Finished? he
asked, glancing at Connies empty dessert plate.
Lets go up and sit near the fire.
First Id better look in on Georgia, Connie said,
but when she went to the room she found Miss
Cameron sleeping. She joined Jeff again, and found
him setting out a checkerboard on a small table
between two chairs. Bet I can beat you two out of
three, he said.
Connie took him up on it. They played two sets of
three games each before going to bed, and managed
to neatly tie the score. Tomorrow night well play it
off, Jeff promised with a yawn. Just now I feel the
need of sleep.
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Connie was swept by a sudden alarm. Youre

not going up there again tomorrow?
I might.
Obviously it would be useless to combat Jeffs
quiet determination. He didnt want to start an
argument, Connie could see, but he intended to do
the job he had been sent here to do. After she had
gone to her room Connie stood for a long time at her
window, staring while the winking stars were
covered by a sudden storm cloud, and rain began to
pelt on the roof. She wished she hadnt made that
promise to Georgia. She wishedthough she didnt
know what help she could bethat she could go
along to the gulch.
Sometime in the night, after the rain had stopped,
Connie was awakened by Georgias restless tossing.
She got Miss Cameron a glass of water and another
aspirin, plumped her pillows and tried to make her
more comfortable.
Is there anything else I can do? Connie was
genuinely concerned.
Georgia was obviously feverish, yet her teeth
were chattering. Isnt this silly? she asked,
annoyed with herself. I seem to be having a chill.
A cup of hot tea would be the thing, Connie
murmured thoughtfully.
It would be wonderful, Georgia agreed, but
how can you get one at this time of night?
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Connie didnt quite know herself, but she slipped

into a robe and stole along the gallery to the lobby
door. The first pink streaks of dawn were just
appearing in the east as she padded across the lobby
toward the kitchens, but no light penetrated the
interior of the building. Connie had to feel her way
along.
Once she barked her shins on the leg of a chair,
and again she jumped with a start as embers
crackled in the fireplace. She felt very much alone
and more than a little timid. This was not like
creeping down to the kitchen at home in the middle
of the night. This was marauding on a much grander
scale. And the happenings of the past few days
hadnt exactly put Connie at ease. She felt as though
any moment clutching fingers might grab her in the
darkness, but she scolded herself for a sissy and
went on.
Under the swinging door that led, first to the
pantry, then to the big kitchen into which Connie
and Jeff had escorted Mirabel, a pencil line of light
showed.
This was comforting, Connie decided. At least
she wouldnt have to fumble for a switch. She would
need a cup and saucer, a tea ball, hot water, a pan to
heat it in. That shouldnt be too hard, if one of the
pion wood stoves were burning. All cooking out
here seemed to be done on old-fashioned wood
122

ranges. She hadnt noticed any others during her

visit to the kitchen in the afternoon.
Trying to occupy herself with such practical
thoughts, Connie made her way among the small
dining tables, set for breakfast now, but next to
invisible in the dark.
She pushed the door open a crack, silently, then
stopped as she heard voices. For an instant she was
swept by a wave of alarm. Who could be abroad in
the middle of the night?
Then the illuminated face of the pantry clock
gave Connie the answer. It was nearing five oclock,
and the cook and bakers must be just coming on.
That was lucky! They could help her with the tea
making. Connie pushed the door open a little farther,
then paused again because of the words she
overheard.
Sure she put the parrot in the soup, a decidedly
Anglo voice was saying, raised in merriment. She
always said a Frenchman taught her to make it
what is it they call it?pot-o?
Pot-au-feu, came Mirabels voice, unamused.
But I did not use the parrot. You are wrong. Pedro
buried him, as he said.
I dont believe it! The Anglo voice was teasing,
and the maid apparently turned to a companion for
confirmation. Do you?
The woman who answered was an Indian. Connie
123

could tell by the inflection that neither an Anglo nor

a Spanish girl spoke. I hope you would not do such
a thing, Mirabel.
Foolish! You know Jenny teases me.
The Indian spoke again, slowly, humorlessly.
Old Fourfingers is going to be sore like blazes
when he finds the parrot is dead. He loved that
bird better than he did his own daughter, maybe.
Ill bet they have a beaut of a row! cut in the
Anglo voice, full of mischievous anticipation. Ill
bet they have a worse row than they had the night

Her voice halted in the middle of a sentence as

the door against which Connie was now almost
leaning creaked loudly. There was only one thing to
do. Connie pushed it open the rest of the way and
walked boldly through to the pantry.
I was wondering, Connie asked in a suitably
timid voice, although her heart was pounding, if I
could get a cup of tea for my friend, Miss Cameron.
She has been taken quite ill.

124

CHAPTER

11

Jeff Rides Alone

The tea helped. Georgias fever broke in the early

morning, but she was spent and tired. She drank the
orange juice and coffee Connie brought her for
breakfast, then told her young assistant to take the
day off.
Stay around Taos. Dont go to the pueblo alone,
Connie. Sketch a little in the plaza if you like, but
dont worry about wasting time. Ill be up in a day
or so and well get going again.
Connie could see that Miss Cameron wanted to
be left alone. She always felt the same way when
she herself was ill. Just the effort of talking to
people, no matter how kindly their intentions, could
be wearing. So she drew the blinds, shut the door
softly, and tiptoed away, without even telling
Georgia about the curious conversation she had
overheard in the pantry.
125

Ill tell Jeff at breakfast, though, Connie thought.

She tried to reconstruct it, word for word, in her
mind, so that when she repeated the dialogue she
wouldnt distort the meaning. She wanted to see
whether Jeff made of it what she did, and hoped that
she wasnt so late that she would miss him in the
dining room.
Luckily, Jeff was still eating when Connie ran
down the steps from the lobby. She hurried over to
the little table for two where he was seated and slid
into the chair opposite him before he could get to his
feet to pull it out.
Jeff, I have something to tell you. Something
important, I think. Connie looked around to make
sure that Dolly Morgan was nowhere in sight, then
leaned forward and continued softly, I overheard a
conversation in the kitchen when I came down to get
Georgia a cup of tea during the night. Two of the
maids were teasing Mirabel about the parrot, and
She stopped abruptly. Coming down the steps, his
eyes on their table, was Mr. Norman. He wore riding
breeches and an open shirt and carried a crop and
string gloves in one hand.
Ill tell you later, Connie murmured quickly to
Jeff. Here comes the Man of Distinction.
Connie! I was hoping Id find you here. How is
poor Georgia? Percy Norman had long since
dropped the formality of the Miss. He had
126

apparently adopted the Bohemian habit, prevalent in

most artistic centers, of forming quick and casual
intimacies.
Shes better, thank you. She had quite a fever
last night, but it broke this morning, and shes
sleeping now.
Mr. Norman pulled up a chair and sat down
between Connie and Jeff. Is there anything at all I
can do?
Not a thing, Im afraid. Connie hoped that
didnt sound tactless.
Mr. Norman nodded. If she isnt disturbed shell
probably sleep all day.
Connie appreciated his understanding. Thats
right.
Mr. Norman leaned back. And what are you
young people going to do? Its a beautiful morning.
Clear as a bell and quite cool.
Im going to come down to the plaza later and
sketch, Connie said promptly. Id like to make a
drawing of one of the older Spanish womenone
who wears the traditional all-black costume, with
the long skirt and the black shawl.
Mr. Norman nodded. And you should do one of
the slim Spanish boys in vaquero dress, he added.
Vaquero? Connie repeated the strange word.
Black shirt, tight black trousers with white
piping, and black sombrero, Mr. Norman
127

explained. Theyre very striking.

Oh, yes! Connie remembered, now, having
seen teen-age boys in just such costumes. They
wear beautiful hand-tooled leather belts ornamented
with silver, dont they?
Thats right. I have some of those belts for sale.
Stop in and see them, if you need detail for your
drawing.
Ill do that, Connie promised appreciatively.
Mr. Norman turned to Jeff. And where are you
bound?
Im going up to Black Cat Gulch on horseback,
Jeff told the jewelry-shop owner. He glanced at his
wrist watch. As a matter of fact, I ought to get
going soon.
Still on the trail of our friend Twisty? Mr.
Norman asked.
You bet!
Connie was just pouring a second cup of coffee.
Its aroma was inviting. Mr. Norman glanced at
Jeffs empty cup and said, Dont be in such a hurry.
You have all day. I was just going to invite myself
for a cup of coffee, if youd join me.
Jeff hesitated and glanced around to see if a
waitress was within signaling distance. Well
Mr. Norman looked around too, but most of the
breakfasters had departed and at the moment there
wasnt a waitress in the room. He pushed back his
128

chair and said, Ill go get two cups from the pantry.
Dolly wont mind if I make myself at home.
When he had left the room, Connie glanced at
Jeff with a troubled expression. I wish you hadnt
told Mr. Norman you were going to the gulch, she
whispered. He just might say something to Dolores
Morgan, and it would be just as well
Here we are! Percy Norman was back, a cup of
steaming coffee in either hand. He put one down
before Jeff. Well drink a toast to a successful trip.
Impulsively Connie put her hand on Mr.
Normans arm. As a favor, please dont mention to
anyone where Jeff is going.
Mr. Norman looked surprised. Why? Is it a
secret? I thought everybody knew
Connie cut in, We were shot at yesterday at
Black Cat Gulch, Mr. Norman. I dont know why,
and neither does Jeff, butshe looked at Jeff for
confirmationwe think it might be wise not to do
much talking from here on in.
Mr. Norman raised his eyebrows. Shot at? He
turned toward Jeff. Better take it easy in that back
country, young man.
Jeff was stirring sugar into his coffee. Ill try to,
he said grimly.
Odd things happen once in a while around here.
Shot at. Hmm. Does Mrs. Morgan know?
No, and please, Mr. Norman, dont tell her!
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Connies voice, though pitched low, was insistent.

Not tell Dolly? Why on earth not?
II cant explain, butbut please dont!
Mr. Norman sat back in his chair and smiled. As
you wish.
Connie knew that he was humoring her, and that
he thought her request both odd and ridiculous, but
she didnt care.
Connies got the jitters, Jeff tried to explain.
But Jeff didnt know all that she knew. Connie
wanted to tell him. Shed have to tell him before she
let him go back to the gulch. And somehow, she
didnt want to take Mr. Norman into her confidence.
She would have to find a way to talk to Jeff alone.
Mr. Norman was finishing his coffee now. He put
down the cup, scraped back his chair and stood up.
Well, Id better go home and open up shop, he
said. He made a little salute of farewell to Connie.
Ill be seeing you later, he said.
Jeff finished his coffee, which he hadnt really
wanted, in a couple of gulps, and made a little
grimace of distaste. Bitter coffee they get out this
way. Ready, Connie? Lets go.
I think Ill walk down to the stables with you,
Connie told Jeff as they followed Mr. Norman
across the room.
Jeff seemed abstracted, and not especially cordial.
He said, All right.
130

Mr. Norman had mounted his horse and was

trotting off when they came out from the patio gate.
He turned and waved back to them, then rode away.
Now Connie had the opportunity she wanted. She
told Jeff the story of her early morning encounter as
quickly as possible, trying to be very accurate.
Dont you see what it might mean? she asked.
The young man looked confused. What?
If the parrot belonged to Fourfingersand
Fourfingers is Twisty Schlessingerwhy, Dolores
Morgan could be his daughter. Morgan might be her
married name!
Jeff shook his head as though he were trying to
clear it. You make everything so complicated,
Connie, he complained.
It is complicated, Jeff. If Mrs. Morgan is this
mans daughter, why is she determined to keep you
from getting to him? What is she afraid of, and
why?
Jeff shook his head again, and frowned. I dont
know. I dont know. Lets talk about it some other
time.
They were at the door of the livery stable now,
and Connie couldnt press the matter, but she caught
Jeffs arm impulsively. Please be especially careful
today! she begged. I wish you wouldnt insist on
going alone!
Jeff seemed to hesitate, and Connie thought he
131

swayed slightly, as though he were weary. Do you

want to come with me?
I cant. You know I promised Georgia, she had
to tell him.
All right.
Jeff went through the stable door, and Connie
watched while he mounted the horse he had hired
and turned it toward the door. He rode right past her
as though he didnt see her. Connie was confused
and disturbed by his attitude.
Jeff!
He turned, looked back at her, and pulled the
horse to a stop.
Connie ran to him. Jeff, dont be angry with me.
Id come if I could.
He nodded, but he didnt answer. His eyes
seemed curiously distant, as though already, in his
thoughts, he had reached Black Cat Gulch. Goodbye, he said after a second, and trotted off.
Connie watched him until he disappeared from
sight on the pueblo road. He was riding slackly,
sitting to the horses trot rather than posting. Hes
dead tired, she thought. He looks exhausted. She
turned toward the plaza and walked along with bent
head, more worried than she would have cared to
admit.
All morning, sketching in the plaza, she thought
about Jeff. Her hand trembled so that she could
132

scarcely control her pencil. Again and again she

ripped sheets from her sketch pad and tore them up.
Finally she contented herself with making reference
drawings of the Spanish dress, with little notes
concerning detail. At noon she ate a sandwich and a
cup of tea in the Little Dipper, hoping to find Maria
about so that she could confide her concern to
someone, but the Spanish girl was not on duty.
Connie felt more upset by the moment, and very
much alone.
She was frightened. She admitted it to herself.
She was frightened for Jeffs safety. Her mouth felt
dry and her throat tight with fear. The palms of her
hands were damp.
After lunch Connie wandered back to the bench
under the trees where she had spent the morning, but
suddenly the Spanish and Indian loiterers, dozing in
continual siesta, got on her nerves. She craved
human companionship, human comfort, and in lieu
of either Georgia or Jeff or even Maria Gonzales she
sought out Percy Norman, pushing open the door of
his shop and calling out a hello as she walked in.
Mr. Norman was in a back room, and he shouted
back, Connie?
Thats right!
Ill be with you in a minute. Make yourself at
home.
Connie walked around the narrow shop, restless.
133

At another time she would have amused herself by

trying on rings or belts, but today the Indian-made
jewelry and accessories failed to interest her. She
walked back and peered into the larger room, hung
with paintings. Then she walked to the front window
again and stared out.
There were no customers at this hour. All of Taos
seemed to sleep in the sunshine. Even the donkeys
tethered to hitching posts in the plaza were too
drowsy to switch their tails at flies. But Connie had
never felt more awake and tense. How long would it
be, she wondered, before she could expect Jeff to
ride back home?
He would have to pass the shop to get to the
stable. She could wait here, watching. The skin at
the back of her neck felt tightly stretched, and she
rubbed it with both hands, pushing the hair away
from her shoulders. Aloud she said, Oh, dear.
Whatevers the matter? Mr. Normans smooth
voice asked from the doorway. You sound
disturbed.
Im worried about Jeff, Connie told him
frankly. I dont think he should have gone back to
the gulch alone.
Mr. Norman shrugged, and put down half a dozen
small oblong packages wrapped for mailing. Hell
probably be all right, he said, but without the
confidence for which Connie yearned.
134

Could I use your phone? Id like to call the inn

and make sure that Georgia doesnt need me.
Connie didnt want to admit that she also felt the
urge to check up on Mrs. Morgans whereabouts.
Of course, my dear.
She was somewhat relieved when Mrs. Morgan
herself answered. Miss Cameron is still sleeping,
the proprietor of the Casa Bonito told Connie. We
took her a little broth for lunch and she dozed right
off again.
Im at the Alvarado Shop if she should need
me, Connie told Dolly, after she had thanked her
for her solicitude. She hung up feeling quite calm
again, and reported the conversation to Mr. Norman
happily.
For the next hour she relaxed a little, and let Mr.
Norman entertain her with stories about Taos in Kit
Carsons day. She looked at the ornamented leather
belts he had promised to show her, talked a little
about painting, and amused herself by examining the
oils hung in the adjacent gallery while Mr. Norman
was busy with an occasional customer.
Then, as the afternoon wore on, she began to get
restless again. When Mr. Norman proposed that she
keep shop while he went over to the post office with
his stack of jewelry boxes, wrapped for shipping,
Connie accepted gladly. Anything to keep her mind
from returning to Jeff!
135

There were no customers in the Alvarado when

he left, but as he crossed the square a woman with a
British accent, trailed by a rather colorless girl who
was probably her daughter, came in to look at
necklaces.
Connie showed them the tray of silver chokers,
and they selected one rather quickly and asked to
have it wrapped. Its for a gift, you see, said the
woman.
Could you put it in a box, perhaps? asked the
girl.
There were no boxes under the counter, but
Connie remembered the oblong packages Mr.
Norman had just carried across the plaza. There
must be a supply of boxes somewhere.
Just a minute, she murmured to her customers,
and went through the gallery into the back room
where Mr. Norman had been working when she
arrived. A built-in closet occupied one wall, and in
this she found stacks of small ring boxes and also
the oblong containers she sought. She pulled one
down and opened it aimlessly, then stopped in
surprise. It was filled with clean, new five-dollar
bills!
A casual way to keep money, she thought. The
people around here were the strangest lot! She put
the box back and reached for another. It was filled
with five-dollar bills, too.
136

Mr. Norman must be a little touched, to leave

these lying around, Connie thought with a frown.
She tried a third box, and found it empty. Hurrying
back to the front room, she wrapped the present,
made change from the cash drawer, and jotted down
a record of the sale. Through the window she could
see Percy Norman sauntering back across the
square. Shed ask him about those bills, even scold
him a little for such carelessness, when he returned.
Connie walked to the open door and leaned against
the jamb, surveying the plaza idly. Mr. Norman had
stopped to speak to a friend and several women with
market baskets were standing under a tree,
gossiping. Maria Gonzales appeared in the door of
the Little Dipper, shaded her eyes against the sun,
saw Connie and waved to her.
Just as Connie waved back the peaceful scene
was shattered by the thunder of hoofs. From the
pueblo road came a riderless horse, flecked with
foam, making loiterers scamper for safety. Stirrups
swung loose at the horses side and the saddle had
come awry.
For an instant Connie stood galvanized by shock.
Then she raced up the road in pursuit of the animal,
who was heading for the livery stable.
Its Jeffs! she shouted to Percy Norman over
her shoulder, Its Jeffs horsecome home alone!
137

CHAPTER

12

MissingOne Archaeologist!

Connie, racing toward the stable in pursuit of the

riderless horse, made a picture at which people
stopped to stare. She hadnt played wing on the
hockey team at Meadowbrook High for nothing.
Connie Blair could really run!
Hair streaming in the breeze created by her own
flight, Connie arrived at the door of the livery stable
breathless.
It is the horse Mr. Chandler hired this morning,
isnt it? she cried, needing no confirmation of her
own fears yet infused with that faint, delirious hope
that the groom might say no.
Yes, miss. Tis.
Hope died for Connie as the groom stared at the
panting animal and scratched his head.
Dyou suppose Mr. Chandler might of took a
spill?
Connie shook her head, looking into the horses
138

dilated eyes as though she would like to wring the

truth from the dumb beast. Mr. Chandler Oh,
why try to explain?
On the verge of tears Connie turned back toward
the stable door, to come face to face with Maria
Gonzales.
Whats wrong? Was that really Jeffs horse?
Connie nodded mutely.
He went to the gulch alone?
Connie nodded again.
The consternation in Marias eyes was very real,
yet she tried to hide the full extent of her alarm from
Connie. He could have taken a fall, you know, she
said.
Thats just what I was tellin her, Miss Maria,
said the groom. You may see him, swearin-mad,
come leggin it into town in an hour or so.
It was a picture of Jeff that Connie could not
possibly envision. At another time it might have
amused her, it was so out of character, but now she
was beyond mirth.
Well have to do something, Maria, she said,
trying to think what the most sensible move would
be. Should we tell the police?
Theres nothing to tell them, Maria said, at
least not yet. We cant rush to the sheriff and
announce that Mr. Chandlers horse came home
without him. Theyd just laugh and say Dont
139

worry, girls. Your boy friendll come limping

along.
But if they knew about the shooting, up at Black
Cat Gulch?
Maria shook her head. Guns are fairly common
in the back country around here. It might have been
somebody taking a pot shot at a crow, theyd think.
Our police doesnt worry until somebody gets shot.
Thats time enough to go chasing off into the hills.
Connie, although she fumed inwardly, recognized
that Marias estimate of police reaction was
probably correct. They had moved outside the stable
door now, and stood looking at one another a little
helplessly.
Shall we get a couple of horses and ride up
toward the gulch ourselves? Connie asked after a
minute.
Maria glanced up at the sky. We couldnt make
it before dark, she said.
The stableboy who had unsaddled Jeffs horse
appeared in the door behind them. If you know
where Mr. Chandler was plannin to go, miss, I
could ride out and take a look-see around. He
addressed Connie, and it was she who answered
him.
That would be awfully nice of you! I am worried
about him. He had planned to go up to Black Cat
Gulch.
140

Black Cat Gulch? The boy sounded rather

astonished. Well he might, Connie thought. It was
scarcely a tourists mecca. Thats a pretty long ride
from here.
I know.
Doubt if I could make it tonight. Like Marias,
the boys eyes sought the sun. I could go out past
the pueblo, though, and have a look over the prairie.
You can see a good spell, out there.
I wish you would! Connies eyes were full of
gratitude, and Maria, too, approved.
If he had been thrown, say, and broken his leg or
something Her voice trailed off.
Connie knew that Maria didnt really think that
Jeff had broken his leg. She knew that the Spanish
girl was as concerned as she about the unpredictable
danger lurking at the gulch, but that she was trying
to hide her fear, at least until time confirmed it.
Together, Maria and Connie walked slowly back
to the plaza after the groom had ridden off on a fresh
mount. Mr. Norman stood in the door of his shop,
waiting for them.
Did the absent-minded professor forget to come
home with his horse?
He didnt seem at all concerned, only amused,
and Connie realized afresh that only she and Maria
had cause to feel otherwise. Still, Mr. Normans
attitude annoyed her.
141

Jeff isnt a professor, she shot back. And I

dont think its very funny when a horse comes
home alone.
Sorry! Id no idea you were really alarmed. I
dont think theres a bit of cause for worry, really.
Jeff will turn up before sundown, never you fear.
Mr. Normans attitude seemed faintly
patronizing, to Connie. He was a little too smooth, a
little too sure that she was being childishly upset.
And from the beginning, Connie felt, Mr. Norman
hadnt treated Jeffs job with the proper seriousness.
He had only been a hindranceno help at allin
the search for Twisty. Trying to reach Black Cat
Gulch in a car!
Im going back to the inn, Connie announced
abruptly. Maria, phone me if theres any news of
Jeff, will you, please? And Ill call you if he should
turn up at the inn.
Maria nodded. If he has to walk home hell go
straight to the Casa Bonito, no doubt. But if he
should hitch a ride he might show up here.
Connie clung to the scant comfort of her words as
she walked back to the inn. She went at once to
Georgia, who looked pale and wan, but quite her
composed self.
Im feeling much better, Miss Cameron
announced. Ill get up tomorrow and we can get
back to work Wednesday. She looked at Connie
142

more closely. Is anything wrong?

Connie had no special knack for understatement,
but she did her best. Jeff Chandler rode out to
Black Cat Gulch by himself today, and his horse just
came back to the stable alone. She tried to make
her voice light. Jeff must have taken a spill. I hope
he doesnt have to walk too many miles home.
Georgia took the news in the spirit Connie had
intended. Poor Jeff! He is the most unlucky young
man! She smiled and shook her head.
But though Connie forced a smile in return her
heart was pounding and her chest felt tight. She
went out after a few minutes and walked half a mile
up the pueblo road, but she only met the stableboy,
riding back toward Taos in the sunset.
Any luck? It was an idle question.
The young man shook his head. Not a sign of
life beyond the pueblo. His phrasing struck sheer
terror to Connies heart.
She made herself go back to her room, bathe and
change for dinner. Then she allowed herself the
solace of a call to Maria.
Dont worry too much, Connie. He may have
walked in to Ranchos de Taos and be waiting for a
ride from there. If he doesnt come back by dark,
thats another story.
If he doesntwhat can we do?
Then, said Maria slowly, I think it would be
143

wise to tell the police.

Connie sat with Georgia while she ate a light
supper from a bed tray. Trying to make conversation
was a task, but Connie did her best not to show her
increasing consternation. Georgia looked too ill to
be burdened by anothers troubles. Connie wanted
her to have a nights peaceful sleep.
After Pedro had come for the tray, Connie went
back to the lobby and paced up and down like a
caged animal. Above all things she hated inaction. If
there were only something she could do!
Dolly Morgan came in from the patio, bracelets
clinking on her fleshy arm. Is your young man
keeping you waiting? she asked with a questioning
smile.
He isnt my young man, Mrs. Morgan, Connie
retorted, trying to keep the edge of exasperation
from her voice. He went off on horseback this
morning and the horse came back about two hours
agoriderless! She watched the womans eyes
closely to see if she could fathom her reaction to this
news.
Dolly Morgans eyes widened in unconcealed
surprise, and then Connie noticed that her hands
were clasped together until the knuckles showed
white against her tanned skin. Her voice was dry and
carefully level as she asked, Do youdo you know
what direction he took?
144

Connie kept her eyes on Mrs. Morgans. He rode

to Black Cat Gulch.
An unmistakable flicker of fear crossed Dollys
face before she could mask it and say, Really? That
will be a long hike home. Youd better come along
and have your dinner, Miss Blair. Theres scarcely
any use waiting, do you think?
Scarcely any use waiting.
The words kept repeating themselves in Connies
brain. She tried to sit at the table with a show of
composure, but her head kept turning toward the
door. Every time it opened her heart gave a leap of
false hope.
Dessert, miss?
The waitress must have repeated the question
before Connie heard her.
I dont think so. Belatedly she added,
Thanks.
Connie got up from the table and walked out to
the patio, flower-scented and peaceful in the
twilight. She glanced toward Jeffs room, but the
door was shut and the window showed no light. He
apparently hadnt come in while she was at dinner
inside.
But just to be sure she went to the door and
knocked. The knocking had a hollow sound, and
when there was no answer her last ray of hope faded
and disappeared.
145

CHAPTER

13

Connie Joins a Posse

Connie stood before the sheriff and argued her case.

But Mr. Chandlers horse came home this
afternoon. Dont you see? Weve wasted hours and
hours already. Something must have happened. At
the very least hes hurt himself in a fall, maybe
broken his leg.
The officer, a swarthy man with a disconcerting
habit of pulling at his left ear, regarded Connie
without perturbation. Seems to me youre creatin a
tempest in a teapot, miss. Any young fellows got a
right to change his mind.
But his horse! Connie considered the officer
thick-witted, and wished she were dealing with
reasonable Patrick Ryan, the police chief at home.
His horse proves that he didnt change his mind.
Thats right, Mr. Cardenio. Maria Gonzales
backed Connie up.
146

The officer looked at Maria and screwed his face

up in a frown of consideration. Well, he said with
a barely concealed yawn, I cant see theres
anything we can do about it tonight. His gaze
returned to Connie. Tell you what, he said with
more animation. If your young man hasnt come
back by morning, you give me a call, and well get
up a search party, like you want.
Connie fumed. If only people would stop calling
Jeff her young man. And if only she were gifted
with the power to make this sheriff see that Jeff
must be in real and imminent danger, if he were not
already beyond their help.
A trio of alarming possibilities crowded her mind.
He might be held captive by the elusive Twisty
Schlessinger. He might be lying wounded by a bullet
not intended to merely frighten him away. He might
evenbut Connie shut her eyes and refused to
admit the final and most dreadful thought.
Maria was tugging at Connies arm. Theres
nothing more we can do tonight, she whispered.
Youve explained everything twice.
The sheriff didnt hear. He was busy cramming
papers into the drawers of his roll-top desk so that
he could go home and let his relief take over. Connie
hated to give up, but she realized that to antagonize
the officer would be utterly foolhardy. There was
nothing to do but follow Maria out the door.
147

Back at the Casa Bonito, everything was as

serene as when Connie had left after dinner to find
Maria and to go to the police. Miss Cameron was
sleeping quietly, but for herself Connie found sleep
an impossibility. Clad in pajamas and a light robe,
Connie tried reading in bed to calm her jagged
nerves.
But again and again and again her eye would
stray over the same sentence, all the words
meaningless, while her active mind kept seeking for
Jeff, envisioning every possible dilemma in which
he might have become entangled. Finally she flung
the magazine to the chair beside the bureau and
turned out the light.
But still she couldnt quiet her thoughts. She
reviewed every happening which had led up to the
young mans strange disappearance. She considered
in turn all the people she had met since her arrival in
TaosMrs. Morgan, Mr. Norman, Maria, the Indian
at the pueblo who bought turquoise from Twisty
and wondered which of them might be inimical
toward Jeffand why.
In the morning she was up by six-thirty, and
when she discovered that Georgia was awake and
feeling quite well again she told her the entire
upsetting story of Jeffs continued absence.
If they send a search party to Black Cat Gulch I
want to go with them, Georgia. Please say I can!
148

But, Connie, what can you do?

I dont know, but Maria and I were along the
day we found the cave and the entrance to the old
mine. I could show them what we foundthe rope
ladder and everything. I could show them where Jeff
would be apt to go.
Georgia could see the reasonableness of this
desire. I cant see, if you have police protection,
why you wouldnt be perfectly safe.
Connie, on the other hand, couldnt feel that
anyone, with or without a police escort, could be
entirely safe at Black Cat Gulch, but she didnt
admit this to Miss Cameron. Oh, thank you! she
cried, elated. Ill be awfully careful, really I will.
As she ate an early and a hurried breakfast,
Connie realized that she wasnt the only person at
the inn who had apparently spent a sleepless night.
Dolly Morgan, when she appeared in the lobby, had
dark circles under her eyes that told a clear story.
Connie would have given a lot to know whether her
bed had been slept in, but she could discover no way
of finding out.
It was a magnificent, fierce morning of sun and
high wind when Connie walked down to the plaza,
determination in the set of her jaw. There was a nip
in the air that presaged September, when ristras of
chili would be draped like scarlet banners from the
adobe roofs of Taos Pueblo. The summer, and the
149

peacefulness of summer, were on the wane.

Today there was no doubt that the sheriff was
ready to take Connie seriously. She told him details
of Jeffs mission to New Mexico and the way that
his attempts to discover the source of the prehistoric
ornament had been balked.
If you dont agree to send out a search party Im
going to call the museum in Philadelphia, Connie
threatened. Mr. Chandlers superior will get some
action if he has to go to the governor in Santa Fe!
Now, now! Take it easy, young lady. Well send
out a posse.
And will you take me along?
Well The constable looked extremely
doubtful.
I wont slow you down, Connie promised with
more bravado than certainty. Ive ridden horseback
since I was ten years old.
Weve got to get volunteers and theyve got to
be deputized, the chief demurred. It all may take a
while.
I can get Mr. Norman, Connie suggested, from
the Alvarado. He knows Mr. Chandler. Im sure
hell agree to go.
All right. Mr. Cardenio pulled thoughtfully at
his ear. And I suppose I could ride along, and
maybe get Manuel. Manuels a pretty good man
with a gun.
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Fine! Who Manuel was Connie didnt know,

but she thought that any move was to the good.
While she ran across the plaza to ask Mr. Normans
aid, the sheriff promised to arrange for horses and
round up one more man. Gonzales maybe, he was
mumbling when Connie left him. She supposed he
meant Marias father, but she didnt wait to find out.
Percy Norman was lounging in the door of his
shop when Connie approached him. Certainly Ill
go along, he said at once. Ill get into some riding
clothes and see if I can find somebody to keep shop
while Im away.
Connie went from the Alvarado to the Little
Dipper, looking for Maria. Instead, she found Mr.
Cardenio, leisurely drinking a cup of coffee with a
heavy, dark man who had just a trace of Marias
expression around the eyes.
I cannot leave, but I think you should take my
daughter. It would be more proper, since you must
also take the Anglo young lady, Mr. Gonzales was
saying when Connie arrived.
He sent a waitress for Maria, who was more than
anxious to join the party. Connie came forward and
urged Mr. Cardenio to hurry. Mr. Norman will be
ready in just a few minutes, she said.
But Mr. Norman wasnt ready in a few minutes.
He wasnt even ready in an hour, when Connie
called back at the shop. He had been having trouble
151

finding someone to take over in his absence, he

explained, but everything would be arranged soon.
Delay, delay, delay.
Nothing, in Taos, seemed to be accomplished
swiftly. Connie and Maria were filled with
impatience as they waited for the men to get ready
to start.
At ten-thirty Connie called the Casa Bonito and
told Pedro to take word to Miss Cameron that the
search party hadnt yet left and that there was no
telling when she might be back. At eleven the sheriff
decided they might as well have a bite of lunch
before they got off.
Then I suppose well have to wait while they
take their siesta, Connie whispered bitterly to
Maria. But finally, in spite of everything, they were
ready to start.
Mr. Cardenio and Mr. Norman rode ahead,
followed by Connie and Maria. The man called
Manuel and a co-operative artist from the local
colony, Jonathan Smith by name, brought up the
rear.
Instead of heading directly to the gulch, once they
had left the pueblo, basking under the noon sun,
behind them, Mr. Norman suggested that it would be
wise to comb the prairie for Jeff.
Hes probably had a bad fallbeen knocked
unconscious or broken a leg, Percy Norman
152

insisted, and that sort of accident would be more

apt to happen when his horse was running in open
country than when he was riding trail in the hills.
Connie looked at Maria in dismay. Did she dare
to dispute this theory? If they wasted the valuable
midday hours searching the prairie, theyd never get
to the gulch at all that day, and night travel by
horseback in those hills would be out of the
question.
Mr. Cardenio!
The sheriff turned. Yes?
The boy from the stable combed the prairie
yesterday afternoon. And it was up at Black Cat
Gulch that we were shot at, you know. Wouldnt it
be better to go right on? Well barely get there and
back before dark, anyway!
Connie wasnt sure that word combed was
quite correct. It might, in fact, be a gross
exaggeration. But she had to head the sheriff off
from following Mr. Normans suggestion.
Fortunately Jonathan Smith backed her up, calling
from the rear.
Miss Blairs right, Cardenio. Wed better beat it
for the hills if theres any possibility that the young
man has met with foul play.
Mr. Norman shot Connie a reproachful look, then
shrugged as though he would henceforth wash his
hands of any responsibility. As you like, he
153

muttered.
The party rode along at a fast trot for a while,
then, heading for wilder country. Connie could hear
Mr. Smith and Manuel talking behind her, their
voices carrying easily in the clear air.
These tourists, Manuel was grumbling.
Always getting themselves in some kind of jam.
Chandler isnt exactly a tourist, as I understand
it, the more perceptive artist explained. Hes on
the trail of a rare archaeological specimen, and he
just seems to have been unfortunately tenaciousor
else somebody is pulling a fast one.
Connie and Maria rode along without saying very
much. Both were absorbed in thought. Connie,
especially, was impatient to reach Black Cat Gulch.
Remembering the shots which had greeted them on
their previous expedition, she offered up a silent
prayer that they might not be too late.
After a while Mr. Smith spurred his horse and
cantered up to join the sheriff, while Percy Norman
dropped back and rode with Connie, and Manuel
and Maria entered into conversation in Spanish at
the rear.
Mr. Norman apparently held no grudge against
Connie for disputing his suggestion of searching the
prairie. He was his usual suave and entertaining self,
except for a certain nervous twitch to the right-hand
corner of his mouth, of which Connie had never
154

been conscious before.

After a while Connie asked, Dont you like to
ride horseback, Mr. Norman?
The jeweler looked at her in surprise. I ride a
good deal for pleasure. Thats an odd question. Why
do you ask?
Connie was forthright. I just cant understand
why you would ever have tried to take Jeff to Black
Cat Gulch by car.
The laugh with which Mr. Norman greeted this
observation was short and a trifle annoyed. Thats
easy, he said promptly. I intended to park at the
crossing and walk the three miles up the gulch. Its
quite an interesting walk in good weather. I just
hadnt counted on such bad roads.
I dont see why not, Connie retorted.
Mr. Norman looked at her in accentuated
astonishment. Now, Connie, are you trying to pick
a fight with me? Fie and for shame!
Connie had the grace to blush, but she meant
what she had said. Anybody who knew the country,
even as slightly as she now did, should have realized
that rain could whip the adobe roads to cream. Im
sorry if I was rude, she said lightly. I guess Im
edgy today.
Of course you are! Mr. Norman was his usual
urbane self. Wed better ride single file here. You
go ahead, my dear.
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For the rest of the trip to the gulch, conversation

was sporadic. And as they neared the prospectors
shack, quiet fell on the entire party like a pall. No
one knew what they might find, and it was well to
be on guard.
The clearing was in almost exactly the same
condition as that in which Connie and Maria had
found it on their first trip. A burro was tethered in
the lean-to and there was otherwise no sign of life.
ExceptConnie gave a little cry and pointed
smoke was rising from the chimney of the one-room
house!
The sheriff proved himself a cautious man. He
pulled in his horse and spoke to Mr. Norman.
Whats this Twisty Schlessinger like, Perce?
Mr. Norman was ready with his easy smile. Mild
little chap. Always kind of liked him.
Nevertheless we might as well take the usual
precautions. Manuel, you and Mr. Smith ride around
back.
Then, as though to deride such special caution,
the door to the shack opened and a slight, grayhaired man limped down the two uneven stone steps.
Well, for the luvva Mike! His eyes, roving over
the party, seemed genuinely surprised.
The sheriff swung down from his saddle. Hi! he
called. Youre Twisty Schlessinger, arent you?
Thats right.
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The sheriff, meanwhile, had turned to Mr.

Norman. Sure! I remember him. Ive seen him
around Taos a good deal.
Mr. Cardenio turned back to Twisty. Just want
to ask you a couple of questions. Okay?
Okay.
As though this heralded an extensive powwow
the rest of the group took it as a signal to dismount.
Connie and Maria tethered their horses to a tree and
walked over to stand at the outskirts of the cluster of
men.
Been havin a little trouble with the tourist
trade, the sheriff was explaining while he pulled
indefatigably at his ear. Young fella rode up this
way yesterday morning and his horse came home
without him. Tall chap, dark hair, glasses. He
glanced at Connie for confirmation and Connie
nodded. Then his eyes slowly returned to Twistys.
Lookin for you.
For me?
Connie couldnt tell whether the mans surprise
was genuine or assumed.
Yep.
Connie thought that Twistys eyes shifted for a
moment toward Percy Norman, but she couldnt be
sure. Mr. Norman himself seemed oblivious to the
glance. He was idly flicking his crop against the toe
of his boot.
157

Twisty scratched his head. Now why would a

tourist be lookin for me?
Seems you sold a friend of his aan
archaeological relic. The sheriffs tongue stumbled
over the long word.
Maybe you remember, Twisty. Percy Norman
stepped forward. It was back in the days when you
were working for me. He caught his breath in a
little chuckle. You know, its a funny thing, but I
hadnt the slightest idea you were still in these
parts.
Connie frowned. This remark, she suspected, was
for her benefit. And suddenly she also surmised that
Percy Norman had known how to get in touch with
Twisty all along.
Because Twisty simply didnt react. He didnt
look at Norman as at a man he hadnt seen for many
months. He didnt look at him in any way at all. He
was occupied with what he was going to say next to
the sheriff, and his mind seemed to be groping along
slowly.
Tall chap, with dark hair and glasses, he was
repeating. Nope, Sheriff, havent seen him around.
He ignored Normans remarks altogether, as though
he were anxious to stick to the original point.
Then he squinted up at the sky. Dont see no
buzzards, neither. It seemed to be an encouraging
sign.
158

Connie shuddered, then came forward. But you

do remember selling a man from Philadelphia a little
turquoise and jet ornament, dont you, Mr.
Schlessinger?
To be questioned by a girl as soft spoken and as
pretty as Connie was unexpected. Twisty didnt
know how to frame a reply. Again his eyes flicked
to Percy Norman, and this time Connie caught a
return signalthe barest possible shake of the head,
as though the owner of the Alvarado might be
brushing off a fly.
Connie never heard Twistys reply, because
suddenly her mind fled back to her first visit to the
Alvarado, when the shop owner had shown her the
tray of unmounted jewel turquoise, and she
recalled the sharp look he had given her when she
remarked that the stones had the same quality of
color as those she had seen at the pueblo. So there
was a connection between Twisty and Percy
Norman!
Then she recalled something elsesomething
which had seemed odd at the time but which
subsequent events had driven from her thoughts.
She was remembering several oblong, white
jewelry boxes filled with new five-dollar bills!

159

CHAPTER

14

In the Abandoned Mine

Connie wandered away from the group, back toward

the shed. She wanted to be alone. She wanted to
think.
The sheriff was still questioning Twisty, trying to
make absolutely certain that he was as innocent as
he sounded of any knowledge of Chandlers
whereabouts. Nobody paid the slightest attention to
Connie as she strolled away.
By the sheeppen she paused, kicking at the earth
with the toe of her shoe. Could anything as fantastic
as she was imagining be the clue to the whole
mystery in which Jeff was involved?
Her quick mind raced back to pick up a hint here,
a hint there. There was Mr. Normans conversation
with the woman who had paid him for a jewelry
purchase with a pair of two-dollar bills. It hadnt
struck her as odd at the timebut now! There were
160

those identical boxes wrapped for eastern shipment.

There was the strange swish-swish that she and
Maria had both heard as they approached the old
mine shaft. They all added up correctly, but they
didnt add up to a secret cache of archaeological
relics! She had been following the wrong track all
along.
Track!
The word seemed to ring a bell in Connies brain,
and she realized that she was staring down at
another kind of track, a hoofprint in the mud.
None of the search partys horses had been back
here where the burro was tethered, yet this was no
burros mark. It was made by the shoe of a goodsized horse. Connies heart gave a leap. Still trying
to appear as though she were wandering idly about,
she followed the direction of the first hoofprint and
found others leading around the shack in a shallow
curve.
Toward the old mine! Connie tried to remember
when it had last rained. Not last night, certainly. The
night before, when Georgia was so ill! That would
make it possible for this to be Jeffs horse.
She turned impulsively to tell the sheriff of her
find, but Mr. Cardenio had evidently decided to
search Twistys house, and the whole party was
trailing in his wake, Maria bringing up the rear.
Connie walked toward the steps of the cabin and
161

caught her friends arm.

Lets wait out here, she suggested, quite
clearly, so that everyone could hear.
Mr. Cardenio glanced toward the girls and
nodded briefly, accepting the proposal as a
fastidious feminine notion. Mr. Norman looked as
though he would have preferred to stay outside with
Connie, but he was wedged between the sheriff and
Mr. Smith and was already being edged through the
door.
Connie wasted no time in preliminaries. There
are hoofprints that lead back toward the cave. They
could have been made by Jeffs horse, she told
Maria as soon as they were safely alone. Im going
back there. If Im gone longer than fifteen minutes
bring the sheriff and the posse.
Maria stretched out a detaining hand. But why
alone? she whispered.
I dont want to give Percy Norman a chance to
put the sheriff off, Connie whispered back, and,
leaving Maria standing in puzzled consternation a
few yards from the shack, Connie turned and ran
silently toward the path they had discovered two
days before.
Very shortly the hoofprints became blurred by
returning tracks and by the jumbled marks of a
mans boots, but Connie had seen enough to give
her search justification.
162

The cavelike entrance in the hillside opened

before her, dim in the late afternoon light which
scarcely penetrated through the stand of spruce.
Then an unexpected discovery gave her pause. The
hoofprints she had lost became clear again, and they
led, not into the yawning mouth of the cave, but on
up the gulch!
Should she follow them or explore the old mine
shaft first? For half a minute Connie hesitated,
trying to think her way logically to the right
decision. Then she turned abruptly into the cave,
groping her way carefully along in the semidark.
If only she had brought a flashlight! But
gradually her eyes began to adjust to the dim interior
and she could see the open shaft that she and Jeff
and Maria had discovered on their previous trip to
the gulch.
Only this time the rope ladder was pulled up! It
lay in a haphazard heap on the powdery earth, and
its rungs bore mute testimony to the fact that it had
been used recently by a man or men with muddy
boots.
Connie dropped to her knees and peered down the
hole. Jeff! she called softly. Jeff!
Only her own voice, echoing the name,
responded.
She unfurled the rope ladder and let it down the
shaft, hurriedly. There was a gratifying scrape as it
163

struck bottom. Again she wished vainly for a

flashlight, but comforted herself with the thought
that already her eyes were able to distinguish shapes
in the gloom. She swung herself downward like a
surefooted young monkey, feeling her way carefully
along.
The bottom of the shaft was really pitch black.
Connie stood still, one hand clinging to the rope
ladder, fearing she would have to give up. Then she
described a circle with her foot, and collided with
something metallic. She reached forward and
breathed a little easier. Now she was really in luck,
because the thing she had struck was an electric
lantern. With trembling fingers she felt for the
switch and flashed it on.
She found herself in an underground passage,
long and narrow, the walls lined with a rocky matrix
which showed an occasional pin-point glint of blue.
It seemed to open at the far end into a larger cavern
or underground room, and toward this Connie
trotted, her lantern throwing an eerie gleam along
the turquoise-starred walls.
The room she entered was not very large. It was
almost circular and at first glance it was interesting
for only one thing. In its exact center stood a strange
instrument which looked not unlike a primitive
printing press.
Connie was so absorbed in flashing her light over
164

this interesting discovery that she didnt notice

another narrow tunnel opening at right angles to the
passage from which she had entered, although a
sour, fetid odor which Jeff would have been able to
distinguish as the characteristic smell of bat guano
made her wrinkle her nose.
Connie held her lantern high and looked about
her. Then she bent to pick up a crumpled bit of
paper that caught her eye. Setting the light on the
earthen floor she crouched to examine it, unfolding
it and smoothing it out with trembling hands.
One side was blank, but the other side!Connie
caught her breaththe other side was printed, in
green, and a child could have recognized the blurred
facsimile of a five-dollar bill!
I thought so.
Connie didnt realize that she spoke aloud, or that
she was nodding her head in spontaneous
recognition. Slowly she folded the oblong strip of
paper and crammed it deep into the pocket of her
blue jeans. She might be needing this!
Then she picked up her lantern and arose, to look
down again at the strange little press, hidden away
so neatly in the abandoned mine. No wonder Percy
Norman hadnt wanted Jeff to contact Twisty
Schlessinger! No wonder there was so much evasion
and secrecy concerning Black Cat Gulch. Here,
before her, stood the reason for the mystery. A
165

counterfeiters press!
Connie could remember seeing a similar press in
a Washington, D.C. museum, on a trip her high
school class had made to the nations capital. It
seemed no less incredible to her now than it had
then, that men should go to such stealthy and
intricate methods to cheat and steal.
Percy Norman and Twisty Schlessinger. In
cahoots! It was hard, even now, to believe it, with
the evidence before her very eyes. Mr. Norman
posing as the urbane jewelry merchant, pretending
to be friendly and helpful, while all the time he was
taking the most devious ways of keeping Jeff from
ever blundering into the true secret of Black Cat
Gulch!
Jeff!
In her absorption with her astonishing discovery
Connie had momentarily forgotten the real object of
her search in the mine. Now she was more firmly
convinced than ever that the young archaeologist
had met with foul play at the hands of the innocentlooking little man who was Normans stooge and
accomplice. But where could Twisty have concealed
Jeff, if not here?
Unlessunless No! Connie would not allow
herself even to admit the ultimate possibility to
which a criminal might go to keep a secret like this.
Jeff must be alive. He might be bound, gagged,
166

slugged, or even wounded, but he must be alive.

Connie held the lantern high and swung around in
a slow circle, and this time she saw the narrow
tunnel she had missed on her first inspection of the
rock-walled room.
Jeff!
She went close to the mouth of the narrow
opening and called the name softly, but there was no
reply except an empty echo of her own voice,
repeated in a diminishing scale. The tunnel was dark
and evil-smelling, barely wide enough for one
person to edge his way along.
Suddenly Connies head jerked around and she
stiffened. From the passageway along which she had
come from the mine shaft there came a distinct,
unmistakable creaking noise. Somebody was
coming down the rope ladder. Some one person
because there was no sound of voices! Quick as
thought, Connie snapped off the switch that
controlled the little electric light.
In the immediate blackness her heart began to
pound. Who could it be? What new terror
approached her? Of small consolation was the fact
that Maria had promised to follow with the posse if
she did not return in the stipulated time.
The tunnel! Her hand felt along the rock wall
until it reached the opening. Connie shuddered, but
here might be her one possible means of escape.
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With alarming clarity, from the direction of the

mines entrance, she heard her name being called.
Connie! Connie Blair!
It was Normans voice, smooth as silk, with just
the proper polite note of alarm.
Connie!
Closer now, the name was repeated, and Connie
could see the beam of a flashlight in the distance. As
quietly as possible she squirmed into the tunnels
mouth and began to inch her way along, cobwebs
brushing her face and her bare arms.
Shrinking from their damp, feathery touch, and
warding them off as best she could with the hand
that still clung to the lantern, Connie edged along
until a turn in the tunnel made her hiding place
comparatively safe. Then she rested, leaning against
the crumbling wall, and crouching because there
was no longer room to stand.
Connie Blair!
Sound waves reflected the name as they had
Jeffs, repeating in fearful sequence the voice of her
pursuer. For a moment Connie yielded to panic and
scrambled onward along the black passageway,
wanting only to put more distance between herself
and the man who had pretended to be her friend. A
gray light, like the feeble entrance of daylight,
seemed to appear ahead of her, and she crawled
toward it cautiously, hoping against hope that it
168

might mean another entrance to the mine.

As she pulled herself along she found that the
tunnel again widened, and she could distinguish a
chimney-like aperture that led upward. Then she put
her arm across her face and stifled a scream. With
eerie squeaks and the rustle of leathery wings a
flight of bats rushed past her. Connie had never
known such utter repulsion and dread. Involuntarily,
she flinched close to the rocky wall as though she
would like to melt into its surface, and as she did so
she felt beneath her free hand a curved bone.
Had it not been a moment of sheer terror, Connie
might never have grabbed at it as a potential
weapon, but she was so wild with alarm that she
found herself flailing it through the air like a sword,
beating off the web-limbed mammals as best she
could. She felt as though she were living through the
most horrible of nightmares, and that any moment
she must awaken in her familiar bedroom at
Meadowbrook, with Kit in the bed beside hers, and
sun streaming through the crisp organdy curtains.
This dreadful experience couldnt be real!
But it was real, and as suddenly as they had
rushed upon her, the bats were gone. Connie could
breathe again, could fight her way forward toward
the ray of gray light from the chimney. Finally she
could stand upright, stretch her aching back and
brush the cobwebs from her forehead and her eyes.
169

Then Connie gasped, a quick, indrawn breath of

surprise and recognition. At the base of the chimney,
in a crumpled heap, lay Jeff!
For a moment the girl was almost afraid to
approach him. He was lying there so quietly. He
looked so appallingly still!
Then she could see that he was breathing. A
muscle in his temple throbbed, and she hurried to
him and dropped to her knees, whispering his name.
Jeff. Jeff!
He stirred a little, and sighed as a person sighs in
sleep. Connie shook him gently. Jeff. Its me.
Connie. Jeff, are you hurt? Jeff, wake up!

170

CHAPTER

15

The Chase Begins

Connies hand struck Jeffs face with quick, sharp

slaps. She had tried every other means she could
think of to arouse him.
Jeff! Jeff! Wake up!
But the insistence in her cautiously lowered voice
was lost on the unconscious man. Only when his
cheeks were red with the stinging slaps did his
eyelids flicker.
Jeff!
Finally he opened his eyes drowsily and
mumbled, Stop hitting me.
Connie giggled nervously. Its me. Connie. Jeff,
try to stay awake. Please!
Jeff stretched and groaned. Where am I,
anyway?
At Black Cat Gulch. In the old mine.
Mine? Mine? Jeffs eyes closed again.
171

Jeff, whats the matter? Dont you remember?

You came to the gulch to find Twisty Schlessinger.
Listen to me, Jeff! Try to stay awake. Connie shook
him sternly. Try!
With slow effort, Jeff raised himself on one
elbow and shook his head like a dog emerging from
under water. Sure. Then he brushed a hand across
his forehead. Boy, do I feel fuzzy!
You act it! Connie said You must have hit
your head an awful crack when you fell. She
looked up to the patch of daylight above them. It
seemed more likely that a man, stumbling into that
hole, would have broken a leg.
I didnt fall. He pushed me. Jeff spoke
laboriously.
Who?
Twisty. Twisty Schlessinger. I think.
Dont you know?
Its not very clear. Nothings very clear. Jeff
frowned and stroked his forehead again. I was
coming up to the gulch. I remember riding along,
and getting off my horse near the old mine, and
looking for Twisty. But maybe the sun was too hot. I
began to feel awfully funny. Sleepy, sort of. Groggy.
If you know what I mean.
Connies eyes narrowed. She was thinking back
to the moment when she had left Jeff at the stable.
He had seemed tired then, curiously exhausted. He
172

had been vague and distant, unlike himself. She

thought she could guess what had happened. Jeff
had been drugged!
I know what you mean. But try to wake up now.
Grab hold of yourself!
I will, Jeff promised, and sat upright. I will.
He put out his hand to steady himself, and it
touched the strange weapon with which Connie had
tried to protect herself from the flight of bats. He
picked up the curved bone and twisted it, and
Connie could see some of the fogginess leave his
eyes.
His voice was more normal when he asked,
Where did you get this?
In the passageway, Connie told him. She
shuddered at the remembrance. There were bats,
dozens of bats.
But Jeff didnt seem sympathetic. His spine had
stiffened and he was turning the curved bone
carefully in his hand.
Shaped like the blade of a Turkish dagger, he
murmured. His eyes were growing brighter by the
moment. It looks like a core from the claw of a
giant ground sloth. By golly, I think it is!
Connie shook her head, half in amusement, half
in dismay. Jeff, youre incredible, she said.
But look! This is unusual, and it might be very
important!
173

Why?
Ground sloths, replied Jeff with increasing
animation, lumbered around this neck of the woods
in late glacial times.
So what? Connie was too distrait to want to
discuss archaeology at such a moment, but she did
recognize the importance of provoking Jeff to
complete awareness.
If ground sloth remains are in this cave, and also
human remains, we might find some evidence that
men lived here at the same time as the sloths, said
Jeff as though he were thinking out loud. Think of
it! Ten thousand years ago
But Connie was in no mood to listen to an
extensive discourse on prehistoric times. She
jumped to her feet and looked down at Jeff
impatiently.
Ten thousand years will keep. Listen, Jefftry
to think in terms of nowtoday! Weve got to get
out of here.
But Jeff refused to return to the present. He got to
his feet and grabbed Connies arm, almost shaking
the bone in her face.
Think what this means! he cried, forgetting to
whisper. Its the end of my search. Its a hundred
times more important than that jet and turquoise
ornamentthan any ceramic remains. It may be
even more important than the bison bones found at
174

Fulsom, Arizona, back in 1927! Connie Blair, you

may be standing just a few levels above the earth
trod by the very first Americans of all!
Connie looked down. I certainly hope so.
But Jeff didnt recognize her attempt at levity.
Wait till the museum sees this! Now Twisty
Schlessinger can go fly a kite.
Hes more likely to go to jail, murmured
Connie, and finally Jeff was shocked into asking,
Why?
Connie said, Jeff, Twisty wasnt trying to keep
any archaeological relics from the world at large. He
must have just stumbled on that ornament, thought it
was curious or interesting, and sold it to pick up a
little extra change. I dont think he had the slightest
idea that it was ancient or really important at all.
Jeff shrugged. Maybe.
The secret he was trying to protect was, to his
mind, far more worth hiding.
But what could it be?
Jeff, remember the odd noise we heard at the top
of the mine shaft? That odd swish-swish.
Jeff nodded, puzzled.
It was made by a printing press. A press that
prints counterfeit currency. Connie dug into her
pocket and pulled out the crumpled oblong of paper,
holding it out to her companion. Five-dollar bills.
Jeff took the paper, felt it, turned it over and
175

examined it as closely as possible in the feeble light.

Well, Ill be darned!
No wonder Mr. Norman didnt want you asking
Twisty Schlessinger a lot of archaeological
questions, and poking around the old mine. It was
mighty vital that you shouldnt be allowed to
uncover their little plant.
Their? Norman? Jeff sounded incredulous.
Connie nodded. Hes behind the whole deal.
Whywhy, the old hypocrite!
Connie laughed, because Jeffs reaction was to
Mr. Normans pretense at friendliness rather than to
his criminal operation of a counterfeiting plant.
Hes also a cheat and a swindler, and a man in
whom the FBI should be very, very much
interested, she said.
You bet! Jeff cocked his head. But are you
really certain hes mixed up in this.
Positive, Connie replied. Ill tell you all about
it later, but right now wed better try getting out of
here. Theres a posse thatll be a little taken aback at
what I have to tell them.
Posse?
Yes. Looking for you.
For me? But why?
Your horse came home without you
yesterday.
Jeff looked really confused. You meanIve
176

been out here overnight? But thats impossible.

Connie shook her head. You must have been
drugged, Jeff. Youve lost track of time. Maybe its
just as well.
She was looking upward at the chimney opening
such a brief distance above them, and a raindrop
splashed on her cheek. Norman followed me into
the mine, she murmured as though she were
thinking aloud. We cant go back that way, even if
it werent for the bats. We might just walk into a
trap. Do you think you could let me stand on your
shoulders, Jeff? I might be able to grab a tree root or
something and hoist myself up to ground level. Then
I could bring help.
Jeff considered the height of the opening. Its an
idea, he said. Lets try it. He crouched so that
Connie could take a pickaback position. Here. Take
my hands.
I feel like an acrobat in a vaudeville show,
Connie confessed when she tried to get to her feet.
Not a good one. But somehow, between the two of
them, they managed to hoist her up so that, standing
on Jeffs shoulders, she could get a grip on some
scrub growth at the chimneys mouth.
Jeff, using every bit of his reserve strength,
heaved, and Connies natural athletic ability stood
her in good stead, because she somehow managed to
scramble to safety. It was raining briskly now, and
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the light had waned still more.

Ill hurry, Jeff! she called back. Well bring a
rope.
Can you find your way back to the cabin?
Easily. It should be right down the gulch.
Connie began to run through the scrub growth,
wondering as she ran how much she should tell Mr.
Cardenio and the men. Get Jeff out of his
underground prison first, she decided. There would
be time enough to expose the Norman-Schlessinger
combine. And the evidence would keep. The
printing press would still be there.
She had almost reached the clearing when she felt
the shock and heard the sullen rumble of an
explosion. Her first thought was for Jeff, and she
half turned to race back, because the sound had
come from the direction of the mine. Then she
realized that, alone, there was no help she could
bring. Shed have to get Maria and the men.
Maria! Maria had promised to follow her, if she
were gone more than fifteen minutes. And surely the
time must be up. For a sickening moment Connie
was afraid that the posse might have been caught in
the very trap she had escaped. If that explosion
meant
Running faster now, Connie began to shout.
Maria! Maria!
Her breath came in short gasps and her knees felt
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like jelly.
Maria!
The Spanish girls answering voice fell like music
on Connies ears. Connie! Here we are!
She met the search party on the footpath that led
to the caves mouth, and immediately she realized
that, though Twisty was walking sulkily along
beside the sheriff, Mr. Norman was not in the group.
Ive found Jeff! she cried without preamble.
But wheres Mr. Norman? You mustnt let him get
away!
More puzzled expressions she had never
encountered. Only Twisty looked sullen and
understanding. The sheriff pulled distractedly at his
ear and said, Norman? Norman said hed go head
you off. Said it was dangerous business, a girl
fooling around alone near an abandoned mine.
Somehow, Connie gasped out her story. He
followed me. I got out through another entrance.
Jeffs still down there!
The men of the posse looked unsure of what to
believe and what to discount. It was Jonathan Smith
who said sensibly, Youd better take us to
Chandler.
Well need a rope, Connie said.
The sheriff was ready. Ive got one.
It was the work of only a few minutes to go back
up the path to the mine chimney, but the party
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reached it just in time. Clouds of dust were

billowing from the aperture, and Jeff was choking
and coughing in the dry, powdery particles of earth
churned into the air and through the passage by the
explosion. His eyes were bloodshot with dust when
the men hauled him out of his prison, and the sheriff
gave him a drink from his canteen and then dashed
the rest of the water in his face.
Feel better?
Much better, Jeff replied. For a while there I
was afraid I might actually suffocate.
Entirely possible, said Jonathan Smith.
Wonder what blew up?
Sounded like somebody set off a charge of
dynamite in the old mine, said Mr. Cardenio.
But who? And why?
I think I can tell you, said Connie, and she
could feel Twistys eyes shift warily to her face.
Theres only one man who could have done it. Mr.
Norman. There was a secret in the old mine that had
to be kept. With rapid, careful sentences she
outlined what she had found.
The sheriff looked incredulous, but Mr. Smith
was quick-witted. Wheres Norman now? If this
girls story is true, hes in either one of two places.
Buried under the rubble in the mine or trying to
make a getaway.
If I know Percy Norman, put in Maria, hes
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not buried under any rubble.

Lets get back to the horses, suggested the man
called Manuel, and Connie nodded quick approval.
Mr. Smith turned and led the search party back to
the clearing, Connie close on his heels. But as she
had feared, they were just too late. Through the rain
and gloom came the unmistakable clop-clop of a
horses hoofs hitting the stony ground. Mr.
Normans mount was no longer tethered beside the
sheriffs mare.

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CHAPTER

16

Connies Evidence

Hes gone! Maria cried, and as though to

accentuate her words storm clouds collided
somewhere above them. Clusters of purple
thunderheads struggled mightily. They hurled
themselves at one another with detonations that
shook the ground. Wide bands of jagged light
stabbed the clearing. And then came the real rain!
The storm until then had contained none of the
epic force which Connie had come to recognize in
these southwestern cloudbursts, but now the rain
drove down with intolerable power. The horses
huddled together, heads down, and the search party
ran for the cover of the sheeppen. It would be
foolhardy to ride after Norman in a blinding
downpour like this. Impossible, even! The rain was
like a curtain, shutting off the nearest trees from
view.
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Mr. Cardenio pulled at his ear thoughtfully.

Hell have to stop at the arroyo, he shouted above
the noise of the storm. It would be certain suicide
to attempt the crossing in a rain like this.
Connie could envision the water swirling down
the gulch with floodlike violence, making a mad
river which stormed through the cut at Black Cat
Crossing. If Percy Norman should try to fight his
way across? She shuddered and shrank from the
thought.
The sheriff was gathering his force, full of
organization now that there was a definite job to do.
Well start the minute theres the slightest letup,
he told the men. Spread out and head off Norman at
the Taos road or before. He turned to Connie and
Maria. You girls can share a horse, cant you? You
come along down slowly with Mr. Chandler. Hes in
no fit condition for hard riding. I can see that.
Jeff protested weakly, then succumbed, and while
Connie hated to be out of the chase she could see the
prudence of the sheriffs suggestion. It helped some
that Twisty was turned over to them to guard, and
forced to ride ahead of Jeff on his burro, while the
girls brought up the rear.
They made a strange procession, coming into
Taos as darkness settled over the hills. The roads
were gummy with moisture, but the storm was long
since past. Connies hair was drying slowly, and her
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shirt was plastered to her lithe young body. Water

even squished in her shoes when she swung herself
down to the ground.
But she was in a mood to ignore discomfort.
When she saw the horses tethered outside the
municipal building which housed the sheriffs office
she forgot that she was tired and hungry and wet.
She had to know whether they had caught Percy
Norman at Black Cat Crossing.
Jeff looked longingly across the plaza at the Little
Dipper and sniffed the air, hoping to catch some
whiff of Mexican cooking, but Connie had
apparently forgotten that he hadnt eaten for the
better part of two days. She led the way hurriedly up
the steps, and Jeff prodded Twisty ahead of him. In
the bare inside room with its roll-top desk stood the
jewelry shop owner facing his captors. Connie
breathed a heartfelt sigh of satisfaction and relief.
It was a vastly different Percy Norman who shot a
malevolent glance at Connie from the man who had
offered her such deceitful friendship the day before.
His assurance seemed to have melted away with the
thorough drenching he and the rest of the original
search party had received.
But a shade of truculence had replaced it. What
can you prove? he was asking the sheriff. What
have you got but a girls word to go on? You
havent got any case against me and you know it. Go
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up to the mine and look the situation over. What can

you find that will even let you hold me? Nothing.
Not one single thing!
Maria glanced at Connie, fearing that Norman
was right. Though she trusted her friend implicitly,
and had listened with mounting excitement and
certainty to Connies explanations on the ride home,
she knew that the explosion had probably destroyed
all evidence of the secret press.
But Connie seemed to share none of Marias
fears. She reached deep into the pocket of her blue
jeans and brought out a limp and damp piece of
paper. Edging through the group toward the sheriff
she held it out to him.
I picked this up on the mine floor under the
printing press, she said. This should be evidence
enough.
Real venom now appeared in Normans eyes. He
lunged toward Connie as though he wanted to
strangle her, but Manuel and Jonathan Smith caught
his arms and brought him roughly back.
And unless hes disposed of them since
yesterday, there should be several jewelry boxes
filled with new five-dollar bills in a cupboard at the
shop, Connie added. Youll find them on the third
shelf, right-hand side. Theyll be counterfeit, of
course.
Norman snarled, Dont be a fool! at Connie,
185

then spoke to Cardenio. Youll waste your time

searching the Alvarado. Youll find nothing there.
But the sheriff was filing the partially printed bill
away in his wallet. I think this should be enough,
he said with slow conviction. Then he turned to
Manuel. Lock em up.
Connie could watch the men take Percy Norman
away without pity. He was a rogue and a scoundrel,
worthy of not the slightest consideration. But toward
Twisty, who limped along behind his unscrupulous
employer, she could not feel quite so hardhearted.
Will Twisty have to go to prison? she asked.
The constable reached around awkwardly and
patted Connies hand. I dont see how he can avoid
doing a turn in Federal prison, Miss. This is out of
our hands, of course. Uncle Sam likes to make his
own folding money, and he gets pretty tough when
he catches somebody else muscling in.
Connie nodded understandingly.
I think Schlessinger was just following orders
and that Norman was the real brains of the outfit.
Still and all, we cant get around the fact that Twisty
was making stage money for his boss to pass off for
the real stuff. But why did Norman have the old guy
so hog-tied? Thats what beats me!
The sheriffs question was one that had been
troubling Connie too. Why should Twisty have been
willing to do the actual printing of the illegal
186

currency, and how did he come to know how to do

such a delicate job? It seemed to Connie that the old
fellow could have gone happily along trading
turquoise to the Indians and selling an occasional
relic picked up from the cave rubble to tourists. Why
should he have fallen in with Percy Normans getrich-quick scheme?
There was only one person who could tell her this
part of the secret of Black Cat Gulch, and that was
Dolly Morgan. That Dolly was really Twistys
daughter Connie now had not the slightest doubt.
It was at midnight, after Connie and Jeff had
bathed and changed and eaten heartily at the Dipper,
that the innkeeper broke down and talked. Georgia
Cameron, meanwhile, had been apprised of
everything that Connie knew or suspected, and the
three friends were sitting in front of the fire
discussing the mystery in lowered tones when Mrs.
Morgan, wild-eyed and distressed, burst into the
room.
With her rapid, swinging stride, she went straight
to Jeff. Youve got him, havent you?
I? Jeff was genuinely surprised by her attack.
My father. William Schlessinger. The man the
Indians call Fourfingers. Suddenly Mrs. Morgan
sank down on a hassock and buried her head in her
hands.
Connie walked over to the sobbing woman and
187

stroked her back gently. There are counterfeiting

charges against him, she explained.
I know. I know. But it was all so long ago. He
was framed. Really he was. Pops a weak man, but
not a bad man, and nowout herehed tried so
hard to go straight.
She raised her anguished face and met Jeffs eyes
again. Why did you have to come out and stir up
the old trouble. Chicagos a big city. There must be
othermore importantcriminals to catch.
Jeff looked utterly confused, but Connie was busy
putting two and two together. Jeffs not a detective,
Mrs. Morgan, she told Dolores. Hes just an
archaeologist, as he said.
Thats right, Mrs. Morgan.
Disbelief colored Dollys expression. Then why
were you looking for him? Her hyacinth eyes
accused Jeff.
Because he had sold a Philadelphian a jet and
turquoise ornament which was very ancient, and
very interesting. My museum sent me out here, Mrs.
Morgan, to see if I couldnt trace its source.
All the way out here? Mrs. Morgan was still
unconvinced.
Jeff nodded, meeting Dollys eyes directly. To
discover a new diggings equal, say, to Chaco
Canyon, would be a great feather in any museums
cap.
188

Mrs. Morgan shook her head, finding such an

explanation hard to understand, but she apparently
accepted it as fact. And all along I thought you
were a city dick, she sighed, out to get my pop.
Why were you afraid for your father? Connie
asked gently, while Jeff and Georgia both looked a
little confused. Did you know he was in league
with Norman?
I never knew a thing about that deal until
tonight, Dolly flashed back angrily. Cardenio
called me down to his office an hour ago and gave
me the whole story. Pop asked him to. Norman had
found out about Pops record in Chicago and
threatened the poor old duffer with exposure if he
didnt cooperate. She shrugged. What could a man
in his position do?
I dont understand, said Connie frankly. What
had your father done, in Chicago, that made him
afraid of Normanand the law?
Mrs. Morgan looked at the girl as though it were
quite incredible that she didnt understand. Then she
sighed and said, Id better begin from the
beginning, I guess.
Pop used to be a job printer in Chicago. He did
small, specialty stuff. Then, during the depression,
he almost starved, until he tied in with a gang of
spenders headed by a man named Leo Todd. Todd
was clever. He managed to get Pop so far in his debt
189

that he had to take orders and say yessir whether

he liked it or not. From there on it was easy. First
thing Pop knew, he was running a press for a
counterfeiting ring. Whether there was a gun at his
back or not didnt much matter. By then it was too
late to back out.
Of course the ring was busted, eventually. Todd
got his, along with some of the other higher-ups, but
Pop managed to keep clear of a jail term. He drifted
from Chicago to Denver, then finally came out here
to be near me.
He wouldnt let me support him though.
Wouldnt even let me admit to my tony clientele that
I was his daughter. Pop had his pride. He did odd
jobs around Taos for a whileworked for Percy
Norman. You know about that.
Connie nodded, and so did Jeff.
But what you probably dont know, and what I
didnt know until tonight, was that Norman was a
member of that old Chicago gangone of Todds
distributors who never got caught. From the moment
Pop ran into him out here I guess he figured he was
licked. Norman probably threatened him and my
poor old gullible father didnt have enough sense to
realize he could threaten Norman in return.
Connie frowned, but Mrs. Morgan spread her
hands and said, Cant you see? Norman was a
respected member of the community. Pop was a
190

drifter and a has-been. I cant blame him too much

for taking the easy way out, but on my word of
honor I never suspected there was any dirty work
afoot up at the gulch.
Connie believed her. So all the time you were
just scared that Jeff would nab him on the Chicago
count?
Thats right, Dolores admitted. She turned to
Jeff ruefully. Im sorry I slugged you that night in
the patio. Im too impulsive, sometimes.
But why did you do it? asked Georgia.
I came back from getting a couple of bottles of
coke from the kitchen to find Mr. Chandler at my
door. I was sure he knew my father was inside
because Dodo was screaming Hi, Pop! at the top of
his lungs, the way he always did when the old man
was around. Dolores sighed. I wanted at least to
give Pop a chance to make a getaway. So I just
hauled off with one of the bottles and swung.
Youve got, said Jeff, dismay mixed with
admiration, quite a swing.
While Im about it, I might as well tell all. Mrs.
Morgan looked even more rueful. Pops
responsible for shooting over your heads that day at
the gulch. I rode up to warn him that you were on
your way to see him. He didnt want to hurt you
just scare you off.
He scared the horsesplenty! Connie said.
191

Then she looked at Mrs. Morgan with her head tilted

quizzically. I didnt think you were the sort of
woman who would patronize a fortuneteller, she
said.
Everybody laughed, and even Dolores began to
relax a little. I certainly called them wrong, right
down the line, she said. Here I trusted Percy
Norman all along and distrusted you, Mr. Chandler.
Didnt we all? put in Georgia. Then she
corrected herself. I dont mean distrusted you, Jeff.
I mean I trusted Mr. Norman. He seemed like a
cultured and interesting gentleman.
He did seem like an awfully attractive man,
added Connie, though a little on the smooth side.
Pretty is as pretty does, said Georgia sadly.
And now, if youll excuse me, Im going to bed.
Ill come too, Connie said, getting to her feet.
She was still bright-eyed with excitement. She could
have talked all night. But, after all, tomorrow was a
working day!

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CHAPTER

17

On the Santa Fe Platform

Connie stood on the station platform at Santa Fe

beside Jeff Chandler, waiting for the express to the
East to come through. She was wearing a cornyellow linen dress, that exactly matched her hair,
and bright green play shoes, but Jeff was dignified
and businesslike in a dark traveling suit. He didnt
look at all like a man who was making a muddle of
trying to say good-bye.
Connie, I dont know how to thank you
Dont try! After all, what did I do but grab at an
old bone to try to protect myself?
But Jeff wouldnt let her pass off her discovery
lightly. A bone that may be the key to one of the
most important archaeological finds in the entire
Southwest! He looked around him, at the Indians
selling pottery and jewelry, at the travelers and the
natives waiting for the streamlined train to come in.
193

Ill be coming back here, he said, with an

expedition. The Blair Expedition, it should be
called.
Now youre teasing me!
I am not! Jeffs eyes were serious. When I get
back to the museum Im going to tell Mr. Courtlandt
just how big a part you played in discovering the
secret of Black Cat Gulch.
Theres only one thing Im sorry about, Connie
said with a sigh.
Whats that?
I wish Id been there when the posse caught
Percy Norman at the Crossing. The way Mr.
Cardenio described it, it must have been awfully
exciting! Her chin went up and she tried to imagine
the impassable river of rushing water which had
trapped the counterfeiter and prevented him from
reaching Taos, where he could have destroyed any
circumstantial evidence of his malpractice, just as he
had managed to destroy the printing press at the old
mine.
To think that a crook like Mr. Norman almost
kept you from your goal! Just for the sake of a
measly little old counterfeiting racket.
Not so little, if the sheriff is correct, Jeff
corrected her. He was telling me last night that
Norman has confessed to passing two hundred
thousand dollars worth of counterfeit bills through
194

his Chicago fences.

Whee! Connie whistled. Then she asked a
question which had been troubling her. Jeff, did the
sheriff ever find out whether you were doped, and
how?
Jeff nodded ruefully. Norman slipped something
into my coffee that morning before I went up to the
gulch alone. An Indian drug, something sort of
special, that wouldnt knock me out completelyhe
didnt want to kill mebut that would keep me
wandering around in a fog for a while until he and
Twisty could run off one final eastern shipment of
counterfeit bills and then get rid of the press.
Its too bad Twisty couldnt have had his chance
to go straight. To Connie the old man seemed
pathetic, with his crooked gait and his missing
finger. Yet she knew that he deserved no special
sympathy just because he happened to be a smart
crooks dupe.
Well, said Jeff, we can thank the old codger
for one thing. After all, it was Twisty who found the
jet and turquoise ornament that was our first clue.
But Twisty, Im afraid, is in the hands of the very
realistic and unromantic FBI. There isnt a thing we
can do. And now lets talk about us.
What about us? Connie looked up at Jeff shyly.
When am I going to see you again, for one
thing? When are you and Georgia planning to come
195

home? Ill meet the train with banners flying at

North Philly, if youll just say the word.
But Connie shook her head. No banners, please.
But you can call me at Aunt Bets apartment a week
from Sunday, if youd like.
If Id like! Jeff scoffed. Ill be counting the
days! And meanwhile, you stay out of trouble,
young lady. No more mysteries, understand?
Connie chuckled, amused that Jeff sounded so
masterful. Cross my heart and hope to die, she
promised, suiting action to words.
In the distance the silver nose of the train
appeared, and a moment later Georgia, bringing
some new magazines as a going-away present for
Jeff, hurried down the platform toward them.
She thrust them into his arms. Heres something
to read. Have a good trip, and for goodness sakes,
Jeff, stay out of trouble on the way home!
Connie and Jeff looked at each other, and both
broke into laughter.
Turn abouts fair play, Connie teased. Then she
explained to Georgia. Thats just what Jeffs been
urging me to do.
You! Youre incorrigible, Georgia said with a
smile of affectionate dismissal. And Connie
remembered that she had made that same remark on
the evening they had first entered the Alvarado, to
meet the man who had set in motion the chain of
196

events which had swept them all together.

But the train was slowing down to stop, now.
There was no time for further reminiscence. Jeff was
wringing Georgias hand in a friendly farewell.
Then he turned back to the younger girl, and to
Connies astonishment he leaned down and kissed
her lightly on the tip of her upturned nose.
Incorrigible but very sweet, he murmured so
softly that not even Georgia could hear.

197