The blue-stone mystery

This book made available by the Internet Archive.

THE BLUE-STONE MYSTERY

'Xm

* Chapter One

Welcome to the Double O

As the last bell rang, children swarmed across the schoolyard. Chip Trainor threw his gym shoes into the air and caught them again. "Hooray! Yippee! No more lessons for three months. New Mexico, here we come!"

He saw his ten-year-old sister ahead of him and hurried to catch up with her. "Hey, Karen. Wait. Do

The Blue-Stone Mystery

you suppose Mom and Dad are all packed up? Just think . . . tomorrow we'll really be on our way."

His fair hair was tousled. His blue eyes flashed with excitement. Twelve years old, he was growing so fast that he seemed all lanky arms and legs. Karen was much smaller than her brother. When they walked together, she almost had to trot to keep up with him.

She bubbled with anticipation, also. "Won't it be wonderful? A whole month on a ranch! Summer's finally come at last. Gee, it's so hot here in Chicago I can hardly breathe. Dad said it would be cool in the mountains. I wonder if mountains are as high as I think they are. Here comes Clover to meet us. Do you suppose she'll like the Double O Ranch?"

She stooped to welcome their little dachshund, who thrust a cool nose against Karen's cheek and then frisked around the children, barking happily. As though at a signal, the three raced for home, forgetting the heat in their eagerness to complete preparations for the long-anticipated trip to the west.

Three days later the Trainors, with Clover, drove into the dusty, old town of Santa Fe, New Mexico.

Welcome to the Double O

After the monotony of wheat fields and flat high plains, the sight of the juniper-covered hills surrounding the ancient city rested their eyes. They breathed deeply of the cool, crisp air. Immediately, they were aware of a different feeling in the people, a lazy, easygoing attitude.

"It's like suddenly entering another country," Mrs. Trainor exclaimed.

Narrow streets wound among squat, adobe buildings of pastel hues. Artists sketched in the plaza. Mexican music played on a guitar floated from an open door. The children stared with wide eyes at the Indians in bright blankets who strolled along the streets or sat against walls as they sold silver and turquoise jewelry. It startled Chip and Karen to hear another language spoken on every side.

"Spanish," their father explained with a smile, seeing the youngsters' bewilderment. "Many of these people are descendents of Spanish explorers and settlers who came to this country before the Pilgrims landed at Plymouth."

While they ate dinner in a green adobe restaurant, Carl Trainor told his children about the state they were visiting.

The Blue-Stone Mystery

"It's a very historic part of the United States, you know," he said. "When Fm here, I always get the feehng of generations of people watching over my shoulder. Ancient Pueblo Indians, warlike Navajos and Apaches, Spanish conquistadores, and finally the Americans — mountain men like Kit Carson . . . and the wagon train drivers on the Santa Fe Trail. All of them have walked those streets just outside. As a matter of fact, the Santa Fe Trail ended in the plaza right over there."

His blue eyes sparkled and his long arms waved as he tried to express his thoughts. He was a tall, thin man with short, fair hair. Mrs. Trainor, watching her husband and her son, smiled again at the resemblance between the two. She had certainly been right in nicknaming the younger Carl "Chip," for he was just a small edition of his father.

Karen, on the other hand, looked more like her mother, except that her eyes were blue. Her long braids, doubled back and tied with red ribbons, were dark brown. She was small-boned with delicate features. But, in spite of her fragile appearance, she could climb trees like a monkey, and she was almost as strong as her brother.

When dinner was over, they left Santa Fe, driv-

Welcome to the Double O

ing north along the Rio Grande valley. On their right the sharp, high peaks of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains lifted snowy heads to the clouds. On their left, in the distance, the lower, rounder contours of the Jemez range loomed dark against the sky.

"Where's the Double O Ranch?" Chip wanted to know.

"It's up in the foothills of the Jemez," Mr. Train-or answered.

"Not in the mountains?" Karen sounded disappointed. "I thought it was in the mountains."

"Yes, you could call it the mountains," her father assured her. "But not away up on top of them. See that flat land ahead? Higher than the valley but in front of the mountain slopes?"

The road had turned and the Trainors were now travelling toward the afternoon sun. Shadows had begun to darken the face of the mountains.

"I see it," Karen answered. "It looks as if someone had shced off the top half of those hills with a knife."

"That's it," Mr. Trainor said. "That's the plateau. The flat sections are called mesas.' They're not really as flat as they look from here. Those dark gashes

The Blue-Stone Mystery

splitting the mesas are canyons. You know... gorges. Many of them go away back into the mountain range itseK."

"It's such a wild-looking land, the plateau . . . not tidy at all," Mrs. Trainor mused. "Rocks and cliffs and broken coimtry. The valley certainly seems neater .. . more quiet somehow. The only trees of any size are down here along the river. But the mountains behind the plateau are covered with pines, aren't they?"

"Yes, they are. You children will get to see a real forest," their father promised. "The ranch is just above the mesas inside the edge of the woods."

The road left the valley and wound through deep canyons, coming out at last on top of a mesa.

"It's funny," Chip said. "Some of the ground has lots of bushes, and other places are almost like a desert. Why's that, Dad?"

"Two reasons. Son — water and soil," Mr. Trainor explained. "You'll notice that if there's a stream, there's plenty of vegetation. Without regular water, it's mostly sand and sagebrush and juniper. Besides, a lot of it is bare rock. Apparently there isn't much topsoil here on the mesas. Most of the trees are small.

Welcome to the Double O

See how they get taller as we get closer to the mountains? The altitude must make a difference, too."

"Oh," Karen exclaimed suddenly, "there's a deer! A real, live deer. And a baby fawn. Isn't it cute?"

"Aren't they beautiful?" her mother said softly. "Imagine! Now I can believe that I'm really out west."

The sun was just going down behind the mountains as the Trainors left the mesas and started up the lower slopes of the Jemez. Rounding a curve, they gasped in surprise as they saw on one side a view that stretched for miles. Mr. Trainor pulled the car off the road and stopped. Spellbound, they watched the sunset turn the snow-capped peaks of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains to a deep red. The whole valley was bathed in a rosy glow. Closer to them, the mesas still gathered the sunlight, but between their bright, finger-like strips, the canyons were mysterious streamers of black shadow. The family sat silently, absorbing the beauty, as the lights and shadows subtly changed and blended. At last, when the valley was a rich purple and the mountain tops a soft grey-pink, Mr. Trainor, with a satisfied sigh, started the car again.

"What a wonderful welcome!" murmured his wife.

A short time later they plunged into the forest to travel the last few miles to the ranch. Soon they were bumping along a narrow, dirt road. It ended before a big, log structure nestled between two small mountains. A square, strong-looking man wearing western clothes and a broad-brimmed hat came down the steps of the long porch to meet them.

"You must be the Trainors," he said, as he shook

Welcome to the Double O

hands with Chip's father. "Welcome to the Double O. Fm Mr. Allen, the guest-ranch manager."

Mr. Trainor introduced his family. "Alice, this is Mr. Allen. Mr. Allen, my wife. And this is Karen, and young Carl — we call him Chip — and, oh, yes, Clover. We can't forget her."

Mr. Allen laughed. "I hope you 11 enjoy your stay here. We're delighted to have all of you, including Clover. Have you eaten?" At their nods, he went on, "Well, then, let me show you to your cabin. I'll give you a hand with the luggage."

A suitcase in each hand, he led them past the big building. "That's the lodge," he explained. "Dining room and lounge, ofRce and kitchen are there. Your place is right up this little path."

He put the leather bags down on the porch and opened the door of a small cabin. After he had switched on the lights, he pointed out some features. "A fireplace here so you can enjoy a fire on cool evenings. Bedrooms off there, and a bath in between."

"I'm sure we'll be comfortable. It's very pleasant," Chip's mother said. She brushed back her soft, brown hair in a tired way. "Chip and Carl, why don't you take the suitcases right on into the bedrooms?"

The Blue-Stone Mystery

"Breakfast is at 7:30. The cook rings a bell when it's ready." Mr. Allen picked up his hat from a brightly-cushioned chair. "Tomorrow Til show you around the ranch and take you down to the stables. Don't be surprised if you're a little dizzy now and then for the first day or two. It's the altitude. It's almost eight thousand feet above sea level here. You'll get used to it very soon." He opened the door. "Oh, and Ma'am," he remembered, "don't be alarmed if you hear a banging in the night. It's just a bear at the garbage cans."

Mr. Allen stepped out, chuckling, and closed the door after him. The Trainors looked at each other in surprise.

"Gee!" Chip whistled. "Bears! Honest-to-good-ness bears!"

"Don't get your hopes up, Son," Mr. Trainor laughed. "I doubt if we see that bear all the time we're here. It's probably just after an easy meal. But if you do see one, for heaven's sake, don't bother it!"

Karen yawned, and Chip, noticing her, yawned too.

"We're all tired," their mother said. "Let's not unpack until tomorrow. Into bed, you two."

Welcome to the Double O

Fifteen minutes later Chip and Karen were asleep, snuggled under blankets on shelflike bunk beds. Clover made snuffling noises in her small bed in the corner as she tried to get used to the unfamiliar room and the odd, spicy smell of the forest outside.

chapter Two

Mr. Crowe's Story

Chip first heard about the lost mine at breakfast the next morning. The Trainors were eating in the lodge dining room when they heard a deep voice booming behind them.

"Well, Mr. Brownlee, have you found my lost mine yet?"

Chip turned from his sausage and eggs to gaze

The Blue-Stone Mystery

open-mouthed at the people occupying the next table. It was obviously the large, red-faced man with the green-and-yellow plaid shirt who had been talking. The smaller man with him answered in quiet tones, but his sheepish smile and the shake of his head told Chip that he was saying, "No." A thin little woman at the same table seemed embarrassed by the heads turned in their direction.

The big man nodded cheerfully toward the Train-ors and said, "You d better hurry up and find it, or these new people will beat you to it. That boy looks pretty bright, and I'll bet he won't have any trouble finding a lost mine."

In a firm, quiet voice Mrs. Trainor said, "Chip, shut your mouth! Karen, stop staring! Go on with your breakfast."

"But, Mom!" Chip said excitedly, "I want to find out what he's talking about."

"Later," Mr. Trainor told him. "I expect well meet them all after the meal. He's probably just joking, but you can ask him about it if you want to."

Chip could hardly wait. When breakfast was over, the ranch guests gathered before the huge fireplace in the lounge, and Mr. Allen introduced the Train-

Mr. Crowe's Story

ors. Then he excused himself to answer the phone in his office. Chip and Karen couldn't begin to keep all the names straight. Chip did remember that the bald-headed man and the timid little woman were Mr. and Mrs. Brownlee. The big man in the plaid shirt said his name was Josh Crowe.

"Just call me Josh," he roared. Chip's hand felt lost in Mr. Crowe's moist palm as they shook hands. "How long are you going to be staying, Sonny?" he asked.