Read Ebook: The Phantom Town Mystery by Norton Carol

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Ebook has 1044 lines and 55947 words, and 21 pages

An old man, shriveled, gray-bearded, unkempt, but with kind gray eyes, deep-sunken under shaggy brows, stood in the open door. He smiled out at them in a friendly way, then beckoned with a bony finger.

"I do believe Mr. Harvey has a letter for us," Dora said.

The old man had shuffled into the dark well of his store. A moment later he reappeared with several letters and a newspaper.

"Good!" Dora exclaimed as she rode close to the porch. "Thanks a lot," she called brightly up to the old man who was handing the packet down over the sagging wooden rail.

His friendly, toothless smile was directed at the smaller girl. "Heerd tell as how yer pa's sittin' up agin, Miss Mary," he said. "Mis' Farley, yer nurse woman, came down ter mail some letters a spell back." Then, before Mary could reply, he continued in his shrill, wavering voice, "That thar pale fellar wi' specs on is her son, ain't he?"

"Yes, Mr. Harvey. Dick is Mrs. Farley's son." Mary took time, in a friendly way, to satisfy the old man's curiosity. "Dick has been going to the Arizona State University this winter to be near his mother. She's a widow and he's her only son. Her husband was a doctor and they lived back in Boston before he died."

"Dew tell!" the old man wagged his head sympathetically. "I seen the young fellar ridin' around wi' Jerry Newcomb."

"Dick's working on the Newcomb ranch this summer," Mary said, as she started to ride on.

"Ho! Ho!" the old man cackled. "Tenderfoot if ever thar was un. What's Jerry reckonin' that young fellar kin do? Bustin' broncs?"

"Wall, mabbe! mabbe!" the old storekeeper chuckled to himself as the girls, waving back at him, galloped away up the road in the little dead town.

On either side there were deserted adobe houses in varying degrees of ruin, some with broken windows and doors, others with sagging roofs and crumbling walls.

The only sign of life was in three small adobes where poor Mexican families lived. Broken windows in two of the houses were stuffed with rags; the door yards were littered with rubbish. Unkempt children played in front of the middle house. The third adobe was neat and well kept. In it lived the Lopez family. Carmelita, the wife and mother, had long been cook for Mary Moore's father.

A bright, black-eyed Mexican boy of about ten ran out to the road as the girls approached. "Come on, Emanuel," Mary sang down to him. "You may put up our horses and earn a dime."

The small boy's white teeth flashed in a delighted grin. His brown feet raced so fast, that, by the time the girls were dismounting before the big square two-storied adobe near the mountains, Emanuel was there to lead their horses around back.

Mary glanced affectionately at the old place with its flower-edged walk, its broad porch and adobe pillars. Here her mother had come as a bride; here Mary had been born. Eight happy years they had spent together before her mother died. After Mary had been taken East to school, her father had returned, and here he had spent the winters, going back to Sunnybank each summer to be with his little girl.

Hurrying up the steps, Mary skipped into a pleasant living-room, where, near a wide window that was letting in a flood of light from the setting sun, sat her fine-looking father, pale after his long illness, but growing stronger every day.

"Oh, Daddy dear!" Mary's voice was vibrant with love. "You've waited up for me, haven't you?" She dropped to her knees beside the invalid chair and pressed her flushed face to his gray, drawn cheek.

Then, glancing up at the nurse who had appeared from her father's bedroom, she asked eagerly, "May I tell Dad an adventure we've had?"

Mrs. Farley, middle-aged, kind-faced, shook her head, smiling down at the girl. "Not tonight, please. Won't tomorrow do?"

Upstairs, in Mary's room which was furnished as it had been when she had been there as a child, curly maple set with blue hangings, the two girls changed from riding habits to house dresses. Mary wore a softly clinging blue while Dora donned her favorite and most becoming cherry color.

"One might think that we are expecting company tonight." Mary was peering into the oval glass as she spoke, arranging her fascinating golden curls above small shell-like ears.

Dora sprang up to search for the letter in a pocket of her riding habit. Mary sat near a window in a curly maple rocker as she said dreamily: "If we hadn't come West, we would have been with them--that is, if they went to Camp Winnichook up in the Adirondacks the way we had planned all winter."

"Yes, they did." Dora had unfolded a large, boyish-looking sheet of paper. "Camp Winnichook," she announced, then she read the rather indolent scrawl. "Dear Cowgirls,"--it began--

The first penmanship took up the tale. "I had to forcibly push Patsy away. She's gone in to dress now, so I'll hurry and get this letter into an envelope and sealed before she gets back because I want to tell on her.

"You know Pat has always said she was a boy hater, and the more the boys from Wales Military Academy rushed her, the more she would shrug her shoulders and 'pouff!' about them, but she's met her Waterloo. There's a flying field near our camp and a boy named Harry Hulbert is there studying to be a pilot. Pat and I strolled over to the field one day and ever since she caught sight of that tall, slim chap all done up in his flying togs, she's been wild to meet him. I wouldn't be surprised if she's even hoping that his machine will crash some day right in front of our cabin so that she can bind up his wounds and--"

The lazy scrawl concluded the epistle. "If Patsy goes West, so do I, but I'll go by train. I have no romantic urge to take to the air with slim, goggle-eyed young men with a purpose in life.

"Pouff!" came a brief interruption. Then "Goodbye. We're signing off. Patsy Ordelle and Polly Perkins of the famous Sunnybank Seminary Quadralettes."

"What a jolly letter!" Mary said. "Wouldn't it be fun if the missing members of our little clan could be here with us. Patsy is as wild about mystery stories as you are and this ghost town just teems with them."

A rich, musical voice drifted up from the back porch, "Se?oritas!"

"I know," Mary agreed. "Those mountains are more like pretty hills. There's nothing grim or grand about them."

Mary smiled brightly. "Of course, I expect to go and take Dad with me." Her momentary wistful doubting had passed.

They had finished their supper and were rising when Carmelita, who had been out on the back porch, hurried in and began a rapid chattering in her own language. The mystified girls could not understand one word. But, as the Mexican woman kept pointing out toward the road, they felt sure that someone was coming toward the house, nor were they wrong.

Skipping to the vine-covered back porch, the two girls peered through the deepening dusk at the approaching car. In it were two boys.

"One of them resembles Jerry," Mary said, "but the other one is also a cowboy, so it can't be Dick."

"It is Dick!" Dora exclaimed gleefully. "Jerry must have loaned him some cowboy togs."

"Oh, Happy Days!" Mary exulted. "Now we can ask Jerry about that Evil Eye Turquoise and all the rest of the story about poor Mr. Lucky Loon."

"If there is any rest to it," Dora remarked. "Look!" she interrupted herself to point laughingly at the little car that was rattling toward them. "Dick is waving his sombrero. He wants us to be sure and take notice of it!"

"Isn't he proud though?" Mary chuckled. "His face fairly shines."

Then, as the small car drew up near the porch, the girls clapped their hands gaily, and yet quietly, remembering that Mary's invalid father might be asleep.

"Oh, Dick," Dora exclaimed, not trying to hide her admiration, "your mother must see her to-be-physician son. You make a regular screen-star cowboy, doesn't he, Mary?"

Before the other girl could reply, Dick, who had leaped to the ground, struck a ridiculous pose as he said in a deep, dramatic voice, "Dick, the Desperate Range Rider."

Dora's infectious laugh rang out. "Your big, dark eyes look so solemn through those shell-rimmed glasses, Mr. Desperate Dick, that somehow you fail to strike terror into our hearts," she bantered.

Then Mary smiled up at Jerry, who was standing near her. Half teasingly she asked, "To what do we owe the honor of this visit? When we parted this afternoon, you called 'we'll see you tomorrow.'"

Jerry glanced at the other boy, mischievous twinkles in his gray eyes. "You might as well 'fess up, old man. Truth is, Dick couldn't wait until tomorrow to let you girls admire him in his cowboy togs."

Jerry's smile at the curly-headed little girl at his side revealed, more than words, the real reason of his coming. What he said was, "Mom had a letter she wanted mailed and--er--as long as Dick wanted to show off, I reckoned--"

"Goodness!" Dora rushed to her friend's rescue. "You're getting all tangled up." Then to Jerry, "Mary and I are wild to know more about that awfully desolate stone house you showed us this afternoon and about the Evil Eye Turquoise--"

"Yes, and about poor Mr. Lucky Loon--" Mary put in.

"Rather a contradictory description, isn't it?" Dick asked. "How can a man be poor and lucky all in one sentence?"

"I'll tell you what." Jerry had a plan to suggest. "Let's go down to the store and get old Silas Harvey to tell us all that he knows about Lucky Loon. I reckon he'd loosen up for you girls, but he never would for me. He knows more than any other living person about that rock house and the mystery of Sven Pedersen's life--"

"Oh, good!" Mary's animated face was lovely to look upon in the starlight. Jerry's eyes would have told her so, had she read them aright, but her thoughts were not of herself.

"Let's walk down," she suggested. "It's such a lovely night." Then she added, "Wait here while Dora and I go up to our room and put on our sweater coats."

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