On the Trail of Trouble

  Contents

  ____________________________________________________________

  1 Where Is Justice?

  2 Rattled!

  3 A Chilling Call

  4 The Jawbone Talks

  5 A Reflection of Danger

  6 The Puzzle Deepens

  7 A Mountain Menace

  8 Bess Tumbles for Lincoln

  9 A Few Pieces Fit

  10 Bad Times at the Badlands

  11 Braving the Badger’s Lair

  12 More Pieces Turn Up

  13 Peril in the Pines

  14 Finding the Mother Lode

  15 All the Pieces Fit

  1. Where Is Justice?

  Nancy Drew looked out over the rolling hills of

  pasture. In the distance she could see a herd of huge

  brown animals walking slowly through the green and

  gold grass. Behind them, jagged mountain peaks cut

  into the horizon. “They have the best profile of any

  animal ever,” she said.

  “I love their legs,” Nancy's friend George Fayne

  said. Leaning against the corral fence, she held up a

  hand to shield her brown eyes from the South Dakota

  sun. “Buffalo have these humongous heads and bodies,

  but such skinny legs.”

  “But those legs are super strong,” came a voice

  behind them. “They can run at thirty-five miles an hour

  for a half hour straight. That's faster than a horse and

  rider at top speed.” Nancy and George turned to greet

  their hostess, Kincaid Turner. “Bess will be here in a

  minute,” Kincaid added. “She wanted to change her

  sweater.”

  “Typical,” George muttered. “We got here an hour

  ago, and Bess has already changed clothes twice.”

  Bess Marvin was George's cousin, even though they

  were physical opposites. George was tall, slim, and

  athletic, with dark hair and eyes. Bess was shorter with

  a fuller figure, and she had straw blond hair and pale

  blue eyes.

  “I heard that,” Bess called out as she joined them.

  “And they're not buffalo,” she added, lightly jabbing

  George with her elbow. “They're bison. Right,

  Kincaid?”

  “Strictly speaking, you're correct,” Kincaid said with

  a laugh. She had a pretty face, with a cap of light brown

  hair and bangs. She was tall with long slim legs. Nancy

  figured she was about eighteen—the same age as

  Nancy and her friends.

  “Real buffalo live in Asia and Africa, and they don't

  look like these guys at all,” Bess continued. “But people

  have been calling American bison buffalo for so long,

  it's become their other name. Even the locals call them

  buffalo.” She gestured to the small sign over the corral:

  M-Bar-B Buffalo Ranch.

  “I'm impressed,” Kincaid said. “You were paying

  attention after all.”

  “Hey, I learned a lot from all those times I've visited

  here,” Bess said. “I'm so happy Nancy and George

  could come this time even though the circumstances

  aren't the best.”

  “I am, too,” Kincaid said. “I sure hope you can help

  us, Nancy.” Kincaid looked so upset that Nancy

  thought she might burst into tears. Then Kincaid took a

  deep breath and clenched her hands into fists. “This is

  just tearing up my folks. We've got to catch the rustlers

  soon or we'll be out of business.”

  “Don't worry,” Bess said, putting an arm around

  Kincaid's shoulder. “Nancy will figure this out. She's

  the best.”

  Kincaid led them through the corral that surrounded

  the area at the front of the huge barn. “Bess said you've

  already lost thirty animals,” Nancy said. She shook her

  head and brushed strands of reddish blond hair out of

  her bright blue eyes.

  “That was last week,” Kincaid said. “Ten more

  disappeared a couple of days ago. Dad's out now with

  some hands moving the herd in closer.”

  “Closer?” George asked.

  “Usually, we let them have the run of our thousand

  acres,” Kincaid said.

  “Wow,” Nancy said, impressed by the size of the

  ranch.

  “We have over three hundred head of bison. Even

  on a thousand acres there's not enough wild oats, rye,

  and grass to keep that many bison happy. So we also

  give them feedlot supplement,” Kincaid explained.

  “Now with all the rustling, Dad has to bring the herd in

  closer and build new fence so we can keep them nearer

  to the ranchhouse compound. This means we'll have to

  give them more feedlot supplement, which costs

  money.”

  As they entered the barn, they heard a huge

  bellowing roar echo from the distance. “Was that a

  mountain lion?” George asked.

  “Nope,” Kincaid said, her golden brown eyes

  twinkling with amusement. “Just one of the bulls from

  our herd showing off.”

  “The corral has a wood fence,” Nancy said. “But

  what about the fence around your ranch itself, around

  the thousand acres of pasture. What's it made of?”

  “Wire,” Kincaid said. “For horses or cattle you need

  a fence five feet high. For bison, it has to be eight feet.

  The top few rows of wire are barbed. The lower rows

  aren't.”

  “What are the rustlers getting out of this?” Nancy

  asked. “How much are buffalo—bison—worth?”

  “Just say buffalo,” Kincaid said, smiling. “We switch

  back and forth between the two names. A two-year-old

  is worth at least sixteen hundred dollars. Good

  breeding stock can be worth more.”

  “I was here when a calf named Lulu was born,” Bess

  said. “She was unbelievable—a rusty brown color. She

  looked like a fifty-pound cinnamon ball. Kincaid hand-

  raised her and showed her in exhibitions and

  competitions—she was a real pet.”

  “You won't believe it, but she's a mother now,”

  Kincaid said.

  “Wow!” Bess answered.

  “She had a calf herself a few weeks ago,” Kincaid

  added. “I named him Justice after my grandfather. I'm

  going to raise him as I did her. Lulu's still real tame,

  and she's wonderful.”

  “Where are they?” Bess said. “I'd love to see them.

  Do you think she'll remember me?”

  “Probably,” Kincaid said. “She's really smart. I have

  them in one of my secret places, isolated from the rest

  of the herd. Cows like to keep to themselves when they

  give birth, and I want to keep Justice safe for a few

  more weeks. Don't want him to get bumped or

  bruised. We'll ride out to see them after lunch.”

  The girls spent the rest of the morning touring the

  ranch. Then they went back to the house for lunch.

  “This is the best hamburger I've ever had, Mrs.

  Turner,” George said, after swallo
wing her first bite.

  “Actually, it's a buffalo burger,” Mrs. Turner said, an

  amused look in her beautiful large brown eyes.

  Kincaid's mother, Melissa Turner, was tall and slim like

  her daughter. Brown-black hair framed her pretty face.

  After lunch Kincaid helped Nancy, Bess, and

  George saddle up for their ride out to see Lulu and

  Justice.

  “Bess, you can have Miss Penny,” Kincaid said, as

  Bess headed immediately for the stall of a beautiful

  copper-colored mare with a rippling mane. The horse

  whinnied as Bess approached.

  “I think she remembers me from the last time I was

  here,” Bess said, stroking the horse's head as she

  talked.

  “Could be,” Kincaid replied as she led out a large

  black horse with a jagged streak of white across its

  nose. “This is Flash,” she said, smiling at George. “I

  think you'll like him.”

  While George saddled up, Kincaid took Nancy to

  where two Appaloosas waited impatiently. “You're

  ready for a run, aren't you, Misty?” Kincaid asked. One

  of the huge horses snorted and bobbed its large head as

  she neared.

  “Nancy, you can have Paha Sapa,” Kincaid said,

  handing Nancy the reins of the other Appaloosa. “Paha

  Sapa is the Sioux name for the Black Hills.”

  When everyone was finally ready, Kincaid led them

  out of the barn and up a trail that cut across the ranch.

  It was a clear, sunny day, and Nancy felt as if she

  could see forever. At first they rode through flat

  pasture, but then the ground began to roll into the low

  hills of the Great Plains.

  The horses stepped through green prairie grasses

  and bright-colored wildflowers. Shadows from the

  clouds threw patches of grayish purple across the

  ground. Occasionally a soft wind would kick up, strong

  enough to ruffle the horses' manes and swirl dust and

  tumbleweeds across the path.

  “This is so beautiful,” Bess said with a sigh. “I always

  love coming here.”

  “I can see why,” Nancy said, smiling.

  “I feel like cutting loose a little,” Kincaid said.

  “Anybody else game?”

  “I'm ready,” George called, and the others nodded

  their agreement. Following Kincaid's lead, 11 icy

  guided their horses off the trail. Within minutes they

  were galloping across a field of buttercups at full speed.

  When Kincaid finally pulled up Misty, the others

  followed her lead, bringing their panting horses to a

  stop.

  “I knew Bess was good, but you two are excellent

  riders, too,” Kincaid said to George and Nancy. “If I

  didn't know any better, I'd think you all grew up on a

  ranch or a farm.” As she talked she led the others over

  to a small pond, where she reined her horse in to a

  stop.

  “I don't ride as often as I'd like,” Nancy said.

  “That's because you're too busy solving crimes and

  working on cases,” George said.

  “Well, I sure hope you can help us,” Kincaid said,

  climbing down from her horse. “We've got to stop this

  rustling, or we'll be bankrupt.” She led her horse to the

  edge of the pond and dropped the reins, so he could

  drink.

  Bess slid down and led Miss Penny to the pond. The

  others followed her lead. While the horses drank and

  rested, Nancy and the others sat on a rocky

  outcropping and talked.

  “Who might be rustling your family's herd?” Nancy

  asked Kincaid. “Do you have any suspects?”

  “My dad is sure it's Badger Brady,” Kincaid

  answered, making a face.

  “From the look on your face, I take it he's not one of

  your favorite people,” George said.

  “He's not,” Kincaid said. “He's Dad's chief com-

  petitor—has his own ranch near the Badlands. Dad

  thinks he's trying to drive us out of business. They've

  had some bad history together. They were in business

  together once—ten years ago, but it went bankrupt.

  Dad says it was Badger's fault. Dad's sure Badger stole

  money from the business, but he couldn't prove it.

  They had a huge fight and haven't spoken to each other

  since—except to yell when they run into each other.”

  “But if they've had this feud for that long, why

  would Badger start rustling now?” Nancy asked.

  “This isn't the first thing he's tried,” Kincaid said.

  She stood up and began pacing back and forth. Nancy

  could see that she was very upset. “He's been causing

  us trouble for years. He filed a libel suit against Dad

  for some of the things he believes Dad has said, paid

  one of our ranch hands to mess up our accounting

  books, and even started his own bison ranch as

  competition.”

  “But why does your dad think he's started rustling?”

  Nancy persisted.

  “Dad heard Badger is having a really hard time

  financially lately,” Kincaid said. “He's had to let go of

  most of his ranch hands. He even sold some of his

  breeding stock. It figures that it would be a lot easier

  for him if he could drive us out of business.”

  “Does your dad have any proof that Badger Brady

  might be behind the rustling?” Bess asked.

  “Nope,” Kincaid said with a sigh. “Nothing.

  Whoever it is, he—or she—hasn't left any clues so far.”

  She walked over to Misty, who stood patiently waiting.

  Stroking the horse's thick neck, Kincaid said, “Well,

  what about it, old girl? You ready to go see Justice?”

  The four climbed back in their saddles and

  continued the journey to the area where Kincaid had

  isolated Justice and his mother Lulu.

  When they had ridden another fifteen minutes, they

  came to a hill of rock that had a distinctive flat top. The

  sides of the hill were covered in dark green brush and

  purple prairie clover. Kincaid pulled her horse around

  to face the others and said, “The corral and shelter are

  right around this mesa. Let's dismount and walk the

  rest of the way. I don't want to startle Lulu.”

  As they walked, leading their horses, Nancy watched

  Kincaid. For the first time that day, the worries of the

  world seemed to leave her friend.

  “I can't wait until you see him,” Kincaid said. “He's

  the cutest baby I've ever seen.”

  As they rounded the small hill, Nancy felt a sudden

  stab of alarm as she looked at the scene before her.

  The corral gate was open. Beyond was a large heap of

  rubble—large chunks and slabs of wood were tangled

  with piles of grasses and hay.

  “Oh no!” Kincaid cried. “They're gone! Justice and

  Lulu are gone!”

  2. Rattled!

  Kincaid ran through the open corral gate, followed

  closely by Nancy, Bess, and George. Quickly she began

  tearing through the splintered wood and scattered piles

  of feed.

  “Be careful, Kincaid,” Nancy warned. “Don't hurt


  yourself.”

  “This was the shelter,” Kincaid said. Nancy could

  see tears starting to flood the young woman's eyes.

  “This pile of wood was Justice and Lulu's shelter.”

  They all looked at the mess. “It looks like it's been

  hacked by an axe,” Bess murmured, shaking her head.

  “This is terrible,” Kincaid said. “This isn't like the

  other rustlings. They didn't destroy stuff like this.”

  “Is it possible that this isn't related to the other

  rustlings?” Nancy asked gently. “Could this have been

  done by someone else?”

  “What do you mean?” Kincaid said, her voice shaky,

  her eyes wide with shock.

  “If the method is different, it could mean this was

  done by a different criminal,” Nancy said, checking the

  ground.

  “What are you looking for?” Kincaid asked.

  “Anything that might tell us something about what

  happened here,” Nancy murmured. “Do these look like

  they could be Lulu's and Justice's prints?”

  Kincaid crouched to check out the spot where

  Nancy was pointing. “Yes,” she said. “See? These

  would be Lulu's, and the little ones would be Justice's.”

  Nancy and the others followed the trail out of the

  corral for about thirty yards. Then the prints disap-

  peared. “The wind has been pretty heavy off and on

  today,” Nancy said. “Maybe it kicked the dust up and

  hid the tracks.”

  “Wait,” Kincaid said. “We can check that out.” She

  pulled up a clump of tall, stiff prairie grass and used it

  like a brush to remove the top layer of dirt. “I do this

  when I come across what might be a prehistoric dig site

  and I don't have any brushes with me. It works just

  fine.”

  The others watched her graze the tips of the grass

  across the dirt. Slowly, the hoofprints came back into

  sight. “There,” she said. “See? It worked.”

  “Wow,” George said. “You have to be so careful not

  to brush away the prints themselves.”

  “Well, it helps that the dirt is so hard in this area.

  When it packs and dries, it's almost like clay.”

  She continued to brush the dirt away. Then they

  followed the trail of the two animals another twenty