The Mystery of Rainbow Gulch Read online

  THE MYSTERY of RAINBOW GULCH

  A Ted Wilford Mystery

  NORVIN PALLAS

  Table of Contents

  THE MYSTERY of RAINBOW GULCH

  COPYRIGHT INFORMATION

  CHAPTER 1.

  CHAPTER 2.

  CHAPTER 3.

  CHAPTER 4.

  CHAPTER 5.

  CHAPTER 6.

  CHAPTER 7.

  CHAPTER 8.

  CHAPTER 9.

  CHAPTER 10.

  CHAPTER 11.

  CHAPTER 12.

  CHAPTER 13.

  CHAPTER 14.

  CHAPTER 15.

  CHAPTER 16.

  CHAPTER 17.

  COPYRIGHT INFORMATION

  Copyright © 1964 by Norvin Pallas.

  All rights reserved.

  Published by Wildside Press LLC.

  wildsidepress.com | bcmystery.com

  CHAPTER 1.

  THE NIGHT PLANE

  “That must have been Hopalong we just went through,” said Ted Wilford, staring with a frown at the road map in his lap.

  “How can you tell?” demanded his friend, Nelson Morgan, who was driving. “It isn’t marked on the map.”

  “No, but it’s where the roads meet.”

  “Well, maybe you’re right,” Nelson admitted, “but I’ve seen parking lots that were bigger than that. Think we’re on the right road, then?”

  “We must be. There doesn’t seem to be any place to go wrong. We should get there in another fifteen minutes.”

  Nelson glanced up for a moment from the lightly traveled gravel road. “I thought this was a ranch we were going to, but these look more like farms we’re passing. Look at those neatly kept fields.”

  “I suppose it’s half and half. Bob mentioned cows and sheep. Anyway, the important thing is that they have horses to ride. Have you ever been on a horse?”

  “No—except on a merry-go-round. How about you?”

  “Just a few rides in the park at Stanton when I was a kid.”

  “Those were ponies,” Nelson pointed out.

  Ted laughed. “Yes, I guess they were ponies at that. But they looked big enough to me at the time.”

  “That corn doesn’t look too good to me,” said Nelson critically. “We saw better on the way out. Think they’ve got a soil problem here?”

  “More likely it’s a water problem. This has been a pretty dry summer.”

  “Anyway, I’m glad you wangled an invitation for me to come along, Ted.”

  “What do you mean?” Ted objected. “Bob is more your friend than mine. He was on the freshman squad with you.”

  “Sure, and who was it that went over his term papers and pointed out errors to him? He appreciated that more than anything I did for him. That’s how we got the invitations.”

  “Oh, that.” Ted dismissed it with a shrug. “All I did was proofread them, the way I’d correct a story for the Town Crier.”

  “Sh,” Nelson cautioned. “No shop talk, remember. This was going to be a vacation, and nothing but. No newspaper stories, no adventures—just relax and enjoy ourselves.”

  “You’re sure you don’t want any adventures?” asked Ted.

  “Look, if I get up on a horse, that’s going to be adventure enough.”

  But Ted looked thoughtful and Nelson asked, “All right, what’s eating you?”

  “Oh, nothing, really. You said it was just a vacation, so let’s leave it that way.”

  “You mean you think Bob had something more in mind when he invited us out here?”

  “How should I know? I’m only guessing.”

  “Listen, Ted, you may have a good nose for news, but I think we’re all going to be better off if you give it a good rest.”

  Ted might have retorted, but Nelson was busy examining the names on the rural mailboxes as they passed. Then suddenly the name “Fontaine” appeared, and they were there. Nelson turned up the drive.

  A dog was the first to notice their arrival, and came charging down at them, barking loudly, until a voice ordered, “Be quiet, Cougar.” At that he stopped barking, but kept up a nervous whine. A moment later the owner of the voice appeared.

  It was a little girl about five years old, evidently Bob’s younger sister.

  “I’ll hold him, and you can drive on up,” she instructed them, and Nelson, who had stopped the car through fear of hitting the dog if not the child, started up again slowly while the girl kept a grip on Cougar’s collar. There was little doubt that he could have pulled away had he chose, but he seemed well trained and showed no such inclination.

  Pulling as close to the house as the drive would allow, Nelson drew to a stop, and the boys got out. A woman was coming from the back of the house to greet them, but before she could reach them Bob came dashing out of the front door and ran up to them, pumping their hands.

  “Glad you got here. We were just beginning to think that you had had trouble on the road, or got lost, or something like that.”

  “Oh, no, no trouble,” Nelson assured him, “but we weren’t exactly speeding, either. This is our first trip this far west, and we wanted to see as much as we could.”

  “Fellows, this is my mother,” Bob introduced her, as she joined them. “Mother, this is Nelson Morgan, who played on the football squad, and this is Ted Wilford, the newspaper reporter—well, part time, anyway.”

  “How do you do?” She shook hands with each of them in turn. “We’re always glad to have visitors, and Bob has been looking forward to your visit with almost suspicious eagerness.”

  “You’re my insurance policy,” Bob explained with a laugh.

  “Insurance for what?” asked Ted curiously.

  “Insurance against work. They can’t expect me to put in a full day of work when I’ve got visitors to entertain, can they?”

  “Oh, we don’t want you to change your routine on our account,” Nelson assured him. “We can mosey around and take care of ourselves.”

  “We can even help out with the work,” Ted put in quickly. “I’d like to know a little more about how a farm is run—if we wouldn’t be in the way.”

  “Sure,” Nelson agreed, with some reluctance. “I’ve even heard that work can be fun—when you don’t have to do it.”

  “There’s Tony,” Bob remarked. “Come on over here, Tony, and say hello to our visitors.”

  But the little girl had turned suddenly shy. She came closer, but stood with her hands behind her back. There was no further trouble with Cougar, however. He came right up to them and nosed their hands, sensing that they were accepted. What he might have done had they been intruders, they could not guess—for he was a rather large dog of uncertain breed.

  “We met Tony down the drive,” Ted remarked with a smile for her.

  “Well, I suppose we ought to be getting in,” Mrs. Fontaine decided. “Bob can show you to your room, and you’ll have a little time to freshen up before supper. Tony, I can use a little help in the kitchen.”

  She skipped off after her mother, as the boys unloaded the bags from the car and carried them into the house and up to the guest room.

  “Don’t get dressed up for supper,” Bob cautioned them. “Change into something old, because afterward I’ll get out the horses.”

  “Will there be time?” Ted questioned.

  “There’ll be two hours of daylight left. That’ll give you time for all the riding you’ll care to do on your first try.”

  “What’s my horse’s name?” asked Nelson, as though that would make any difference.

  “Ah—Blaze, and I’ll put Ted on Meadowlark. My horse is Starlight. Of course she’s the best of the lot, in my opinion. I don’t want to seem selfish, but you know how it is.
”

  His visitors assured him that they knew exactly how it was, though Nelson seemed suspicious.

  “This Blaze—you’re sure you’re not giving me a rough one, just as a kind of joke?”

  “No joke about it at all,” Bob assured him solemnly.

  At the supper table they were introduced to Mr. Fontaine, who also gave them a cordial welcome. The conversation was lively but Bob seemed to have something on his mind, and was eager for a chance to tell about it.

  “Dad, I heard that the Kirsteads lost another ewe last night.”

  “That so?” Mr. Fontaine did not seem particularly disturbed. “Maybe they ought to check their fences.”

  “They keep their fences in pretty good shape, Dad. Anyway, you know how sheep are. If one did find a place to squeeze through, the whole flock is likely to follow. And coming after the ones lost last winter—”

  “The snow had drifted pretty high against the fences, Bob.”

  “I don’t know, Dad. I’ve got sort of a queer hunch about it.”

  There was a twinkle in his father’s eyes. “All right, Bob, suppose you-tell us your hunch.”

  Bob nodded mysteriously toward the hills which bordered the farm on one side. “Funny about those hills. They seem so close, and yet you never really know what’s going on up there. It’s maybe only once in a blue moon, and only during hunting season at that, that anyone gets up there, deep into them. It wouldn’t surprise me if there was a mountain lion up there—maybe even a pair of them!”

  His guests were startled, but Mr. Fontaine seemed only amused.

  “Seen any tracks—anything to go on?”

  “No,” Bob admitted, “but I noticed game seemed plentiful earlier in the spring before the dry spell set in, and where the game is good a mountain lion is likely to follow. And then, look how that fits in with the missing sheep. Last winter, when game was hard to get, we and the other farmers lost some sheep. Then while game was plentiful, we weren’t bothered, but now with the dry spell another sheep is gone.”

  Like all sheepmen, Mr. Fontaine had no liking for mountain lions, which had the reputation of killing more than they really needed for food.

  “It doesn’t sound like a mountain lion, as long as there’s only one missing at a time, and that at long intervals. If he found such easy pickings, he’d begin to make a regular diet of them.”

  “A smart mountain lion wouldn’t do it that way,” Bob maintained. “He’d take a sheep only when he had to, and keep as far away from the farms as he could the rest of the time. Maybe it’s a cagey, older fellow who’s had some experience with men already. He’d know that if he made a big enough nuisance of himself, we could rout out every man in the county and make things pretty hot for him.”

  “I wonder if a mountain lion would be smart enough to figure that out,” Nelson speculated.

  “You bet he would. Look at some of those stories Jake Pastor tells about the mountain lions that used to prey around here. I know you can only believe about half of what he says, but he’s got a piece of tail—”

  “You notice he isn’t showing the whole tail,” Mr. Fontaine pointed out.

  “Jake Pastor tells some pretty tall stories,” Mrs. Fontaine explained to the newcomers. “He claims that he had a ram that learned to get over the fence by leaping up on the back of another sheep. So then Jake built the fence higher, and this ram taught the other sheep to make a pyramid.”

  “Where do you think this mountain lion is hiding?” Mr. Fontaine questioned his son.

  “Up in one of the gulches—Dead Man’s maybe, or Gopher, or Rainbow. Say, that’s it, Rainbow Gulch. That’s the most secluded spot, and there’re rocky ledges where he could hole up. Come to think of it, it’s the only one with a reliable water supply.”

  “Well, Rainbow Gulch is as good a place as any, I suppose, but if he’s up there, he must be a regular hermit. But I still say that a mountain lion as clever as you’re imagining would be more likely to pick off a stray lamb, rather than tackle a full-grown sheep. There’d be less danger of making a stir.”

  “Why shouldn’t he take a sheep instead of a lamb, Dad, if he’s big enough to handle it? He might be able to pick it up with hardly any traces, leaving the carcass miles from here. There wouldn’t have to be much commotion. He could sneak up downwind, and get off with a sheep before the dogs ever knew what was happening. He’d have to be smart, all right. Last winter he used to come just before a snow storm so he couldn’t be tracked.”

  “That seems to leave us with a mountain lion that’s remarkably big, remarkably intelligent, and a weather prophet as well.” Mr. Fontaine grinned. “It’s a pretty good story, Bob. But if you wanted a day off to take your friends riding, why didn’t you just ask for it? I might have said yes, and you could have saved this story until you really needed it.”

  Bob smiled sheepishly, but did not give up entirely. “But the Kirsteads really did lose a ewe last night, Dad.” He and his father exchanged understanding glances, and no more was said.

  After supper Bob was eager to get to the horses, but his visitors followed him outside with some reluctance, Nelson protesting that he had just eaten too much.

  “Oh, it’ll settle before we get really riding,” Bob declared. “I’ll get Blaze out first.”

  He led the horse out from the stable, and Nelson looked him over.

  “He looks pretty big. How do I know he likes me?”

  “Just pet him on the muzzle a little until he gets to know you.”

  Nelson did, but the horse didn’t seem to care very much one way or the other. Having delayed as long as he could, Nelson put a foot up into the stirrup, and swung himself onto the animal’s back. If he expected the horse to begin to buck like a bronco, he was agreeably surprised, for Blaze hardly seemed to pay any attention to him at all.

  “That’s half the battle won,” Bob encouraged him. “Now get him to walk around a little.”

  Nelson did, and seemed amazed that he could persuade the horse to follow his directions. He was soon walking his mount around the farmyard with ever-growing confidence.

  “It sure beats waiting for a taxi in the rain,” he gloated.

  Then it was Ted’s turn. Meadowlark had been saddled and brought out by one of the hired hands. Ted swung up into the saddle immediately, and although his horse seemed a little more restive than Nelson’s, Ted soon had him under control, and was following in Nelson’s path as they circled the yard.

  Then Bob left them, for he wanted to saddle Starlight him self. He was soon back, mounted, and Ted and Nelson could see at once that he had not exaggerated about his horse. Starlight was younger, and built along sleeker lines than the other horses. They had an idea that Starlight was the fastest horse on that farm, and quite possibly the fastest in the entire neighborhood. But under the circumstances they preferred their own mounts.

  “Let’s take a ride up to the ridge,” Bob suggested. “We might be able to see one of the transcontinental jets go over.”

  “Why don’t we ride into Hopalong and watch the train come in?” asked Nelson.

  His sarcasm was lost on Bob. “Can’t do that. There’s only one train a day, and they’re even talking about taking that one off. All ready? Then let’s go.”

  He set the pace on Starlight, but not a very fast one, though it was much faster than Ted and Nelson felt ready for. Little clouds of dust began to shoot up from the dried-out trail. Bob urged his mare up the long incline leading to the top of the ridge, and his friends did the same. There was a sharp rise just before the summit was reached, but Starlight made it easily, and the others without a great deal of trouble. Bob drew up and dismounted with an easy motion which the other two tried to copy.

  They were looking directly into the western sky where the red sun was setting with less display than it frequently made, for it was a cloudless evening.

  “We should see it long before we hear it,” Bob observed, turning about so that he was looking into the vacant eastern sky. �
��But sometimes they stray too far to the north or south to see them here.”

  The roar of a plane came upon them suddenly from a different direction than they had expected. It was in fact coming in from the southeast; and it wasn’t the transcontinental plane, but a single-engine cabin model. It passed over them, and then seemed to circle around some point up ahead.

  “That’s Sandy kill,” Bob explained. “I wonder what the pilot wants over there?”

  The noise of the engine cut off suddenly, but whether it had passed out of hearing or the pilot was gliding they could not tell. The plane was settling down, lower and lower. There seemed a chance that he might ram into the hill unless he was very careful about what he was doing. He was so low now that his next wide bank took him out of sight beyond Sandy Hill.

  They waited expectantly for the plane to reappear. Then something inside them seemed to freeze as the seconds continued to tick away. Nelson put their common fear into words.

  “Hey! I’ll bet that plane crashed!”

  CHAPTER 2.

  MISSION OF MERCY

  For a few moments the boys stood immobilized. Then reason took command, and the visitors looked to Bob for leadership. This was an emergency, and in all likelihood they were the only ones who had seen the crash, the only ones who could do anything about it.

  “Any chance he could have landed safely?” asked Ted.

  Bob shook his head. “Not a real landing. A crash landing, maybe, if he could find a little clear space in the trees. And that wouldn’t be easy to find on Sandy Hill. It’s pretty well wooded over, except for the very top.”

  “What about beyond Sandy Hill?” Nelson inquired.

  “Nothing much there that would be useful to him—no farms, just rolling hills, rocks, and forest. There is a road winding through the hills, and he may have been trying to reach it. That would be just about his only chance.”

  “What about a parachute? He might have had a chance to jump at the last instant,” Ted pointed out.

  “He was awfully low. That would give him very little margin to play with, unless he knew he might crash and was all ready to act. Those small planes don’t have ejector seats, or anything like that.”