“Whoa,” Clayton said, with a smile. “Are those from
my grocery bag?”
“Mm-hmm,” Nancy said. “With all that talk about
coyotes in the Badlands, I thought I'd better slip a
couple in my pack just in case.”
“If it's good enough for Brutus, it should be good
enough for this guy,” George muttered.
“Just ease it on down the steps,” Clayton advised.
“Pull your hand around slowly.”
Nancy gently rolled one of the bones down the
stairs. At first, the coyote seemed startled and looked as
if it were going to pounce. Then it backed off as the
bone rolled its way.
Nancy held her breath. The bone stopped on the
bottom step. The coyote came back out of the shadows
and sniffed the chew toy. Then in one quick
movement, it grabbed the bone in its mouth and
backed off into the shadows.
Relieved, Nancy heard the unmistakable sounds of
gnawing coming from the dark corner.
“Okay,” Clayton said. “Let's get out of here. We
don't have long.”
“George, let's all help push,” Nancy said.
They lined up in front of the door and jammed their
shoulders against the wood. A grinding scrape from the
other side of the door indicated some success. The
door opened enough so that they could see light from
the living room.
“Again,” Nancy said. The second try opened the
door enough that Nancy and George could slip through
the opening. “Easy,” Nancy whispered. “We don't
know what—or who—we're going to find.”
There was no one in sight. Together, Nancy and
George moved the large, heavy cabinet farther away so
Clayton could come through the opening. As they
slowly moved the cabinet away, Nancy noticed a scrap
of paper on the floor.
Finally Clayton was able to get out of the basement.
He leaned against the wall and dropped to a crouch.
“Whew,” he said, his breath coming out with a whoosh.
“That's as close as I ever want to get to a coyote.”
Nancy reached down and picked up the scrap of
paper and put it in her pocket. “Let's get out of here,”
she said, heading for the door.
“What about our friend down there?” Clayton said.
“Should we close the basement back up?”
“No,” Nancy said. “Let's take our cue from Ms.
Francoeur and let him run free.” She threw another
chew bone so it rested at the open basement door.
“Here's a little encouragement.”
They hurried to the front door. Nancy looked
outside, but saw no one. “Come on,” she said. “Let's
get back to the car. But stay down. Whoever locked us
in might still be around.”
They darted to the fence and back to the car. “At
last,” George said. “Let's get out of here.”
Clayton turned the car around and they were soon
on the road back to the Turner ranch. George turned
around to face Nancy and said, “You picked up
something from the floor when we were moving the
cabinet. What was it?”
Nancy reached in her pocket and pulled out the
scrap of paper. “It was under the cabinet,” she said. “It
looks like part of a card of some kind—a membership
card, maybe.”
George and Clayton looked at the paper lying in
Nancy's palm. “See?” Nancy said. “There's some sort of
an embossed seal here.”
“There are some words,” George said, “parts of
words anyway.” She examined the card. Then she read
off the word fragments. “One line has ure,' the next
line has ine,' and the last line has ors.' What could
they be?”
“We'll check when we get to the ranch,” Nancy said.
“The library can help, or the Internet.”
“So you think it might have been dropped by the
bad guys?” Clayton asked.
“Probably,” Nancy said. “We did a thorough search
before we went into the basement. Did either of you
notice it then?” Both Clayton and George shook their
heads. “I didn't either,” Nancy said. “So one of them
must have dropped it.”
asked.
“Yes,” Nancy said. “That cabinet was really heavy. It
would take two to move it.”
On the way back to the ranch, they made one small
detour so Nancy could drop off her film at a drugstore
with one-hour developing service. By the time they got
home, it was six-thirty. The Turners and, Bess were
sitting down to supper.
Nancy, George, and Clayton took their seats. “How
is the sheriff?” Nancy asked.
“He's going to be fine,” Mrs. Turner said, setting
plates and napkins for Nancy, George, and Kincaid.
“We talked to him on the phone about a half hour ago.
The bullet went clean through and missed all his vital
organs. It'll take a little time to heal, but he should be
okay.”
“No thanks to Badger Brady and his worthless
family,” Mr. Turner said, slamming his coffee mug
down on the table. Drops of coffee spurted onto the
green-checked tablecloth. “They've launched a
manhunt for the whole gang,” he continued. “I'd like to
get Badger alone for a few minutes. I'd make him sorry
he ever came back to South Dakota.”
“Well, I hope that never happens. And I hope he
doesn't come back to our place,” Kincaid said. “He's
like a loose cannon.” She turned to Clayton. “So, how
was your day, old buddy?” she asked.
“We had a pretty wild time at the Badlands,”
Clayton said.
Nancy, Clayton, and George told the Turners about
the probable poachers. Then Nancy decided to tell
them they had gone to Badger Brady's.
“What!” Mr. Turner said. “You actually went there
and got inside that rustler's house?”
“That was pretty dangerous,” Mrs. Turner said. “It's
a wonder you didn't get into trouble.”
“Well, actually . . .” Clayton began. Then they told
the Turners and Bess about the coyote.
“Yikes!” Bess said. “Usually, I'm sorry to miss one of
Nancy's adventures, but I think I'm happy I passed on
that one.”
Nancy pulled out the fragment of paper she had
found under the heavy cabinet.
“You know what this might be,” Mr. Turner said,
looking at the paper scrap, “it could be a union card.
See these little letters here around that seal? They're
pretty messed up and can't really be read. But they
remind me of union membership cards I've seen.”
“Good idea,” Nancy said. “Thanks.”
“By the way, Nancy,” Mrs. Turner said. “Jack
Allbright called. He did paint the illustration for the
Justice for Animals brochure. He said Antoinette
Francoeur fixed him up with some local animals for
models. He said to give him a call if you need any more
information.” She handed Nancy a paper with the
artist's phone number on it.
After dinner, everyone helped clean up. Then
Clayton left, saying he'd had enough for one day.
Kincaid's parents went to the hospital to visit Sheriff
Switzer while Nancy, Bess, George, and Kincaid went
back to the guest cabin.
Bess booted up Kincaid's laptop computer and
logged on to the Internet. She checked several sites
about labor unions. Finally she checked a list of local
labor organizations for a union name that might
include the syllables ure, ine, and ors. Scanning down
the list, she found only one that fit: Moving Picture
Machine Operators.
“What are those? The guys who run the movies in a
theater?” Kincaid asked.
“Must be,” Nancy said. “We'll call the local chapter
tomorrow to make sure. But they're probably
projectionists in movie theaters. I also want to find out
if there's any chance Badger Brady is a member of that
union.”
The four sat in front of the fire and talked about the
case. “I want to know who locked us in the basement,”
George said. “The way I see it, there are three
possibilities: Badger Brady, the two men we saw in the
Badlands, or total strangers.”
“I really don't think it was Badger Brady,” Nancy
said. “Especially if he was by himself. That cabinet is
just too heavy.”
“Don't forget Miss Francoeur was in the area,”
George said. “Could she and one of her henchmen
have done it?”
“Not likely,” Nancy said. “How would she have
known we were there? Besides, she would have
liberated the coyote first. It could have been the guys
from the Badlands, though,” Nancy said. “They may
have seen our license plate when we drove away. They
saw me talking on the phone, so they probably figured
we were calling the ranger station. Maybe they
followed us to Badger's and locked us in the basement
so we wouldn't identify them.”
“But you took their picture,” Bess said.
“Yes, but they don't know that,” Nancy pointed out.
“When they looked up, I was holding the binoculars.
They never saw my camera.”
“It still could be the total strangers theory,” George
pointed out. “Someone who was using the house and
was surprised to find us there. Maybe even some of
Brady's family.”
“I don't think that works, either,” Nancy said. “After
all, we were trespassing. They could have kicked us
out. Why lock us up—especially if they knew about our
roommate in the basement? It seems pretty extreme.”
“Hey, guys,” Kincaid said. “I hate to say this, but
what has all this got to do with Lulu and Justice? We
seem to be way off track here.”
“It seems that way, doesn't it?” Nancy said. “If I
could just find out who made the threatening call.
After our confrontation at the Stomp, I'm pretty sure it
wasn't Badger Brady.” She took out the scrap of paper
she'd found at Brady's ranch. “And if I could just figure
out who locked us in the basement—and why.” She
stared at the paper.
“It's like we're putting a jigsaw puzzle together,” she
continued, frowning. “There are so many pieces. And
none of them seems to fit. For example, there's that
guy who knocked you down on the path at Mount
Rushmore, Kincaid.”
“You thought he might have recognized her,”
George said. “Too bad we couldn't really see him in the
dark.”
“Right,” Nancy said. “I could tell he was tall, slim,
and had light-colored hair. Well, one of the guys at the
Badlands was tall, slim, and had gray hair.”
“Maybe I'd recognize him if I could see his face,”
Kincaid said. “Let's get those photos!”
Kincaid pulled up to the drugstore drive-in window,
and Nancy paid the clerk and then opened the
envelope of photographs. She had ordered a double set
of prints so she'd have extras to send to the Badlands
rangers. Quickly, she shuffled through them until she
got to the shots of the Badlands.
There were only two pictures, but both were very
clear and close, thanks to the zoom lens. Instantly,
Nancy remembered that moment when the man
looked up from his digging. She remembered the
feeling of his eyes boring into hers through the
binoculars. She thought of the rage in his expression,
and an icy chill cascaded down her arms.
“Wait a minute,” Kincaid said, grabbing one of the
photos from Nancy's hand. “I know him. That's Jasper
Stone!”
13. Peril in the Pines
“Jasper Stone!” Nancy said, studying the photograph.
“You mean the man who was an instructor when you
were a summer intern?”
“Yeah,” Kincaid said, her eyes blazing. “The poacher
who stole the jawbone from my dig. Wow! It's kind of a
shock seeing him in this photo.” She passed the photo
to Bess and George in the backseat.
“Looks like he hasn't changed his activities much
either,” George said.
“So he did recognize you on that path at Mount
Rushmore,” Bess said.
“No, not him,” Kincaid said. “The other one. I don't
know who the tall gray-haired guy is.”
“Jasper Stone is the other one,” Nancy said softly,
staring at the photo.
When they got back to the ranch, Kincaid called
Clayton and told him about the photos. “He offered to
take the prints out to the Badlands tomorrow,” Kincaid
told Nancy. “He says he can tell them what he knows
about Jasper Stone. It might help them track him
down.”
“Let's start early tomorrow,” Nancy said. “First, I
want to call the union about Badger Brady—and Jasper
Stone. If neither of them is a projectionist, I want to
check out all the movie theaters in the area. We can
show them this photo. Maybe the other guy dropped
the scrap of paper.”
“That's a lot to do before lunch with Miss Fran-
coeur,” Bess said.
“And don't forget,” George said. “You promised to
take us back to Mount Rushmore tomorrow evening,
Kincaid. And this time we're going as tourists. We're
going to see the lighting show and everything.”
“I remember,” Kincaid said. “And I'm looking
forward to it. But now, I'm exhausted.” Kincaid left,
and Nancy, Bess, and George fell into their beds for
well-deserved sleep.
Thursday morning was gray and cool, with a soft
light rain that misted the landscape. Nancy called the
South Dakota chapter of the Moving Picture Machine
Operators labor organization. They confirmed that it
was a union for movie projectionists. They also told her
they had never had a member named Badger Brady or
Jasper Stone.
Af
ter breakfast Kincaid drove Nancy, Bess, and
George to each of the four movie theaters in the area.
Nancy talked her way into the offices and questioned
the managers. None had ever employed a projectionist
who looked like Jasper Stone or the other man in the
Badlands photos.
Disappointed, the four girls went to RuthAnn's Tea
Room to wait for Antoinette Francoeur. At fifteen
minutes past one, there was a rustle as the
Frenchwoman swept in. She was dressed in green
gauze pants and tunic with navy blue embroidery. Her
feet were strapped into sandals. Long gold-and-blue
stone earrings dangled from her ears. When she was
ushered to their table, Nancy braced herself.
“Oh no!” Ms. Francoeur said in her trumpeting
voice. “It is you! My trespassers!” It seemed as if she
would turn and stalk out.
“Ms. Francoeur, please wait,” Nancy said, standing.
She knew she had to appear very apologetic to spark
the woman's curiosity. “We really need your help.
Please talk with us.”
Antoinette Francoeur's eyes narrowed as she studied
Nancy. Nancy held her ground and never looked away.
She didn't even blink.
Ms. Francoeur studied the other three. Finally she
let out a long sigh. “You have fifteen minutes,” she said,
waggling her finger at Nancy. “If I don't like what you
say, I leave.”
“Fair enough,” Nancy said. “Shall we all order lunch
first?”
“You talk first,” Ms. Francoeur said. “I may not have
the stomach for lunch.”
Nancy, George, Bess, and Kincaid ordered sand-
wiches and lemonade. Nancy ordered an extra
lemonade. “Just in case you get thirsty,” she told Ms.
Francoeur.
Nancy flashed the woman the sweetest smile she
could manage. She could feel that their guest was very
skittish. If Nancy asked the wrong question or
disturbed her in any way, the woman would be out of
there in a flash. Nancy resolved to take advantage of
her opportunity.
After introductions, Nancy began, “How is your
organization shaping up—Justice for Animals? It is
such a worthy cause, of course.”
“Is that really why we are here?” Ms. Francoeur
asked, studying Nancy carefully. “Are you all really
going to start a young adult organization? Or was that
merely a ruse to gain some time with me? And if so, for
what purpose?”
Nancy took a deep breath. The woman was very