finger and looked back the way they had come. It
helped her get her bearings, and she was able to plan a
route to take back to the car.
Then Nancy swung the binoculars around to where
George was pointing. Two men were at the base of the
Pinnacles, about thirty yards away. She adjusted the
lens so she could see more clearly. The men were
working with small tools—a spade, a whiskbroom, an
ax. They seemed to be digging near the base of a
pinnacle. They were completely concealed by the
spires of rock from almost all angles.
Nancy checked the clothes the men were wearing.
“They're not wearing rangers' uniforms,” she
murmured to George, and reached into her backpack
and pulled out a camera. She adjusted the zoom lens
and snapped a couple of shots of the two men. Then
she dropped her camera in her backpack and took back
the binoculars for another look.
“Hey, what's going on?” Clayton called from below.
“What are you looking at?”
Clayton's voice echoed through the Pinnacles.
Nancy motioned for Clayton to be silent with one hand
but kept the binoculars close to her eyes with the
other. As she watched, the men stood and turned. They
wheeled around from side to side. Then one of them
turned to face the ledge where Nancy and George sat.
Nancy held her breath as she watched the man raise
an arm and point a finger right at her. His eyes stared
at her through the lenses of her binoculars.
11. Braving the Badger’s Lair
Nancy gasped because the man's expression was angry
and determined. Nancy leaped into action. “We've
been spotted,” she said to George. “We've got to get
out of here.”
As they scrambled down from the ledge, Nancy
explained what they'd seen to Clayton.
“Sounds like poachers,” Clayton said.
“Follow me,” Nancy said. “I'm pretty sure I can get
us out of here.”
She wound back through the Pinnacles along the
route she planned when she first looked through the
binoculars. She could hear George and Clayton
following close behind. She could also hear pounding
feet farther back. She knew it was the men she had
seen, and felt that she and her friends were in danger.
They had to get to the car as soon as possible.
She couldn't get the picture of the one man's
expression out of her mind. It spurred her on. “Faster,”
she called back to Clayton and George. “They're right
behind us.”
They finally reached the path to the car, and
hopped, jumped, and clawed their way back up to the
lookout point. Within minutes, they were in the car
with the motor started. As they pulled away, Nancy
could see the two men halfway up the path.
“Drive,” she ordered Clayton, getting out the cell
phone. “Get us to a ranger station—quick!” They had
gotten a brochure when they entered the Badlands.
Nancy called the number listed on the brochure.
At the ranger station, Clayton and a ranger studied a
large map of the Badlands that was hanging on the
wall.
“Here's the ledge where Nancy and George sat,”
Clayton said, indicating a spot on the map. “So the
poachers must have been here,” he added, pointing to
a spot on the valley floor that would be about thirty
yards away.
“I took some photographs while we were up on the
ledge,” Nancy said. “I'll send you copies when I get
them developed if you'll give me your exact address.”
She pictured the men in her mind's eye. “One of
them was tall and thin, wore jeans and a jeans jacket,
and had grayish hair. I had a better look at the other
one,” she continued, remembering the menacing face
she spotted through the binoculars. “He was shorter
and stocky with long bushy dark hair and thick
eyebrows. He wore a brown wind-breaker and jeans
and had a canvas hat on, with the brim turned down all
the way around.”
Clayton told them about the truck that had been
parked at the lookout spot, and George gave them the
“They're probably still around,” Nancy pointed out.
“They had to go back to get their tools and anything
they might have dug up.”
One of the rangers nodded, saying, “You know, I
thought we'd had enough excitement around here for
one day with that crazy Frenchwoman and her group
marching around.”
“Are you talking about Antoinette Francoeur?”
Nancy said. “Is she here today?”
“Yep,” the ranger said. “She and her organization are
picketing outside our museum. They want to close the
Badlands down to tourists and leave it for the animals.
She got a permit, so we have to let her do her thing.”
The rangers thanked them, and one left to try to find
the men Nancy and George had seen. After leaving
numbers where they could be contacted, Nancy,
George, and Clayton returned to their car.
“Mmmm,” George said, opening the cooler. “A soda
would be great right now.” She passed one back to
Nancy and opened one for Clayton. Then she passed
sandwiches around.
“Our real work today hasn't even started,” Nancy
said. She took a bite of sandwich and washed it down
with a cold swallow of soda. She hadn't realized how
hungry and thirsty she was. “How far to Badger
Brady's, Clayton?”
“I'll get my bearings as soon as we get through this
stretch,” Clayton answered as he pulled out of the
Badlands and back into farm and ranch land.
He drove awhile longer and finally pulled onto a
narrow unmarked dirt road. “Badger's place is in this
direction. I've used this road when I went on digs
around this area. We should be circling around his
ranch in a few miles.”
The road finally stopped at an eight-foot-high
barbed wire fence that was peppered with hand-
printed signs. “This must be the place,” George said in
a low voice.
Stop! announced one of the signs. Trespassers Will
Be Shot! warned another. Stay Out! demanded the
third.
They sat for a minute, just watching. There was no
sign of anyone—the ranch appeared to be abandoned.
“I don't see any buffalo,” George said, her voice in a
whisper.
“He's probably got several hundred acres,” Clayton
said. “They could just be out of sight.”
“Well, there's where I want to go,” Nancy said,
pointing to a cluster of old wood buildings in the
distance. She opened her car door. “Let's walk around
the fence for a while—see if we can find an opening.”
She reached for her backpack and started walking.
Nancy, George, and Clayton followed the barbed
wire fence. “Here,” Nancy said, running ahead. “How
about here?”
“It seems Badger Brady's been too busy to maintain
his fence,” Clayton said. Two of the three lines of
barbed wire were twisted and tangled together. The
third lay on the ground.
Clayton took a pair of battered leather gloves from
his vest pocket and pulled them on. He held the
tangled mass of wire up as Nancy and George slid
under and into Badger Brady's pasture.
Clayton passed Nancy the gloves, and she held the
wire while he ducked under. Then the three darted to
a large bushy shrub. They were hidden and protected
there while they planned their next move.
“That's probably the house,” Nancy said, nodding
toward a wooden farmhouse near a grove of trees. The
house was gray, and even from a distance, she could
tell it needed repairs and paint.
“Yeah,” Clayton agreed, “and there's the barn and
the outbuildings.”
“Let's go,” Nancy whispered. Using shrubs for cover,
she led the others up to the grove of trees near the
house.
“I don't see anyone, Nancy,” George said in a low
voice.
Nancy nodded as she gestured to the others to stay
put while she crept along the house. Reaching a large
window next to the front door, Nancy crouched low
beneath the glass. Cautiously, she raised her head until
she was barely able to peek inside.
She was looking through a sheer, dirty curtain into
the living room. It was sparsely furnished with old,
raggedy-looking furniture and a small desk in the
corner. A single rug lay on the wooden floor. She could
see through a large archway into the dining room,
which had a table, three chairs, and a cabinet. There
was no one in sight.
She crouched back down and crept back to George
and Clayton. “I don't see anyone,” she said.
“I haven't heard any barking,” Clayton pointed out.
“He must not have any guard dogs.”
“Let's try the door,” George urged.
The three crept up to the front door. Nancy tried
the knob. It was unlocked. As she pushed, a low whine
creaked from the rusty hinges. Nancy held her breath,
but no one responded to the opening door.
Nancy led the others inside. The stony quiet was
almost unreal. There was no sound at all—not a bird
singing, not even any leaves rustling.
Nancy moved quickly through the living room to the
old desk in the corner. There were a few papers on the
desktop, but nothing significant. She dropped her
backpack on the floor and looked through the desk
drawers. Again, there was nothing that seemed
important to the rustling case.
Behind her, George and Clayton checked the floor
and under the sofa and chair cushions. They, too, came
up empty-handed.
A quick search of the rest of the downstairs was just
as disappointing. The kitchen pantry had a few canned
soups. A jar of pickles and a plastic squirt bottle of
mustard were the only residents of the humming
refrigerator. In the sink were a few dishes encrusted
with dried bits of food.
By now, they were sure they were alone in the
house. They had been there nearly a half hour and no
one had appeared.
Nancy grabbed her backpack and led George and
Clayton upstairs. There were three bedrooms and a
bathroom. One bedroom was completely bare, and one
had only a bed and a chest. The blankets on the bed
were rumpled. The third bedroom had a chair and a
sofa that sloped to the right on two broken legs.
“Hey, look at this,” Clayton said. He reached under
the bed and pulled out a large, oval dome-shaped piece
of rock.
“It's a rock, right?” George said, walking over to
him.
“Look closer,” Clayton said, taking her hand and
passing it lightly over the surface.
“It looks almost like a shell or a—” She took it over
to the window to get a better view. “It's a fossil, isn't it?
Is it a turtle shell? A really old one?”
“That's right,” Clayton said. “And it's old, all right—
about thirty million years old. Must have been found
right around here.”
Nancy walked out of the bedroom. “I saw a door
under the staircase,” she said. “Let's check it out. It
might be a closet or a door to a basement.”
They stepped into the upstairs hall. Nancy led, her
ears straining for any sound that might indicate they
weren't alone. “Remember, Badger Brady is running
around loose,” she said, her voice hushed. “I don't
think he'll come back here, but you never know.”
“It looks to me as if Badger's already been here,”
Clayton said with a shrug. “And cleared out anything
important. What are we looking for exactly?”
“Anything that might help prove Badger Brady has
been rustling the Turners' bison,” George answered, as
they walked down the staircase. “Right, Nancy?”
“Yes,” Nancy said. “Or that might prove he hasn't
been rustling,” Nancy added.
The three stepped onto the main floor and walked
around to the door beneath the staircase. Slowly Nancy
turned the knob. The door opened to reveal a staircase
leading to the basement. It was dimly lit, so Nancy
reached around the wall until she found a light switch.
She flicked it, but nothing happened.
“Must be a bad bulb,” George mumbled.
Nancy took a flashlight from her backpack. Clayton
followed her lead and turned on his flashlight, too.
Nancy slung her backpack over one shoulder and
started down the stairs. The two flashlight beams
showed rickety, splintered steps leading to a basement
draped in cobwebs.
Nancy felt a tingle as she made her way down. “Be
careful,” George whispered from behind.
When they reached the dirt floor, Nancy and
Clayton swung their light beams around. Just then
Nancy heard a board creak above them, and suddenly
the basement door was slammed shut. They heard loud
scraping and shuffling noises, and then it was still
again.
Clayton ran up the stairs and pushed the door. “It's
locked or something,” he said. “It gives a little when I
push, but it seems to be jammed. I can't get it to open.”
An odd sound caught Nancy's attention from a
corner of the basement. Every nerve jumped to
attention as she listened. It was a soft, low, throaty
rumble. Nancy felt a prickle at the back of her neck.
The low rumble grew to a steady growl, and two bright
narrow eyes stared at her from across the room. She
gulped and slowly shone her flashlight beam into the
far corner.
12. More Pieces Turn Up
“What is that?” George asked, moving back against the
stairway wall.
The rumbling growl continued. Clayton inched his
way back down the steps. “It's over there,”
Nancy said.
“Move your light slowly. I don't want to startle
whatever it is.”
The two beams slowly converged on the corner.
There was a slight rustling sound, and the growling
animal stood up as the light shone on it.
“It's a dog,” George whispered. “Or is it?”
“It's a coyote. Right, Clayton?” Nancy said, her voice
low.
“Yep,” Clayton said, his voice husky. “And re-
member what I said about the danger when a coyote
feels trapped.”
Nancy heard the anxiety in Clayton's voice and felt a
chill slip down her spine. The coyote inched forward,
then back, then forward again. Its lips were curled back
as it growled, showing rows of pointed yellow teeth.
“We've got to get out of here,” Clayton said.
“Let's back up the stairs slowly,” Nancy said. “Keep
the lights aimed on the coyote.”
“And no sudden moves,” Clayton added. “Watch
your step. We don't want anyone falling.”
As the three stepped back up the steps, the coyote
continued its threatening dance. Forward, backward,
forward again. The farther up they went, the closer the
coyote moved.
Finally Nancy felt the door against her back. She
leaned on it, but it was just as Clayton had said—it gave
a little, but wouldn't open.
“I think there's something jammed against it,”
Nancy murmured. She remembered the scraping
sound she had heard before the door was slammed
shut. She visualized the furniture on the first floor of
the old farmhouse. “It must be that cabinet that was in
the dining room. That's the only thing I can think of
that would be heavy enough.”
“It's pretty big, but I think we can move it, if we
work together,” Clayton said, his voice low.
“Uh, folks,” George said. “Let's not forget Fido here.
He's getting closer.”
George was right. With all its pacing and stepping,
the coyote had gotten bolder. Now it was crouched at
the foot of the stairway.
“Take my light,” Nancy said, handing it to George. “I
have something in my pack that might do the trick.
Although I hoped I wouldn't need it.” Slowly, with no
sudden moves, Nancy slid her pack off her arm and
unzipped it. She reached into the pack and pulled out
two large rawhide chew bones, which she held behind
her back.