FOOTPRINTS
When the girls neared the house they were surprised to hear several
people talking in Spanish. Perhaps the family from the cave have come up
the mountain by the cart road, Jo Ann thought, and have stopped to talk
to Mrs. Blackwell. But a moment later a shadow of disappointment crossed
her face as she recognized the woman and children from the goat ranch.
“For a moment I thought it was those people from the cave with the
blue-eyed boy,” Jo Ann said in a low voice to Peggy.
Peggy shook her auburn head. “Forget it, Jo. There’s no such luck.”
The girls exchanged greetings in Spanish with the visitors, then dropped
down on the floor beside the two little girls. Jo Ann, in her poor
Spanish, attempted to carry on a conversation with the children, while
Peggy looked on, amused.
She was interrupted a few minutes later by Mrs. Blackwell. “Girls, María
says a bear carried off one of their pigs last night. Isn’t that too bad?
They had them in an enclosure against the cliff just back of the house
here.”
Jo Ann jumped quickly to her feet. “I bet that’s what got our things at
the spring. A bear! Why didn’t we think of that before?”
“We’ve never been bothered with one before,” put in Florence.
“María’s husband, Juan, said the continued drouth up in the mountains has
caused the wild animals to come down into the valley in search of food,”
Mrs. Blackwell continued. “The bear had evidently followed the river,
because they found tracks up the ravine.”
María, who had been watching the expression on their faces intently, now
began to shake her head and to talk rapidly in Spanish.
“She says that bears like much the pork,” translated Florence for the
girls’ benefit. “She’s afraid he’ll come back for the rest of the pigs,
and she doesn’t know what to do to keep him away.”
“What to do!” exclaimed Jo Ann. “Why, shoot him, of course.”
Mrs. Blackwell smiled. “I doubt if Juan has ever owned a gun. About the
only weapon the peon ever uses is a stiletto, and it would not be an easy
matter to kill a bear with a stiletto—or even with a machete.”
Peggy shivered as if she were cold. “I should say it wouldn’t. I’d hate
to get that close to one, especially a real wild bear! It gives me the
creeps to think about it.”
“I’ve got a grand idea,” burst out Jo Ann. “Why can’t we go on a bear
hunt? We have a gun, and I can shoot.”
“I can shoot pretty good, too,” added Peggy. “Daddy taught me when we
lived in the country. I killed a possum once when he got in our
henhouse.”
Jo Ann smiled. “He probably just played possum when he heard the report
of your gun, and you thought he was dead. They’ll do that sometimes.”
“No, I killed him—sure enough.”
“Well, that’s not like killing a bear—a real, live, wild, grizzly bear.”
“They don’t have grizzly bears down here, silly.”
“How do you know they don’t?” retorted Jo Ann. “Grizzlies are found in
the mountains of North America, and this is North America, isn’t it?
Besides, you haven’t seen his tracks.”
As the argument continued, Florence explained to María and the children
what it was about. The two little girls stared wide eyed at Jo Ann and
Peggy. They had never in all their lives heard of a girl’s going out to
hunt a bear. They decided a gun must be one of those terrible things
which their grandmother had told them about. A stick which shot forth a
deadly fire that killed everything before it. She had warned them never
to touch a fire stick and to hide if they saw anyone with one.
Peggy burst out just then with, “Well, young lady, you’re not going on a
bear hunt without me, that’s sure.”
Mrs. Blackwell stared at Jo Ann and Peggy in horrified amazement. “Girls!
What are you talking about? A bear hunt! The idea!”
“But, Mrs. Blackwell, we wouldn’t be in any danger,” protested Jo Ann.
“We’d hide in a safe place and watch for the bear; then, when he came for
another pig, we’d shoot him—that’s all.”
“I’m afraid, my dear, that it wouldn’t be as simple as that.”
Florence, seeing the worried expression on her mother’s face, changed the
subject. “The bear must’ve smelled the bacon, and that’s the reason he
found our box at the spring. By the way, I wonder what time it is.” She
got up and walked to the door. As she looked in at the clock sitting on
their improvised dressing table, she gasped, “Good gracious! I had no
idea it was so late. If we’re going to have any dinner around here today,
I’ll have to start the fire this very minute.”
She went on through the house toward the kitchen, Peggy and Jo Ann
following a moment later.
“I’ll build the fire, Florence,” offered Jo Ann, taking the wood out of
her hands. “I’ll have it burning before you and Peg get something ready
to cook on it—and I’ll start it Mexican fashion, too.”
“Don’t be too sure, Jo,” teased Peggy. “Suppose there aren’t any live
coals left?”
“We’ll see.”
Peggy and Florence disappeared into the kitchen, and Jo Ann placed her
armful of wood down beside the outdoor fireplace. She stirred the coals
left from their breakfast fire then carefully laid several small pieces
of wood over them. Leaning down, she began blowing on the coals as she
had seen the peon women do. Soon, to her delight, tiny flames began
licking at the wood. She kept on blowing a few minutes longer, then sat
back on her heels to look with satisfaction at the fire which was now
burning brightly in the fireplace.
“When in Mexico do as the Mexicans do,” she called gaily to Florence and
Peggy. “I’m getting good. I beat you, and I didn’t have to use a match,
either. Now bring on your dinner.”
“You didn’t beat us much. Here, put these potatoes on to boil,” Peggy
replied as she handed a pot of potatoes to Jo Ann. “I used the last of
the water over them. Hadn’t I better get some more?”
Jo Ann stopped in the act of setting the pot of potatoes over the fire as
a thought suddenly flashed into her mind. “I’ll get the water,” she
offered quickly. She put the pot down and hurried to the kitchen for the
bucket. A moment later she disappeared down the path to the spring.
Jo must be up to something, thought Peggy.
When Jo Ann reached the spring, she set the bucket down on a rock and
stood gazing at the overturned box which they had so proudly called their
refrigerator the night before. If a real live bear had been the thief,
then what had he done with the jars of milk and butter? she asked
herself. “I’m going to see if I can find a clue. There ought to be tracks
somewhere around here.”
She began looking among the ferns and rocks along the bank of the river
beyond the spring in search of some sign of the marauder. Carefully she
examined every track. Here were their own tracks made the night before,
and the tiny footprints of a squirrel, but not a sign of big padded
footprints made by a large, heavy animal.
Still unwilling to give up, she jumped from stone to stone across the
swiftly flowing stream, and began searching the opposite bank. A moment
later, with a cry of satisfaction, she dropped to her knees and began
examining some huge tracks in the soft earth.
“It was a bear, all right!” she exclaimed out loud. “Here’s where he
crossed the river—but, gee, what a big one!” Instinctively she glanced
all around as though expecting to see the bear. “I bet he smelled our
bacon and crossed right here.” She began slowly jumping back over the
stones, watching for any sign left by the recent thief.
When in midstream she caught a glimpse of a familiar-looking object a
short distance ahead. So suddenly did she stop that she lost her balance
and toppled off into the swiftly rushing stream.
Gasping from her sudden plunge into the icy water, she scrambled back up
on the rock. “Gosh, that water’s cold!” she shivered. “But since I’m
already wet I might as well go on and see if my eyes are deceiving me.”
With the water foaming about her knees, she carefully picked her way down
the stream to a large boulder hidden under an overhanging tree. Then,
reaching down, she picked up the object that had been wedged between the
boulder and the bank.
“Just as I thought,” she said to herself. “Here’s our jar of butter. It
won’t do anyone any good because the jar’s broken and there might be
glass in the butter, but at least I have proof now that those people at
the cave didn’t steal our things—I can show Florence and Peg the bear
tracks, too.”
She hastened back up the stream to the spring, and forgetting the bucket
of water she had come after, ran on to the house. So eager was she to
tell the girls of her discovery that she did not notice that her wet
skirt was flapping about her legs and the water sloshing in her shoes.
“Why, Jo, what in the world’s happened?” began Peggy as she saw the
bedraggled figure running toward her. “Did you see the bear?”
“No, but I found his tracks! And look what else I found!” she held up the
broken jar, partly filled with butter. “I told you those people at the
cave didn’t get our things.”
On hearing the noise, Florence ran from the kitchen. “What on earth——”
she began, then saw what Jo Ann was holding in her hand. “Where did you
find that?”
While Jo Ann was explaining the details of her discovery, they heard a
slight noise behind them and, turning, saw Mrs. Blackwell standing in the
doorway. “I heard all this chatter and had to find out what it was about.
You’re a real Sherlock, I see, Jo—you’ve solved the mystery.”
“Yes,” beamed Jo Ann, “and I’ve proved that I was right about the people
at the cave not stealing our things.”
After they had talked a few minutes longer, Florence asked, “What’d you
do with the bucket of water, Jo? I want to make Mother’s tea, so we can
have dinner.”
Jo Ann stared in blank amazement a moment, then said sheepishly, “I
forgot it. I was so excited about my discovery that I forgot all about
it. I’ll bring it in a minute.”
She was off like a shot and a few minutes later returned with the bucket
of water. “I’m sorry I kept dinner waiting so long,” she told them, as
she set the bucket on the table, “but I’m glad I’ve solved that mystery.
I’m going to solve the other one, too, before I stop.”
Peggy grinned mischievously. “Which mystery do you mean, Jo? The
disappearance of those people at the cave or the mystery of the blue-eyed
boy?”
“Both. Just give me time.”
“Dinner’s ready,” Florence called shortly afterwards as she came from the
kitchen with a pot of tea, which she placed on the table beside her
mother’s plate.
“Be there in a minute,” called back Jo Ann. “I’m simply starving.”
She took a plain little print dress out of her bag, then jerked off her
wet clothes. “Can I—may I—eat barefooted?” she asked in a muffled voice
as she pulled the dress over her head. “It’ll take too long to put on
shoes and stockings.”
“When in Mexico do as the peons do,” quoted Peggy, laughing. “That’s your
motto, is it? You’ll probably want to use the floor for your table and
your fingers for knives and forks, too.”
“No; I haven’t any _tortillas_ to use for knife and fork as they do. Only
my feet are peon, anyway, and you can’t see them under the table.” Jo Ann
slipped quickly into her place at the table where the others were already
seated.
Mrs. Blackwell laughed gaily. “You girls are as good as a tonic,” she
declared a little later. “I haven’t laughed so much for months. I feel
much stronger today, too. I think I’ll take a short walk later on when it
gets cooler.”
Florence beamed as she leaned over and squeezed her mother’s hand. “I
knew you’d get well up here. I’m going to write Daddy this very afternoon
and tell him what a good patient you are and how much better you look
already.”
“You can do that right after dinner,” put in Jo Ann. “I’m going to wash
the dishes to make up for running away and leaving you and Peg to get
dinner alone. I promise to be good after this.”
“You mean till next time,” laughed Florence.
“Well, of course, when there’s something important——” began Jo Ann.
“We understand, Jo,” smiled Mrs. Blackwell.