SEARCHING FOR CLUES
The four young people in the loft listened as Mr. Newcomb closed the gate
to the hen-yard, then, when they heard him leaving, Jerry said, “I reckon
we’re alone now, so let’s get ahead with the box opening ceremony.”
“Oh, Big Brother,” Mary, quite recovered from her recent fright,
exclaimed. “Let’s make a _real ceremony_ of it, shall we? Let’s kneel on
the floor; you boys at the sides and we girls at the ends. There now,
let’s all lift at once and together.”
“Wait!” Dora cried, detaining them. “Just to add to the suspense, let’s
each tell what we expect to find in the box.”
Mary looked across at her friend vaguely. “Why, I’m sure I don’t know.
What do _you_ hope that we’ll find, Jerry?”
“I reckon what we _want_ to find is something that will help us locate
Little Bodil,” the cowboy replied.
“And yet,” Dick put in wisely, “since Little Bodil was thrown from the
stage coach forty years ago, how can _anything_ that was already _in_ her
trunk prove to us whether she was devoured by wild animals or carried
away by bandits?”
“Oh-oo!” Mary shuddered. “I don’t know _which_ would be worse.”
Dora was agreeing with Dick. “You’re right of course,” she said
thoughtfully, “but, nevertheless I’ve a hunch that we’ll find something
that will, in some roundabout way, prove to us whether Little Bodil is
dead or alive.”
“Now, if _that’s_ settled, let the ceremony proceed,” Jerry announced. In
the dim lantern light Mary’s fair face and Dora’s olive-tinted glowed
with excited animation as they took hold of the trunk ends.
The top, however, did not come off as readily as they had anticipated.
The many winter storms and the burning summer heat to which the box had
been exposed had warped the cover, binding it tight. Jerry, glancing
about the room, found a broken tool which he could use as a wedge. With
it he loosened the cover. Then it was easily removed.
The first emotion was one of disappointment. The small trunk contained
little, nothing at all, the young people decided, that could be
considered as a clue. There was a plaid woolen dress for a child of about
eight or ten and the coarsest of home-made underwear, knit stockings and
a small pair of carpet slippers with patched soles.
A hand-carved wooden doll, in a plaid dress, which evidently had been
made by the child, had been lovingly wrapped in a small red shawl.
Lastly, tied up in a quilted blue bonnet with the strings, was a carved
wooden bowl and spoon.
In the flickering lantern light, the expression on the four faces changed
from eager excitement to genuine disappointment.
“Not a clue among them,” Dora announced dramatically.
“Not a line of writing of any kind, is there?” Mary was confident that
she knew the answer to her question before she asked it.
Dick was closely scrutinizing the empty leather box. “Usually in mystery
stories,” he looked up from his inspection to say, “there’s a lining in
the trunk and the lost will, or, what have you, is safely reposing under
it, but unfortunately Little Bodil’s trunk has no lining nor hide-it-away
places of any kind.”
Mary was holding the small doll near to the lantern and the others saw
tears in her pitying blue eyes. Suddenly she held the doll comfortingly
close as she said, a sob in her voice, “Poor little old wooden dollie,
all these long years you’ve been waiting, wondering, perhaps, why Little
Bodil didn’t take you out and mother you.”
“Like Eugene Fields’ ‘Little Toy Dog,’” Dora said, looking lovingly at
her friend. Then, “Mary, you can write the sweetest verses. Someday when
we’re back at school, write about Little Bodil’s wooden doll. It may make
you famous.” Then she modified, “At least it will help you fill space in
‘The Sunnybank Say-So.’”
“Promise to send me a copy if she does,” Jerry said.
Dick, who had not been listening, had at last given up hope of finding a
scrap of writing. He had felt in the small pocket of the plaid dress and
had closely examined the quilted hood.
“Well,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone, “since there isn’t a clue to be
found, shall we put the things back into the trunk and go in?”
“I reckon we might as well,” Jerry acquiesced. “We’ll have to be up early
tomorrow so that we can drive the girls over to Gleeson along about
noon.”
Dora was examining the hand-carved wooden bowl and long wooden spoon. “I
wonder if Little Bodil’s father made this leaf pattern on the handle,”
she said, then began, jokingly, “If I were a trance medium, I would say,
as I hold this article, I feel the presence of someone who, when alive in
the flesh, dearly loved the child, Little Bodil. This someone, this
spirit presence that we cannot see with our outward eyes, wishes very
much to help us find a clue.” Dora’s voice had become mysteriously low.
Lifting her eyes slowly from the wooden bowl, she gazed intently at a
dark corner where junk was piled.
Mary’s gaze followed. “Goodness, Dora!” she implored nervously, “don’t
stare that way into space. Anyone would think that you saw someone and—”
“I’m not sure but that I do see something.” Dora’s tone had changed to
one of startled seriousness. “Jerry,” she continued, pointing toward the
dark corner, “don’t _you_ see a palely luminous object over there?”
“I reckon I do,” the cowboy agreed. “But one thing I’m sure is, it can’t
be a ghost since there isn’t any such thing.”
“How do we know that—” Dora began when Mary, clutching her friend’s arm,
whispered excitedly, “I see it now! Oh, Jerry, if it isn’t a ghost,
_what_ is it?”
“We’ll soon know.” There was no fear in the cowboy’s voice as he leaped
to his feet and walked toward the corner. The girls watched breathlessly
expecting to see the apparition fade into darkness, but, if anything, it
seemed clearer, as Jerry approached it.
His hearty laugh dispelled their fears before he explained, “The moon is
rising. That’s moonlight coming in through a long crack in the wall.”
Then, with a shrug which told his disbelief in _all_ things supernatural,
he dismissed the subject with, “I reckon _that’s_ as near being a ghost
as anything ever is.”
Mary was tenderly placing the coarse little undergarments back into the
small trunk. Dora less sentimental than her friend, nevertheless felt a
pitying sadness in her heart as she refolded the little plaid dress and
laid it on top. Before closing the box, Mary, still on her knees, looked
up at Jerry, her eyes luminous. “Big Brother,” she said, “do _you_ think
Little Bodil would mind if I kept her doll? It’s a funny, homely little
thing with only a wooden heart, but I can’t get over feeling that it’s
lonesome and needs comforting.”
Jerry’s gray eyes were very gentle as he looked down at the girl. His
voice was a bit husky as he replied, “I reckon Little Bodil would be
grateful to you if she knew. She probably set a store by that doll baby.”
He held out a strong brown hand to help her to rise and there was a
tenderness in the clasp.
Dora had not packed the wooden bowl and spoon. “I would so like to keep
these,” she said, adding hastily, “Of course, if Little Bodil is found,
I’ll give them back to her. Don’t you think it would be all right?”
“Sure thing!” Dick replied. Stooping, he picked up the worn little carpet
slippers, saying, “You overlooked these, girls, while you were packing.”
“Oh, so we did.” Dora reached up a hand to take them, then she hesitated,
inquiring, “Why don’t you and Jerry each take one for a keepsake, or
don’t boys care for such things?” Dick took one of the slippers and
dropped it, unconcernedly, into a deep leather pocket. The other slipper
he handed to Jerry who stowed it away. The boys replaced the cover of the
box, not without difficulty, and then they all four stood for a silent
moment looking down at it with varying emotions. Mary spoke in a small
awed voice. “What shall we do with the little box?”
“I reckoned we’d leave it here,” Jerry began, then asked, “What were
_you_ thinking about it?”
“I was wondering,” Mary said, looking from one to another with large
star-like eyes, “if it wouldn’t be a good plan to take the box up to the
rock house and leave it _there_.”
“Why, Mary Moore,” Dora was frankly amazed, “you wouldn’t _dare_ climb up
there and be looked at by that Evil Eye Turquoise, would you?”
Before Mary could reply, Jerry said, “The plan is a good one, all right,
but we’d better leave it here, I reckon, till we know if there’s any way
to get up to the rock house. The cliff that broke off in front of it used
to be Mr. Pedersen’s stairway.”
Mary agreed and so they ascended the wall ladder. As they stood in the
harness-room below, Mary said in a low voice, “Although we have _not_
found a clue, that trunk has done one thing; it has made me feel in my
heart that Little Bodil was a _real_ child. Before, it seemed to me more
like a fanciful story. Now, more than ever, I hope that _somewhere_ we
will find a clue that will someday prove to us that no harm came to the
little girl.”
Jerry had picked up the second lantern and, taking Mary’s arm, he led her
through the low door and along the dark path. Neither spoke. Dora and
Dick followed, walking single file. Dora, remembering the dead snakes,
glanced about, but Mr. Newcomb had thoughtfully buried them, not wishing
the girls to be needlessly startled.
At the kitchen door, the boys said good night and returned to their bunk
house out near the corral.