The boys went down to the corral after supper and the girls being
left alone decided to see what the long darkened front room looked
like at night.
Virg, in the lead, was carrying a burning candle.
“Leave the kitchen door standing open until we have lighted one of
these hanging lamps,” she said.
Babs did this and they had advanced to the middle of the room when a
breeze from somewhere swept through, blew out the tiny flame on the
candle and closed the kitchen door with a bang. Babs uttered a
shrill scream.
“Be still girls,” Virg said in her calm voice. “There is nothing to
be afraid of even if we are in the dark. Now all of you stand here
where you are. I know this house better than any of the rest of you
and so I will grope my way back and reopen the kitchen door.”
Betsy Clossen’s detective instinct was on the alert. She seized Virg
by the arm as she whispered, “There’s something queer about this.
The light in the kitchen must also have been put out, otherwise we
would see it shining under the door, wouldn’t we?”
“I should think so,” Virg said slowly as she paused, then she added,
“even so, I will investigate. The boys are near. If we are
frightened, we will call them.”
She groped her way toward the wall, where she believed she would
find the kitchen door. “Good!” she told the waiting group. “Here it
is.” But, when she turned the knob, the door would not open. She
pushed and pulled, but all to no effect.
“Please call Peyton,” Megsy implored. “I have the chilly shivers
going up and down my spine. I just know this house is haunted and
that the haunt is angry because we came, and wishes to scare us
away.”
“Girls,” Betsy Clossen said in a low voice, “I believe that I
understand it all. It’s that mysterious Trujillo. He has some object
in living here, I’ll wager, and he fears that this object, whatever
it is, will be defeated if so many girls are around to watch him,
and so he is trying to scare us away. Well, I for one shall stay.”
Virginia’s laugh from out of the dark sounded merry and natural.
Then, just at that moment, having found the right knob, she opened
the kitchen door and a flood of light from the big lamp fell upon
the huddled group.
Margaret and Babs darted for the home-like kitchen as though it were
a harbor of safety but Betsy Clossen remained in the darkness.
“Virg,” she called, “let the other girls stay there and you bring
one of the small lamps that won’t blow out easily and let’s look
around and see where the wind came in that blew out the candle and
slammed the door.”
“Don’t think that we feel offended, Betsy,” Margaret called as she
sank down in a big comfortable kitchen rocker. “I have no yearning
to unravel mysteries. You and Virg may have all of the honor and all
of the shivers.”
“Ditto!” Babs said as she sat in another of the rockers and drew it
closer to the stove. Virginia having found a lantern, lighted it and
again entered the long silent front room. Having closed the kitchen
door, she turned to speak to Betsy, but, to her surprise, the other
girl was nowhere to be seen.
Believing that her friend had hidden, just to mystify her, Virginia
went about the room holding her lantern high and peering behind the
big, heavily-carved mahogany furniture. At first she was in no way
alarmed, but, when each nook and corner had been searched, she stood
still, troubled indeed. She had not wanted to call the name of her
friend for she knew that the two more timid girls in the kitchen
would hear and become alarmed, but, at last, there being no other
alternative she said, “Betsy, where are you?” Then she stood
listening, but the moaning of the wind down the chimney was the only
sound that she could hear.
What could have become of Betsy? Perhaps she had stepped out of the
front door and was hiding on the porch, but, when Virg turned to
look, she saw that the heavy wooden doors were barred on the inside.
The usually calm Virginia was becoming troubled and she was indeed
glad to hear Peyton entering the kitchen. She would have to tell
them all now, and have them join in the search for Betsy who had so
mysteriously disappeared.
“Virg, what is the matter? You look as though you had seen a ghost,”
Megsy exclaimed, as she sprang up from her comfortable rocker when
she saw Virginia returning from the dark, silent front room.
Peyton had just entered the kitchen. Having blown the light out in
his lantern, he was hanging it on its peg, but upon hearing
Margaret’s startled exclamation, he whirled and looked at Virg. He
noted that she was very pale and seemed greatly agitated.
This was indeed unusual, for as long as he had known this calm girl,
she had been mistress of every situation that had arisen. He took a
quick step toward her, fearing that she would faint.
Babs, too, had risen. Virg spoke almost incoherently: “Betsy, she’s
lost—disappeared,” she told them.
Peyton protested in amazement. “But Virg, how could Betsy be lost.
She has been right here in the house all of the time, hasn’t she?”
Then Virg told the lad just what had happened.
“I do not wonder that Trujillo has aroused Betsy’s curiosity,”
Peyton remarked. “For that matter, if it were not the custom of the
desert to ask no questions, I believe that I, myself, would be
tempted to ask him who he really is and from whence he came. He is
greatly the superior of the Mexican peons that I have working here
and they obey his slightest word as though they too recognized his
superiority. He seems content to be my foreman, for he has said
nothing about leaving. In fact he seldom speaks. He replies
graciously in perfect Spanish when I address him, but says almost
nothing of his own accord. But Virg, what has all this to do with
Betsy? How can she have disappeared?”
“It certainly is mysterious,” that maiden replied. “Not ten minutes
ago we were all in the front room. Betsy said that she wanted to see
what it would look like when those queer hanging lamps were
lighted.”
“I said we ought not to go,” Babs interrupted, tremulously, “and
now, if anything has happened to Betsy we’ll—”
“Why, sister, nothing could happen to her right here in our own
house,” Peyton declared in a tone of conviction. Then to Virg, he
added: “Please tell me the rest of your story.”
“As Babs says, she and Megsy were in favor of remaining in the
well-lighted and far more comfortable kitchen, but Betsy begged and
so we all went with her, carrying only a lighted candle. We had not
gone far into the room when the door closed with a bang and the
flame on the candle went out, although I did not feel a stir of
wind. Of course we returned to the kitchen, all but Betsy. She
suggested that the other girls stay by the stove and that I return
to her with a lighted lantern. I was not away from her five minutes,
but when I went back Betsy was not standing where I had left her,
and where she had promised to remain. I supposed that she was hiding
somewhere, and so I held the lantern high and looked behind all of
those massive pieces of carved furniture, but I could not find her.
Then I called her name, softly, but there was no reply. By that time
I was truly frightened and when I heard you returning, I came at
once to ask you to join me in searching for her.”
Peyton looked more puzzled than troubled. “Virg,” he said, “if this
were a tale in a story-book, we might think that Betsy had fallen
through a trap-door, but surely there is nothing of that sort in
this old ranch house, even though it was built—” he paused and
snapped his fingers. “Hum!” he exclaimed, “the plot thickens. Come
to think of it, this house was built by an old Spanish Don who was a
political outlaw from Mexico. For months he hid in the mountains
with his wife, children and servants. Then, when he believed that he
had evaded his pursuers, his peons built this adobe house and so it
is very possible that he might have built some sort of trap-door
through which they could all quickly disappear and evade capture.
Come,” he added, as he swung open the door into the dark, silent
front room, “we’ll make a thorough search but I still feel convinced
that your Detective Betsy is hiding to tease.”