Betsy Clossen in her role of young detective watched for an
opportunity to slip away from the others as she wished to think out
some plan by which she might be able to discover the real identity
of the mysterious Mexican, Trujillo.
When Peyton had said that he had seen the oddly shaped key only the
morning before in the bunkhouse of his overseer, Betsy was more than
ever convinced that Trujillo’s presence on the Three Cross ranch was
not merely because he needed employment. And yet what could he want?
Peyton had no money on the place. Betsy had heard him tell his
sister only the night before that he would have to ride to Douglas
the following day to visit the bank and procure the money he would
need to pay the peons for a month’s work.
There were no treasures in the old Spanish house that Trujillo could
wish to possess. The mahogany furniture was valuable, no doubt, but
much too heavy for anyone to spirit away, and the only other
possible treasures in the room which Babs called haunted were the
paintings of the family of Don Carlos Spinoza. Surely no one would
wish to steal those. In fact if any one did, Babs would gladly
assist them, so eager was she to remove from the walls of her new
home the life-sized portraits of those “foreigners.”
“I don’t believe I’m a very good detective after all,” Betsy sighed.
“I don’t seem to hit upon the right clue to start from,” she thought
as she followed a trail leading, she did not notice where, so
intently was she thinking and gazing at the ground.
“I have three main facts to work with,” she told herself. “The first
is that Trujillo is mysterious, even Peyton thinks that. The second
is the dark face that peered through the barred window last night
when the girls were searching for me and the third is that the
person who peered dropped an oddly shaped key which Peyton had seen
in the room of his overseer.
“The conclusion to be drawn is that Trujillo is remaining at the
Three Cross ranch, not because of the remuneration he receives, but
in order to obtain some information, since there is nothing valuable
to carry away.”
“Three Cross,” she repeated to herself. “That surely is a queer name
for a cattle ranch. Oh, I remember now! Peyton said that old Don
Carlos was very religious, and that somewhere on the place he had
erected a shrine on which were three crosses and that he went there
to implore protection from his pursuing political enemies. I must
ask Babs where—” Betsy suddenly paused and looked about her. She
saw that the trail she had been following seemed to end abruptly in
a lonely sheltered hollow among sand hills. In front of the girl
stood an old shrine above which were three wooden crosses. One had
fallen to the ground, another leaned far over, but the center one
was erect and seemed to be more firmly established in the sand than
the other two had been.
Betsy stood looking around, awed by the loneliness of the place,
when suddenly, through the stillness there arose a long-drawn-out
wail. With a startled cry the girl turned and fled. She ran back
over the trail as she had never run before.
When she felt that she was a safe distance away she turned and
looked back, almost believing that she would see some ghostly figure
pursuing her. Standing on the top of a sand hill, its lean length
silhouetted against the bright sky, she saw a lone coyote. She
shuddered and looked back again, but at last she was convinced that
the wolf of the desert had no intention of following her but had
departed for some other haunt.
Slowing her pace, Betsy soliloquized: “Well, I discovered something,
even though it may have nothing to do with unraveling the mystery.
Now let me see, where did I leave off? Oh, yes; I had decided that
Trujillo is staying on this ranch for some reason other than that of
employment, and yet it cannot be to steal, for there is nothing on
the place that one would want, and—” Suddenly Betsy stood still and
stared into space, thinking intently. Then she laughed. “I’m a great
detective, I must say. I haven’t given a moment’s thought to the
most important clue of all—the key! Trujillo must think there is
something around here to unlock, otherwise why did he have the key?”
The overseer had arrived in a March blizzard, she had heard Peyton
tell, without box or baggage of any kind, nor had he obtained any
since his arrival.
“Hum,” thought the would-be detective. “I see it all now. There is a
treasure hidden at the house, probably in the front room which has
always been kept closed, and Trujillo had planned that night to slip
in, unobserved, but having seen a light in the room, he had first
peered through the window and had then beat a hasty retreat. Hurray
for me!” Betsy concluded exultingly. “The mystery is solved. I do
believe.”
She was nearing the house and she saw the girls on the porch
beckoning to her.
“Where have you been? Lunch is ready,” Margaret called.
“Oh, just for a walk,” was Betsy’s non-committal reply. She had
decided to say nothing of her discovery until she had had time to
look around a little more all by herself. But the would-be detective
was to hear something that noon which convinced her that she was
following the wrong clue.