On the Trail of Trouble

  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

  license number.

  “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?” br />
  “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.