CHAPTER XIX
THE GIRL DETECTIVE
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.