The Legend of Deadman's Mine Read online

  “As a matter of fact,” Mr. Austin said, “they did. But I guess the ground around the stables had been raked. There were no prints at all.”

  Brian made notes as fast as he could. Then he had a thought. “According to the map my dad showed us before we came here,” he said, drumming his pen on his notebook, “there’s only one road out of here. It’s the one that connects with the highway to Reno. Did the sheriff check to see if anyone spotted a horse trailer on the highway that night?”

  Mr. Austin shook his head in disbelief. “I do declare, son,” he said, grinning, “if I didn’t know better, I’d say you already were a professional private investigator.”

  “Thanks,” Brian said. “Well?”

  “Well what?” Mr. Austin asked, then remembered. “Oh, right. He checked, but nobody had.”

  A gong sounded. “That’s the call to dinner,” Mr. Austin said. “Did we take care of all your questions?”

  “For now,” Brian said, flipping his notebook closed. “Thanks.”

  Mr. Austin nodded, then turned to address the campers. “The tables are outside, boys, and it’s cafeteria style. Help yourselves.” He had to quickly step out of the way as two dozen hungry campers stampeded through the main doors of the lodge.

  “Come on, Brian,” Sean called out excitedly, “before I starve to death.”

  “Wait for me!” Bobby yelled as he ran after Sean.

  The boys had piled their plates high with food and were climbing over one another looking for places to sit.

  Sean was seated at a table with his fork halfway to his mouth, dreaming about how good the food was going to taste, when he saw Bobby standing alone looking for an empty seat. Sean thought he looked so miserable he might cry. Sean sighed, put down his fork, and walked over. “Since we’re going to be bunkmates,” he told Bobby, “come on and sit with us.”

  Bobby beamed. He looked so grateful, in fact, that he reminded Sean of a puppy that begged to be picked up. He tagged after Sean, right on his heels, and squeezed in on the bench next to him.

  The boys wolfed down their food and became so excited talking about what the dude ranch was going to be like that they were surprised to discover it was already getting dark.

  At the bottom of the hill, Mr. Austin had built a large campfire, and it blazed high with a whoosh and a crackle. All at once the boys scrambled down the hill and found places to sit on the split-log benches that ringed the campfire. A few of the ranch hands, including Woody and Cookie, sat with them.

  “S’mores for dessert,” Mr. Austin said, and passed around long sticks and marshmallows to toast. “It just so happens I know a ghost story.”

  It was a story Sean had heard before from Sam Miyako, Brian’s best friend. Sam had earned a reputation back in their neighborhood as someone who was always trying to frighten the younger kids with scary stories. Sean was Sam’s favorite target.

  The story was about a ghost who kept following people, crying, “Give me my bones!” And even though Sean already knew the story, it still seemed awfully scary outside in the dark.

  Suddenly in the distance there was a mournful howling.

  “It’s the prospector’s ghost!” Carter said ominously.

  “For goodness’ sake, Carter,” Mr. Austin said, “that was just a coyote. Don’t worry about coyotes,” he told the boys. “They don’t want to meet up with you any more than you want to meet up with them.”

  Carter spoke up. “Tell them about the lost mine and the ghost of the prospector who protects it.”

  “A lost mine?” asked Brian.

  “Is it somewhere on this ranch?” Mike asked. The boys began to fidget excitedly.

  “The lost mine is a legend,” Mr. Austin said. “And so is the prospector’s ghost. They’re just stories that got out of hand.”

  “But there were directions to the mine,” Carter said. “I heard about them.”

  Cookie chuckled. “Sure there were. And they were so confusing it’s no wonder the prospector got lost.”

  “What were they?” asked Brian.

  Cookie frowned, trying to remember. “Supposedly there was something about finding the highest peak and following the trail to a tree with two tops,” he said. “From there it was downhill to a rock ledge, and facing south, or something like that.”

  “It does sound confusing,” Brian said.

  “I bet I could follow that trail,” Carter said. “Just because the lost mine hasn’t been found doesn’t mean it isn’t there. In fact, I think I have a pretty good idea just where it is.”

  Mike nudged Sean. “Carter’s a real pain. He pretends he knows everything. I guess he can’t stand it if somebody else gets more attention than he does.”

  “Now listen carefully, boys,” Mr. Austin said firmly, his eyes coming to rest on Carter. “Don’t get any ideas about hunting for a lost mine. There are abandoned mines all over Nevada. But none of them are haunted, and all of them could be extremely dangerous.” He glanced around the campfire meaningfully. “The story’s just make-believe. But even if the mine did exist, it would be hazardous. Those old shafts are nothing but rotten timbers and narrow passageways, and cave-ins are a real possibility. I want to return you to your parents safe and sound.”

  “I’d still like to hear the story,” Sean said. “Will you tell us? Please?”

  “As long as you keep in mind it’s only a story,” Mr. Austin said, relenting. The boys all agreed, and Mr. Austin began. “There was a lot of silver mining in Nevada back in the 1800s,” he explained, “but when the United States passed the Coinage Act of 1873, the silver dollar was omitted from the official currency. So,” he said, “when the government stopped making silver dollars it caused the price of silver to drop, and most of the mines closed down.” He paused, staring into the fire. “Well,” he continued finally, “some of those mines contained fine veins of silver, but with prices so low it would have cost more than it was worth to try to mine the ore.”

  He pointed off into the distance. “There was supposed to be one mine in particular near-abouts that had produced an especially top grade of silver.” His eyes roamed slowly to one side, then the other. “But there were some…accidents in the mine. Terrible, horrifying accidents,” he said, shaking his head.

  “Ever since, that mine has been known as…Deadman’s Mine.”

  There was some restless murmuring from the boys.

  “Around 1890,” Mr. Austin said, “an old prospector won the deed to the mine in a poker game and set out to work it, sure that the price of silver would soon return to what it had been.”

  “Only he couldn’t find the mine,” Carter finished in a dramatic tone of voice.

  “What happened to the prospector?” Brian asked.

  Mr. Austin paused for a moment. “No one knows. He wandered off into the mountains…and disappeared.”

  Sean gulped.

  “Nobody ever saw him again?” Mike asked, his voice squeaking.

  Mr. Austin slowly shook his head. “Legend says that late at night his ghost wanders through the ranch to frighten folks away from looking for his mine.”

  “His ghost wanders, all right,” Woody said suddenly. “But that’s not all. To keep people from snooping around looking for his mine, he’s put brush in front of the doorway to hide it. And his skeleton is standing guard just inside the entrance to scare away trespassers.”

  He paused and gave Brian and Sean a chilling stare. “Mr. Austin’s right,” he said. “Looking for mines could be downright dangerous in more ways than one. Coming upon a skeleton is one thing,” he warned them, “but coming up face-to-face with an angry ghost could cause you a heap of trouble!”

  3

  LATER THAT NIGHT, AS the boys got ready for bed, Mike teased Carter about the time he got lost looking for Deadman’s Mine.

  “I didn’t get lost,” Carter snapped. “I was trying to follow Woody.”

  “What for?” Brian asked.

  “He knows where the mine is. I’m sure he does
.”

  “Mr. Austin said Deadman’s Mine is just a story,” Sean said.

  Carter smiled. “That’s what he wants you to think. But the mine exists, all right. And I’ll prove it.”

  “Even if the mine exists,” Brian said, sitting down on his bed, “what makes you think that Woody knows where it is?”

  “Because he knows things about the mine that aren’t in other people’s stories when they tell the legend,” Carter explained. “Like the skeleton guarding the entrance and the pile of brush hiding the doorway.”

  Brian pulled out his notebook and began scribbling.

  “Don’t you even think about trying to find the mine!” Carter yelled. “I was here first, and I’m going to find it! Not you!”

  Sean had heard enough from Carter Burton III. “My brother is ten times better at this than you are,” he said. “And I bet he could find the lost mine faster than you.”

  “Oh yeah?” said Carter.

  “Yeah,” said Sean.

  “Hey, you guys,” Brian said. “Remember what Mr. Austin said. Looking for the lost mine could be dangerous.”

  “I’m not afraid,” Carter said huffily. “Just you watch. I’ll find that mine.”

  Sean lay on his bed in a pool of soft moonlight that sifted through the window. He tried unsuccessfully to fall asleep. He was thinking about Carter. And Bobby. Bobby had stuck to Sean all day like a piece of gum on his shoe. He had even insisted on claiming the bunk next to Sean’s.

  Oh well, Sean thought, when Bobby gets to know some of the other kids he’ll stop hanging on to me. Until then Sean decided he could put up with a tagalong. But what could he do about Carter?

  He listened to the far-off cry of a coyote. Suddenly he tensed when he heard the soft tread of what sounded like footsteps on the gravel outside the cabin.

  “Brian,” Sean whispered urgently, “are you still awake?”

  “Yes,” Brian whispered back. He was lying on his back with his hands crossed under his head. “I’ve been thinking about that stolen horse. Have you?”

  “Nope,” Sean said. “I’ve been wondering about that prospector. Do ghosts make sounds when they walk? I mean, can you hear their footsteps?”

  “No and no,” Brian answered.

  “Then that probably wasn’t the prospector’s ghost wandering past our cabin a few minutes ago.”

  “No way,” said Brian. “It was probably just one of the ranch hands.”

  “Be quiet. Go to sleep,” Mike mumbled from under his blanket, and for a few moments all Sean could hear was a snuffling kind of snore from Dan’s bunk and a rhythmic whistle from Bobby’s.

  Sean began to relax. His brother was right, he decided. “Good night,” Sean whispered to Brian. But when he got no answer Sean figured that Brian had fallen asleep.

  Brian’s whisper startled Sean. “The first thing to ask ourselves is, Why?”

  “Huh?” Sean mumbled. “Why what?”

  “Why the horse was stolen.” Brian rolled onto his side, propped up on one elbow. “Dad always considers the motive—the reason for doing something. If we knew what the motive was, we ought to be able to figure out who stole the horse.”

  From under his blanket Sean smothered a loud yawn. “Carter said the horse was expensive. So who’d get the most out of stealing him?”

  Brian thought for a minute. “What if the horse wasn’t taken off this part of the mountain?” he asked.

  “What are you talking about, Brian?”

  “If no one saw a horse trailer on the highway that night, then that could mean the horse was walked or ridden away and hidden somewhere near here.”

  “Where?” Sean asked. “In someone’s barn? The horse would be discovered near here.”

  “It wouldn’t have to be a real barn. It could be anyplace that could keep the horse comfortable and dry.”

  “Why wouldn’t the thief take the horse as far away from here as he could?” Sean asked.

  “The police would ask if anyone had seen a horse trailer at night, and somebody might have. But if the thief waited until everyone was sure the horse had been taken far away, he could move the horse in a trailer in broad daylight and no one would pay any attention.”

  “Okay, okay,” Sean conceded, suddenly too tired to give much thought to Brian’s theories. “Whatever you say.”

  “If the horse is stashed around here,” Brian said, “I bet we could find him.”

  Sean groaned. “Brian,” he said, “I want to ride horses and learn how to rope cattle and go on cookouts and swim in the swimming pool. The last thing I want to do is go searching for a stolen horse.”

  “Nightstar,” Brian informed him.

  “Whoever,” Sean sighed. He knew his brother well enough to know that once Brian became interested in a case, nothing could distract him.

  “Let’s talk about it more tomorrow,” Sean said. “Now go to sleep,” he muttered, and rolled onto his side, away from Brian.

  There was enough moonlight in the room so Sean could see, across the room, that Carter was wide awake and watching him.

  Snoop! Sean thought. Carter probably had been awake all this time listening to what he and Brian had been saying.

  Sean pulled his blanket up to his chin, closed his eyes, and tried to sleep. But he couldn’t. Instead he kept thinking about the prospector’s ghost. And about Carter Burton III. The worst part was that Sean couldn’t decide which was worse.

  4

  A LOUD KNOCK ON THE cabin door woke Sean with a start. “Help!” he yelled as he tumbled out of bed and onto the floor.

  Carter laughed and sat up. “That was just Woody waking everyone up. Better get used to it. It’ll happen every morning.”

  “How can it be morning?” Bobby complained. “It’s still dark.”

  Carter got up and flipped on the light switch, and the two bare bulbs that hung from the ceiling instantly flooded the room in a blinding glare.

  From under a pile of blankets Mike groaned and rubbed his eyes. “What happens if we don’t get up?” he asked. “They aren’t going to arrest us or anything like that.”

  But Brian was already up and pulling on his clothes. “If you don’t get up, you’ll miss the breakfast cookout,” he reminded them. “Remember what Cookie told us to expect. There will be sizzling bacon and hash brown potatoes and scrambled eggs and biscuits and jam and…”

  “And a trail ride!” Sean grabbed for his shirt and jeans. He was suddenly so eager for the day’s activities to begin that he forgot about his worries the night before.

  Bobby was the last to finish dressing. “Wait for me!” he shouted as he hurriedly tugged on his jacket. He ran to catch up with Sean, and they all followed Carter to the stables, where everyone had been told to meet.

  The eastern sky was streaked with early light, pale pink against an outline of thin white clouds. A row of horses—black, white, brown, spotted, and gray—had already been saddled and were hitched to the top rail of the fence that stretched in front of the stables. The horses bobbed their heads up and down, and their warm breath created steam clouds in the cool air.

  Sean ran excitedly from horse to horse. “I wonder which one will be mine,” he called to Brian. Sean reached out to stroke the nose of a spotted horse, but the horse snorted so loudly that Sean jumped back.

  Woody stepped up beside him. “Come on, cowboy,” he said to Sean. “I’ll show you how to mount your horse. Climb up here on the block.

  “Riders never walk close behind a horse,” Woody said loudly, for the benefit of all the campers. “And they always mount from the left side, putting their left foot into the stirrups and throwing their right leg over their saddles.

  “Never start out until your stirrups are adjusted to fit and you’re sitting comfortably,” he explained. “Hold the reins firmly. Show the horse that you’re in charge. Pull on the right rein to turn the horse’s head toward the right, and pull on the left rein if you want to turn left.

  “Stay with the group,” Wo
ody cautioned, “and never kick a horse to make him run. Some light pressure from your knees is plenty.”

  The horses became impatient and began snuffling and stamping. Sean reached down to pat the neck of his horse. “Easy, boy,” he said gently. In a movie he’d seen on television, he’d heard a cowboy talk to his horse like that.

  The spotted horse seemed to understand, giving a last bob of his head before quieting. Sean felt proud of himself until he heard Carter snicker.

  “Don’t call your horse "boy." You’re riding a filly, and her name is Goldie.”

  Mr. Austin mounted a tall, reddish brown bay and raised a hand. “Let’s go,” he said.

  One by one the horses obediently fell into line.

  “Oh my gosh,” Sean told himself as his horse started forward. He took a deep breath and held tightly to the reins. It was awkward sitting in the saddle at first. But as his horse fell into a steady stride, Sean began to relax. Wow, he thought to himself, this is really fun.

  By the time the group turned off the trail and headed for the breakfast area next to a creek, the sun was bright and warm and not a cloud was left in the sky.

  The smell of crisp bacon and flapjacks on the outdoor grill was so enticing that Sean could hardly wait until one of the ranch hands took Goldie’s reins. He eagerly climbed down and ran to join the other boys who had already lined up, plates and forks in hand.

  Sean looked around nervously for Bobby and sighed with relief when he saw him off talking with two other boys from another cabin. Bobby was a nice enough kid, Sean decided, but Sean needed some breathing space. He found a seat on a split-log bench a little distance from the rest of the group and began to eat.

  Brian sat down next to Sean and glanced carefully to both sides. “Have you thought about what I said last night?” he asked Sean.

  As his jaws worked slowly up and down on a mouthful of flapjacks soaked in melted butter and maple syrup, Sean mumbled, “Mummph,” and shook his head.

  “You remember,” Brian said. “We talked about the stolen horse. I said I thought it was probably hidden somewhere nearby and hasn’t been taken away from the area yet.”