smoke,” Nancy said, standing up. She moved the beam
of light back and forth across the ceiling. Finally, she
found an area that seemed to be darker than the rest of
the ceiling.
She looked around for a stick or a branch. There was
nothing but bones. She prodded at them until she
found what she wanted. “How are you feeling?” she
asked, rolling out a bone nearly seven feet long. “Can
you give me a hand?”
“I'm feeling okay,” George said. “You know me.
Whatever it takes to get out of here.” Nancy thought of
all of George's athletic achievements. She was sure her
friend could handle this, too.
Together, they held the long bone upright and
poked at the ceiling where Nancy saw the darkened
area. Showers of black powder fell on their faces.
Nancy rubbed some of it off her cheek and smelled it.
“Soot,” she said, with a grin. “Come on. There must be
an opening up there somewhere.”
Nancy and George hoisted the prehistoric bone,
jamming it into the ceiling of the room. Clumps of dirt
pummeled them from above, then splinters of wood.
“I'll bet there's a trapdoor up there,” Nancy said
when the bits of wood began falling. “The miners
probably opened it as a vent when they built a fire.
Keep pounding.”
At last, the bone seemed to break through to
another level. Dirt and roots rained down on them,
then pine needles. “We're through,” George cried, as
Nancy felt the bone move up with no resistance.
“Okay, now what?” George said, as they looked at
the hole seven and a half feet above the floor.
“How about this?” Nancy asked. She tugged at an
enormous skull lying against the wall. She and George
were able to roll it across the floor to a spot beneath
the vent in the ceiling. “We don't know who—or
what—might be out there,” Nancy warned. “I'll go
first. Wait until I signal.”
Nancy climbed onto the skull and was able to get
her head and shoulders through the opening in the
ceiling. She hoisted herself up and out.
“Okay, I'm clear,” she whispered through the vent
back to George. “Wait while I check the front door.
Maybe I can pick the lock.”
“No way,” George said. “I'm out of here.” And she
popped up through the trapdoor.
They were on top of the small hill that the mine cut
through. After scrambling down the hill, they followed
the trail made by George's dragged body back to the
fallen tree. They stayed hidden in the forest and didn't
talk, in case their captors were still around. Finally,
they reached the Private Property signs they had
passed before. Then they crossed back into the federal
land that surrounded the Mount Rushmore Memorial.
After another half hour, they rejoined Bess and
Kincaid, who were frantic. “What happened to you?”
Bess asked.
Nancy imagined how she must look—soot on her
face, weeds and pine needles in her hair. “We'll talk on
the way. We have to find a ranger—quick!”
The four walked back down the nature path to the
Mount Rushmore Visitor Center. On the way, Nancy
and George related what had happened.
When they reached the visitor center plaza, they saw
a ranger standing on one of the terraces. “Good,”
Kincaid said under her breath. “I've met her before
with Clayton. Maybe we won't get into too much
trouble sneaking around after hours.”
She walked up to the ranger. “Hi,” she said with a
winning smile. “I'm Kincaid Turner. I met you once
with Clayton Simmons. His dad's a ranger here, too—
Hillard Simmons.”
The ranger frowned at them. “I know Clayton and
his dad,” she said. “I don't know you. And I sure don't
know what you're doing here after hours.” She spoke
into her walkie-talkie and another ranger soon joined
them.
When the second ranger arrived, Kincaid introduced
herself again. Then she introduced Nancy, Bess, and
George. Before the two rangers could get another word
out, Nancy and Kincaid began telling their story.
They related their first experience here with the
man on the trail. Then they told about the poachers at
the Badlands and showed the rangers the photos.
Nancy showed them the scrap of union card. Kincaid
explained that they wanted to set up a sting to catch
the possible poacher here. Then Nancy and George
told what had just happened to them.
The ranger called Clayton's dad. “He wants to speak
to you,” she said to Kincaid.
“Ranger Simmons, we really need your help,”
Kincaid said. She listened for a minute, then said to
Nancy, “He's completely up to speed. Clayton told him
everything.” Then she spoke back into the phone.
“We're sure we've found poachers' fossils,” she said,
“and if someone doesn't get out there quick, they're
going to lose the men and their hoard. We think one of
them works here.”
Ranger Simmons vouched for Kincaid and her
friends to the other rangers and said he'd be right out
with more men. Kincaid, Nancy, and George used a
map to trace a rough path to the abandoned mine.
“And you'll let us know what happens in your
investigation?” Nancy asked as the rangers prepared to
leave for the mine.
“Yes, we will,” one of the rangers assured her. “Now,
I suggest you leave here and get back home as quickly
as possible. When that man finds you've escaped and
can identify him, you could be in danger.” The girls
hurried to their car.
“George, how are you feeling?” Nancy asked. “Do
you think you should get checked over?”
“Nah, I'm fine,” George said. “I feel like Bess did
when she nearly fell off the mountain. Just lead me to
that shower and bed.”
“One thing I don't understand,” Bess said. “How
come those guys used a mine cave so close to the
memorial?”
“It's on private property,” Nancy said. “Maybe they
own it. It's almost an hour's walk from the memorial
and completely hidden and surrounded by trees and
undergrowth. The opening is camouflaged in the side
of a hill. If I hadn't followed the trail of dragged pine
needles, I'd never have found it.”
“So how did they get the bones in there?” George
asked.
“Because it's private property,” Nancy said, “we
don't know what kind of roads might be back in there
on the rest of the land.”
“They had to have some way of getting the gold out
at one time,” Bess said, nodding.
“Matt's out of the hospital—we'll call him from the
ranch,” Kincaid said. “It's after midnight. If I know
Clayton's dad, he's probably called my folks and told
them what's happened. They're goi
ng to worry until
they see me home safe and sound.”
Kincaid drove back to the ranch in record time.
When they arrived, Melissa Turner ran out to meet
them. “Hillard Simmons called us,” she said, running to
the car. “George, how are you?”
“I'm okay, Mrs. Turner,” George said, with a
lopsided smile. “Really.”
When they walked into the kitchen, Mr. Turner was
seated at the table with Sheriff Switzer. The sheriff had
his arm in a sling. “Matt, you didn't have to come out,”
Kincaid said. “We were going to call you as soon as we
got in.”
T called Matt before we heard about your trouble,”
Mr. Turner said. “We just had twelve more bison
stolen!”
15. All the Pieces Fit
“No!” Kincaid said, tears welling in her eyes. “Twelve
more?” She turned to the sheriff.
“We just can't seem to get a handle on this thing,”
the sheriff said, rubbing his shoulder. “There were
tracks out there that made a pretty good match with
the ones you lifted near Lulu's shelter,” he added. “But
we can't match them up with anything around here or
on file with the FBI. They don't match Badger Brady's.
We know that.”
“What about that gang from Canada you men-
tioned?” Nancy asked.
“That's not panning out,” Mr. Turner said. His
elbows were on the table, and he held his head in his
hands. “If we don't get this solved pretty soon, I don't
know what I'm going to do. This last bunch included
some of my best breeding stock.”
“How about Ms. Francoeur?” Bess asked. “Did you
ask her about the hubcap?”
“Yes,” the sheriff replied. He told them what the
Frenchwoman had said. It was the same story she had
told Nancy and her friends at the tearoom, and they all
agreed it was probably true.
“Well, we have a new truck for you to check,” Nancy
said. She could see in her mind the license plate of the
truck in the Badlands.
“Sit, everyone,” Mrs. Turner said, pouring coffee
and tea. “I want to hear what happened to the girls
tonight. Matt, I think you'll have a whole new case on
your hands when you hear this.”
When everyone was seated around the kitchen table,
Nancy and her friends retold the entire story. Then
Nancy showed Sheriff Switzer the photographs. “I
recognize Jasper Stone all right,” he said. “We've had
trouble with him before. I didn't know he was back in
town. The other guy's a new one on me. But I'll check
with the rangers at Rushmore and the Badlands
tomorrow.”
“I've got major work myself tomorrow,” Mr. Turner
said, running his hand through his dark hair. “I've got
to round up some more hands and pull the herd in
even closer.”
“You did that once, didn't you?” Nancy asked.
“Yep,” Mr. Turner said, nodding. “But it wasn't close
enough. It looks like I need to get them practically in
the backyard to keep whoever it is from picking them
off.”
“Well, you girls have had another big day,” Mrs.
Turner said. “Why don't we all go to bed. George, I
really think you need some rest. Tomorrow we can all
start fresh.”
As they walked to the guest house, Nancy, Bess, and
George were quiet. Nancy was frustrated. She felt as if
she was working from both ends of a puzzle and
couldn't get it to meet in the middle. That night, she
had a hard time sleeping. She tossed and turned while
her mind worked.
Friday morning was sunny with a wide blue sky and
tumbleweed clouds. Nancy, Bess, and George dressed
quickly in jeans, shirts, and boots and hurried to the
ranch house to meet Kincaid. Mrs. Turner offered the
girls some breakfast, but Nancy shook her head. “I
have an idea,” she said.
“It must be a good one,” Bess said, “if you can brush
off one of Mrs. Turner's doughnuts.”
“Well, what is it?” George asked. “Spill it.”
“What if the buffalo rustling isn't the point at all?”
Nancy suggested.
“What do you mean?” Kincaid said. “How could that
be?”
“What if it's just a ploy—a diversion?” Nancy said.
“A diversion!” Kincaid repeated.
“Something to keep all of you busy and distract you
from what's really happening,” Nancy said. “And
especially to keep you away from remote areas of the
ranch.”
“I don't get it,” Kincaid said.
“When the buffalo are rustled, your father's
response is to pull the herd in closer, right?” Nancy
said.
“Right,” Kincaid said.
“Suppose something's going on at a remote area of
your ranch,” Nancy suggested. “Something secret. And
the best way to keep it secret is to keep all of you away
from that area and so busy trying to solve one problem
that you don't realize what's really going on.”
Kincaid looked at Nancy and her eyes seemed to
glow like spotlights. “A dig,” she whispered. “Oh,
Nancy, that's it!”
“A dig?” George said. “On the ranch?”
“Of course,” Bess said, jumping up. “Think, Kincaid.
Where are your secret spots? Are there any you haven't
visited for a while?”
“Sure,” Kincaid said. “Several.”
Nancy grabbed a doughnut and headed for the door.
“Come on, everybody. Let's go take a look.”
At that moment the phone rang. It was Sheriff
Switzer. Mrs. Turner switched the call to the speaker
phone. “I talked to the rangers at Rushmore and the
Badlands,” the sheriff said. “The second man in
Nancy's photo was Ephraim Tell. He and Jasper Stone
have a reputation with the FBI as criminal
archaeological poachers. Stone owns the property that
the abandoned mine is on.”
“Have they arrested them?” Mrs. Turner asked.
“The Mount Rushmore rangers found the mine and
the fossils, but there was no sign of the two men. Since
Nancy thought they might have been the ones who
followed her and the others to Badger Brady's and
locked them in the basement, I had them check out
there, too. But they weren't there, either. Neither was
the coyote, by the way.”
Kincaid sighed, saying, “Where are they?”
“We'll find them,” Sheriff Switzer said. “At least now
we know who we're looking for. Oh, and Badger Brady
has been arrested. He was picked up in Kansas.
They're bringing him back tomorrow.”
Nancy told the sheriff her theory about the men
poaching on the Turners' land. “We know Jasper
poached that jawbone from here years ago,” she added.
“We're going to take a look around.”
“You be careful,” the sheriff said. “Those guys might
be dangerous. I'll be out with some men right away,”
/>
he concluded before hanging up.
The girls raced to Kincaid's vehicle, as Mrs. Turner
repeated the sheriff's warning.
“There are two possible spots,” Kincaid said, as she
took off across the pasture. “One of them is near where
I found the jawbone. It's on the other side of the ranch.
I haven't been there for a long time.”
“Let's go there first,” Nancy said. “We know Jasper
has been there before.”
As they neared the area, Nancy noticed Kincaid's
ringers. They were gripping the steering wheel so
tightly, her knuckles were white. “Kincaid, what is it?”
Nancy asked.
“It's different,” Kincaid said. “There used to be
some shrubs here. And what's that building?”
Nancy and the others looked where Kincaid was
pointing. There was a crudely built lean-to at the base
of a hill. Kincaid parked the car, and they cautiously
crept up to the shed. It was locked. Lying in the grass
near the shed was a small pickax with the initials E.T.
on it.
“Ephraim Tell,” Bess said in a whisper.
“Come on,” Kincaid said. Nancy and her friends
followed Kincaid over the rise of a hill. “Whoa,”
Kincaid said. The side of the hill was completely veiled
in a tarpaulin anchored to the ground with dozens of
stakes roped together. George and Kincaid pulled up
the stakes. Nancy and Bess rolled back the tarp.
There, embedded in the hill, was an enormous
skeleton lying on its side. “It's a giant sea reptile!”
Kincaid said. “I can't believe it. I've seen pictures of
them, but never thought I'd ever be this close to one.
They don't even have a name. It lived here when this
spot was the bottom of a sea—over a hundred million
years ago.”
Bess put an arm around her friend's shoulder,
saying, “Maybe they'll name it the Kincaidosaurus
when you finish recovering it.”
The sound of an approaching truck startled them.
The girls ran back around the hill in time to see a black
truck wheel around with a screech of its brakes and
head away from the dig.
“It's them—in the same truck we saw in the
Badlands,” Nancy said, racing to Kincaid's vehicle.
“They must have just seen our car. Come on, they're
getting away.” Within minutes they were chasing the
truck.
For a mile or two, they sped over open pasture-land.
“We need to trap them somehow,” Nancy said. “Chase