Читать книгу The Lone Footprint - Anna Perot Rose Wright - Страница 4

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For a moment even the dauntless Kay was dismayed. Then, recovering her composure, she leaned over the figure and gave it a poke, half expecting the creature to utter a groan. As it made no sound or movement, she tried gingerly to lift it. A man’s dark hat fell off, and the head wobbled and sank back. Suddenly an idea prompted Kay to drag her burden to the porch.

A light in the doorway snapped on, revealing the twins who clutched each other fearfully as they peered without. Mrs. Tracey was hastening outside just as Kay pulled her limp victim up the porch steps. One glimpse at that wobbling neck as the figure collapsed in a heap, sent the Worth girls into shrieks. Their chum burst into merry laughter.

“Kay Tracey!” reproved her mother sharply, “what is this? Can you laugh at someone being hurt or is it just some silly joke you have played to scare us?”

“It’s a silly joke, but I didn’t play it!” answered her daughter. “Look!”

No wonder she laughed! The figure was nothing but a man’s old suit of clothes stuffed out with straw, like a scarecrow! Its wobbling head was merely a flour bag filled with hay.

“It’s a Hallowe’en stunt, out of season, intended to scare us. I wonder why?” mused Kay.

“It’s an outrage!” stormed her mother.

“The moaning must have been done by some mischievous boy,” remarked Kay speculatively. “I am certainly going to catch him and clear up this trouble!”

She lay awake trying to make sense of the puzzle. In doing this she was reflecting characteristics of her deceased father, who had enjoyed solving mysteries. Since his death she, her mother and the young lawyer, Cousin Bill Tracey, had lived together in a cozy little house in Brantwood.

Kay and her twin chums, Betty and Wilma Worth, attended high school in the neighboring town of Carmont where the former had made herself popular by her good sportsmanship not only in the student activities, but in the many mysteries which she had helped to solve. Ever since Kay’s first attempt at sleuthing, in which she skillfully untangled a riddle that seemed to have everybody else baffled, people came to her with their unsolved problems. Now apparently she was about to launch upon another mystery. Could this one be solved by simple deduction?

Easier said than done! There was no way of tracing the prowler in the dark. Reluctantly all returned uneasily to bed, after making doubly sure that doors and windows were well fastened.

Kay was not the only one in the cottage at Owl’s Hole who could not sleep. Each one lay rigid, listening fearfully for every sound. Was that a stealthy footstep? Was someone fumbling at the door?

Suddenly a long, loud wail arose! It echoed eerily through the woods, too close for comfort.

“What’s that?” gasped Betty, sitting bolt upright in great alarm.

Once more the melancholy cry came through the night.

“Don’t let it frighten you, girls,” called Mrs. Tracey in calm, common-sense tones. “It’s just a screech owl. This place gets its name from those birds.”

Betty sank back and put a pillow over her head to muffle all future sounds. Wilma, wide awake, asked:

“Do you hear something? I am positive a prowler is in the hall!”

Betty firmly crammed the pillow tighter over her head. Something certainly was moving in the hallway. There was the soft lisp of stealthy motion, then a bump. What could it be?

Quietly Wilma slid out of bed and tiptoed to her door. She poked her head into the hall and instantly skipped back. An invisible being had swept so closely past her that it fanned the hair from her forehead.

Again it whirled by, and there followed a loud crash of breaking glass. Everyone sprang up and lights flashed on. A vase, knocked from a shelf, lay shattered on the floor, and a black, velvety object was flattened against the wall above the wreck.

“Nothing but a bat, girls,” said Mrs. Tracey. She got a broom and whisked the little creature out of doors. “Now I hope we get some sleep!” she said.

As Wilma snuggled back into bed she began to compose poetry, starting:

“Invisible caller of the night,

Who flits on secret wing——”

but how to work in the word “fright,” which seemed to have both rhyme and reason, baffled her until she fell asleep.

When she woke up it was morning. Already Betty and Mrs. Tracey were at breakfast.

“Kay vanished early,” said the girl’s mother.

“Sleuthing, no doubt,” added Betty.

She was right. Kay had wasted no time in trying to track down the mysterious prowler who had scared them by leaving the scarecrow at the door.

“I am sure he left some trace,” she had said to herself. “I must look for it before anyone else walks over the ground this morning.”

So she had gone out before the others were awake. Stepping onto the dewy grass, Kay noticed that the only sign to show where the scarecrow had come from was a wisp of hay. Probably this had tumbled from the stuffed head.

Eyeing the ground sharply, she also found a few straws. In stooping over to trace these wisps which the breezes had tossed out of place, Kay suddenly found a real clue.

It was the footprint of a man!

Definitely the track was that of a right shoe. Kay knelt down on the look-out for its mate, the mark of the man’s left foot. To her surprise, not a left footprint appeared, but another right one, then another and another. No print of the left foot was visible anywhere!

“How queer!” exclaimed Kay, and followed the tracks off through the woods until they vanished on a stretch of hard, rocky ground.

“This is certainly the Mystery of the Lone Footprint!” Kay reported to the others when she returned home for breakfast.

“A one-legged man must be playing tricks,” deduced Betty.

“Does anyone know of a one-legged man around here?” queried Wilma.

“That is what we must find out,” Kay declared.

“Here comes your uncle,” cried Betty, as the old gentleman appeared hastening up the path in his quick, nervous manner.

“Perhaps he knows whether there is a one-legged man in this neighborhood.”

The girls flew down the path to greet Mr. Brown. They were soon chattering about the experiences of the night before. The man was deeply chagrined to hear that they had been troubled. In reply to their query as to who might have left the lone footprint, he replied:

“There is a one-legged man by the name of Jed Farkin who tends the drawbridge over the river a few miles from here.”

“Would there be any reason why he might want to drive your tenants away, or harm your property to get even with you?” asked Kay.

“No reason at all,” he answered positively.

“Perhaps it is just some bad boy playing tricks,” suggested Betty.

Kay felt that the affair went deeper than that, and she made up her mind to investigate the crippled bridge master at the earliest opportunity. At the moment, however, Mr. Brown offered them a diversion to make up for the disturbance caused by the scarecrow trick.

“I should like to give you a little pleasure trip in return for your help here,” he said.

Uncle Byram led the way to a boat landing at the river’s edge. Moored there was a beautiful motor launch which the elderly man urged the girls to use whenever they might wish.

This cabin cruiser was brand new. Its smooth mahogany was polished to a piano finish, its gleaming brass shone brightly in the sun and every rope was coiled on deck with the greatest precision. The boat’s name, Purple Pansy, was reflected in the royal purple of its leather cushioned seats, and in the purple flag that fluttered in the breeze.

Altogether, the spic and span craft was a delight to behold and the girls exclaimed in joy. Mr. Brown, pleased with their appreciation, gave them a faint smile and ambled off on business of his own.

“Oh, let’s take a run up the river right away. It’s a perfect day for a cruise!” begged the twins.

“A good idea,” agreed Kay. “We can see the lay of the land along the river and also interview that one-legged bridge master.”

“Ahoy! And likewise Avast! and also, Belay, my Hearties!” cheered Betty with nautical fervor as the eager crew hopped from dock to deck. Captain Kay took the wheel. Up the river they sped, the motor purring smoothly while the green water was sheared into white foam and silver spray.

“We certainly have the river to ourselves this morning,” Kay remarked.

The river, indeed, was almost deserted at that hour. Here and there little sailboats bobbed at their moorings like placid ducks. Anchored ahead of them was a red rowboat in which some sunburned little boys were fishing. As the Pansy whirled by, her waves rocked the little craft. Kay cut down her speed so that the spray from the larger boat would not splash the youngsters. The boys, appreciating this courtesy, waved and grinned.

Having passed them, Kay resumed speed and was spinning along at a good clip when the drone of a motor boat was heard. So fast was it going that the waves set all the small craft rocking violently.

“I hope they watch where they’re going,” cried out Wilma in alarm.

“They better!” answered Kay grimly. “If they don’t, in this narrow channel, they’ll make trouble for us.”

On came the speeder, with no regard for anyone else. Although Kay sounded her signal horn to indicate that she was directing her course to starboard, the oncomers did not reply. They ploughed madly along in mid-channel.

Kay had the choice of running aground on the soft mudbottom, or taking a shower bath of spray. Like a good sailor, she thought first of her boat. Regardless of a wetting, she avoided the treacherous shallows and held her own in the channel. Without giving way an inch, the approaching craft bore down upon them, evidently expecting to scare the girls aside.

“Road hogs!” blazed Betty angrily.

Kay could not believe that the men would not give her room to pass. In this she was sadly mistaken. The boat came straight on and before she could swing out of its way, it crashed headlong into the Pansy.

“Why don’t you look where you are going?” roared one of two rough men in the other boat.

“Why don’t you observe the laws of river traffic?” retorted Kay furiously. Her one thought was that the smash-up had ruined Mr. Brown’s attractive launch. “Get his license number, Betty!”

The Worth girl leaned over to note the numbers painted on the bow of the other craft. It was a dirty boat which evidently had been used for fishing. It was smelly and much the worse for wear. As it drifted sideways in the river current, faded letters could be seen on the stern, showing that it was the Fish Hawk, out of Hartford, a town some twenty miles beyond Owl’s Hole.

The men, like their vessel, were rough, dirty, and unshaven. One of them was a big, fat, greasy-looking fellow. The other was lean and scrawny, with a long, sharp nose and broken yellow teeth. Both men began shouting angrily, accusing the girls of getting in their way and threatening to sue for damages.

“Sue us for damages!” exclaimed Kay. “I think you will find it the other way around!”

“I don’t like the looks of those men,” whispered Wilma unhappily.

“Neither do I,” answered her twin. “I believe they are going to make trouble for us.”