Mystery at the Ski Jump by Carolyn Keene

note from her father, who was eager to have her join him.
    “Did you see this?” Hannah asked, pointing to a telegram half-hidden by an advertising circular.
    The message was from the Bramson Film Company. It stated that they did not know Mitzi Adele’s address. However, a representative of the firm would call on Nancy shortly in regard to the woman skater.
    “I wonder why,” Nancy remarked. “Now I can’t go to Montreal until I find out what the representative has to say!”
    In the morning loud voices announced the arrival of Bess, George, and the fur trapper. Stocky and round-faced, the man strode up to the porch with the easy gait of a man of half his seventy years.
    John Horn was dressed like Daniel Boone, Nancy thought, and his long white whiskers reminded her of Santa Claus. At her invitation, the three entered the Drew living room.
    The woodsman declined to take a chair. He stood before the mantel, his legs wide apart and his hands deep in the pockets of his heavy jacket.
    “Well, young woman, what do you want to ask me?” he demanded, his bright blue eyes boring into Nancy’s.
    “Is it true that you bought Forest Fur Company stock from a Mrs. Channing?” she asked.
    “Yep. I was an old fool,” John Horn admitted candidly. “I leaped to the bait—stupid as a wall-eyed pike!”
    “I wonder if she told you anything that would help us trace her,” Nancy said. “Did she mention a Dunstan Lake, for instance?”
    The old man pulled at his whiskers. “No-o. Never heard that name, miss. All we chinned about was mink. I’ve worked on a mink farm and I been trappin’ the little rascals for years. That’s how I came by Arabella, here.”
    From a pocket in his coat, he pulled out a small, squirrellike creature with bright black eyes and a long tail.
    “Why, it’s a mink!” cried Bess.
    “Sure, she is!” John Horn said proudly. “Four months old and with as prime a pelt as I ever seen. Notice that glossy dark-brown fur? See how thick and live-looking the hair is? Arabella’s an aristocrat. Yes, sir-ree!”
    “Is she tame?” George asked.
    “She’s tame because I raised her myself,” explained John Horn. “A wild mink, though, will bite—and his teeth are plenty sharp.”
    “Where did you get her?” Nancy asked.
    “Arabella was born on a mink ranch. The first time I saw her she was a pinky white and not much bigger than a lima bean. All baby minks are like that. Tiny and covered with silky hair.”
    John Horn gave his pet an affectionate stroke and replaced her in his pocket. “You want me to help you catch that crook, don’t you, Miss Drew?” he said.
    Nancy had no such thing in mind. However, if the fur company was located in the Adirondacks, as Aunt Eloise believed, it would be handy to have an experienced woodsman around.
    “Mr. Horn, I may need your help if I have to travel up north or into the mountains,” she said.
    “You can count on me!” said the old man.
    “Excuse me, Nancy,” said Hannah from the doorway. “I thought perhaps these folks would like some hot chocolate and cinnamon toast.”
    At the sight of the older woman, John Horn became ill at ease. “No, thank you, ma‘am,” he said hastily. “Fact is, I gotta be goin’.”
    “We’ll drive you,” Bess offered.
    “No. No, I’d rather walk.” The old trapper turned to Nancy. “I like you, girl. You—you talk sense,” he stammered. “Here—take this!”
    Nancy felt something warm and furry wriggle in her hands. Startled, she gasped and stepped backward, dropping the little mink to the floor,
    Arabella instantly leaped away, straight toward the astounded Hannah. The housekeeper clutched at her skirts and hopped onto the nearest chair. “A rat!” she shrieked.
    “It’s a mink,” Nancy said. She reached down and tried to catch the little animal.
    “It’ll bite!” Hannah warned. “Like a rat!” Arabella was terrified by the strange surroundings and the squeals of Bess and Hannah. The tiny animal