attention to it,” Judd Hillary said harshly. “Can’t you keep that nose o’ yours out o’ other people’s business? You don’t live around here. You don’t pay taxes. You just come up here to have a good time. Well, why don’t you stick to that? You don’t have to go runnin’ around messin’ in the affairs o’ our place!”
“I wasn’t aware that I was doing such a thing,” said Nancy coolly.
She planned to ignore the man, but he followed her to the convertible. It suddenly occurred to Nancy that he probably had posted himself there to see what she was doing and where she was going. It might be best not to pull out the map at this time.
Suddenly Judd Hillary burst out, “What did you do with the old stagecoach?”
Nancy was so amazed at the question that she stared dumfounded. But she was instantly on her guard. In reply she said, “Mr. Hillary, why are you so interested in the old stagecoach?”
The man had a ready answer. “Because you are,” he said. “You can’t hide anything from me. You’re workin’ for the opposition. They’re an underhanded bunch. They got somethin’ up their sleeves. If they set you onto examinin’ the old stagecoach, it means somethin’. I want to know what it is!”
Nancy wondered how she was going to get rid of the man. She was a bit puzzled by his attitude. On the one hand he seemed genuinely interested in keeping the local taxes and those of surrounding communities from being raised. On the other hand, the very fact that he had learned she was interested in examining the old stagecoach could even mean he knew the hijackers!
“I wonder how I can find out,” she asked herself. Then an idea came to her and she decided on a bold move. Looking directly at him, she said, “Mr. Hillary, you whistle very well.”
The tall, muscular man fell back. “How do you know that I can—?” Then he interrupted himself abruptly and the momentary look of fright which had come over his face vanished. Setting his jaw, he said, “You never heard me whistle, so what are you talking about?”
Nancy did not answer. She felt positive that Judd Hillary had given himself away: He had some connection with the hijackers!
Having proved that fact to herself, she decided on a new tack to disarm him. “Yes, I felt that there was something very valuable hidden in that old stagecoach. But I was wrong. It has all been taken apart and thoroughly searched. Not a thing was found.” She smiled at Judd Hillary. “So you won’t have to worry about it any longer.”
The man gave Nancy a searching look as if he could not make up his mind whether or not to believe her. Finally he mumbled something to himself she could not hear.
In a louder voice he said, “I’m warnin’ you again. Don’t be pokin’ into the business o’ other people!”
He got into his truck, started the motor, and jerkily drove up the street.
Nancy gazed after him wonderingly. “So he was the whistler!” she told herself. “That is a clue I’m certainly going to pursue.”
Nancy opened the car door and found the road map. Returning to the house, she spread it out on Mrs. Strook’s dining-room table. She pointed to Francisville and then asked the elderly woman if she could locate the spot where Abner Langstreet had spent his last days.
It took Mrs. Strook some time to figure this out. At last she put her finger on an area about half a mile in from a side road marked 123A. “I think this is the place.”
“There’s a private road leading to the farm?” George asked.
“I believe so,” Mrs. Strook said. “I have never been on it myself, but I’m told it’s only a dirt road.”
She warned the girls that this was a desolate area.
“Does anyone live on the farm now?” Nancy asked.
“Oh, yes. In fact, people have lived on the place ever since Great-uncle Abner passed away. But no one has improved the farm much. I understand that right now a young couple are living on it. They’re having a struggle
“I wasn’t aware that I was doing such a thing,” said Nancy coolly.
She planned to ignore the man, but he followed her to the convertible. It suddenly occurred to Nancy that he probably had posted himself there to see what she was doing and where she was going. It might be best not to pull out the map at this time.
Suddenly Judd Hillary burst out, “What did you do with the old stagecoach?”
Nancy was so amazed at the question that she stared dumfounded. But she was instantly on her guard. In reply she said, “Mr. Hillary, why are you so interested in the old stagecoach?”
The man had a ready answer. “Because you are,” he said. “You can’t hide anything from me. You’re workin’ for the opposition. They’re an underhanded bunch. They got somethin’ up their sleeves. If they set you onto examinin’ the old stagecoach, it means somethin’. I want to know what it is!”
Nancy wondered how she was going to get rid of the man. She was a bit puzzled by his attitude. On the one hand he seemed genuinely interested in keeping the local taxes and those of surrounding communities from being raised. On the other hand, the very fact that he had learned she was interested in examining the old stagecoach could even mean he knew the hijackers!
“I wonder how I can find out,” she asked herself. Then an idea came to her and she decided on a bold move. Looking directly at him, she said, “Mr. Hillary, you whistle very well.”
The tall, muscular man fell back. “How do you know that I can—?” Then he interrupted himself abruptly and the momentary look of fright which had come over his face vanished. Setting his jaw, he said, “You never heard me whistle, so what are you talking about?”
Nancy did not answer. She felt positive that Judd Hillary had given himself away: He had some connection with the hijackers!
Having proved that fact to herself, she decided on a new tack to disarm him. “Yes, I felt that there was something very valuable hidden in that old stagecoach. But I was wrong. It has all been taken apart and thoroughly searched. Not a thing was found.” She smiled at Judd Hillary. “So you won’t have to worry about it any longer.”
The man gave Nancy a searching look as if he could not make up his mind whether or not to believe her. Finally he mumbled something to himself she could not hear.
In a louder voice he said, “I’m warnin’ you again. Don’t be pokin’ into the business o’ other people!”
He got into his truck, started the motor, and jerkily drove up the street.
Nancy gazed after him wonderingly. “So he was the whistler!” she told herself. “That is a clue I’m certainly going to pursue.”
Nancy opened the car door and found the road map. Returning to the house, she spread it out on Mrs. Strook’s dining-room table. She pointed to Francisville and then asked the elderly woman if she could locate the spot where Abner Langstreet had spent his last days.
It took Mrs. Strook some time to figure this out. At last she put her finger on an area about half a mile in from a side road marked 123A. “I think this is the place.”
“There’s a private road leading to the farm?” George asked.
“I believe so,” Mrs. Strook said. “I have never been on it myself, but I’m told it’s only a dirt road.”
She warned the girls that this was a desolate area.
“Does anyone live on the farm now?” Nancy asked.
“Oh, yes. In fact, people have lived on the place ever since Great-uncle Abner passed away. But no one has improved the farm much. I understand that right now a young couple are living on it. They’re having a struggle
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