The Ghost of Schafer Meadows Read online

  Charlie sat on a bench along the side of the cookhouse, mending a bridle with thin strips of leather he had cut from a tanned hide. “I’ve met him a time or two. Seems okay.”

  “Hey,” I said. “Remember Will and Allie, the kids I met at Spotted Bear who are my age? That’s gotta be Will’s dad. He works in law enforcement. If he’s anything like Will, you’ll really like him.”

  “He’s flying in here tomorrow. Rosie expects a lot of people through here in the next few days because of the pilots’ association work weekend, but there’ll probably be others here, too. Don’s going undercover to see if he can spot our food-stealing culprits. Now, Jessie, you can’t tell anyone about this.”

  “It’s okay, Dad, who would I tell anyway?”

  “I’m sure he’ll tell the trail crew when they get back, but that’s for him to decide.”

  “Don will fit in fine,” Charlie said, finishing his bridle. “He flies his own plane and should look like just another pilot. And he’s new so I doubt anyone will recognize him.”

  “Good. I’m too new myself—well, hey—look who’s here.”

  Right then Oriole began barking excitedly and ran toward the trail. Pete hollered a hello as he rode by on his way to the back of the cookhouse. Charlie, Dad, and I went to help him with his animals and gear. Oriole’s whole back end wagged when Pete dismounted and scratched her head. She always seemed glad to see her rescuer. She found a stick and dropped it at his feet so he could throw it for her.

  “How’d your trail-scouting trip go?” Dad asked.

  “Really well,” Pete said, throwing a stick with all his might. “The trail’s clear enough to travel through, but it could use some work by the crew to make it safer. How’s everything here?”

  “Let’s just say it’s been interesting.”

  Dad told Pete about our trip to visit the trail crew, the mess we found on the trail, and law enforcement’s suspicions that the people who caused the mess were the ones who stole the food.

  “We’re pretty sure they’re headed this way,” Dad said. “Did you run into anyone on the trail?”

  Pete lifted a heavy manty from one of the mules like it weighed nothing, walked a few feet away, and dropped it on the ground with a thud. A cloud of dust rose in the air. “Yeah, actually I did. One group of three guys is headed this way and two other groups said they were going to keep moving on. Two other men rode by later. I was in camp when they went by and didn’t get a chance to ask them where they were going.”

  “Anybody or anything look strange or out of place?” Dad asked, taking the other manty pack from the mule, creating another dust cloud when he dropped it.

  “No, not that I noticed. Well, come to think of it, the two guys I didn’t talk to seemed in a hurry, but it was getting late in the day. They might have just been trying to get to wherever they were going before it got too late to find a decent campsite.”

  “Probably, but let me know if any of the people you saw show up here. We might want to visit with them.”

  “Sure. I can take a walk through the campground and the horse camp a mile upriver from here. Meanwhile, I’ve got a shower waiting for me.”

  Pete elbowed me a friendly hello, tossed another stick for Oriole, gathered his gear, and left for the bunkhouse. Oriole and I went down to the river, where we found a blue swimming hole shielded from the shore by willow bushes and deep enough for both of us. I had put my bathing suit on under my clothes in case I wanted to go into the water with Oriole. It was a hot, hot day, but even so, the water was freezing cold. Mountain rivers don’t warm up very fast when their water comes from snowfields that melt slowly over the summer.

  Oriole swam a long time, seemingly unaware of the cold, but the icy water took my breath away. I could stay in just long enough to get wet before leaving the river for the grassy shore with my teeth chattering. My skin tingled as the heat of the day met the coldness of the water drops rolling off my arms and legs. The river moved along, riffles sounding like small rapids. I let the sun dry me off while Oriole chased pieces of driftwood that I tossed into the cold water downstream from our swimming hole. She finally came out, shook herself, and lay down next to me to dry off. Soon she fell asleep.

  Bees buzzed and a Wilson’s warbler sang from the willows along the riverbank. Not a cloud invaded the blue sky. I looked down and Oriole twitched in her sleep. I ran my hand along her wet fur. She opened her eyes, raised her head in my direction, licked my hand, and once more put her head down and went to sleep. It was a perfect day.

  My contentment came as a surprise. I realized how much Schafer Meadows and my new life here had become important to me. Sure, I still missed my friends in New Mexico a lot, but I was making friends here and knew I’d make even more when school started.

  The thought of school brought my happy daydream to a screeching halt. I had too much to do here before school started, like hiking and riding in the mountains, exploring more of the Great Bear Wilderness, and discovering who was stealing food and messing up trails. Most of all, I needed to find out why the ghost was bothering me. It was time to get going. I jumped up, startling Oriole out of her sleep. We ran up the hill to the cookhouse.

  ******

  We reached the top of the hill just in time to see Jim’s plane take off. Dad, Jed, Charlie, and Mom stood at the airstrip fence waving goodbye as Jim nosed his plane into the sky. Oriole and I raced to the fence, but the plane was already getting smaller.

  “Bummer! Why didn’t anyone tell me Jim was leaving?”

  Charlie leaned his arms on the fence. “We didn’t get a chance to tell you because we didn’t know where you were. But Jim wanted you to know he’ll be back for the pilots’ association work weekend. He wouldn’t have left without saying goodbye if he hadn’t planned to return.”

  That made me feel better. I really had fun with Jim. He seemed more like someone who lived at Schafer than a visitor.

  Dad tilted his head toward the campground. “There’s someone here you need to meet, Jessie. Two ‘someones,’ in fact. Let’s take a walk.”

  A large tan and green dome tent in the campground stood next to a brown wooden picnic table by the trail. As we neared the campground, a black streak shot out from the tent and raced toward us. Oriole took off and dashed toward it. A black Labrador retriever about her height with bright white teeth and a long red tongue reached Oriole at the same time she reached it. Both dogs reared on their hind legs and body slammed each other, tails wagging heartily.

  “Casey!” A man about Dad’s size with sandy hair came out of the tent. “Casey! Come!”

  The black Lab spun around and raced back to the man. “Sorry about that,” he said, walking toward us. “I try to keep him from running out and scaring people, but he’s so fast that sometimes I don’t even know he’s gone until it’s too late. Looks like he and your dog like each other, though. Do you mind if they play?”

  I had grabbed Oriole by the collar when the man had called Casey back. I let go and off she went after the Lab. “If you don’t mind, I sure don’t. Oriole hasn’t met any dogs since she’s been here. This is great for her.”

  “Casey needs this, too,” the man said. “He works hard, but he likes to play even harder.”

  Oriole and Casey jumped on their hind legs again, batting each other with their front paws, then dropping to all fours and mouthing each other’s neck in mock battle. They rolled on the ground for a while growling playfully before racing off, Oriole chasing Casey and then visa versa. They got down on their elbows, rear ends up in the air, dog language meaning, “Let’s play.” Off they went again, chasing each other all over the campground and out to the airstrip.

  Dad said, “Jessie, this is Don Lightner, the law enforcement officer for Spotted Bear. He’s the one going undercover. Don, this is my daughter, Jessie.”

  We shook hands. It was hard for me to picture him as a law enforcement officer, or L.E.O., which is what the U.S. Forest Service calls its own policemen. Instead of the s
tandard green Forest Service uniform with the law enforcement patch on his left shirt sleeve, a gun holster on his pants belt, and a radio microphone clipped to his shirt by his left shoulder, he wore jeans, a cowboy hat, sandals, and a Spotted Bear T-shirt. He didn’t even wear dark sunglasses to hide his brown eyes. I thought all law enforcement people wore dark sunglasses.

  Don watched the dogs, a huge grin on his face. “Casey’s my police dog, trained to help me on law enforcement cases. That’s how he got his name. You’ve heard of L.E.O.s being called ‘law dogs?’ Well, he’s the real thing. What’s your dog’s name again?”

  “Oriole.”

  “That’s right, Oriole. I hope you don’t mind if Casey spends time with her while we’re here. He’ll be one happy dog.”

  “Then there’ll be two happy dogs. This is the most excited I’ve seen Oriole since we got here. She and Casey make a great team.”

  Don said he was thrilled to have another dog around. “It makes me look less like a law enforcement officer and more like just another pilot who came for the pilots’ association work weekend.”

  “I’m surprised you’ve got a black Lab doing law enforcement work,” Dad said. “I thought most dogs trained for that type of job are German shepherds.”

  “Most are. But some dogs, like Labs and golden retrievers, often specialize in sniffing out drugs, bombs, bodies, or similar work. Occasionally you’ll find a dog like Casey who has the instincts and courage of a German shepherd for capturing criminals and can be used like one.”

  “He sure doesn’t seem like he’d ever go after anybody,” I said as Casey and Oriole circled us, nearly knocking Dad over. “Unless he wanted to play.”

  “Don’t be fooled. He’s trained to do whatever I ask of him, and he enjoys working.” Don watched the two dogs romp and then looked at me. “I know you met my son, Will. Once this case is over, maybe Will can fly in here with me, maybe bring a couple of his friends.”

  “Yeah. I met Allie, too. She’s great. It’s good meeting people my age.” I glanced at Dad, who still felt bad about taking me away from my friends in New Mexico. “But I’ve made some really great friends here who don’t care how old I am.”

  Dad relaxed and smiled. His eyes showed gratitude. He could tell I really meant it.

  While we talked and the dogs played, two men sat at a picnic table under a tarp. They didn’t speak much. Dad suggested we go to the cookhouse. He didn’t want the men to hear any conversation that might let them know Don was working undercover.

  On our way to the cookhouse, Oriole and Casey raced in circles around us and then ran down to the river. I was sure Oriole would show Casey the entire ranger station compound, but only after they went for a swim to cool off. Oriole sure seemed to know how to take care of her friends.

  ******

  That night I slept fitfully. Oriole lay stretched out beside me, softly snoring and twitching in her sleep. I heard Mom and Dad talking quietly in bed before they, too, drifted off to sleep. I tossed and turned, unable to lose the sense that someone was watching me. Could it be the ghost? Opening my eyes, I saw a man in my room wearing an old felt hat and torn clothing.

  “What do you want from me?” I asked.

  He stood and stared for a while, not saying anything.

  “Why did you visit our house the other night? You scared me to death.”

  No response.

  I wasn’t afraid of him but I fell asleep not knowing what he wanted.

  T W E L V E

  Another Mystery

  The next morning, Charlie sat alone at the table in the cookhouse, carving what looked like a horse or mule. His white moustache moved with his hand, as if helping him whittle.

  “Charlie,” I asked hesitantly. “When Pete told us about the ghost of Schafer Meadows, he didn’t say who he thought it was. Do you have any ideas?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Just wondering.” I felt kind of silly talking about a ghost. After all, I’d never believed in them and didn’t want to tell Charlie I thought one actually visited me.

  Charlie put down his knife and wooden sculpture. “If there is a ghost, it’s most likely William Schafer.”

  “Who’s that? Did they name Schafer Meadows after him?”

  “They did. He supposedly built a cabin upriver near what’s now called the ‘horse camp.’ Schafer was a trapper here before most people even knew about this country, probably trapping beaver and small animals like pine martens for their fur. He was found shot in his cabin in 1908.”

  “Wow! Did they ever find out who did it?”

  “No one was ever charged. There’s a good chance he was killed over trapping rights. Trapping was pretty big stuff back then. Furs could be worth a lot of money.”

  “So you think Schafer’s ghost could be wandering around because his killer was never caught?”

  “Maybe. Who knows, Jessie? It’s all in the past.”

  “Yeah, you’re right. You gotta admit that it makes a great story, though.”

  I left Charlie sitting at the table with his white-haired head bent over his sculpture, which looked more and more like a mule wearing packs.

  ******

  The next two days were great. Oriole and Casey played, and Jed and I spent a lot of time with Dad, Charlie, and Don while they worked out a game plan for Don’s undercover operation. Mom continued to write her book. Packer Brad returned with his mule train loaded with food for us and hay and grain for the horses and mules. He also brought Mom some recharged batteries. She went through them fast but never missed a day of writing because of a dead battery. The Schafer Meadows-to-Spotted Bear “Pony Express” worked slick for her.

  People came and went, some who backpacked a night or two at the campground, some who flew into Schafer to float the river out, and some who trickled in to spend a couple of extra days before the pilots’ work weekend began. Don sent Pete through the campground and up the trail to the horse camp to see if he recognized anyone from when he was scouting trail work.

  “No one in the campground looks familiar,” Pete said, “but I recognize two groups at the horse camp, one with three men and one with two.”

  “How’d they seem?” Don asked. Pete, Dad, Don and I were sitting around the sunny picnic table outside the cookhouse enjoying a cold glass of lemonade.

  “The three guys seem okay. They came to fish and hang out for a few days before continuing on an extended trip. They want to be gone before the pilots come in. Those other two guys were kinda weird, though. They weren’t unfriendly, just not very talkative. And I had to get them to clean up their campsite. It was a mess—empty cans, open food containers, and personal gear strewn all over the place. I had to remind them that there are grizzly bears and other critters who would love to share their food. When I explained that they needed to store their food in bear-proof boxes or hang it in trees to keep it out of the reach of bears, they seemed unaware that they needed to worry about that.”

  “Did you get any names?” Dad asked.

  “The three anglers were Bill, Dave, and Tony, all from Missoula. The other two were Doug and Les. Said they’re from Kalispell and don’t know how long they’ll be here, maybe a week or more.”

  “Know what they’re doing here?”

  “Said they’re just taking time off work to relax a bit. Didn’t look like they came to fish—at least I didn’t see any fishing gear—and they don’t look like the hiking or riding type. I think they just plan to hang around and drink beer.”

  Dad rolled his eyes. “Wonderful. I just hope they don’t cause any trouble.”

  “And another thing, Tom. They’re the ones who set up the tarp in the campground. They’re staying at the horse camp about a mile from here, but they hang out in the campground. I don’t get it. I wouldn’t want to leave my horses and mules alone all day while I hung out somewhere else.”

  “Yeah, you’re right. We may need to watch those two.”

  Don turned his lemonade glass around and aroun
d in his hands. “I’ll probably be the best one to do that. I’ll be at the campground quite a bit and can keep a pretty close eye on them when they hang around under their tarp. Tom and Pete, when they go to the horse camp, I think you should be the ones who visit them. They know it’s your job to do that and may be less suspicious that way.”

  Jed came by and asked if I wanted to ride with him around Lodgepole Mountain. Oriole and Casey were sacked out under the picnic table, showing no signs of movement. We went to the barn to get Red and Rocky, talking about Don and the undercover operation. Both of us thought it was pretty exciting.

  “I saw those two guys Les and Doug,” Jed said. “I took a walk to the horse camp just to stretch. They were taking their horses and mules down to the river for water. They didn’t seem to want to talk to me.”

  “So what makes you think anyone would want to talk to you?” I hadn’t had a chance to kid Jed for a while.

  “Oh, go suck an egg.” He whapped me lightly on the back of the head in retaliation and ran. I raced after him, but he was way faster.

  “Huh,” he said when I reached him. He stood by the grain shed next to the barn, holding the door open and looking inside the door. “Some pack rat or something must have gotten into the grain.”

  A large bag lay open on its side. Grain had spilled onto the floor. “I helped Packer Brad store all the grain when he brought it in last time. I know it was in good shape when we left.”

  I walked inside the small room. “Could that bag have slid off the others and onto the floor?”

  Jed shrugged. “It’s possible, but we had the bags well stacked.” He took off his cowboy hat, ran his fingers through his hair, and put his hat back on. “The door was slightly open when I got here. You know we’re careful to keep it closed so nothing can get inside. It’s possible somebody could have come in if we forgot to lock the door. Hard to say if anyone took any of the grain.”