The Mystery of Sinister Scarecrow - M. V. Carey [1]
Hans had driven north from Rocky Beach along the Coast Highway, and then had turned onto Chaparral Canyon Road, a broad, well-paved highway that led up over the mountains and then down the other side into the San Fernando Valley. Almost four miles into Chaparral Canyon, Hans had guided the truck to the right onto an unpaved, one-lane track called Rock Rim Drive. He had been only a few hundred yards down Rock Rim when the tire blew.
“Looks as if I may not get to go on a buying spree after all,” said Jupiter with a sigh. “Looks as if we may wind up hiking back to Rocky Beach.”
He stared glumly at the scrub brush that covered the slopes around them. To their left a weather-worn old house perched on the hillside right above the road. It was obviously abandoned. The lower windows were boarded up and the glass was missing from many of the ones upstairs.
“No phone there, that’s for sure,” said Pete.
“Hey!” Bob pointed up the hill behind the old house. Near the top, and to the boys’ right, was a stand of eucalyptus trees with a bit of red-tile roof showing above them. “There’s a house up there,” he said. “Looks like a big place. It must face Chaparral Canyon.”
“Perhaps we don’t need to go that far,” said Jupe. “See the old barn halfway up the hill? There are telephone wires leading to it. Possibly someone lives there, and if we take a shortcut across the cornfield —” He stopped, a wondering look on his face.
“What’s the matter?” asked Bob.
“The cornfield,” said Jupiter. He leaned on the fence that edged the road and stared. “Who ever heard of a cornfield in the middle of the Santa Monica Mountains?”
The corn in the small field beside the road was tall and green in the hot August sun. The ears were growing plump, and the earth around the plants was dark with moisture. Someone had gone to great trouble to irrigate it. The ground sloped up sharply from the road, and on the uphill side of the field a scarecrow perched on a fence. It stared at the boys with eyes that were black triangles on a burlap-sack face.
Jupe shook his head. “It’s an odd place for a farm.”
“Just be glad it’s here,” said Bob, “and that it has a telephone. C’mon, let’s go!”
“Let’s not all go,” said Jupe. “If the farmer sees us all trooping through his cornfield, he might not like it.”
Pete sat down and leaned against a fence post. “Okay,” he said. “I vote that Jupe goes, since it’s uphill all the way. He could use the exercise.”
Jupe grimaced. He was overweight and didn’t like to be reminded of the fact.
“Just so somebody goes,” said Hans. He sounded anxious.
“All right, all right,” said Jupiter. He heaved himself over the fence and started up through the corn, which was almost as high as his head. Aware that a cornfield in these mountains was a rarity, he stepped with care. His progress through the field was not silent. The corn rustled as he passed, and his breathing became loud. The slope grew steeper and steeper, and he had to bend almost double as he climbed.
He looked up through the cornstalks and saw the scarecrow again. It was quite close now. He could see the face clearly. The mouth seemed to grin at him — a crooked grin.
“Another few yards,” said Jupe to himself, “and I’ll be in the clear.”
He began to straighten up. Suddenly something large and dark hurtled at him from higher on the hill.
“You blasted thing!” shrieked a thin, furious voice. “I’ll knock your head off!”
Jupe’s breath went out in a gasp and his feet slid from under him. A raging, wild-eyed man collided with him, knocking him backward.
An instant later Jupe lay amid crushed cornstalks. He looked up at blue sky and green corn — and at a man like a black shadow kneeling on him, pressing a hand against his throat, threatening to crush the life out of him. The man’s free hand was held high, and it clutched