The Mystery of the Death Trap Mine - M. V. Carey [6]
“With thousands of Christmas trees to be done, shears are too slow,” Uncle Harry told him. “Besides, you can really get a good sweep with a machete.” He took down one of the great knives, stepped away from the boys, and demonstrated. “The trees don’t grow to be a perfect Christmas-tree shape naturally,” he said. “When I bought this place three years ago, I thought all I’d have to do was stick little trees into the ground and wait for them to get big. There’s more to it. You’ve got to irrigate and kill weeds, and you have to prune. You look at a tree and picture it the way a Christmas tree should look — nice and tapering, full at the bottom and small at the top. Then you take aim and bring the machete down like this—” The blade flashed and the air swooshed as Uncle Harry’s arm came down in a slanting motion. “You cut off anything that’s going to interfere with that nice shape. But be careful, because if you make a mistake with a machete you can open a king-sized gash in your leg. I-prune in the summer and by the time my trees are ready to be harvested in November, the new growth has come out to cover the cuts and the trees are fuller. Got it?”
“Right,” said Pete.
Uncle Harry carefully put the machete back in its place and pointed to a dusty old automobile that stood on solid rubber tires in the far side of the barn. “One of these days I’m going to build a new barn,” he said, “and that car is another thing I’m going to do something about.”
Jupe went to the car and peered through a half-opened window. He saw seats covered with cracked black leather, and bare wooden floorboards. “It’s a Model T Ford, isn’t it?”
he asked.
“It is,” said Uncle Harry. “I got it as kind of a bonus when I bought this place. It was standing right there, half-covered with hay. I got as far as getting the hay off, and then I had to forget it. I’ve been too busy. But when I can, I’m going to restore it. Model T’s are collector’s items today.”
Allie appeared at the open door. “Wesley Thurgood’s coming down the drive,” she announced.
“Okay, Allie. You behave yourself,” warned Uncle Harry. “No smart talk, you hear?”
Allie didn’t answer.
The boys heard footsteps outside and a voice called, “Mr. Osborne?”
“In here,” said Uncle Harry.
A thin fortyish man with blond wavy hair came into the barn. He wore jeans that were so new they were stiff, and boots that were gleaming and unscuffed. His western shirt looked as if it had been taken out of the box that afternoon. Jupe watched him shake hands with Uncle Harry, then listened as he apologized for the intrusion of his watchdog. Jupe felt that in at least one of her accusations Allie had been right. Thurgood did look like a person who was playing a part — an actor who had costumed himself for a role. But then Jupe reflected, what else would anyone wear in a place like Twin Lakes but jeans and boots and a western shirt? And if Wesley Thurgood didn’t have old jeans, what would be more natural than to buy new ones?
“I’ve chained the dog up,” said Thurgood. “He won’t be down here to bother you again.”
“It’s no big deal,” said Uncle Harry. “So long as he doesn’t actually get any of the chickens, and I don’t think he will with Magdalena around.”
Uncle Harry then introduced the boys. Allie ignored Thurgood and stared into space.
He glanced at her briefly, and his clear blue eyes became hard for a second. Then he seemed to look right through her to the Model T. “Say, that’s quite a rare car you’ve got there,” he said.
“I was just telling the boys I’m going to fix it up one of these days,” said Uncle Harry.
Wesley Thurgood stepped over to touch the car, and suddenly Pete straightened.
“Wesley Thurgood!” he exclaimed. “I thought I’d heard that name before!”
“Eh?” said Thurgood.
“My father does special effects for the movies,” said Pete. “He was talking about you at dinner a while back, Mr. Thurgood. He said the props department at his studio needed an old Reo for a picture they were making, and they got it from you. You’re an old car buff.”
“Oh? Oh, yes, that’s right,” said Thurgood.
“Dad was telling