The Mystery of the Monster Mountain - M. V. Carey [16]
“Even the most fantastic stories usually have a grain of truth in them somewhere,”
said Jupiter Jones. “Unless Mr. Gabby Richardson made that entire tale up out of thin air, we can assume that there was a hermit and that he saw something that frightened him and—”
“Listen!” Bob was suddenly tense. He looked around toward the creek.
“Someone’s there!”
The bushes on the far side of the creek rustled softly and, though the afternoon was still, the boys could see branches moving.
Pete stood like a statue, eyes glued to the clump of shrubs beyond the stream. He thought he saw a strange shadow in their midst.
The rustling grew louder, nearer.
“Something’s there,” whispered Bob, “and it’s coming this way!”
Chapter 7
The Animal Man
CLOSER AND CLOSER came the soft rustlings in the brush.
The Three Investigators broke out in a cold sweat.
Visions of strange creatures seized their minds… ogres and giants prowling through the forest… formless monsters sending a hermit screaming down the mountain… sinister shapes lurking in the shadows on moonlit nights…
Crackle. Rustle. Crunch.
Closer and closer …
Suddenly the noises stopped. The bushes across the creek were still. The silence was dreadful. Would the thing attack or not? Then:
“Well, now! Sorry, friend,” said a familiar voice. “I almost stepped on you.”
Pete hadn’t realized that he was holding his breath! He gasped, then began breathing quickly, drawing the thin, sweet mountain air into his lungs in gulps.
“It’s Mr. Smathers!” choked out Jupiter Jones. His throat had gone dry with fright.
He slumped back against the picnic table. “What a relief!”
Bob’s laugh had an edge of hysteria. “Did you think it was the monster of Monster Mountain? For a second, I did.”
“The power of suggestion,” said Jupe. “We listen to a weird story, and then are scared half to death by the first person to wander along.” He raised his voice and called, “Mr. Smathers?”
The bushes beyond the creek parted and Mr. Smathers’ thin face peered out at the boys. The weedy little man was wearing a canvas hat with a small brim, and he seemed unaware of the fact that his nose was sun-burned and that he had a scratch across his forehead. “You’re disturbing the peace,” he said. His voice was stern, but the corners of his mouth crinkled in a smile.
“You scared us,” said Pete. “We thought you were a bear, at the very least.”
“I wouldn’t mind being a bear this afternoon,” declared Smathers. “I found a bee tree. What a feast for a bear!” He stepped out of the bushes and stood at the edge of the creek. The boys saw that he was holding a skunk in one arm, very gently, as a mother might hold a child.
“Good golly!” exclaimed Pete.
Smathers’ eyes went to the little black-and-white animal. “Handsome, isn’t she?”
he said.
“Mr. Smathers!” Bob said frantically. “Put it down!”
Smathers laughed. “Does my friend upset you?” He stroked the skunk under the chin with his forefinger. “Isn’t that silly?” he said to the animal. “The boys are afraid you’ll turn your scent glands on them. You wouldn’t do that, would you? Not unless you had to.”
Smathers put the skunk down. “Better get along,” he advised the creature. “Not everyone understands you like I do.”
The skunk waddled a few steps, then stopped and looked around, as if questioning Smathers.
“Go on,” urged Smathers. “I want to have a few words with our young friends here and you make them nervous. Oh, I am sorry that I disturbed you while you were having your nap. Clumsy of me. I won’t do it again, I promise.”
The skunk seemed satisfied with this. It disappeared into the bushes, and Mr.
Smathers climbed down the bank into the creek bed and crossed the trickle of water.
“Charming creatures, skunks,” said Smathers, as he joined Jupiter, Pete, and Bob in the campground. “One shouldn’t really have favorites, I suppose, but I think I enjoy skunks almost more than any other animal.”
“If I hadn’t seen that, I wouldn’t believe it,” declared Bob.
Pete frowned furiously. “It’s a trick,”