The Mystery of the Monster Mountain - M. V. Carey [5]
“That’s it exactly,” said Havemeyer. “It’ll be all right. You’ll see.”
Havemeyer was right. By dinnertime, Hans and Konrad had moved their luggage into the big square room on the north side of the inn. Since there were only four bedrooms in the place, and since two were already occupied by paying guests, The Three Investigators pitched their tent under the pines on the right side of the house, to the north. Joe Havemeyer had insisted on this. The stream that ran through the campground was low, he told them, because there had been very little snow and rain during the year. The boys would be better off if they stayed close to Anna’s little inn—
and a reliable source of water. Havemeyer also insisted that the boys join them for dinner that night. The two paying guests would have to be included in the family party, said Havemeyer, but he wouldn’t let Mr. Jensen and Mr. Smathers spoil things.
The boys met Mr. Jensen and Mr. Smathers just before dinner. Mr. Smathers was a skinny little man who might have been fifty and who might have been older. He wore shorts and had hiking boots that laced almost to his knobby knees. Mr. Jensen was younger and taller and heavier, with close-cropped brown hair and a face that was homely but not unpleasant.
When Anna carried the roast in from the kitchen, Mr. Smathers made disapproving sounds with his tongue, then said, “Beef !”
“No lectures, please,” said Mr. Jensen. “I’m very fond of roast beef and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t make me feel like a murderer every time I pick up a fork.”
“Animals are our friends,” said Mr. Smathers. His watery blue eyes were fixed on Mr. Jensen. “Friends do not eat one another.”
Anna had plainly regained her good humor. She smiled at Smathers. “I did not know the cow who was kind enough to provide our dinner. Let us not worry for him, since now he is at least not unhappy.”
“Cows are female,” Smathers pointed out. “That is of importance only to the cow.
For you I have creamed spinach and raw carrots and alfalfa sprouts.”
“Excellent.” Mr. Smathers tucked his napkin into his shirt front and prepared to enjoy his vegetarian dinner, while Mr. Jensen watched Joe Havemeyer carve the roast.
“Ever think of serving venison in season?” Jensen wanted to know. “I got a couple of good shots of deer on the road to Bishop this afternoon.”
“Shots?” echoed Bob.
“Mr. Jensen is a carnivorous animal,” said Smathers. “He would gladly shoot deer with a gun if it weren’t against the law. Fortunately it is against the law, so Mr. Jensen does his shooting with a camera.”
“I’m a professional photographer,” explained Jensen. “I specialize in animal pictures. There are plenty of magazines that pay good money for authentic wildlife shots.”
“Living off other creatures, just like any predator,” said Mr. Smathers.
“I don’t hurt them,” protested Jensen. “I only take their pictures.”
Smathers sniffed.
Joe Havemeyer finished carving and handed a platter of sliced meat down the table. “Mr. Smathers came up to hike in the high country,” he explained to Hans and Konrad and the boys. “He’s given me a real inspiration. Up above the ski run there’s a meadow, and above that there are miles of real wilderness country. We’re going to try to get hikers to come here in the summer. We’ll advertise good food and good beds within a mile of nature’s unspoiled domain.”
Mr. Smather’s looked up from his alfalfa sprouts. “It won’t stay unspoiled for long if you do that”
“A few hikers won’t disturb the birds and the bears that much,” said Havemeyer.
“In fact, the bears aren’t a bit shy.”
“Just because one got into the trash last night …” began Mr. Smathers.
“Spilled it all over the back yard,” said Havemeyer.
“It isn’t their fault,” countered Smathers. “It’s been too dry this year. There isn’t enough forage for them in the high country, so they come into the village. Who’s got a better right? The bears were on this mountain before the villagers were.”
“Not this particular bear,” said Havemeyer. “And he’d better not come back.”
“Barbarian” exclaimed Smathers.