The Haunted Hanging Tree Read online

  “I’m not looking for bullets,” said Mary. “I think I’ll head back to the midway and check out the booths.”

  Carlos and I ran to the target area and studied the holes where the bullets pierced the plywood targets.

  Carlos and I began digging with sticks behind the targets.

  “Hey, I found one,” yelled Carlos. “Oh, here’s another one, and another one. Find any over there yet?”

  “Yeah—two, so far. They’re still warm. These will be great souvenirs of my trip here.” I held up my find. “Wow. Two more. That’s plenty. Let’s go back to the Dodgem cars.”

  Carlos and I found Mary at the Dodgem ticket booth.

  As we walked toward the cars, I poked Carlos’ shoulder and nodded toward a group of kids next to the Dodgem ride. “Is that the Glotz kid over there? The one that’s staring at you?”

  “Yeah, that’s Joe Glotz and some of his buddies. Looks like they’re going on this ride too.”

  We ran for the cars at the opposite side from the Glotz gang.

  As the cars began to move around the floor, I noticed Joe’s eyes narrow, his jaw clinch and he slammed into Carlos’ car.

  Then he turned and headed toward me.

  Chapter 18: The Doctor’s Offer

  “Mind if I join you?” Dr. Jones pulled out a chair and sat with Mary, 3J, Carlos, and me. We were at Upchuck’s for lunch and the eatery was packed.

  “Carlos,” said the doctor, “that was quite a display of gunmanship your dad showed at the Old West Days yesterday. This was the first year with the longer range. I must say, I was impressed.”

  “Thanks, me too,” said Carlos.

  “We found some of the bullets after the event.” I reached into my pocket and showed the doctor two of the bullets I found.

  “I think I mentioned before that each bullet has its own individual markings, just like a fingerprint?” Dr. Jones looked at the bullets I had found. “It’s actually the gun that causes the different kind of imprinting on the bullet it fires.”

  “Do you mean you can tell which gun fired which bullet?” asked Mary.

  “Well, I could tell you if they’re from the same gun,” said the doctor. “If I knew which gun fired one of the bullets, I could say with certainty if the other came from the same gun.”

  “How do you tell?” asked 3J.

  “From the grooves carved inside the barrel of the gun. These grooves, sometimes called rifling, cause the bullet to spin like a spiral football pass. It makes the bullet travel farther and with greater accuracy, just like a quarterback throwing a long pass. Two guns, the same make and model, firing the same make and model of bullet, would leave distinct markings that could be identified.” Doctor Jones returned the bullets to Scooter.

  “How do you tell?” asked Mary.

  “With bullets from old guns, I just use a magnifying glass. If you kids want to come by the office this afternoon, I’ll show you how it’s done.”

  “Great,” I said. “What time?”

  The doctor looked at his watch. “In about an hour? Mrs. Warner canceled the appointment for her Great Dane, so I have some time then.” He pushed back his chair and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Enjoyed having lunch with you. See you in an hour.”

  After the doctor left, 3J said, “I believe experts can tell all that stuff about which gun shot which bullet, but I wonder if the doctor can really tell the difference between bullets.”

  “You might be right, 3J,” said Carlos. “Dr. Jones likes to kid. Like with his magic tricks—pulling coins out of your ears, and stuff like that.”

  “I know how we can find out,” I said.

  “How?” the group asked in unison.

  “Easy. Carlos and I found the bullets behind both targets from the contest. That means we have slugs from two different guns. I can’t tell the difference. It will be interesting to see if Dr. Jones can. He saw the two bullets I found. We’ll show him two bullets again, only this time it will be one from each gun.”

  “And we’ll pretend we think they’re from the same gun?” asked Mary.

  “Right.”

  “Okay,” said Carlos. “Let’s go home and get the ones I found. This should be fun.”

  Chapter 19: Bullet Facts

  An hour later, we walked into Dr. Jones’ office. A huge, furry cat lay in the center of the receptionist’s desk. A golden retriever dozed underneath. Poster size pictures of animals decorated the walls. We giggled and nudged each other, knowing that we were about to fool the local trickster. I would hand the doctor two bullets, one I found and one Carlos found.

  “Hi, kids. Come on back to my lab.” The doctor held open a swinging door that led to a hallway. “It’s the first door on the right.”

  A small door plaque read ‘Laboratory.’ The white room had large, long counters along the walls. In the center of the room, a tall, stainless steel rectangular table with a built-in sink and high, curved water faucet sat under bright lights illuminating the work area. Their shoes squeaked on the white tile floor. Everything was spotless. Thick books, many with matching covers, lined shelves above the counters. Around the room were charts of animals showing their bone and muscle structure. The room reeked of antiseptic.

  Dr. Jones held out his hand, “Okay, who has the bullets?”

  I grinned as I dug the bullets from the pocket of my jeans and handed them to him. “I think they are from the same gun.”

  “Hmm…” The doctor looked at them carefully. He pulled open a drawer and took out a large magnifying glass. “Hmm…” He put one bullet down and picked up the other. Again, he held it under the magnifying glass.

  The doctor stroked his white beard as he smiled. He had a twinkle in his deep blue eyes as he looked at the assembled group. “Well, if these bullets came from behind the same target, I would say that either your uncle or Mr. Glotz is one lousy shot, or these two bullets were fired from different guns.”

  Mary, Carlos, 3J, and I burst into laughter.

  “We thought we could trick you,” said Carlos.

  “How could you tell they were different?” I asked.

  “It’s kind of hard to tell with just a magnifying glass. I don’t think I could with a modern gun. Let me get out my compound microscope. I think it will be easier for you to see the dissimilarity.” The doctor went to one of the cupboards and brought out a scientific instrument. “This device is really just two microscopes bridged together. Here, I’ll put one bullet under each eye piece, and I think you’ll be able to see the difference.”

  The doctor inspected the instrument first, then gestured towards Mary to take a look.

  Mary put her left eye to one side of the compound microscope, and then the other. “Yup, I can see the difference. Hey guys, check it out.”

  “Can you see the distinction?” asked the doctor. “The one on the right has six striations with a left-handed twist. The one on the left has four striations with a right-handed twist.”

  “Wow, this is interesting,” I said. “Kemo Kelly, Private Eye, talks about ballistics, but now I’ve seen it for myself.”

  Mary rolled her eyes. “That’s his favorite TV detective,” she said as she looked at Dr. Jones, Carlos, and 3J. “But he’d use that information to solve a case in an hour.”

  I ignored Mary’s comment. “Doctor, do you suppose that in the old days, when someone was shot, the people were buried with the bullet still in the body?” I asked.

  “Well, I don’t know for sure. I suppose it would make a difference where the wound was, but I doubt if they conducted autopsies,” said Dr. Jones.

  “What’s an autopsy?” asked Carlos.

  “It’s what I do as coroner, arrange for the medical examiner to analyze what caused the death. In the old West, they didn’t have coroners or medical examiners. If a guy was shot, the cause of death was fairly obvious.” The doctor paused, then added, “I would think as a practical matter, the body would be buried with the bullet if it didn’t exit the body on its own.”


  I lifted my baseball cap, scratched my head, and replaced the cap. “Interesting.”

  Chapter 20: The Hanging Tree Revisited

  “What do you guys want to do today?” asked Carlos.

  I had my mouth full of Wheaties but said, “I wou—” Then pointing to my mouth, I mumbled, “Wait a minute.”

  “It’s hard for Scooter to decide if he would rather talk or eat,” Mary laughed.

  “I’ve got an idea,” I said, my mouth now empty. “Let’s go horseback riding. This time I think it would be fun to visit ‘Boot Hill,’ the old cemetery in Dry Gulch.”

  “Why do you want to see an old cemetery?” asked Mary.

  “Do you remember what Dr. Jones told us yesterday?” I asked.

  “He told us lots of stuff,” said Mary. “But I don’t remember anything about ‘Boot Hill.’”

  “Maybe you guys would like to camp out?” suggested Carlos. “If you want, I’ll see if 3J can go.”

  “That would be great if 3J could go.” Mary blushed. “I’m going to bring my camera.”

  I gave her a disgusted look.

  Carlos went to the phone and returned a few minutes later. “We’re all set. 3J’s going too. Let’s get our stuff together. I’ll let Dad know and ask Mrs. Miller to pack some food.”

  I asked Carlos, “Do you have any flashlights?”

  “Sure,” he replied. “I have enough for everyone.”

  At 3J’s place, Mary hopped off her bike and slipped off her backpack. “Hi, 3J. I’m glad you decided to come with us.”

  “Me too.” 3J smiled at Mary. “Let’s see, I think you rode Diamond last time, didn’t you? And Scooter, you were on Paint?”

  “Right,” I said. “Can we help?”

  “Sure, you guys can get the saddles from the barn. They’re right inside the door. Carlos, you know where the saddlebags are. I’ll get the horses ready.”

  The smell of hay, horses, and leather saddles made Mary and me smile.

  “Different from home, huh?” I laughed.

  As soon as the horses were saddled, we mounted up and trotted west.

  I turned to look at Mary. “Adjusting my stirrups makes a big difference. It feels better this time.”

  Mary patted her steed on the neck. “I think Diamond likes me now.”

  “It’s like I said.” 3J pulled alongside of Mary. “The horses do all the work. Just enjoy the ride.”

  “Do you think you could find Old Dry Gulch by yourself?” 3J asked me.

  “I think so, but let’s see.” I tapped Paint with my heels.

  Mary turned to 3J and rolled her eyes. “No way. He can get lost in Elm City.”

  Carlos moved up to 3J. “Shall we gallop?”

  I gave Paint another light nudge in the ribs. “Gitty up, Paint, let’s ride.”

  As we rode across a large meadow, a light breeze swayed the long dry grass turning it into a wave of gold. The trail was visible, but faint. In the distance, the soaring Sierra Mountains stood vivid against the cloudless sky. Large oak trees scattered about the open grassland created a sharp contrast of deep green against the bronze hills.

  I smiled to myself as I took in the surroundings—a warm day, a clear blue sky, and a galloping horse. I wished my buddies back home could see me now.

  “Whoa, Paint.” I pulled back on the horse’s reins. “Don’t tell me,” I said to 3J. “I’m trying to remember if we turned left or right here. I remember those trees, and that big rock.”

  Mary gave 3J and Carlos a knowing glance as they reined in their horses.

  “Need a hint?” 3J grinned.

  “No, I want to figure it out myself. I think we went down this path. The trees were on our left, and we came to a stream. Then up a hill, another valley, then the big hill with the hanging tree. Dry Gulch should be on the other side. Right?”

  “I guess we’ll find out,” said Carlos.

  We continued. A short time later, I stopped. “This doesn’t look familiar. We should have seen that creek where the horses drank by now.”

  Carlos and 3J laughed. “We would have if you had gone the right way,” said 3J. “Come on, I’ll get us back on track.”

  We turned around and headed in the opposite direction.

  “I see your sense of direction hasn’t improved any,” Mary said to me.

  “Well, could you have found Old Dry Gulch?”

  “No. But I knew I couldn’t.” She emphasized the word ‘knew.’

  Carlos and 3J led us to the mountain stream, where the horses rested and drank, under the shade of massive oak trees.

  “Now I know where we are,” I said.

  “I do too,” said Mary. “We need to get over those two hills.”

  The horses plodded up a high hill and down again into a valley before heading up a steeper hill—the hill where the hanging tree stood.

  Chapter 21: Star Light… Star Bright…

  “Here we are,” Carlos said. “The hanging tree. Over there is Boot Hill.”

  “We can set up camp under the tree, let the horses rest, then go down the hill,” said 3J. “They’ve had a workout.”

  Within twenty minutes, we assembled the two small khaki tents and set them at ninety-degree angles from each other, under the shade of the huge hanging tree. Light-colored nylon sheets were spread inside the tents before the sleeping bags were rolled out.

  “That didn’t take long,” Mary said.

  “We’ve had a little practice, right 3J?” said Carlos.

  3J nodded and pointed toward a distant valley. “There’s a great view from over there. Want to take a look?”

  “Sure. I want to get some pictures. C’mon, Carlos. You coming, Scooter?” Mary gave me a nudge.

  “No, go ahead. I’ll stay here.” I waved my friends off, then climbed into one of the tents, and stretched out, my head near the opening of the tent. I closed my eyes and thought about what happened the last time I was here… the dream I had. It must have been a dream. What else could it have been? The soft sleeping bag smoothed the tree-rooted ground. “Ahh,” I sighed.

  A ghostly voice whispered, “Barthinius… Barthinius…”

  My eyes popped open. Startled, I first looked around, then crawled outside the tent. The leaves of the oak tree were swirling, but I didn’t feel a breeze.

  Goose bumps popped up on my arms. My scalp tingled. I looked slowly up at the tree.

  Even though the long grass on the hill stood still, just the leaves of this one large oak tree rustled.

  “Barthinius… I need your help.”

  “Whe… Wher… Where are you? Who are you?” I wiped sweat from my forehead.

  “You know who I am.”

  “The haunted… uh… uh… tree?” I glanced up into the branches.

  “I guess you could call me that. It’s been me… and this tree… since 1873.”

  “Can… can you see me?” I stammered.

  “Yes.”

  “You… you want me to help you?”

  The leaves twisted in the wind. “You…my son’s great-grandson…namesake. My name… our name… must be cleared. You… last hope. Nothing… to fear… from me. Prove… I did not… shoot… Sheriff Dell. Find out… who… did.”

  “But that was more than eighty years ago. Whoever did it would be dead by now.”

  The giant oak tree’s leaves swirled violently.

  “Dead… but… guilty. Find… culprit. My soul…wants… rest in peace.”

  “Do you know who it is?” I asked.

  “You… find… evidence. Proof… to convince… yourself… everyone else.”

  “But, where do I start?” I asked.

  “I thought… you… were supposed to be… a detective.”

  “Actually, I prefer P.I., but I… I…”

  "Here’s a clue…

  Star Light… Star Bright…

  Fallen star come in to sight…

  Lost by one in an awful fight…

  Find the star to set things right."

/>   “What does that mean?” I wiped my sweaty palms on my pants.

  “Come back if you need help… I’ll be right here…” The voice faded.

  I laid on top of my sleeping bag, eyes closed and blurted out, “Hey, wait a minute. What star? Find it where? I could use some help right now.”

  “Scooter, Scooter, wake up. You’re talking in your sleep.” Mary shook me. “What is it about this tree and you dreaming? Did you have another dream?” asked Mary.

  “Yeah.” I nodded. “A whopper.”

  Chapter 22: Boot Hill

  Placing my left foot into the high stirrup was no easy task. I hopped a few steps, grabbed the saddle horn, and pulled myself up on Paint. The reins, tied together, rested across the spotted horse’s neck. It felt good to slide into the saddle and sit astride the big animal. The leather texture of the saddle and stirrups, the gentle movement of the big beast as it bent down for a few more nibbles of dry grass, were starting to feel familiar.

  “Everyone ready?” asked 3J.

  “Yep.” Mary, sitting erect in the saddle, held the reins tight.

  I stared down the steep trail to Dry Gulch. Long, dry grass escaped from under loose rocks. Sagebrush and scruffy pine trees marked the trail that led to the once bustling town of two thousand settlers.

  The horses carefully followed the stony path, stumbling every now and then, yet always in control.

  3J lead the way.

  “Easy, Paint.” I patted Paint’s neck, held the reins loosely, and let the horse pick the best route.

  Carlos, Mary, and I followed cautiously. Halfway down the hill, at a plateau overlooking Dry Gulch, we stopped.

  “It’s sad a whole town would disappear,” said Mary. “Just think of all the work the people of this town must have done to make it a place where they wanted to live. Then, whoosh, it disappears, first because of the mines closing, and then the fire. I can see where the streets were, and where the buildings must have been.”

  I straightened my Chicago Cubs baseball cap and bumped Paint’s ribs with my heels. The horse moved slowly down the jagged lane into Dry Gulch.