“Did he get away with anything valuable?” Sandy asked.
The Indian’s brown face seemed to grow even darker. “He no come to rob money.”
“What do you mean?” Sandy asked.
Charley shrugged. “Many strange things happen here this year. Professor sleep with gun under his pillow.”
Sandy and Jerry exchanged wondering looks. “Now who’d be out to get a nice old geezer like the professor?” Jerry wanted to know.
Sandy was thoughtful. “I don’t know, Jerry. I don’t know. But I have a feeling we’re going to find a lot more excitement on this trip than we bargained for.”
“I agree with you,” a terse female voice said from behind them.
Surprised, Sandy whirled around to find Judy Crowell standing in the open gateway. Bundled up in ski pants, mackinaw and high boots, she might have been a boy, except for the mass of golden hair sticking out in tufts from beneath her wool cap.
“Charley’s right,” she said. “A lot of strange things have been happening around here during the last few months. Ever since Dad spent a week in Ottawa this fall, he’s been a different man. He’s lost weight. He can’t sleep or eat. And—” she shivered—“he always carries a pistol with him. He’s afraid of something—or someone. But when Jill and I ask him, he just laughs and says we’ve been seeing too many American motion pictures.”
Sandy felt cold prickles creep up his back. “It’s funny. My dad brought along a gun with him too.”