Mystery at the Ski Jump by Carolyn Keene Page A

felt satisfied and content. Then, gathering around him, Aunt Eloise and her guests listened for two hours to the old trapper’s yarns. Later, when Nancy asked him if he had found out anything about Dunstan Lake, he shook his head.
    “Nope. Nobody I met ever heard of the man, Nancy. Nor of that Forest Fur Company, either. But they say there’s three mink ranches around here owned by outside folks.”
    Suddenly Eloise Drew snapped her fingers. “I just recalled that I heard the name Dunstan Lake twice. The second time was last summer at the Longview Inn five miles from here. I was leaving the dining room when I overheard a woman mention the name.”
    “Maybe it’s another clue,” Nancy spoke up. “I think I’ll go over there right after breakfast tomorrow and speak to the manager. I’d like to hike over. Could I make it on snowshoes, Mr. Horn?”
    “Oh, sure—that is, if you got good muscles, and you look as if you do. Well, folks,” the trapper said, rising, “I’ll be on my way.”
    He would not accept a bunk with the boys and went off whistling in the darkness. The house-party guests rolled wearily into bed and slept soundly.
    Next morning the prospect of a second meal of beans for breakfast had little appeal for the campers. At Nancy’s suggestion the young people tramped down to the frozen lake, resolved to try some ice fishing.
    The boys hacked a hole in the ice fifty feet from shore and carefully lowered several lines with baited hooks. But although they waited patiently, there was not a bite.
    “I guess we’ll eat beans—and like it,” George groaned.
    “Hal-loo there! What you doin’? Lookin’ for a walrus?” called a voice from the shore.
    They turned to see John Horn standing there with a heavy pack on his back. The old trapper explained that he had risen before daylight and gone down to York Village.
    “I brought back your grub.” He grinned. “Wanta eat?”
    “Do we!” cried Burt, dropping the line he was holding. “I’ll swap an uncaught fish for a stack of hotcakes any day!”
    The others echoed his sentiments as they rushed to join the trapper and relieve him of the food.
    Directly after breakfast Nancy and Ned fastened snowshoes to their hiking boots and set out for Longview Inn. The snow was crisp and just hard enough for firm going. Shortly before noon they arrived at the entrance to the big resort hotel.
    “What a grand spot for winter sports!” Nancy exclaimed. She gazed admiringly at the high ski jump and the numerous ski trails and toboggan slides.
    “Sure is.” Ned nodded. “I wish we had time to try ’em. But I suppose you want to find out about Dunstan Lake. Well, where do we begin our investigations?”
    “Pardon me. But would you two be interested in purchasing tickets to our charity contest?” a strange voice inquired.
    The couple looked around to face a smiling elderly woman. She went on to explain that the tickets were for a skiing party the next afternoon, to be followed by a trapper’s dinner at the inn.
    Ned was just about to say that they could not make it, when Nancy surprised him by telling the woman they would take seven tickets! Ned dug into his pocket for the money.
    But as they entered the hotel, he asked, “Nancy, why did you do that?”
    “Sorry, Ned, I’ll pay for the tickets.”
    “That’s all right, Nancy, but maybe the crowd won’t want to go.”
    “I was thinking of Mitzi Channing,” Nancy said. “If she’s in the neighborhood, she might show up.”
    “You’re right. Well, let’s call on the manager.”
    Mr. Pike had been with the inn for five years, but he had never heard of a Dunstan Lake, nor anyone named Channing. He promised, however, to make inquiries among the guests and to let Nancy know.
    When they left the hotel, Ned said eagerly, “Let’s go over and look at that Olympic ski jump.”
    The jump was truly spectacular and near the base of it was a skating pond. At the edge of the ice stood two mammoth figures which had