"Carey, M.V. - The Three Investigators 32 - The Mystery of the Blazing Cliffs" - читать интересную книгу автора (Carey M.V)

"I suppose they could call him the world's champion grump," said Bob. "According to Barron, savages are taking over the world and nobody takes pride in his work any more and soon our money won't be worth anything. The only things worth having will be gold and land, and that's why he bought Rancho Valverde. He says he's going to spend the rest of his life on Valverde and raise his own food and experiment with new crops."

Bob put the newspaper article back in his pocket and the boys rode on in silence. The truck sped past small towns and then through open country where the hills were beginning to turn brown under the summer sun.

It was almost three when Konrad turned off the Coast Highway on to State Highway 16SJ, a two-lane road that ran towards the east. In a few moments the truck climbed a short, steep hill. Then the road dipped suddenly into a narrow valley. There were no houses and no other cars.

"This gets to be wild country awfully fast," observed Pete.

"It's going to get wilder still," Jupe told him. "I looked at the map before we left Rocky Beach. There isn't a town between here and the San Joaquin Valley."

The truck rumbled up over more hills, then slowed as it started down a series of hairpin curves. The boys saw that they were headed down into a vast natural bowl, flat at the bottom and bounded with sheer cliffs. The road twisted and doubled back on itself, the engine groaned and complained, and at last they were at the bottom and driving along on flat land. The dark growth of scrub plants crowded the road on the right, and a high chain-link fence edged it on the left. Beyond the fence there was a hedge of oleanders. Occasional breaks in the hedge showed fields where new crops grew in feathery green rows.

"Rancho Valverde," Bob decided.

Konrad drove for more than a mile before he slowed and turned left. The truck passed through an open gate on to a gravelled drive that ran north between cultivated fields and citrus groves.

Jupe stood up and looked over the cab of the truck. He saw a large grove of eucalyptus trees ahead, with buildings sheltered under them. To the right of the drive was a sprawling, two-storey ranch house which faced south towards the road. To the left and also facing south was an old-fashioned, high-roofed house which was almost a mansion. It was ornate with wooden gingerbread trim and had towers jutting above the broad, breezy veranda that ran across the front and around the sides.

"I'll bet that's the house Barron moved here from Milwaukee," Bob said.

Jupe nodded. In a moment they had passed between the big house and the simpler ranch house and were driving past a dozen or more small frame cottages, where dark-haired, dark-eyed children played. The children stopped their games to wave at the truck as it went by. There was no sign of an adult until they reached a huge open area at the end of the gravel lane. It was a place where trucks and tractors were parked near large sheds and barns. As Konrad applied the brakes, a red-haired, red-faced man appeared in the doorway of one of the sheds. He had a clipboard in his hands, and he squinted up at Konrad.

"You from The Jones Salvage Yard?" he asked.

Jupe jumped down from the back of the truck. "I am Jupiter Jones," he said importantly. He gestured toward Konrad. "This is Konrad Schmid, and these are my friends, Pete Crenshaw and Bob Andrews."

The red-haired man smiled. "I'm Hank Detweiler," he said. "I'm Mr Barron's foreman."

"Okay," said Konrad. "Where do you want that we should unload the truck?"

"I don't want," Detweiler said. "Our own people will take care of it."

As if at a signal, three men came out of the shed and began taking things out of the truck. Like the children outside the cottages, these men were dark. They spoke softly in Spanish as they worked, and Hank Detweiler checked off items on a list that was attached to his clipboard. The foreman had blunt, thick hands with the fingernails cut short and square. His face was almost crimson, as if he had a permanent case of windburn, and there were fine lines at the corners of his eyes and around his mouth.

"Well?" he said suddenly, when he glanced up and saw that Jupe was watching him. "Something you wanted to know?"

Jupe smiled. "Well, you could confirm a deduction of mine. Deducing things about people is sort of my hobby," he explained. He looked around at the towering cliffs that enclosed the ranch on three sides, making it a landlocked oasis that was very still and peaceful in the sunny afternoon. "From the way your skin is weathered, I deduce that you haven't been here in this sheltered valley too long," said Jupe. "I think you must be used to wide open spaces and lots of wind."

For an instant there was a sadness in Detweiler's eyes. "Very good," he said. "You're right. I was foreman at the Armstrong Ranch near Austin, Texas, until Mr Barron came to visit there last year and hired me away. He made me a good offer, but sometimes this place does seem kind of hedged in."

Detweiler put his clipboard down on the hood of a pickup truck that stood near the shed. "You boys come all the way from Rocky Beach to help unload this stuff?" he said. "That's pretty generous of you. Don't know as I'd have done the same when I was your age. But then maybe you're curious about the ranch?"

Jupiter nodded eagerly, and Detweiler grinned.

"Okay," said Detweiler. "If you've got time, I'll show you around. It's an interesting place--not your usual run-of-the-mill truck farm."

The foreman led the way into the shed where the purchases from the salvage yard were being stored. Konrad and the boys saw a warehouse that was crammed to the rafters with all sorts of objects, from machine parts to leather hides to bolts of cloth.

Next door to the warehouse was a smaller building that housed a machine shop. There the visitors were introduced to John Aleman, a snub-nosed young man who was the mechanic for the ranch.