The Mystery of the Moaning Cave Read online

  “Can you tell us about El Diablo?” Jupiter asked.

  At that moment Mr. Dalton entered the room, accompanied by a small, thin man who wore heavy glasses. The boys had met the man earlier. He was a house guest of the Daltons, Professor Walsh.

  “Ah, boys, I hear that you have been out at our mysterious Moaning Valley,” said the professor.

  “Foolishness!” Mr. Dalton snapped. “Nothing has happened there that doesn’t happen on any ranch. Simple accidents, nothing more.”

  “Of course you’re right,” Professor Walsh said, “but I’m afraid your men don’t believe that. Uneducated people would rather believe in supernatural forces than in their own carelessness.”

  “If only we could find the cause and show them,” Mr. Dalton said. “After this accident tonight I’ll lose more men. But even Jupiter here could see that the slide was caused by that naval gunfire off the coast.”

  “Excuse me, sir,” Jupiter interrupted, “but we would like to help if we could. We’ve had some experience in this sort of thing, as Mr. Crenshaw may have told you.”

  “Experience?” Mr. Dalton repeated, staring at the boys.

  Jupiter produced two cards from his pocket and handed them to Mr. Dalton. The tall rancher studied them. The first, a large business card, said: THE THREE INVESTIGATORS

  “We Investigate Anything”

  ? ? ?

  First Investigator — Jupiter Jones

  Second Investigator — Peter Crenshaw

  Records and Research — Bob Andrews

  Mr. Dalton frowned. “Investigators, eh? Well, I don’t know, boys. The sheriff might not like boys interfering.”

  Professor Walsh looked at the card. “Why the question marks, boys? Do you doubt your ability as detectives?”

  The professor smiled at his own joke, but Bob and Pete only grinned and waited for Jupe to explain. Adults always asked about the question marks, which was exactly what Jupiter wanted.

  “No, sir,” Jupiter said. “The question marks are our symbol. They stand for questions unanswered, mysteries unsolved, enigmas of all sorts that we attempt to unravel. So far we have never failed to explain any riddle we’ve found.”

  Jupiter said the last proudly. But Mr. Dalton was looking at the second card, a small green one. Each of the boys had one, and they all read the same: This certifies that the bearer is a Volunteer Junior Assistant Deputy cooperating with the police force of Rocky Beach. Any assistance given him will be appreciated.

  Samuel Reynolds,

  Chief of Police

  Professor Walsh peered at the card through his thick glasses. “Well, well. Very impressive, boys. You do indeed have fine credentials.”

  “You boys certainly showed more sense tonight than half the adults around here,” Mr.

  Dalton said at last. “Maybe three boys with a fresh viewpoint are just what we need to solve this nonsense. I’m sure there’s a simple explanation, and if you promise to be very careful around that cave, I say go ahead and investigate.”

  “We’ll be careful!” the boys cried in unison.

  Mrs. Dalton smiled. “I’m sure there’s some very simple explanation we’ve all missed.”

  Mr. Dalton snorted. “I say it’s the wind blowing through those old tunnels and nothing more.”

  Jupiter finished the last cookie. “You and the sheriff have searched the cave, sir?”

  “From one end to the other. Many of the passages are blocked by debris from old earthquakes, but we searched every one we could find.”

  “Did you find anything that looked as if it had changed recently?” Jupiter questioned.

  “Changed?” Mr. Dalton frowned. “Nothing we could see. What are you getting at, son?”

  “Well, sir,” Jupiter explained, “I understand that the moaning only began a month ago.

  Before that it hadn’t been heard for at least fifty years. If the wind is causing the sound, then it seems only logical that something must have changed inside the cave to make the moaning sound start again. I mean, I doubt if the wind has changed.”

  “Hah!” Professor Walsh said. “There’s clear logic, Dalton. Perhaps these boys can solve your mystery.”

  Jupiter ignored the interruption. “I also understand,” he went on, “that the moaning occurs only at night, which would not be the case if the wind alone were responsible. Have you noticed if it happens every windy night, by any chance?”

  “No, I don’t think it does, Jupiter,” Mr. Dalton was beginning to look really interested.

  “I see what you mean. If it were just the wind, then we should hear moaning every windy night… . Of course, it could be a combination of wind and some special atmospheric condition.”

  Professor Walsh smiled. “Or it could be El Diablo, come back to ride again!”

  Pete gulped. “Don’t say that, Professor. Jupe already said the same thing!”

  Professor Walsh looked over at Jupiter. “He did, did he? You’re not going to tell me that you believe in ghosts, are you, young man?”

  “No one knows about ghosts for sure, sir,” Bob put in seriously. “However, we’ve never actually found a real ghost.”

  “I see,” the professor said. “Well, the Spanish people have always insisted that El Diablo will come back when he is needed. I’ve done a great deal of research, and I can’t really say that he couldn’t come back.”

  “Research?” Bob asked.

  “Professor Walsh is a professor of history,” Mrs. Dalton explained. “He’s here in Santa Carla for a year to do special research on California history. Mr. Dalton thought he might be able to help us explain Moaning Valley to our ranch hands.”

  “With no luck so far,” the professor admitted. “But perhaps you boys would be interested in the full story of El Diablo? I’m thinking of writing a book on his colourful career.”

  “That would be great!” Bob exclaimed.

  “Yes, I would like to hear more about him,” Jupiter agreed.

  Professor Walsh leaned back in his chair and began to tell the story of El Diablo and his famous last adventure.

  In the early days of California the land that now made up The Crooked-Y ranch had been part of the Delgado Rancho. The estate of the Delgado family had been one of the largest grants of land given to the Spanish settlers by the King of Spain. The Spaniards did not come to California in large numbers, as the English did in the eastern part of America.

  So the Delgado Rancho remained a vast private domain for many generations.

  Then settlers began to come to California from the East, and slowly the land of the Delgados was given away, lost, or stolen. After the Mexican War, California became part of the United States, and more and more Americans arrived to settle the land, especially after the great Gold Rush of 1849. By 1880 almost all the great domain of the Delgados was gone, except a small area about the size of The Crooked-Y that included Moaning Valley.

  The last of the Delgados, Gaspar Ortèga Jesus de Delgado y Cabrillo, was a brave and fiery young man who grew up hating the American settlers. He thought as them as thieves who had stolen his family’s land. Young Gaspar had little money and no power, but he longed to avenge his family and regain his land. He decided to become the champion of all the old Spanish-Mexican families who had been in California for so long. Hiding out in the hills, he became an outlaw. To the Spanish people he was a new Robin Hood. To the Americans he was nothing more than a bandit.

  The Americans named Gaspar Delgado El Diablo — The Devil — after the mountain where he had his cave headquarters. But for two years they could not catch him. He stole tax money, scared away tax collectors, raided American government offices and stole their funds, and generally helped the Spanish-speaking Californians and terrorized the Americans.

  But in 1888 El Diablo was finally captured by the sheriff of Santa Carla County. In a famous trial, which the Spanish-speaking people said was a fake, he was sentenced to hang.

  Then, two days before he was to be executed, some friend
s helped him in a daring daylight escape. El Diablo climbed over the roof of the courthouse, jumped several feet to another roof, and finally leaped on to the back of his waiting black horse.

  Wounded in his escape, and closely pursued by the sheriff and his posse, El Diablo rode to his hide-out in the cave in Moaning Valley. The sheriff and his men blocked all known exits, but they did not go inside. They thought that El Diablo would have to come out when he became hungry, or when his wound became too painful to endure.

  Though they stood watch for several days, there was no sign of El Diablo. But all the time they waited, they heard a strange moaning coming from somewhere inside the cave.

  Naturally they assumed that the moans came from the wounded bandit. Finally the sheriff ordered his men inside. They searched every passage and cavern for four days, but found nothing. They searched the whole countryside, too. But they never uncovered a trace of El Diablo — not him, or his body, or his clothes, or his pistol, or his horse, or his money.

  Nothing.

  El Diablo was never seen again. Some said that his faithful sweetheart, Dolores de Castillo, had gone into the cave through a secret entrance and helped him escape, and that they had fled far away to a new life in South America. Others said that friends spirited him out and then hid him in rancho after rancho for many years.

  But most people said that El Diablo never left the cave, that he simply remained hidden where the Americans could not find him, and that he was still there! For many years, every time there was an unsolved robbery or act of violence, it was said to have been El Diablo, still riding through the night on his great black horse. The moaning continued somewhere inside the cave, which became known as El Diablo’s Cave.

  “Then,” Professor Walsh concluded, “the moaning suddenly stopped. The Spanish-speaking people said that El Diablo had grown weary and given up his raids — but that he was still in the cave waiting for a time when he would be really needed!”

  “Gosh,” Pete exclaimed. “You mean some people think he’s still there in the cave?”

  “How could he be?” Bob asked.

  “Well, boys,” the professor said, “I’ve done a great deal of research on El Diablo. For example, all his old pictures show him wearing his pistol on the right hip, but I am certain he was left-handed!”

  Jupiter nodded thoughtfully. “The stories about such a legendary figure are often false.”

  “Exactly,” Professor Walsh said. “Now the official story has always been that he died of his wound that night in the cave. But I have studied the record closely, and I am convinced that his wound could not have been fatal. Since he was only eighteen years old in 1888, it is entirely possible that El Diablo is still alive!”

  The Investigation Begins

  “DON’T be ridiculous, Walsh!” Mr. Dalton exploded. “Why, that would make him almost a hundred years old. A man that old isn’t likely to be running around the countryside!”

  “I think you’d be surprised how spry a man of a hundred can be,” Professor Walsh said quietly. “There are reports of men in the Caucasus Mountains of southern Russia who still ride and fight when they are a hundred or more. Anyway, our phantom isn’t doing much more than moan from a cave.”

  “That’s true, sir,” Jupiter said.

  “Also,” Professor Walsh pointed out, “it is entirely possible that El Diablo might have descendants. Perhaps a son or even a grandson is carrying on his career.”

  Mr. Dalton began to look a little less sceptical. “That sounds more likely. The people who had the ranch before us never used Moaning Valley, but we are planning to build a range corral out there. Perhaps some descendant doesn’t want El Diablo’s legend interfered with.”

  “Jess, that could be the answer!” Mrs. Dalton cried. “Don’t you remember? Some of our older Mexican ranch hands were against our plan to use Moaning Valley even before the moaning began.”

  “And they were among the first to leave us,” Mr. Dalton exclaimed. “Tomorrow I’m going to talk to the sheriff and see if he knows of any descendants of El Diablo.”

  “Perhaps you’d all like to see a picture of El Diablo,” Professor Walsh said. He took a small picture from his pocket and passed it around. It showed a slim young man with burning, dark eyes and a proud face. The picture, which was obviously a photograph of a painting, seemed to prove that El Diablo had been little more than a boy. He wore a wide-brimmed, high-crowned black vaquero sombrero, a short black jacket, a black shirt with a high neck, and tight black trousers that flared at the bottom above shiny black pointed boots.

  “Did he always wear black?” Bob asked.

  “Always,” Walsh replied. “He said that he was in mourning for his people and his country.”

  “He was a bandit and nothing more, and tomorrow I’ll talk to the sheriff to see if any fools are trying to continue his legend,” Mr. Dalton said firmly. Then the lean rancher smiled. “And interesting as I admit El Diablo is, a ranch doesn’t run itself. I have work to do tonight, and you boys must be tired from your trip. I expect I’ll be working you hard tomorrow. Pete’s Dad said you wanted to learn all about how a ranch operates, and the only way to learn is to do the work.”

  “We’re really not at all tired, Mr. Dalton,” Jupiter said briskly. “Are we, fellows?”

  “Not at all,” Bob agreed.

  “Gosh, no,” Pete echoed.

  “It’s still early and a clear night,” Jupe went on, “and we’d like to look around the ranch as much as we can. The beach is especially interesting at night. There’s some remarkable flora and fauna up here along the sea-shore that only appears at night.”

  Mr. and Mrs. Dalton looked impressed. Jupiter’s correct use of so many big words always made adults think that he must be older than he actually was. Bob and Pete, however, were aware that Jupe had more on his mind than a walk along the beach. They tried to look as wideawake as possible.

  “Well …” Mrs. Dalton began dubiously.

  “Why not, boys?” Mr. Dalton decided. “It’s early, and I expect the first night on a ranch is too exciting to be wasted in sleep.” He turned to his wife. “Do them good, Martha.

  Better to look around the beach tonight, because I’ll be keeping them pretty busy starting tomorrow.”

  “All right then,” Mrs. Dalton smiled. “Off with you, but no later than ten o’clock. We get up early here.”

  The three boys did not wait for further talk. They carried their cookie plates and milk glasses to the kitchen and went out the back door.

  As soon as they were out of the house, Jupiter started to give instructions. “Pete, you go to the barn and get that long coil of rope I saw hanging there. Bob, you go up to your room and get our chalk and our flashlights. I’ll get our bikes ready.”

  “Are we going to the cave, Jupe?” Bob asked.

  “Right. That is the only place to solve the mystery of Moaning Valley.”

  “The cave?” Pete gulped. “Now? Couldn’t we see more in the day-time?”

  “The moaning only happens at night,” Jupiter pointed out, “and when you’re inside a cave day-time doesn’t make any difference. Besides, the cave doesn’t moan every night. We know that it’s been moaning tonight, and if we don’t go now we might have to wait for days.”

  By this time the other two were convinced. They moved swiftly into operation, and shortly afterwards the three boys met at the ranch gate.

  Pete tied the long coil of rope to his luggage carrier, and they bicycled away along the narrow dirt road. The night was warm and the moon was up now, shining down on the silvery road that lay ahead.

  Although the Crooked-Y Ranch stretched for miles along the shore of the Pacific Ocean, the sea itself was hidden by the coastal mountains. In the moonlight the rocky mountains were tall and silent, and the green live-oak trees looked like pale white ghosts. As they rode, the boys could hear the herds of cattle moving restlessly in the fields, the horses snorting and whinnying close to the road.

  Then suddenly, w
ithout warning, the eerie moan floated out across the valley.

  “Aaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh—oooooooooooooooooo—oooooooo—oo! ”

  Even though they had expected it, Pete and Bob both jumped nervously.

  “Good,” whispered Jupiter. “The moaning hasn’t stopped.”

  They quietly parked their bikes and from the high ridge looked across the moonlit valley at the dark opening of El Diablo’s Cave.

  “Gosh, Jupe,” Bob said. “I keep thinking I see things moving.”

  “And I hear noises,” Pete added.

  “Yes,” Jupiter said firmly. “But that is your imagination. In eerie surroundings like these, the simplest sound seems frightening. Now are we all ready? Bob, check the flashlights again.”

  Bob tested the flashlights and Pete looped the rope over his shoulder. Each boy took his piece of chalk in his hand.

  “Caves can be dangerous unless you take the proper precautions,” Jupiter explained.

  “The main dangers are falling into chasms and becoming lost. We have the rope in case any of us fall, and by marking our trail with chalk no one will become lost. We will stay together at all times.”

  “Shall we mark our trail with question marks?”

  “Right,” Jupiter said. “And we will also use arrows to indicate the direction we have taken.” The question marks in chalk were one of his most inspired inventions. The boys used them to leave a trail. The marks instantly made it clear that one of the investigators had been in a place. Since Jupiter’s chalk was white, Pete’s blue, and Bob’s green, it was even possible to tell exactly which one had made the marks.

  “Well,” Pete said. “Are we ready?”

  “I believe we are,” Jupiter said, satisfied at last.

  The boys took a deep breath, and then began to walk down the slope of the ridge into the valley.

  Once more the moan wailed out in the night “Aaaaaahhhhhhh—ooooooooooo—oooooo—

  oo! ”

  A swift current of cold air came to meet them as they neared the dark opening of the cave. Jupiter, in the lead, had already switched on his flashlight when suddenly he heard a rumbling sound.