The Mystery Off Glen Road Page 10

  “Of course you can’t,” Mrs. Belden put in. “Your father’s only teasing, Trixie. But I don’t understand why you’re not up at the Wheelers’ now. What happened? Why did you come back here and change your clothes?” She took a stack of dishes out to the kitchen, beckoning for Trixie to follow. When they had cleared the dining-room table, she said, “I’ll wash and you can dry, honey. I don’t mean to pry into your affairs, and if you don’t want to answer my questions, don’t. It’s just that you look so worried and I can’t believe that it’s because of Di and Ben.”

  Trixie gulped. Moms was such a good sport, and so was Dad. But they wouldn’t approve of the whole business about the ring. And it would be awfully hard to explain why she hadn’t told Jim about the dead deer. Parents could be very understanding at times, but so often they couldn’t understand why you did things that seemed wrong but which were perfectly right.

  Suddenly Trixie realized that Jim, in a way, was like her parents. Although she knew now that the dogs weren’t the culprits, she couldn’t tell him about the deer. He would be furious because she hadn’t told him right away while there was still time for him and Brian to have caught the poacher. Mart, when and if he ever heard about it, wouldn’t be furious, but he would tease her unmercifully and would call her a “lamebrain” from morning to night.

  No, the boys must never know, so there was only one answer to the problem: She and Honey must track down and catch the poacher … all by themselves!

  Aloud she said quite truthfully to her mother, “I am worried, Moms. It’s about the gamekeeper job. It’s more of a responsibility than I thought it would be.”

  Mrs. Belden nodded sympathetically. “You and Honey have an awful lot of territory to cover. So, since you have to get up so early tomorrow morning, I think you ought to go to bed right away.”

  Trixie, feeling more guilty than ever, shook her head. “I’ll put Bobby to bed first, Moms,” she offered. “He’ll go up right away if I promise to read the funny papers to him.”

  “That would be just wonderful,” Mrs. Belden said gratefully. “He was a dickens all during the drive we took this afternoon. He promised to rest quietly in the back seat because I didn’t make him take a nap, but instead he jumped up and down constantly and asked a steady stream of questions.”

  “Oh, Moms,” Trixie cried. “I should have stayed home with Bobby while you and Dad went for a drive alone. You must be awfully tired.”

  “Not physically tired,” her mother said cheerfully. “But I am rather tired of Bobby. A little of his conversation goes a long way.” She gave Trixie a hug. “He’s sure to be tired, too, so I don’t think you’ll have to read to him for very long. Make sure that he brushes his teeth properly. He’s recently acquired the habit of wetting the tooth brush and licking the powder off the palm of his hand, and then he informs me that his teeth are clean.”

  They laughed together, and Trixie hurried into the living-room where Bobby was trying to persuade his father to read the comics to him.

  “I’ll do it, Bobby.” Trixie took his fat little hand. “Come on. As soon as you’ve brushed your teeth and climbed into bed, I’ll read Peter Rabbit.”

  He pulled his hand away and then stared at her own hand. “Hey! You’re not wearing your ring. Betcha you losted it.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Trixie said quickly. “Ladies don’t wear rings when they’re wearing dungarees.”

  “Hey,” he jeered. “You’re not a lady.”

  Trixie hastily gathered the funny papers and handed them to him. “You carry these while I go ahead and turn down the covers on your bed.”

  He followed her upstairs without another word and, after both threats and bribes, brushed his teeth thoroughly. But Trixie had hardly tucked him into bed when he began to ask questions again about her ring. She knew that he was peevish because he was so tired and tried to be patient.

  “Betcha you losted it,” he insisted. “Betcha you losted it. Hey! Betcha you losted it.”

  Trixie was finally forced to go into her room and scrabble through her top bureau drawer until she found the imitation which Honey had loaned her. She gave it to Bobby and asked exasperatedly:

  “Now are you satisfied? You and your one-track mind!”

  The phrase, one-track, immediately reminded her of the single-tire tread tracks she had discovered in the clearing. She shivered involuntarily, remembering how awful it had been to be lost in those dark woods. She might still be there and by now the catamounts would be prowling.

  Bobby brought her back to the present by yelling: “Take your old ring. I don’t want it. Read Peter Rabbit.” Fretfully, he tossed the ring at her. “Read, read, READ!”

  Trixie picked it up and slipped it on her finger. “You shouldn’t throw things, Bobby. How would you like it if I threw some of your valuable things at you?”

  Instantly he was all smiles. “Throw my panda at me. Let’s play catch. Throw my panda at me.”

  Trixie couldn’t help laughing. “It’s too late for games. Now, move over so I can sit beside you. We’ll read the funnies together. Your teacher at school says you read very well, Bobby.” She pointed to the paper. “I’m sure you know this word. T-h-e. What is it?”

  “Ted,” he said promptly. “It’s short for teddy bear. I want my teddy bear—and my panda. Read, read, READ!”

  He nestled down on the pillow, cuddling the two battered stuffed animals, and in less than five minutes was sound asleep. Trixie tiptoed out of the room and into her own room across the hall. There she carefully put Honey’s ring into the handkerchief box which her Aunt Alicia had given her as a birthday present.

  “I’ve got to be more careful of that imitation,” she scolded herself. “If I’d lost it Bobby would have talked about it until everyone was suspicious.” A few minutes later she toppled into bed and fell asleep almost immediately.

  When Trixie awoke before dawn the next morning she found that snow had fallen during the night. But although the air was crisp and cold now, she knew that when the sun was high in the sky the white carpet would have disappeared. Honey, holding both horses which she had already saddled and bridled, was waiting for her in front of the stable.

  “B-r-r,” she said as they mounted. “It’s fuh-reezing. I’m wearing fur-lined gloves and here’s a pair for you. Starlight and Strawberry are feeling their oats like anything. If our fingers grow numb we’ll never be able to hold them down.”

  The horses were so full of pep that they started right off at a canter. “Rarin’ to go,” Trixie agreed. “At this rate we’ll cover the whole north end of the preserve easily before breakfast.” They fairly flew along the trails so there was no sense in trying to talk until at last the horses were willing to slow down to a trot. Then Trixie told Honey what she had discovered the afternoon before in the woods on the other side of the road.

  “A unicycle,” Honey gasped. “I didn’t know there were any except in circuses.”

  “Is that what you call a one-wheeled bike?” Trixie asked.

  Honey giggled. “Of course, as in unicorn. The bi in bicycle means that it has two wheels. I think it’s Greek, like Phi Beta Kappa.”

  “It’s all Greek to me,” Trixie said with a grin. “Even if I do get better marks in math so I graduate from high school and go to college, nobody’s ever going to give me a Phi Beta Kappa key.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Honey said cheerfully. “Jim is sure to get one. He’ll give you his.”

  “That will be the day,” Trixie retorted. “Jim wouldn’t even give me the time of day. All he’ll do, if you tell him about that dead deer, is give me a good bawling out.”

  “I won’t tell him a thing,” Honey promised. “I’m so glad you got proof that the dogs didn’t do it, Trixie, but you shouldn’t have gone into those awful woods alone when it was dark. Now that we know there’s a crazy person loose in there, promise me you’ll never do it again.”

  “Crazy person?” Trixie pulled Strawberry down to a walk and then a stop
. Starlight promptly stopped, too, and lowered his head to lick at the melting snow. “What do you mean by crazy, Honey?”

  Honey shrugged her slim shoulders. “Nobody but a crazy person would try to ride a unicycle along those paths. Why, you can hardly ride a horse along them. Anyway, nobody but a circus freak would own a unicycle.”

  “That’s true,” Trixie admitted. “But circus freaks don’t know how to butcher a deer. Whoever toted away that venison, antlers and all, was an expert butcher. An amateur would have chopped off the head and left it there. But experts know that deer drain better if they are hung up by their antlers. The meat has to be aged before you can eat it, and in cold weather like this a deer can hang for a month without spoiling.”

  “You’re much too smart for me,” Honey said. “How do you know so much about venison?”

  “From people like Tom Delanoy,” Trixie replied. “He taught Brian and Mart how to shoot and fish, you know, and I used to tag along after them until Bobby got to the age where I had to stay home and keep him from tagging along.”

  Honey said nothing while they cantered back toward the stable. The sky in the east was now aquamarine and golden-pink as the rising sun scattered the purples and blues. There were only little wisps of snow on the downward slopes, and by the time they reached the stable there was no snow at all on the driveway.

  Regan met them at the door. “I’ll groom the horses and clean the tack,” he said. “You kids have barely got time to dress and eat before the school bus arrives.”

  “Oh, thanks,” Honey breathed. “But you shouldn’t do it, Regan. It’s all part of our job as gamekeepers.”

  “Not necessarily,” he said. “All I ask is that you do a good job as game wardens and keep the horses exercised at the same time.”

  Later, when they met at the bus stop down by the road, Honey said to Trixie, “I still think he’s crazy.”

  Trixie giggled. “If you’re talking about Regan, I agree with you. The reason why he hated Fleagle was because Fleagle didn’t groom his horse or clean the tack. Why he suddenly lets us get by—”

  “Don’t be silly,” Honey hissed. “Of course I’m not talking about Regan. He’s just being a good sport because he knows, as he said to Miss Trask last night, that we’ve bitten off more than we can chew. Don’t worry about Regan’s mentality. Soon as the holidays begin he’ll make us groom and clean and everything again. He’s already got things fixed so Ben has to work, too, starting this very morning.”

  “Ben—work?” Trixie blinked. “Why, that creep faints from utter exhaustion if he has to change a phonograph needle.”

  “That’s not true,” Honey said, glancing worriedly over her shoulder at the boys who were strolling toward them. “Ben himself offered to work. He’s got a junior driver’s license, you know, and he’s going to do all of the chauffeuring while Tom’s away. That, of course, made Miss Trask and Regan very happy.”

  Trixie nodded soberly. “It explains why Regan was so charming to us. I guess the answer is that Ben hasn’t had his license long enough to consider driving as work. I just hope Miss Trask keeps him so busy he won’t have time for any practical jokes.” She lowered her voice. “Is Ben the person you think is crazy? If so, I agree.”

  The boys were so close to them now that Honey could only reply by whispering into Trixie’s ear: “No, dopey. The poacher!”

  Then suddenly Trixie realized that Honey was right. Nobody in his right mind would own a unicycle. And even if he did, he wouldn’t ride one while out poaching. It didn’t make sense. You just couldn’t ride a unicycle and carry a slaughtered deer at the same time!

  Chapter 14

  Mart Asks Questions

  “That’s the answer, of course,” Trixie said decisively. The girls had met at the stable after school and were now patrolling the southern part of the game preserve. “There must be two people loose in these woods. A poacher and a freak who has escaped from a circus.”

  Honey laughed nervously. Although they hadn’t wasted a minute since they got off the bus, the sun was already dipping down below the tree-line, and it was gloomy in the thickly wooded sections of the preserve. “People don’t escape from circuses,” she told Trixie. “Circuses aren’t insane asylums.”

  “Well,” Trixie retorted, “insane asylums don’t dish out unicycles to the inmates, and only a lunatic would try to ride any kind of a cycle in these woods.”

  “Maybe it’s easier with only one wheel,” Honey said thoughtfully. “I mean, if you know how.”

  “Which I don’t,” Trixie replied. “And I still think that two wheels must be easier than one, just like two heads are better than one.”

  Honey shuddered. “Don’t! You just gave me a mental picture of a two-headed monster riding around on a unicycle. I’d rather see a Cyclops riding on a unicorn.”

  Trixie shook with laughter, although she felt rather nervous, too. Tracking down a plain ordinary poacher was one thing, but tracking down simultaneously a crazy unicyclist was quite another. The poacher had some reason for lurking around in the woods, but the unicyclist—! Even if you told him he was trespassing he probably wouldn’t care. He’d probably utter an eerie chuckle and pedal off to the hollow tree he lived in. “I think he’s more like a leprechaun than a Cyclops,” Trixie said to Honey. “Or do I mean a dryad? Anyway, if he doesn’t live in a hollow tree, where does he live?”

  “For that matter,” Honey replied, “where does the poacher live? If he’s big enough to carry off a deer he couldn’t fit into a hollow tree. It snowed last night and was awfully cold, so he couldn’t have slept right out in the open, could he?”

  “That,” Trixie said, “is what we’ve got to find out. He’s probably pitched a tent somewhere.”

  Honey shuddered again. “That means leaving the trails to explore the paths. I positively won’t. It’s too scary early in the morning and late in the afternoon. Besides, even in broad daylight we’d be sure to get lost.”

  “School closes at noon on Wednesday—day after tomorrow,” Trixie reminded her. “We can explore the paths then. We have to, Honey. We can’t let that poacher keep shooting your father’s deer. He’s probably killing partridges and pheasants, too. Big New York City restaurants pay an awful lot of money for game. I think some of them even buy through a black market.”

  “Oh, Trixie,” Honey begged, “don’t let your imagination run away with you. That deer you saw yesterday was probably killed by a hunter who didn’t know he was trespassing. Maybe he’s gone away and will never come back. I mean, most men have jobs so they can’t go shooting except on weekends or holidays. Please, let’s forget about him or tell the boys.”

  “We can’t do either,” Trixie said firmly. “If Jim and Brian knew what we know they’d spend all their time trying to catch that poacher. Then they’d never finish fixing the clubhouse. You heard what Brian said on the bus this morning. The snow last night didn’t help matters any. We were lucky that it wasn’t a blizzard.”

  “I know,” Honey said. “At breakfast this morning Jim told me that the snow seeped down onto the curtains and furniture. They’re not exactly ruined, but they’ll never look quite as nice as they did.”

  “How about our equipment in the storeroom?” Trixie asked. “If the runners on our skates and sleds get too rusty they will be ruined. And lots of the other stuff will get mildewed and rot away.”

  “That’s what worries me most,” Honey admitted. “I wish we dared move our equipment to the Robin until the roof is fixed. But we can’t, not without permission from Tom and Celia, and they’re somewhere in Canada.”

  “It’s all hopeless,” Trixie agreed. “If our sports equipment is ruined we won’t have any fun this winter because we could never, never earn the money to buy more until we’re as old as Methuselah.”

  “Maybe it won’t snow again until the roof is fixed,” Honey said. “Let’s hope so.” They cantered along in silence for a while, then she said, “I know it isn’t very honorable and all, Trixie, b
ut let’s do forget about that poacher. I mean, if you had never left the trail you would never have seen that dead deer. And the boys ordered us never to leave the trails. So, you see, it really amounts to the same thing as a bad dream. The only reason why I was upset yesterday was because I thought the dogs had done it and would do it again and again. What’s one deer, anyway?”

  “All right,” Trixie said reluctantly. “It was a nightmare, especially the part about your friend, the two-headed unicyclist. I must have dreamed that up, hollow tree and all.”

  Honey sighed with relief. “Let’s talk about something cheerful for a change. Di’s going to bring a suitcase to school on Wednesday and ride home on the bus with us. She wants to help us patrol, but she doesn’t really ride well enough, so I told her no, her job was to keep Ben from playing any practical jokes. She likes him a lot so she didn’t think that was much of a job. Is there anything we can ask Di to do so she’ll feel she’s being helpful?”

  “Yes,” Trixie promptly replied. “She and Ben both can keep an eye on Bobby while we patrol. Otherwise, a lot of the time while there’s no school, I’ll have to do it. It’s part of my job, you know, and one thing I will say for Ben, he likes Bobby. He’d never play any practical jokes on him.”

  “That’s true,” Honey agreed. “Di adores Bobby. Everybody does, even though he is so mischievous. He can sort of chaperone Di and Ben while the rest of us work. I hope he likes hillbilly music.”

  “He does,” Trixie said, “but not for long. You know Bobby. He never stays in one place longer than a half-hour unless he’s asleep. But that’s going to be Di’s worry, not ours.”

  By that time it was dusk and they had just barely covered all of the trails in the preserve. “I’m glad horses can see in the semi-dark,” Honey said. “But we’d better keep them down to a walk from now on. They might stumble over a boulder, and anyway, we’ve got to let them cool off or Regan will have a fit.”