The Mystery Off Glen Road Page 7

  “Well, what is the hitch then?” Trixie demanded. She found it hard to be patient.

  Jim pointed to the gaping hole in the ceiling. “That,” he said succinctly. “We’ve got to stop working on the roof while we clear the paths and then repair the feeding stations.”

  “Oh, nuts,” Mart cried. “That’ll probably take the entire week, and in the meantime—”

  “Oh, let’s not be so pessimistic,” Brian broke in cheerfully. “The paths may not be blocked and how do we know? Maybe all of the feeding stations are still intact.”

  Jim shrugged. “In either case, we’ve got to get going at once. Let’s just hope this bright sunny weather lasts until we boys are through. The girls, of course, will have to do all of the patrolling. Until school closes next Wednesday for the Thanksgiving holidays, that means, Trixie and Honey, that you kids will have to get up at dawn. Can you do it?”

  “Of course we can,” Trixie retorted. “Tomorrow’s Sunday, so we don’t have to patrol early in the morning before school except on Monday and Tuesday. Two days aren’t going to kill us.”

  “Says you,” Mart put in. “You die a thousand deaths every morning when the alarm clock goes off at seven. Thus, according to my mental slide rule, you’ll die two and a half thousand deaths when you have to get up at five-thirty.”

  “Oh, don’t be so silly, Mart,” Honey cried impatiently. “In the first place, your mental slide rule is all off. In the second place, Trixie and I like to ride early in the morning. After all, we’ve been doing it ever since the storm because the horses simply have to be exercised and you boys have been much too busy working on the roof of the clubhouse even to go near the stable.”

  “All right, all right,” Jim said, grinning. “Then it’s all settled. Except for one thing. When you girls patrol, for Pete’s sake, stick to the old bridle trails. Don’t wander off on any of the paths. While we boys work we’ll cope with that part of the patrolling.”

  “Oh, heavens, yes,” Mart cried. “By all means stick to the trails, squaws. Otherwise, we’ll have to hire bloodhounds if we ever want to see you again.” In a loud aside to Brian he added, “Not that we ever want to. Trixie, I mean. After all, Honey is handy with a needle, so it would be tragic if we lost her.”

  Jim chuckled. “But Trixie sort of grows on you. Now that I’m used to her form of insanity, I’d hate to lose her. She’s sort of a human slide rule. Anybody who isn’t as crazy as she is, must be sane by comparison. If you see what I mean.”

  “We do, we do,” Trixie said wearily. “Pardon me for moving around, but there’s a shortage of strait jackets. As soon as I can get into one, I’ll curl up for a long winter’s nap, while you heroes do all of my chores. Complete with Bobby and dawn patrol.”

  “Oh, no,” Mart yelled. “Dawn patrol I could endure for the sake of the club. But Bobby, no. Why, if I had to do your Bobby-sitting for you, I’d be as crazy as you are in no time at all.” He clenched his fist and tapped her lightly on the chin. “So don’t go and get lost!”

  Chapter 9

  A Terrifying Scene

  Sunday turned out to be another crisp, cool, sunshiny day. Trixie and Honey met at the stable right after breakfast. As they saddled and bridled their horses, Honey said:

  “The boys sure did a lot of work yesterday afternoon. They cleared all of the paths, and Jim said this morning that he’s not very worried about the feeding stations. All of the ones they inspected yesterday were all right.”

  “That’s good,” Trixie said as she swung up on the back of the lovely young mare, Susie. This horse theoretically belonged to Miss Trask, but because Miss Trask seldom had time to ride, Trixie felt that Susie really belonged to her.

  Honey mounted Starlight and said, “This good weather can’t last long, Trixie. And if the boys can’t repair the clubhouse roof before we get sleet and snow and all, well, we might just as well forget that we ever had a clubhouse.” They trotted along the path that led up to the section of the game preserve that lay behind the Robin. As they passed the red trailer, Honey said, “I’m so glad the honeymoon cottage escaped the storm. Celia and Tom would be brokenhearted if they came back and found the Robin the mess our clubhouse is. Oh, Trixie,” she finished in a wail of despair. “I know I’m silly to get so upset, but all of my life while I was going to boarding schools and camps I kept dreaming about someday belonging to a boys’ and girls’ club—and—and now our clubhouse is ruined.”

  Trixie said nothing for a while. She knew that Honey, who had been a poor little rich girl until the Wheelers bought the Manor House and adopted Jim, would suffer more than any of the others if the clubhouse couldn’t be rebuilt. And the funny part of it was that if Honey wanted a brand-new wonderful clubhouse all she had to do was tell her father and he would have one built for her right away. But none of the Bob-Whites, Honey least of all, would have liked that. So there was nothing to do but hope that the boys would have time to do the necessary work on the clubhouse roof before winter set in. The sky now, thank heavens, was a solid blue arch without a cloud in it. But you never could count on November weather. They might wake up on Thanksgiving morning to find themselves in the midst of a blizzard.

  “An ice storm,” Honey was saying mournfully. “It could happen tonight or tomorrow night. And then, if it were followed by a high wind, why—”

  “Oh, Honey,” Trixie interrupted, “don’t be such a Calamity Jane. Maybe all of the feeding stations are okay, so the boys can go right back to work on the clubhouse. Let’s explore and make sure for ourselves.”

  “Oh, no,” Honey cried, reining the big chestnut gelding to an abrupt stop. “We promised the boys that we wouldn’t ever leave the trails, Trixie.”

  “We didn’t do anything of the kind,” Trixie retorted. “They tried to make us promise, remember? But we didn’t. Oh,” she interrupted herself, “I suddenly remembered something. We shouldn’t be patrolling this part of the game preserve now. We should be on the other side of Glen Road. I told Dad we’d ride to Mr. Lytell’s store and get the Sunday papers.”

  “But, Trixie,” Honey wailed, “why did you promise to do such a silly thing? We simply haven’t time. Miss Trask would have got your family’s papers when she went to get ours, as you know very well.”

  “There was a method in my madness,” Trixie said, leading the way down toward the road. “I want to find out more about that strange character we saw yesterday.”

  Honey laughed helplessly. “The Man with the Red Cap! You’re convinced he’s a poacher. Oh, Trix! Why must you always be an amateur detective?”

  Trixie joined in her laughter. “I suppose I am silly to suspect somebody who probably never killed so much as a fly on somebody else’s property, but he was wearing hunting boots, Honey.”

  They walked their horses across Glen Road. “Was he?” Honey asked. “I didn’t notice. I was so fascinated by that turtleneck sweater and those weird woolen knickers he was wearing!”

  “He was wearing hunting boots all right,” Trixie told her. “And he left a footprint on that tiny path he disappeared into. If we were FBI men we could lift that footprint and match it up with the other one we found at the fork.”

  “Well, we’re not FBI men, or women either for that matter,” Honey said. “And I don’t think poachers look like that strange man did. They should wear green clothes so they can fade into the forest the way Robin Hood did. No poacher in his right mind would barge around wearing a bright red cap.”

  “Yes, he would,” Trixie argued. “During the deer season everyone in his right mind wears a red cap so he won’t be mistaken for a deer.”

  “We’re not,” Honey reminded her.

  “We’re riding horses,” Trixie said. “Nobody could suspect us of being a deer.”

  “Or does,” Honey said with a laugh. “Not even centauresses. Anyway, I still don’t think that funny-looking man is a poacher. He wasn’t carrying a gun, for one thing. All he was carrying was a box of groceries. Because I was on my horse whe
n he passed us I could see what was in the carton and it couldn’t have been more innocent. Tea, coffee, sugar, salt, tiny cans of condensed milk—things like that. His wife probably sent him shopping, and—”

  “But he was trespassing,” Trixie interrupted.

  “Pooh,” Honey said. “He was probably taking a short cut home. There’s no harm in that.”

  “But where is his home?” Trixie demanded. “I never saw him before, so he can’t be a neighbor. And he certainly wasn’t planning to carry that big carton for miles and miles.”

  “He and his family might have moved into the neighborhood recently,” Honey pointed out.

  “That’s not possible,” Trixie said emphatically. “Your father bought up all the land around here that was for sale, didn’t he?”

  Honey nodded. “But that man might be living in a rented house.”

  “There aren’t any,” Trixie said. “You know as well as I do, Honey, that there are only huge estates around here. The people who own them have been living there for generations. They wouldn’t think of renting them. Even if they did, that odd-looking man couldn’t afford to pay the rent they’d ask.”

  “I’m not so sure about that,” Honey said. “Sometimes people do rent their big country places—if they’re going abroad, for instance. And you ought to know better than to judge a book by its cover. I never saw Jim’s great uncle, but you did. There was a very rich man who looked and lived like a pauper.”

  “True,” Trixie agreed. “Oh, dear,” she interrupted herself. “Here come the dogs. I thought they were with the boys.”

  Reddy and Jim’s springer spaniel, Patch, came bounding out of a narrow path onto the trail.

  “Go home,” Trixie and Honey yelled in unison, but the dogs only replied with joyous barks. They were obviously on the trail of something, and after greeting the girls, they raced off.

  “Good riddance,” Trixie said. “We couldn’t possibly track down a poacher with those two barging around and barking their heads off.”

  “They’d come in mighty handy if we got lost,” Honey said. “Although I suppose if we gave the horses their heads they’d take us back home.”

  “Not these two,” Trixie replied. “Strawberry and Jupiter and Lady would, but Starlight and Susie don’t know any more about this labyrinth than we do. Nobody has ever ridden them along the trails on this side of the road.”

  “I still think horses have a sort of homing-pigeon instinct or something,” Honey said, “but let’s not take any chances on getting lost unless we’re riding Strawberry and Lady.”

  “We’ll never get lost so long as we stick to the trails,” Trixie said. “They all come out on the road eventually.” A few minutes later they caught sight of the little Glen Road store and she said, “I’ve been thinking, Honey. I’d better not go near Mr. Lytell. He’d be sure to ask me a lot of questions about the ring and all. Here’s the money. You buy the papers and sort of casually ask him who that man was we saw yesterday.”

  “All right,” Honey agreed as she dismounted and handed the reins to Trixie. When she came back she said, “Mr. Lytell is really very nice at times. See? He rolled the papers and tied them together so they’d be easy to carry.”

  “Give them to me,” Trixie said, reaching down for the bundle. “They’re my problem. Now, who is that strange man?”

  “His name is Maypenny,” Honey said, swinging back into the saddle. “And, believe it or not, he’s owned property around here for simply ages.”

  “That’s not possible,” Trixie said flatly. “I never saw him before.”

  “It’s true though,” Honey replied. “Mr. Lytell says he’s sort of a hermit. He buys things from the store a few times a year, but mostly he lives on his land which isn’t very far away from here.”

  “Oh,” Trixie said in a disappointed tone of voice. “That explains why I never even heard of him. Well, I guess he’s not a poacher after all.” She added thoughtfully, “It’s funny I never saw his house though. Where is it?”

  “I have no idea,” Honey said. “Mr. Lytell tried to tell me where it was, but you know how vague I am when it comes to understanding directions. He sort of pointed when he talked about Mr. Maypenny, but since we were inside the store, I couldn’t tell whether he was pointing to the south or the east. The points of the compass are very different indoors from what they are outdoors.”

  Trixie giggled. “To us they are, but not to normal people. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. The important thing is to find out who left that footprint in the clearing. Let’s look at it again when we reach the fork.”

  “I suppose,” Honey said dubiously, “now that we’re gamekeepers, that is important. But why don’t we say that Mr. Maypenny left it, and let it go at that?”

  “He couldn’t have left it,” Trixie argued. “If he has property of his own around here, why would he bother to trespass on your father’s property? Since he’s a hermit, he obviously never leaves home unless he has to. Mr. Lytell is different. He keeps on thinking that ancient Belle of his must be exercised every day, rain or shine, so he just has to trespass on the bridle trails.”

  “All right,” Honey said placidly. “Then Mr. Lytell left that footprint. You don’t know for sure, Trixie Belden, that he doesn’t own a pair of hunting boots. Just because you’ve never seen him stir more than a few steps unless he’s riding Belle or in a car doesn’t mean he can’t ever take a walk in the woods. And if he does, which I’m sure he must, he’d wear boots on account of the copperheads around here. Boots are like those red hats. Nobody in his right mind would stroll through the woods without boots at any time of the year.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Trixie snapped. “As soon as the weather gets cold, the snakes start to hibernate.”

  “Well, poison ivy doesn’t hibernate,” Honey said. “That’s reason enough to wear boots. Jim was telling me only yesterday that when he was a little boy he got the worst attack of poison ivy he ever had in January!”

  “I did, too,” Trixie admitted.

  Honey shook with laughter. “When you were a little boy?”

  “A tomboy, then,” Trixie replied with a grin. “Gosh, Honey, I don’t see how I can possibly stand another whole week of behaving like a little lady.”

  “The worst has yet to come,” Honey said, her hazel eyes twinkling. “Cousin Ben arrives this afternoon and you’ve got to act as though he were your very own dream man.”

  “Nightmare is the word,” Trixie said with a shudder. “That creep! I don’t think I can even look at him without crossing my eyes.”

  Honey laughed so hard she almost fell off her horse. “Don’t worry,” she finally got out. “He doesn’t like you any more than you like him, so when you swoon around and act as though you were crazy about him, he probably won’t even notice. He’ll just think you’re crazy, if anything.”

  “I am crazy,” Trixie said mournfully. “Totally insane. I should be in a strait jacket. Why do I go through all this for Brian who never says a kind word to me? I’m beginning to get one of those sibling complexes.”

  “What complexes?” Honey asked in amazement. “You must mean sibilant, which is another word for hissing like a snake.”

  “That’s not what I mean,” Trixie retorted, “although I do feel like hissing like a snake at Brian when he makes remarks about me at dinner. I’m talking about sibling, which is another word for brothers and sisters. I read about it in Brian’s book on psychology. I couldn’t understand much of it, but I think a sibling complex is the same thing as brotherly love, or, as in my case, brotherly hate.”

  They had reached the clearing at the fork, and Honey slid off her horse to collapse on the ground, almost hysterical with laughter. “You’re suffering from both kinds of complexes,” she gulped. “Oh, Trixie, you and your brothers are so wonderful. You all go around behaving as though you despise one another, and everyone knows that Brian and Mart and Bobby idolize you just as much as you adore them.”

  Trixie dismounted and han
ded the reins of both horses to Honey. “You and Jim do all right as siblings, too, although you haven’t had as much practice as we Beldens. Just to show you what I mean, I’ll bet when Brian gets that jalopy he’ll teach Mart and Bobby how to drive before he gives me one single solitary lesson.”

  She knelt to examine the footprint, then straightened. “You hold the horses, Honey, I’m going to explore along this path. It must lead somewhere.”

  “To the very heart of the labyrinth,” Honey said, still chuckling. “There you’ll find the Minotaur as Theseus did on the Isle of Crete in Greek mythology. I’ll be your Ariadne, but since we haven’t a spool of silken thread, this string around the newspapers will have to do.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Trixie cried impatiently. “I’m not going to go far enough away to get lost.” She darted off along the narrow path, and a few minutes later found herself in another small clearing. There she came upon a scene that was so frightening she couldn’t even scream. She just stood there, staring with horror, then turned and raced back to Honey.

  Chapter 10

  Trouble!

  “Honey, Honey!” Trixie gasped. “The most awful thing has happened.” She collapsed on her knees in the small clearing, shuddering and covering her face with her hands.

  Honey hastily wound the horses’ reins around her wrist and hugged Trixie with her free arm. “Oh, Trixie,” she cried, “I knew it would happen. You were bitten by a copperhead!”

  “No, no,” Trixie moaned, rocking to and fro. “I’m all right. It’s the dogs. Honey, it’s so horrible, I can’t talk about it.”

  “The dogs?” Honey repeated. “Did they fall into a nest of copperheads? Trixie! Please answer me. Are Reddy and Patch badly hurt? Are they—dead?”

  Trixie raised her head. “Worse than that,” she said sadly, “because if anybody finds out what they did, they’ll be shot.”

  “Shot?” Honey’s lovely face was very pale. “But why? What have they done?”