The Mystery Off Glen Road Page 8

  Trixie swallowed hard. “They killed a deer, Honey. I caught them sniffing around the carcass, and there was blood all over the place.”

  “I’m going to faint,” Honey said, and put her head down between her knees.

  “Don’t you dare faint,” Trixie cried fiercely, although she felt like fainting herself. “We’ve got to pull ourselves together and do something about that carcass. If the boys should come across that dead deer they’d guess right away who killed it. And then—well, even though they love Patch and Reddy as much as we do, well, you know how ethical and honorable Jim and Brian are. Even Mart, especially now when they’ve been hired to be game wardens.”

  Honey sat up. “But we’re supposed to be game wardens, too, Trixie,” she wailed. “So we’ve got to report what the dogs did.”

  “No, we don’t,” Trixie replied firmly. “We didn’t see Reddy and Patch with our own eyes kill that deer. And chances are good that they’ll never do such a thing again. Neither one of them alone would have or could have done it. It only happened because they were traveling in a team. It probably all started out as a game. They must have been running that deer since early this morning, and then when he dropped from utter exhaustion, they, well—we don’t know for sure, Honey. So if we bury the carcass and never let both dogs out together again at the same time, it’ll never happen again.”

  “Oh, oh, I’m so confused,” Honey moaned. “I hate the dogs for doing what they did, but I don’t really hate them because I don’t think they meant to kill that lovely creature. But, Trixie, now that they have, they’ll do it again and again. That’s what always happens. Jim and Daddy were talking about it just last week. Pretty soon other dogs will join Patch and Reddy, then there’ll be a pack. They’ll kill one deer after another, and in the end they’ll all have to be put away.”

  Trixie sniffed, but it sounded more like a sob. “I don’t believe it,” she said staunchly. “That’s the way sheep-killing dogs behave because they eat what they kill. Oh, woe,” she yelled suddenly. “Why didn’t I think of that before? Why didn’t I call the dogs away from the carcass right away? Maybe they are eating it now.”

  Both girls began to call and whistle, and in a moment the dogs came bounding into the clearing. They were wagging their tails and obviously expected to be welcomed with open arms.

  “How can they act so innocent?” Honey asked, looking at them sadly.

  “They are innocent,” Trixie said loudly. “And don’t you forget it for one minute. Until somebody proves that they are guilty, I’m going to go right on believing there is a poacher lurking around here. And it was that poacher who killed the deer.” She swung up on Susie’s back. “Please hand me the newspapers, Honey. We’ve got to take the dogs home right away and then come back here and bury the carcass.”

  Honey said nothing until they had cantered along the trail for several minutes with the dogs scampering beside the horses. Then she said soberly, “If a poacher killed that deer, why didn’t we hear the shot?”

  “Because he used a longbow, of course,” Trixie said impatiently.

  “Then why didn’t you see the arrow in the—the carcass?” Honey asked.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Trixie cried. “I just took one look at the horrible scene and fled. Anyway, a deer can run for miles after it’s been shot with a bow. The shaft of the arrow might have been broken off.”

  “I thought people always hunted deer very early in the morning,” Honey went on.

  “They usually do,” Trixie agreed, “but the poacher might not have seen one until an hour ago. It would take him quite a while to follow and track it down to where it dropped.”

  “Then,” Honey said in a more hopeful tone of voice, “if your theory is right, the carcass will be gone when we get back.”

  “That’s right,” Trixie said. “But to be on the safe side, we’ll bring along spades.”

  Honey shook her head. “If we discover proof that the dogs did kill that deer, we’ll have to tell Jim, Trixie. With Daddy away, he’s the head of the family. And you know as well as I do, Trix, that he’ll only laugh at us if we tell him we’re going to keep the dogs shut up. That just couldn’t be done. With all of the people who go in and out of our houses all day long, why, it’s just about impossible—” Her voice dwindled away.

  “Oh, I know,” Trixie said in a small voice. “Besides, we can’t collect the money for being game wardens if we don’t report the dogs. And if we don’t get the money, Brian won’t get his jalopy. Why does life always have to be so complicated?” she finished miserably.

  “I know just how you feel,” Honey said sympathetically. “I guess I don’t love Patch quite as much as you love Reddy. We haven’t had Patch anywhere near as long, and anyway, he’s Jim’s dog. But don’t forget that Jim’s going to be just as brokenhearted as you are, Trixie. If he has to shoot Patch it’ll just about kill him.”

  “Don’t you think I know that?” Trixie demanded crossly. “That’s one reason why I don’t even want Jim to know. And have you forgotten about Bobby? You know how he absolutely adores the ground Reddy walks on! How do you suppose my baby brother is going to feel when we have to tell him he’s never going to see his dog again?”

  At that both girls reined in their horses and burst into tears. The dogs stopped, too, and sat on their haunches, tongues lolling. They were so young and alive and carefree and happy now, Trixie thought, but in a few more hours …!

  “We just can’t do it,” she suddenly sobbed. “There are too many other people involved. Brian for one. He’d much rather go without a jalopy than have anything happen to Reddy. Why, even Mart would let his hair grow if he thought it would make Reddy happy.” Trixie tried to smile at her own joke, but couldn’t do much more than grimace. “Moms and Dad love Reddy just as much as though he were a member of our family, which he is.”

  Honey shook her head up and down. “Ditto for Patch at our house. We won’t say anything to anybody about that deer, Trixie. We’ll just resign as gamekeepers and spend all our time making sure the dogs don’t do it again. If we don’t let them form the habit of chasing deer, they’ll probably never be tempted again.”

  Trixie brightened. “All right, but let’s don’t do anything until we go back to the clearing and make sure the carcass is still there. I’ll gallop on ahead and give Dad the papers. I’ll ask him to keep Reddy home while we finish patrolling the preserve. Dad’ll understand. He knows what an awful pest Reddy is. Dad’s great. He won’t even ask any questions if I ride off with a spade. He’ll just take it for granted that we’re going to play polo with spades and use a porcupine instead of a ball. The way Alice in Wonderland did it, you know.”

  Honey was now laughing as hard as she had been crying before. “Alice used a flamingo instead of a spade, and she was playing croquet, but I see what you mean. Oh,” she suddenly interrupted herself, “porcupines and hedgehogs and mice and rats and even ants. Do you follow me, Trix?”

  Trixie gasped. “Yes! If we don’t hurry back to that clearing and do let Nature take its course, there won’t be anything left of that carcass. I remember reading somewhere that ants dote on antlers and armies of them have been known to carry away the whole thing, branches, stem, and all, in no time flat.”

  Honey chortled ecstatically. “I know it isn’t very honorable and ethical for us not to go right back to that clearing, Trix, before your army ant friends have a chance. But after all, we can’t do everything, and we’ve simply got to patrol the part of the preserve that spreads around on this side of Glen Road. After that it’ll be time for lunch, and you’ve got to get glamorous for Ben after that because he’s arriving around two-thirty. So I just don’t see how we can spend any more time patrolling the other side of the road, do you?”

  “No,” Trixie said emphatically. “Especially since that Thing we were talking about may well be, as Mart would say, non-existent. If we should consult him, he would probably say that it was a figment of my imagination. As a matter of fact, I’m
beginning to think that Mart is right. I dreamed up that whole ghastly scene.” She tucked the roll of newspapers under her left arm and reached across the saddle to shake hands with Honey. “It was simply a daymare, as Bobby would say. Don’t you agree, Miss Wheeler?”

  Honey bowed. “I do, Miss Belden. Meet you on the trail behind the stable in ten minutes.” She trotted off along the shoulder of Glen Road with Patch leading the way. Reddy raced off toward Trixie’s home, and after a bit of encouragement, Trixie persuaded Susie to follow him. The glossy black mare obviously felt that she and the chestnut gelding, Starlight, were a team that should not be separated so abruptly. But, to Trixie’s satisfaction, Reddy did not feel at all the same way about Patch.

  They’re not a team yet, she thought happily. And as Regan would say, singlehandedly, they’ll probably never run down another deer, let alone kill one.

  For deep down in her heart Trixie did not really think that a poacher had killed that deer. She was sure that the dogs had done it. And if they ever even tried to do such a terrible thing again, she knew that the verdict would be a death sentence!

  Chapter 11

  Guilty Consciences

  Trixie’s father came out on the terrace in answer to her call and deftly caught the bundle of papers she tossed to him.

  “You’re a regular pony express,” he said and produced a lump of sugar from the pocket of his jacket for Susie. “I’m sorry I asked you to get the papers, Trixie. I forgot about your job.”

  “It’s all right, Dad.” She smiled down at him. “We have to go right by Mr. Lytell’s store when we patrol. It was no trouble at all.”

  “But stopping off and coming back here must have delayed you,” he said, “and I know you’re in a hurry to get through early today. Ben arrives this afternoon, doesn’t he?”

  Trixie felt her cheeks burn. She wanted to say, “Yes, and I couldn’t care less, that crum-bun!” But instead she forced herself to mumble, “Uh-huh. We’re all invited to dinner at the Manor House.”

  “That’s nice,” her father said. “But you mustn’t stay up late. Don’t forget you have to get up at dawn to patrol before school tomorrow.” He frowned. “I don’t want you to get overtired and you mustn’t let this job interfere with your homework.”

  Trixie laughed. “We haven’t any homework, Dad, and we won’t have any all week, on account of the Thanksgiving holidays beginning on Wednesday. All we’re doing now in school is reviewing.”

  He reached up suddenly and touched her hand. “You look worried, Trix. Anything wrong?”

  Trixie was sorely tempted to blurt out, “Yes, Dad, everything’s wrong.” But she somehow managed to swallow the lump in her throat and wordlessly shook her head. “I am sort of tired,” she finally got out. “It isn’t the patrolling. It’s grooming the horses and cleaning the tack. You know how strict Regan is. Everything’s got to be just perfect or he has a fit.”

  Mr. Belden chuckled. “Every rose has a thorn, and don’t forget that Regan is one of your best friends.” He gave her hand a good-by pat and went up the steps to the terrace.

  Trixie waved to him and trotted off down the driveway. I wish I dared tell Dad about the dogs and the deer, she thought dismally. I wish I could tell him that I despise Ben Riker. I wish—oh, she suddenly interrupted herself, I forgot to ask Dad to shut Reddy inside the house.

  But it was too late now for the harum-scarum Irish setter had disappeared.

  I hope Reddy’s on the trail of a rabbit as usual, she thought unhappily.

  When they turned into the Wheelers’ driveway, Susie, without any urging at all, began to gallop, and when she reached the stable, she stopped so short that Trixie almost fell off. Susie had obviously made up her mind that she had already had all of the exercise she needed that day. Until Trixie kicked her smartly with both heels, she refused to budge, and even then she stayed in one spot, bucking and rearing.

  Regan came out of the tack room and handed Trixie a quirt. “Give her a good switching,” he ordered. “She’s got a stubborn streak.” He grinned. “Like some kids around here whose names I won’t mention.”

  Trixie knew better than to disobey Regan, but she hated to whip any horse and especially Susie who was usually so docile. One smart tap on her hindquarters did the trick, however, and in another minute Trixie had joined Honey on the path that led into the northern part of the game preserve.

  “I thought you’d never come,” Honey complained as they trotted along between the evergreens. “I’m suffering from an awful guilty conscience already. Patch came all the way home with me, but he turned and ran right off again.”

  “So did Reddy,” Trixie said. “But we can’t do anything about that now, Honey. We’ve got to go out and patrol.”

  “I saw Mart,” Honey said after a long silence. “He’s working on the clubhouse roof. He says it takes only two people to repair the few feeding stations that were damaged. Brian and Jim are much better at that sort of thing.”

  “Where are they?” Trixie asked nervously. “I don’t particularly want to see them, but I hope they’re working on this side of the road.”

  “They’re not,” Honey said dismally. “According to what Mart said, I gather they’re working very close to that Thing.”

  Trixie forced herself to laugh although she didn’t feel a bit cheerful. “Knowing your sense of direction, my guess is that Brian and Jim are working several acres away from the Thing.”

  Honey didn’t even smile. After another long silence she said, “What are we going to do with Ben when he arrives? Mother’ll have a fit if we ignore him, but we can’t let him patrol with us. If we did, he’d demand part of the pay.”

  “And we certainly don’t want him fooling around the clubhouse,” Trixie said. “His idea of a good joke would be to set it on fire or something.”

  “That’s the point,” Honey said worriedly. “But if we don’t keep an eye on him he might do something dreadful like playing a practical joke on Regan. He might fill the saddle-soap cans with cold cream or tie knots in the reins.”

  Trixie shuddered. “What a goon! And I have to be nice to him.”

  Honey smiled suddenly as she went on to add, “More than that, you have to act as though you were in love with him.”

  “Rub it in, rub it in,” Trixie said sarcastically. “I’ll have you know, Honey Wheeler, I don’t have to put on that act unless there’s an audience. That means that when I’m alone with him, which I hope will never happen, or when you and I are alone with him, I can pretend he isn’t there. So let’s do all we can to keep me away from him when the others are around. Thus, the answer to the whole ghastly Ben Riker problem is to make the boys keep an eye on him. We’ll just tell them flatly that they have to. After all, he is a boy.”

  Honey giggled. “They’ll flatly refuse to cope with him unless he’s in a strait jacket, and you know it. But seriously, Trix, he isn’t awful all of the time. He can be very nice and lots of fun when he isn’t playing practical jokes.”

  “You’re wasting your breath on me,” Trixie said sourly. “Sell Ben’s good points to Jim. Make him love him as though he were a beloved sibling, and all of our problems will be solved.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Honey interrupted. “Jim despises boys like Ben who have too much spending money and never do any work. What—who, I mean, whom I was thinking of is Di Lynch. Ben is very good-looking in that playboy way, and Di is so pretty. If we introduced them, they might go for each other, then that would be that. All you’d have to do is look jealous for a while and then brokenhearted, and pretty soon you could become resigned to your fate and be normal again.”

  Trixie burst into loud, joyous laughter. “You’re a genius, Honey. Di is the perfect answer. Invite her out this afternoon.”

  Honey nodded. “If they get along today, I’ll ask her to spend the whole Thanksgiving vacation with us. Lucky for us, Miss Trask likes house parties. She’ll be sure to approve.”

  “Only one thing worries me,” Trix
ie said after a while. “Di might come out in jeans. That would ruin everything. Ben hates tomboys. How can we tactfully tell her to wear a dress?”

  “I’ll say we’re having a little party,” Honey said calmly. “It’s getting warmer by the minute, so we can have hot chocolate and cookies on the veranda around four o’clock, and with all of us there it will be a party, in a way.”

  “Well, count me out,” Trixie said firmly. “I couldn’t possibly stand a party today and again on Thursday so soon after the wedding.”

  “What party is there going to be on Thursday?” Honey asked.

  “Honey Wheeler!” Trixie cried. “You know Moms always asks a lot of people to drop in on Thanksgiving all afternoon and evening. Your parents and you and Jim were invited weeks ago. Miss Trask and Regan, too. It’s what you call an open house, but it’s a party just the same. Moms serves a buffet supper of ham and turkey and cole slaw and all, which I have to help her with and at the same time keep Bobby from doing any of the awful things he always does when we have company.”

  Trixie stopped for breath and Honey said, “I knew you were having open house on Thursday, but I didn’t think of it as a party, but of course it is. Your mother asked Ben, too. I hope she asked Di.”

  “All of the Lynches are coming,” Trixie told her. “And the neighbors, of course. Dozens of people, but they seldom stay very long and don’t all arrive at once. But let’s get back to your party. Please, Honey, don’t make me come to it.”

  “All right, I won’t,” Honey said, smiling. “But the boys are going to think it’s awfully odd, after the way you’ve been saying all week that you could hardly wait until Ben arrives.”

  “Oh, I’ll be here when he arrives all right,” Trixie said bitterly. “But I don’t have to become his Siamese twin, do I? And there’s no sense in your telling me I have to look jealous and brokenhearted and resigned. I don’t know how to look any of those things.”

  “I’d love to see you try,” Honey said wistfully. “It would be so funny.” She glanced at her wristwatch. “Well, we’ve finished patrolling this section, and although we didn’t do a very good job on the other side, there isn’t time now. What with grooming the horses and cleaning the tack, we’re going to be late to lunch.”