The Happy Valley Mystery

by Campbell, Julie

  “I haven’t seen Mr. Gorman all morning,” Trixie said.

  “He’s off mending fences. At least, that’s what he intended to do. Isn’t he coming in from the barnyard now?” Mrs. Gorman pulled aside the yellow flowered curtain at the kitchen window and looked out. “He’s upset,” she said. “Something’s wrong. I can tell by the way he’s walking. Oh, dear!”

  Mr. Gorman stomped into the kitchen, washed his hands in a basin near the sink, dried them, pushed his hair back, and sat down at the table in the kitchen dinette.

  “It happened again!” Mrs. Gorman said to him.

  “Yes, Mary,” he answered, “again. Four of them this time, I think. And right under my very nose. Under Tip’s and Tag’s noses, too. That’s one of the things that puzzles me. That and half a dozen other mysterious things.”

  “You saw no trace of them?” Mrs. Gorman asked.

  “Not a trace. Not even a wisp of wool. I tell you, Mary, it gets me down. Sorry, kids,” he added as they sat around the table, silent yet sympathetic. “I didn’t want to put my burden on you.”

  “Maybe there’s something we can do...” Jim began.

  Mr. Gorman shook his head and accepted the cup of hot coffee his wife handed him.

  “I do wish we didn’t have to go to that Farm Bureau meeting over at Rivervale,” he said. “I hate to leave the farm, even to drive twelve miles away.”

  “We can’t get out of it now,” Mrs. Gorman said quietly. “You’re the main speaker, Hank.”

  “Yes. I have to tell them all about raising sheep. A lot I know about that. Maybe they can tell me something about sheep-stealing.”

  Trixie nudged Honey. “We’ve just got to solve this mystery for him,” she whispered.

  Honey giggled, then put her hand over her mouth. “That’s silly,” she said. “What do we know about the habits of sheep?”

  “We should know something about the habits of thieves,” Trixie said indignantly, under her breath. “I didn’t like the looks of that man I saw....”

  “You wouldn’t tell me about him yesterday. You got mad. Tell me now.” Honey put her head close to Trixie’s. “What are you two whispering about?” Jim asked. “Nothing,” Trixie answered quickly.

  “That’s the quintessence of evasion,” Mart said.

  “If you mean that you think I was telling a fib,” Trixie said, “you’re wrong. If you mean that I’m not going to tell you what we were saying, you’re right.”

  “Oh, stop arguing, Mart and Trixie,” Diana said. She always tried to keep peace. “You’re forever arguing about something.”

  “Well, she—” Mart began.

  “Well, he—” Trixie interrupted.

  “Please stop your he-ing and she-ing and listen to what Mr. Gorman is saying,” Brian begged, his dark eyes serious. He was the oldest of the Bob-Whites, and, whether they would admit it or not, they paid attention to whatever he said.

  “Mrs. Gorman and I have to go to that meeting,” Mr. Gorman repeated. “Just look at the sky! Blue as could be this morning. Not a cloud. Look at it now! Listen to the wind! When Ben called this morning from Ames, to ask if he could stay over a day, I never thought the weather could turn like it has. I’d have wanted him to be here tonight.”

  “You can’t depend upon April weather in Iowa,” Mrs. Gorman said, frowning. “If you just didn’t have to give that talk! I guess you don’t know where to try to call Ben, do you?”

  Mr. Gorman shook his head.

  “Can we help?” Trixie asked.

  “Yes, may we?” Mart corrected her.

  “Nothing needs to be done unless the weather really gets bad,” Mr. Gorman said.

  “If it does turn bad, does something need to be done before you get back?” Trixie asked.

  “If it should start to snow—”

  “Snow,” Trixie repeated, surprised.

  “It just could, you know,” Mr. Gorman went on. “The sky looks pretty threatening right now. If it should snow,” he said thoughtfully, “then the sheep would have to be put in the field where the shelters are.”

  “We can do that, sir,” Jim said.

  “I’d do it myself,” Mr. Gorman said, “but there isn’t time. Tip and Tag can really manage, but, smart as they are, they’re still just dogs. They have to have some human direction. Did you have any trouble with the horses when you took them out to exercise them?”

  “That Nancy is the gentlest horse I ever rode,” Diana said. “I love her.”

  “She’s old,” Mrs. Gorman said. “She’s my pet. We’ve had her a long time.”

  “How about Satan’s Baby and Black Giant?” Mr. Gorman asked, smiling. “You can’t call them gentle.”

  “They didn’t give us any trouble,” Trixie said. “You should just take a run on some of the horses in Honey’s father’s stable. I had one ride I’ll never forget.”

  “Satan’s Baby and Black Giant can almost turn the sheep into the field themselves if it needs to be done,” Mr. Gorman said. “I do wish I didn’t have to go.”

  “Right now most of the flock is staying pretty close to home,” Mrs. Gorman said, “right down there grazing in the field near the barns.”

  “That’s right,” Mr. Gorman said. “You probably won’t need the horses at all—just Tip and Tag. Want to go out now for a quick look around?” he asked. “I’ll show you what has to be done if a storm comes up. You won’t have any trouble.”

  Trixie went with Mr. Gorman and the boys. Honey and Diana stayed behind to help Mrs. Gorman, who insisted on having the dinner all ready for the Bob-Whites before she would dress to go to Rivervale with her husband. “All you have to do, then,” she said, “is put it in the oven and warm it.”

  The sky was still dark, and big clouds had rolled in from the northwest as Mr. and Mrs. Gorman drove out of the yard.

  “We’ll take care of everything. Don’t you worry,” Trixie called after them.

  “If he only knew some of the tight places we’ve been in and managed to squeeze out of,” Honey said.

  “Yes,” Trixie agreed. “The time, for instance, that Jim’s stepfather set fire to Jim’s uncle’s old mansion.”

  “And you were the one who saved Jim’s half-million-dollar inheritance, and I acquired a darling redheaded brother when Mother and Daddy adopted Jim!”

  Trixie blushed. “I just can’t remember what our lives were like without Jim,” she said.

  “Your life, especially,” Mart teased. “I guess we’ve really run down some tough customers, haven’t we?

  “What do you mean ‘we’?” Trixie asked, turning to face Mart. "Honey and I... we were the detectives. You just made fun of us till we’d solved the mysteries, and then you claimed some of the credit.”

  “Yeah? You’d never have escaped from that stolen trailer if it hadn’t been for me. You’re just jealous of my superior deductive instincts,” Mart said.

  “There you go again, talking gobbledygook,” Trixie said. “Honestly, though, Mart,” she added, ashamed of herself, “you always have been a big help, hasn’t he, Honey?”

  “Of course he has,” Honey agreed, “and Brian and Jim have, too, especially the time when you were marooned all night in the blizzard.”

  “I guess a little thing like an Iowa snow needn’t worry us any after that,” Jim said.

  “Holy cow, look at those flakes,” Mart called from the window. “Iowa snow or New York snow, it sure is coming down.”

  Trixie ran to the window, then turned to the other Bob-Whites. “We’d better get busy,” she said, “and in a hurry, too. Come on!”

  Outside, Brian whistled to Tip and Tag, who were up in the apple orchard chasing the big flakes as they swirled to the ground.

  “Come along!” he said to the dogs. Then he called to the girls, “Go on back in the house and get dinner ready. Warm up the things Mrs. Gorman left. We’ll take care of this.”

  Obediently, Honey and Diana turned back-but not Trixie.

  “You can’t order me a
round like that, Brian Belden,” she said. “Jeepers, just look at the way that snow is coming down... like closed fists!”

  “It’s wet and wadded together,” Jim said. “It’s almost covered the ground already ”

  “And the sheep,” Trixie said. “Don’t they look queer? They have topcoats of snow wool. How was it that Mr.

  Gorman said to call them last night?”

  “I know,” Jim said. “It sounded something like an auctioneer s lingo.”

  “Suppose you call them, then,” Brian suggested, “before Tip and Tag scatter them all over the landscape. What’s the matter with those crazy dogs, anyway?”

  Trixie whistled and called, “Here, Tag! Here, Tip!” and the dogs obeyed. “Someone tell them what to do,” she said. “Jim, call the sheep!”

  Jim cupped his hands around his mouth. “Sooooo— sheep!” he called. The Beldens doubled up, laughing. “Hush!” Jim said. “Ooooo-baaaa-aaaa! Sooooo-sheep!” It must not have sounded funny to the sheep, even if it did to the Bob-Whites, for their heads went up, and when two big ewes started toward Jim’s voice, the rest obediently followed.

  The boys went out into the field then, to run ahead of the sheep toward the shelter field. “After them, Tip! Trixie called. “Good boy, Tag!” Heads up, barking, their tails going like semaphores, the dogs ran back and forth, circling always, herding the sheep into a smaller area, directing them toward the shelters.

  “Tip’s gone astray after something,” Mart called as one of the collies disappeared over the top of a knoll. "After a cottontail, I’ll bet. The snow brings them out. I wish he’d keep his mind on the business at hand. Where does he think he’s going?”

  “Let him alone. The sheep are all going through the gate now,” Trixie said. Then, as she caught sight of Tip, she shouted, “There he is now. See what he found!” Over the knoll, urged ahead by the circling collie, came two young ewes, protesting angrily.

  “Tip knows more than a person does,” Brian said. “There goes Tag now.”

  After half a dozen such forays, the dogs seemed to be content. “They’re so smart,” Mart said. “I believe they can even count, and they know that now the flock’s all in and safe.”

  It seemed so, indeed, for the collies watched Jim and Brian pull the gate shut, saw the sheep seek shelter under the roofed sheds, then followed the Bob-Whites back to the house.

  They were just inside when the telephone rang. Diana answered. “Yes, Mr. Gorman. Oh, yes, everything’s fine. The boys and Trixie just came in. Here’s Brian. Do you want to speak to him?”

  They all listened to Mr. Gorman’s voice. It sounded strained at first. They couldn’t hear what he was saying to Brian, but Trixie gave a sigh of relief as the manager’s voice softened and seemed less worried when Brian told him the sheep were all under shelter.

  “It wasn’t any too soon,” Trixie sighed. “The snow must be two inches deep now. No wonder Mr. Gorman was worried. It’s still snowing. It doesn’t snow big wet wads of flakes like this in Sleepyside, does it?”

  “Let’s forget Sleepyside for the moment,” Mart suggested. “Say, Di, something smells wonderful! After dinner let’s watch TV, shall we?”

  “With that Ping-Pong table in the basement? Not me!” Jim said. “Let’s pair up. Trixie and I’ll take you all on in turns.”

  “Mrs. Gorman said there’s an old record player in the playroom,” Honey said, “and some records more than twenty years old. She thought we’d have a ball playing them.”

  “Twenty years old... gosh!” Trixie said. “I didn’t even know they made records that long ago. It’ll probably be one of those old machines with a big horn. You know... someone gave us one to sell at our antique show for UNICEF.”

  “It’s not that ancient. I saw it,” Brian said. “Jimmy, Trixie, you’d think twenty years ago was the Dark Ages. They had pretty slick songs then. Dick Drake and his gang sing some of them now.”

  “And I think they’re cute,” Honey said. “Come on, let’s have our dinner now. Di actually made some com bread!”

  “It was a mix,” Diana said modestly. “For the rest of the dinner, Mrs. Gorman had a thick slice of ham ready to go into the oven. She puts mustard and pineapple juice and—”

  “The more glop you put on ham, the better I like it,” Mart said. “What’s keeping us?”

  “Washing your hands, for one thing,” Trixie said. “Mart, hurry up, ’cause there’s apple pie for dessert.” While they were eating, Tip and Tag didn’t seem able

  to settle down, though they had eaten their food eagerly when Trixie gave it to them. They ran in and out of the dining room, back and forth to the back door, whining restlessly.

  “What do you think is wrong with the dogs?” Trixie asked. “If it weren’t storming so hard, I’d think we should let them out to run.”

  “It’s the wind that bothers them,” Mart said. “Dogs don’t like wind.”

  “I don’t like it, either,” Trixie said. “I’m glad the sheep are all safe and that we could do at least that much to help the Gormans.”

  “They’re surely wonderful to us,” Honey said. “I’m glad, too, that you could help.”

  When Mr. and Mrs. Gorman returned, the Bob-Whites didn’t hear them at first. The record player was going full blast, and Diana and Mart were trying to do the Charleston the way they’d seen it done on television.

  As a lull came in the music, they heard Mrs. Gorman’s footsteps overhead, so they all crowded up the stairs. “Did you have a good time?” Honey asked.

  “Is the storm still bad?” Trixie asked. “Why, Mrs. Gorman, what is the matter? Where is Mr. Gorman?”

  “Out in the snow, that’s where he is,” Mrs. Gorman said, near tears. “Oh, why couldn’t you have been depended upon to do a little thing like putting the sheep under shelter? Why did you tell him it had been done when it hadn’t? How could you?”

  “But it was done,” Trixie said. “We did do it. We really did. All Mr. Gorman has to do is to go out there and look, and he’ll find the sheep safe and sound in the shelter field. We put them there, Mrs. Gorman. I helped the boys pull the gate shut after them—”

  “And lock it?” Mrs. Gorman asked. “Did you drop the wooden bar down to lock it?”

  Trixie’s face fell. Jim’s, too. And Brian’s. There was a moment of silence.

  “Oh-oh,” Mart groaned.

  “No, Mrs. Gorman,” Trixie said sadly, “we didn’t. I guess we didn’t know. The dogs knew, though. They have been sort of frantic... running to the door, then back to us. No, we didn’t lock the gate. Are the sheep all gone, every one of them?”

  “Every one,” Mrs. Gorman said and sank into a chair. “Heaven knows where they are. They’ll be frozen or smothered, and Hank’ll lose half the herd and his job, too, what with all the stolen sheep. Where are you going?” she called.

  “Out to help,” said the Bob-Whites. They struggled into their coats, pulled on galoshes, and were gone out the door, Trixie ahead of them with a big flashlight. “We’ve been in worse mix-ups than this,” she said to the others. “And we’ve gotten out of them. This’ll turn out all right, too. See if it doesn’t.”

  The Trapped Sheep • 4

  THE FLOODLIGHTS in the farmyard were turned on, but only a faint blob of light showed, so dense was the falling snow. Betsy’s small calf, startled by all the noise, bawled mournfully. Everywhere else there was silence... not a tinkle of a sheep s bell, not a sound of Tip’s or Tag’s barking. The Bob-Whites had no idea where Mr. Gorman was.

  “It’s a good thing we rode around the farm today,” Jim said. “At least we know something of the layout, but I still don’t know which direction we should take first.”

  “If you were a sheep in a snowstorm, where would you go?” Mart asked.

  “Isn’t he crazy?” Diana said. “He finds fun in everything.” No one else seemed to think it was time for fun.

  “Well, it isn’t a funeral, you know,” Mart said and balled some snow and threw it at T
rixie, who struggled far ahead.

  “Stop fooling!” Trixie turned around to say. “It may very well be a funeral... the funeral of a lot of Uncle Andrew’s sheep. And it’s all our fault. I wish we could find Mr. Gorman.”

  “I don’t know why the dumb sheep wouldn’t stay under the shelters without having to be made to do it,” Mart said. “Is that one of the dogs barking?”

  Snuffling noisily, Tip appeared out of the curtain of thick snow. Half whining, half barking, he wiggled his wet body against Brian’s legs, then dashed off into nowhere. The Bob-Whites followed his whimpering up a hillock, their flashlights barely cutting the darkness ahead. As they topped the hill, they could discern the blurred light of Mr. Gorman’s big flash lantern.

  As the Bob-Whites appeared, Trixie leading the way, Mr. Gorman’s recognition of them was anything but cordial.

  “You’d better get right back to the house,” he said. “I have enough on my mind, trying to find the sheep. I don’t want a bunch of lost kids as well. If you turn back now, you can follow your own footprints. I’d appreciate it if you’d please go back.”

  “It’s no wonder he’s angry with us,” Trixie said under her breath to Jim. “But I’ll tell you one thing:

  I’m not going back till those sheep are found.

  “Mr. Gorman,” she called, “you haven’t located any of the sheep, have you?”

  “I haven’t,” he answered. “But Tip and Tag have. They sound as though they’ve found them in the edge of the woods over the hill.”

  “All of them?” Trixie asked.

  “How can I tell that until I catch up with them?” he asked, irritated. “You’d do me a big favor, all of you, if you’d just go on back to the house. You’ve done—”

  “I know,” Trixie said. “We’ve done enough damage for one day. The dogs seem to be heading the sheep this way, don’t they?”

  “They do. Keep out of the way, please, or you’ll be knocked over ” Mr. Gorman called as he urged the dogs out in circles to drive the sheep toward the shelter field.

  The Bob-Whites ran to one side of the milling animals as half a dozen old ewes led and the others followed, running ahead of the yapping dogs.