The Happy Valley Mystery

by Campbell, Julie

  “I guess that’ll convince the sheriff,” Jim said confidently. “We’d better get back and let him know before he releases those prisoners and we lose them.”

  “How can we prove that it was those men who stole the sheep?” Trixie asked. “We know that someone did, and we know how they did it, and we’re sure in our own minds that it was those men in jail at Valley Park. But how can we prove it?”

  “I guess you’re right, Trix,” Jim said. “Were right back where we started from, aren’t we?”

  “Not quite,” Trixie said. “Not quite. We’ll just have to hunt around and see if we can find something that will connect those particular men with the crime.”

  “Wheel tracks of their truck?” Honey said excitedly. “Let’s crawl under the fence.”

  Jim held the lower fence wire while the girls rolled under; then Trixie held it for him.

  “They couldn’t have picked a better place to get away with their crime,” Trixie said. “This far comer is practically on Army Post Road. They didn’t even need to run their truck up onto the soft ground and leave tracks. No, there’s not a thing here.”

  Honey, kicking around in the stubble, struck something with her foot. She pushed it over in front of Jim.

  “It’s a knife,” she said, “a heavy one. Sort of a sharp knife, isn’t it? It’s just beginning to rust... can’t have been here very long.”

  Trixie bent over it. “Are there any marks on it?” Jim turned it over and over in his hands, then handed it to Trixie. “Not a thing I can find,” he said. "It looks like any other knife to me. Maybe you can find something on it.”

  Trixie looked, then sorrowfully gave it to Honey. “Hold on to it,” she said. “If there ever was a mark—a fingerprint or anything like that—we’ve destroyed it by handling it. If anyone finds anything else, for goodness’ sake, let it stay where it is till we can pick it up by the comer with a handkerchief.”

  “It doesn’t look as though there’s going to be anything else to pick up,” Jim said, disgusted. “I should have remembered fingerprints.”

  “Honey and I will make wonderful detectives if we can’t remember an elementary thing like that,” Trixie said.

  Jim laughed. “Do you know what Mart would say if he were here and heard you say that?”

  “No,” Trixie said. “What?”

  “ ‘Elementary, my dear Watson,’ ” Jim said. “He’s always calling you a ‘female Sherlock Holmes’ and Honey ‘Dr. Watson.’ ”

  “I wish I really were Sherlock Holmes for about half an hour,” Trixie said. “What’s that thing you’re squashing under your foot?”

  Jim moved his boot.

  “Some kind of an old hat,” he said and picked it up. “Pick it up by the corner!” Honey cried.

  “Don’t worry,” Jim said. “Fingerprints wouldn’t show on an old hat like this.”

  “A name on the sweatband would show,” Trixie said. “Let me see.”

  Jim turned the crown of the old battered hat inside out, and there, inked in durable black on the sweat-band of the hat, were the initials “R.M.”

  “Jeepers!” Trixie said. “Gosh! Now, if those just happen to be the initials of one of those men! Did either of you hear Mr. Gorman say their names?”

  “I didn’t,” Jim said.

  “Neither did I,” Honey answered.

  “Then let’s find out,” Trixie shouted.

  As fast as they could run, the three Bob-Whites dashed down Army Post Road, turned in at Happy Valley Farm, and burst into the kitchen, waving the old battered hat.

  “What on earth?” Mrs. Gorman gasped.

  “What’s the excitement?” Mart and Brian and Diana wanted to know.

  “Call Mr. Gorman in from the barn!” Trixie begged. “Somebody, quick! ”

  Mrs. Gorman stepped outside the door and beat on the triangle hanging there. Mr. Gorman and Ben both came running from the barn.

  “Call the sheriff, Mr. Gorman,” Trixie said, the words falling over one another. “Ask him the names of the prisoners—hurry!”

  “What in the name of common sense—” Mr. Gorman began.

  “Don’t lecture, Hank,” Mrs. Gorman said quietly. “Just call the sheriff and do as Trixie asks.”

  “What’s it all about?” Mart asked. “Spill it, somebody.”

  “Why all the melodrama?” Brian asked. “Tell us, Trixie.”

  Trixie didn’t answer. She couldn’t. She was too excited. She just pointed to Mr. Gorman and the telephone.

  It seemed to her that it took ages for him to dial the number. She could hear the sound of ringing. Will he ever answer? she thought.

  “Hello! Sheriff? Hank Gorman speaking. Say, Joe, what are the names of those men you picked up on the point?... Yes, the ones with the truckload of wool.... What did you say?... Jake Burton?”

  Trixie’s heart hit the ground.

  “And the other one?... Yes?... Oh, yes, I hear you... Raney Miller.”

  Trixie and Jim and Honey began to dance around the room singing “Glory, Glory Hallelujah!” at the tops of their voices.

  Mr. Gorman waved frantically, trying to quiet them.

  “Wait,” he said to the sheriff on the telephone. “Hold on a minute till I talk to these crazy hyenas.” He held the receiver to his chest and consulted with Trixie, smiled, and turned back to the telephone. “What do their names prove?” he said. “Well, they mean just this: These kids have found some evidence that the men you are holding are the thieves we’ve been after. It’s plain as two and two makes four. Yes... sure, hold on to them. We’ll be in Valley Park in a jiffy. They’re the culprits, all right. Good-bye, Joe!”

  Trixie Scores Again • 20

  TRIXIE, JIM, HONEY, Brian, Diana, and Mart climbed into the big yellow Happy Valley Farm station wagon and headed for the village of Valley Park. Mr. Gorman drove, and Ben went along.

  As they turned and drove to Ned’s house, they honked, and Ned came running. When he found out what had happened, he wanted to go with them. Later, down the road, they picked up the Hubbell twins at their house.

  As they passed Sand Hill, Trixie looked toward the place where the big red barn stood. The water was just beginning to lower. From the middle of the stagnant backwash, though, just a small part of the roof and the cupola still protruded.

  Trixie shivered and moved closer to Jim. He put his arm across the seat back of her. “Don’t even think about it, Trix,” he said. “We’re all safe now, and over there in Valley Park are the thieves you’ve been after.”

  “I know that, Jim, and I’m not thinking exactly about myself. I never should have taken chances with your life and Honey’s,” Trixie said. “I just hope my parents don’t forbid me ever to do any more detective work.”

  “I’m not sure I’d care a lot if they did,” Jim said. “Why, Jim!” Trixie said, shocked. “What if someone should tell you that you shouldn’t have your school for boys that you’ve planned ever since your uncle’s money was left to you? What if someone did that?”

  “It’s not the same at all,” Jim said. “Having a year-round school for boys is not dangerous. I hate to think of my sister and my—well, you, Trixie, getting into such tight places all the time.”

  When they got into town, they discovered that the flood had been the worst in the history of Polk County. A squad of men had been working all day burying dead animals. Townspeople had been out in boats since dawn, bringing in people who were stranded. Fortunately, there were no fatalities, but temporary homes had to be found for families in flooded areas.

  “It’s mostly people who live upriver,” the sheriff told them when they went into the courthouse. “There hasn’t been such high water for years, and I guess some of those people upriver thought it just never would happen again—poor souls.”

  “They’ve found out now,” Ben said. “That Raccoon River is a dangerous one. I know three kids who’ll say ‘amen’ to that.”

  “They never should have gone down to the woods at all,”
the sheriff said.

  “Well, now, we’ve gone into all that back at the farm. Maybe they should have stayed out of the woods. But if they had, the men you’re holding never would have been caught.”

  “Eventually they would have been,” the sheriff said. “Maybe,” Mr. Gorman said. “By that time, Andrew Belden wouldn’t have had any sheep left. Bring the ornery hombres out, Joe.”

  Sheriff Joe Brown sent two of his deputies to bring the men into his office. When they came in, they were defiant. “It’s our word against a bunch of kids,” Raney Miller said.

  “Not quite, Raney,” Sheriff Brown said and showed him the battered hat and the knife. “Found them and all the rest of the evidence back there in the corner of the Belden field,” he said. “Here, Hank, sign this warrant for their arrest.” He spread the paper out on his desk, and Mr. Gorman signed it in the name of Andrew Belden.

  When the prisoners saw the hat and the knife, they seemed to give up. When asked how the sheep had been stolen without detection, they said they had watched till the dogs were taken into the house at dinner time. Then, between that time and the time the dogs were let out at bedtime, they got in their work.

  “How did you ever get back there in the woods?” the sheriff asked. “After the road ends, it’s nothing but a jungle.”

  “Did you ever think of following the river edge around the point going in from that side?” Raney Miller snarled. “We cut our way in through the underbrush. There’s a little old log house back there... an old still, too. If you’d let us alone, we’d have had it going, too.”

  “There’s more goes on back there in the woods than you know,” Jake Burton, the other thief, added.

  The two men confessed to stealing sheep not only from Happy Valley Farm but also from half a dozen other farms in three surrounding counties. They would shear the sheep for the Wool, slaughter them, and sell the carcasses to owners of frozen-food lockers.

  “Then it was stolen lamb we ate at the barbecue!” Trixie said triumphantly.

  “There’s a reward out for their capture,” the sheriff said as the prisoners were led out of his office. “I’d think it should be awarded to the two girls and the lad who tracked them down.”

  “If there is any reward,” Trixie said, “I think the money should go toward Ben’s new car and boat, don’t you, Honey? Jim?”

  They agreed heartily. Their spirits were so high that they would have agreed to anything. Outside, when the group climbed into the station wagon, they saw that a crowd had gathered, cheering and waving.

  “You’d think we were heroes or something,” Mart said.

  “See, Trixie,” Brian said. “You said he’d be taking some of the credit when it was all over.”

  “I don’t want any credit for anything,” Trixie said. “Anyway, Mart looked like the biggest hero in all the world to me when he came after us in that boat with Mr. Gorman.”

  “Back to the farm now,” Mr. Gorman said.

  “We have to do a little shopping first,” Trixie said. “I want to find something to take to Bobby.”

  “He’s crazy for a real glove and a hardball,” Mart said.

  “My twin sisters will want dolls,” Diana said. “I saw some Indian dolls in a window. I’ll get Indian suits for my twin brothers. Mrs. Gorman has given us jam for our mothers.”

  “We can’t take very much on the plane,” Jim said. “We’ll have an hour between planes at the airport in Chicago, anyway. Let’s go.”

  It was late afternoon when the yellow station wagon sped along Army Post Road, back to Happy Valley Farm. There they found the yard full of cars and a crowd of cheering young people.

  The word of their peril and rescue had gone out far and wide. Now the word of the capture of the thieves had been added.

  Dot was there. All the rest of the gang they had met at the skating rink were there. It seemed as though all the members of the Rivervale High basketball team | were there—even the coach.

  “You ran us out last night, Mrs. Gorman,” one of the boys said, “but we’re going to stick around now. We don’t have heroes and heroines around here every day.”

  Trixie and Honey, overwhelmed, clung close to Jim, who just stood there, looking self-conscious. “Heck, we didn’t do anything except save our hides,” he said.

  “And track down the thieves,” Mart said proudly.

  “Tell us all about it!” a red-faced man said, pushing his way through the crowd. “I’m from the Des Moines Register and Tribune,” he said. “I’ve got a photographer here— Mike! Over here! Get some pictures of them. Half a dozen,” the reporter said. “One of the puppy in Trixie’s arms. Get pictures of all the kids from New York. Now the Gormans. Oh, come on, Mrs. Gorman, who cares if you’re wearing an apron? And Ben... where’s Ben? There, Ben, Mike’ll take you with the collies.”

  Ben rebelled. He strode off across the field, Tip and Tag yelping after him, past a bunch of bleating sheep. Mike, not to be discouraged, fitted a telephoto lens on his camera and got a picture of Ben and the sheep.

  “That’s good,” the reporter said. “I wanted the sheep, anyway. They’re what started the whole thing. Now, kids, tell me all about it.”

  Trixie, Honey, and Jim, despite their protests, had to tell the story of their hours on and in the water. Then the reporter got the details of the search that led to the capture of Jake Burton and Raney Miller.

  “Wait till you read it in the paper,” Mr. Gorman said when the press car had driven away. “You’ll never recognize it. He’ll make it sound like the Israelites crossing the Red Sea.”

  Eventually the crowd thinned out. Mrs. Gorman extended her dinner to include Ned and the Hubbell twins. Later, happily visiting, the Bob-Whites forgot all about the time. The hour grew late. They were to take the plane at nine o’clock in the morning. Not one of them had even thought about packing. The record player was going. The television set was turned on. Tip and Tag and the red setter puppy Moses were running around the room, pushing and tumbling one another. Even the kittens and Blackie joined the fun on this final evening of the visit.

  In their chairs by the fireplace, Mr. and Mrs. Gorman watched and smiled. “It’s been far too quiet in this house with no young people around,” Mrs. Gorman said to Honey, who, breathless from dancing, dropped into a chair beside her. “We wish you didn’t have to go back. Look at Ben! Trixie is teaching him to dance. What in the world is that outlandish thing they’re doing?”

  “That’s the very latest thing,” Honey said. “And Ben’s a neat dancer!”

  “He’s needed livening up, too,” Mrs. Gorman said.

  “You’ve been good for him—all of you. He works too hard and then studies half the night. The Bob-Whites are the best thing that ever happened to Happy Valley Farm!”

  Gradually the records became softer and sweeter, and the television programs narrowed down to the late show. After a few subtle words from Mrs. Gorman about the need to pack, Ned and the Hubbell twins left. They promised, though, to be at the airport in the morning, when the Bob-Whites took off for home.

  “Don’t forget to write our names and addresses in your address books just as soon as you get home!” Trixie said. “Don’t forget to send us that material about Four-H work!”

  “Don’t forget you’re coming to visit us next summer!” Mart called from the doorway as the trio left and crawled into Ned’s little red car.

  “Maybe our parents’ll let us drive to visit you,” Ned said. “I’ve been as far as St. Louis with my car. I think my dad just might let me drive to Sleepyside. Don t be surprised next June if you see us coming down Glen Road to Crabapple Farm!”

  “Jeepers!” Trixie said. “Imagine!”

  Back in the house, Mr. Gorman let the dogs out for the night and took his lantern for a last look at the big farm before going to bed. Trixie stood beside him and looked out into the dark, listening to the night noises. “It’s beautiful here,” she said softly. “I’ll run out and see the little black Iamb and the ho
rses before I go tomorrow. The lamb’s going to be all right now, isn’t it, Mr. Gorman?”

  “Yes, Trixie,” Mr. Gorman said. “And all the rest of the sheep, too, thanks to you.”

  The Bob-Whites were still lingering in the living room when Mr. Gorman came in from the barn. They hated to start the job of packing.

  Suddenly the sharp ringing of the telephone brought them all to their feet

  Mr. Gorman glanced at his watch. “Who in thunder,” he said, “would be calling at twelve o’clock at night?”

  “Take up the receiver and see,” Mrs. Gorman suggested with a smile.

  Mr. Gorman did just that then tamed to the group, his eyes popping. “It’s Glasgow, Scotland, calling!” he said. “It’s Andy Belden!”

  They gathered close to the telephone, waited while it sputtered and crackled, and finally heard the sound of Uncle Andrew’s voice.

  “Say, this is a surprise,” Mr. Gorman boomed. “Everything’s going just fine.... No, not a sheep missing for days, and there wont be.... Sure! Your detective niece tracked them down. Honestly!... I’m telling the truth.... It was this way— Do I have time to tell you?”

  Uncle Andrew must have said yes, for Mr. Gorman told him the whole story. Then he handed the receiver to Trixie. “He wants to talk to you,” he said.

  “Of course we re all right,” Trixie said. “No, we didn’t count on getting caught in the flood. Everything’s fine now.... Yes, it is, really! We wanted to catch the thieves to try and pay you back a little for the grand time we’ve had here.... Oh, Uncle Andrew, that’ll be super wonderful!”

  Trixie turned to the rest of the Bob-Whites. “He’s going to bring us all cashmere sweaters from Scotland!... Yes, Uncle Andrew, I guess we’d better say good-bye. I never talked across the ocean before in my whole life!... Yes, I’ll tell Ben he’s to have the car you bought in England in place of his jalopy.... We did hate that!... Uncle Andrew, Ben heard me, and he’s dancing a jig.... Good-bye, now. Were leaving early in the morning. Then we’ll count the days till you’re back in the United States and visit all of us at Sleepy-side. Dear, dear Uncle Andrew, good-bye!”