“Slim Sanderson?” Bill Hawkins’s face sobered. He stroked his chin. “Maybe so. I guess so.”
Regretfully the children climbed down from the wheel hubs, where they’d been standing, and Linnie started the mules.
“Give Slim a good talk about his responsibilities, Andy,” Bill Hawkins called after them.
As the wagon neared town, the woods thinned out to scrub oak underbrush. The road widened, and the mules, sure of rest soon, showed greater evidence of life.
“We didn’t see anything but the railroad station when we were here before,” Trixie said, delighted. “The buildings are just like those on TV Westerns, aren’t they?”
“I’ll bet the place gets pretty wild on Saturday nights, doesn’t it?” Mart asked Linnie.
“Linnie’s probably never been in town on a Saturday night in her life,” Uncle Andrew said, answering Mart’s question. “I can tell you, though, that White Hole Springs is quieter by far than Sleepyside or any other small town in Westchester County.”
“It’s just like a stage setting,” Trixie insisted. “There’s the barbershop and the bank and—”
“This is the store,” Linnie said. “I love to come to town.” She stopped the mules, and the boys tied them to a hitching post, watered them, and put on their feed bags.
Inside the store, a tall man with stooped shoulders and a friendly smile greeted them. “He’s Mr. Owens, the man who owns the store,” Linnie explained.
Uncle Andrew shook hands and introduced the Bob-Whites. “Sam’s not only the proprietor of the store,” he explained, “but he’s also postmaster, sheriff, and part-time schoolteacher. He even does some doctoring.”
“Jeepers!” Trixie said.
Mr. Owens ruffled her sandy curls. “It sounds like something, but it’s a barrel of nothing,” he said. “I’ve got a parcel of mail for you kids. Follow me.”
He went behind a wicket labeled UNITED STATES POST OFFICE.
“It seems like your mom misses all of you,” he said, _ examining each piece of mail before relinquishing it. “Your brother Bobby wants you to come back home.” Trixie’s eyes widened.
“Oh, I always read the postcards. It’s part of my compensation. There’s someone else here from your state, stopping over at the motel on the edge of town.”
“There is?” Trixie exclaimed. “Do you know his name? Is he a magazine editor?”
“Nosy as I am, I don’t know the answer to that one. He wears glasses, if that helps.”
“May we go right over and talk with him?” Trixie asked her uncle.
“And tell him what?” Brian asked matter-of-factly. “That you want dibs on coming up with the fish he wants?”
“We don’t really have anything to say to him, do we?” Trixie said, deflated.
“We can do some scouting around and find out if he is from the magazine,” Jim offered helpfully.
“I have to go to the lumberyard to order some lumber for that new room I’m going to build,” Uncle Andrew said. “Then we’ll go over to the motel for lunch. They have a restaurant there, and maybe the man who runs the motel will be able to tell us something.”
“Like as not he won’t,” Mr. Owens said, his eyes twinkling. “He’s the closemouthed kind. Me, I’m the bigmouthed one. What can I do for you?”
When they had bought nylon ropes, carbide lamps, short, thick candle's, a box of kitchen matches, some small waterproof bags, first aid kits, and a sharp pickax, Uncle Andrew decided that the high leather boots they had brought from home would be adequate. “If a snake gets to you with those on,” he said, “it’ll have to hold the high jump record for snakes.”
The store smelled of kerosine, licorice candy, gingersnaps in an open barrel, and new leather boots that dangled from a line above their heads. There were only a few other people in the store, and they stood politely watching the Bob-Whites. As the bundle of purchases grew, it was too much for one weatherbeaten old woodsman. “What in thunder are they going to do with all that stuff?” he asked the storekeeper.
“They’re going to do some cave exploring.”
“There ain’t a cave around here big enough to carry all that stuff into,” the old man said. “And if there was, they might meet up with the devil himself. Better keep out of caves!” He waved a bony finger.
“Say, Pop, don’t spoil my sales,” Mr. Owens said. “Maybe that’s what we’ve been needing around here —new blood that isn’t frozen by all the scare stories about this country. Maybe we’ve got us a Mammoth Cave nearby, like the one they’ve got over in Kentucky, and these kids will find it. Good luck, young ones!”
“It’s mostly Trixie’s idea,” Jim said. “She’s pretty famous as a detective in Westchester County, New York.”
The men burst out laughing and slapped their sides.
“You’ll be laughing out of the other sides of your faces before Trixie and her partner, Honey Wheeler, ever leave this part of the country,” Jim said solemnly and turned his head to wink at Uncle Andrew.
“He’s right!” Uncle Andrew said vehemently and told the astonished men how Trixie and Honey, with the help of the other Bob-Whites, had uncovered the thieves who had been stealing his sheep back in Iowa.
“That’s the best yarn I’ve heard in a long time!” one of the men said. “Have you got any more like it, Andy?”
Trixie just turned up her nose, took Honey’s arm, and walked out the door. “We’ll meet you at the motel,” she called back to the others.
Jim, Brian, and Mart caught up with the girls a few minutes later. “Uncle Andrew was telling them about some of your other stunts,” Brian said. “He won’t leave till he has them believing you really are Sure-Shot Trix Belden, girl wonder of Westchester County.”
“I just wish you and Jim and Mart and Uncle Andrew would let me have a gun and teach me how to shoot it,” Trixie answered. “I’d show you!”
“Just let Moms hear you say that!” Mart said.
Trixie didn’t answer him. “Do you suppose we can find out who that man at the motel is, Honey?”
“You can, if anyone can, and now’s your chance to try. I don’t believe there are many guests at the motel. There are only three cars parked here.”
The office was vacant when they went in. After they had waited a short time, Jim whistled. No one answered. Trixie walked over to the desk, where a small bell stood. Before she tapped it, she noticed the open register. She squinted to read the signature scrawled across it in heavy black ink. Try as she would, reading upside down, she couldn’t make out the name, but she did see, following the name, the printed words “Scientific Digest.” She whistled triumphantly and motioned to the others to look.
Just as they were ready to leave, the motel manager came in and directed them to the small lunch counter down the hall.
“He’s here!” Trixie said, elated. “The reward is really on the level. The magazine means business. Gosh, let’s order our food in a hurry; order for Uncle Andrew, too. That guide, Slim, will probably be at the lodge by now. Let’s get back as fast as Shem and Japheth will take us!”
“They’re not racehorses,” Mart drawled.
“Maybe they aren’t, but they’ll get us to the lodge, and we can hike to the caves. I think there’s almost as much to discover underground as there is in outer space. After all the money Uncle Andrew spent today on equipment for us, I’m going to try hard to show him it wasn’t wasted. We’re going to find those specimens. Right?”
“Right!” the other Bob-Whites chorused as the waitress came with the menu.
Getting Acquainted • 5
IN THE WAGON on the way back to the lodge, Honey gave Trixie a sharp nudge. “You haven’t said a word for ten minutes. What are you thinking about?”
“I’ve been thinking,” Trixie announced to all the Bob-Whites, “that we’d better keep the purpose of our exploration a secret. You can be pretty sure that everyone around here will be out after those specimens, once that editor at the motel starts talking.
”
“It sure won’t be any secret then,” Brian reminded her.
“No, but we’ll have a head start of a few days.”
“Slim will have to know what you’re after if he’s to be your guide,” Uncle Andrew said.
“Will he really have to know?” Trixie’s voice was anxious. “He might possibly try to find the fish himself.”
“If I know Slim, he’d rather go after a bass than after any cave fish. You wouldn’t have to tell him there’s a reward for the fish, would you?”
“No, I guess not. Do you know Slim real well?”
“I don’t really know him at all, except seeing him around the lodge when he helped Bill Hawkins. He’s some sort of relative of Mrs. Moore’s, I believe. She said he’s a regular woodsman; he’s been running around wild since he could walk. If he’s anything like Mrs. Moore, you can tell him anything and trust him completely.”
“That’s the best way,” Honey said quickly. “I don’t see any need to be so closemouthed.”
“I don’t either,” Mart echoed.
“Well, why don’t we wait till we meet Slim?” Jim suggested.
“That’s right,” Brian agreed. “Trixie’s intuition has worked more times than not. Let’s see what she thinks of Slim.”
Uncle Andrew, evidently impressed by the respect the Bob-Whites showed for one another, said, “It’s up to you. Tell Slim or don’t tell him. What I want him to do is to guide you and to point out any danger.”
“Maybe we’ll want to limit it to that,” Trixie said, relieved.
Several times Brian and Jim asked Linnie to stop the mules while they looked at limestone and clay strata exposed on the jagged cliffs. They explained that each layer of different color represented an era in geological history, and they added that they wanted to do some exploring for minerals.
“You won’t get a reward for that,” Trixie said. “I’m in favor of devoting all our time to hunting the ghost fish.”
“We can do both at the same time,” Brian said quietly. “You forget sometimes, Trixie, about the rock collection Jim and I are trying to get together for the clubhouse.”
“Some rock collections can be as valuable as fish specimens,” Jim added.
“You’re not serious, are you?” Trixie asked. “I never heard of anyone being offered five hundred dollars for a rock.”
“It could mean more money than that,” Jim answered, “if, for instance, we could find a deposit of celestite.”
“What is celestite?” Trixie asked.
“A soluble mineral used in preparing strontium.”
“All I know about strontium is that it has something to do with nuclear weapons.”
“That’s enough to know,” Brian said.-“We’re not likely to find celestite, but it’s only one of many minerals we could find when we gather rock specimens.”
“Don’t look so discouraged,” Jim was quick to add.
‘We’re really on the prowl for the ghost fish.”
Trixie’s face cleared.
“We’re at the top of the hill that leads to the lodge,” Linnie said, “but it’s too late now to go cave hunting,
Trixie, even if Slim has shown up.”
Slim had shown up.
When the Bob-Whites piled out of the wagon at the back door of the lodge, their future guide was half sprawling, half sitting on the porch step. He didn’t change his position until Uncle Andrew invited him inside and introduced his guests from New York.
Even then, Slim stood looking down, one toe scraping the living room floor. He didn’t offer to shake hands till the boys offered theirs. He didn’t even look in the direction of the girls until Trixie stepped up to him and announced, “I’m Trixie, Brian and Mart’s sister, and this is Honey Wheeler.”
“Evenin’, miss,” Slim drawled.
He came to life, though, when the Bob-Whites spread their purchases around on the living room floor. The carbide lamps seemed to intrigue him. He picked one up, fooled with it a minute, then put it down. His eyes narrowed at the accumulation of candles, waterproof plastic cases, pickax, shining nylon ropes, and hard helmets.
“What do you aim to do with all this truck?” he asked.
“It’s all gear that has been recommended by the National Speleological Society for cave explorers,” Uncle Andrew explained.
Slim snorted, passed a worn, frayed rope between his hands, then picked up his lantern. “These are all anyone needs,” he said. “See you in the mornin’. I’d figured to get goin’ this afternoon, but it’s too late now. Is eight o’clock too early for you dudes?”
Trixie bristled. “All of us dudes are strong enough and healthy enough to start out right now. We’re ready if you are.”
“See you at eight o’clock tomorrow mornin’,” Slim repeated and ambled toward the back door. “An’ go slow on packin’ all that dude stuff along with you. I don’t want to have to carry one of the womenfolk.” Trixie was speechless—that is, till she closed the door after Slim. Then she exploded.
“Do we have to go exploring with that—that—”
“Now, now, Trixie,” Uncle Andrew said. “Slim’s probably all right. He’s just like any other young fellow around here would likely be—not afraid to grapple a wildcat with his bare hands and thinking all official equipment is sissy. Hold your ammunition for a while.”
“I think first impressions are best,” Trixie said confidentially to Honey when they went upstairs to get ready for dinner. “I’ve hardly ever been wrong on first impressions, and there’s something sneaky and odd about that Slim.”
“Oh, Trixie, I don’t think so. If you think back, you’ll remember several times when you've both suspected people and were wrong about them.”
“Name just one.”
“Spider Webster’s brother, Tad. You thought the brother of our very favorite policeman in Sleepyside wasn't to be trusted.”
“You thought so, too, at first.”
“That’s why we should both be more trusting.”
“You don’t catch criminals by being trusting.” Trixie Belden of the Belden-Wheeler Detective Agency was talking. “All right, Honey, I’ll give Slim the red-carpet treatment as long as he has it coming. Are you ready for dinner?” A
At the table the talk reverted to Slim. All the Bob-Whites except Trixie had been amused at his attitude.
“Missouri is the ‘Show Me’ state, you know,” Uncle Andrew said. “It’ll be up to you Bob-Whites to show Slim you aren’t dudes and can take the hardships of cave exploring as well as he can.”
“Maybe we can’t do it,” Mart suggested. “The girls, anyway.”
Both Trixie and Honey started to sputter, then realized that Mart was teasing them.
“I don’t care!” Trixie said, her face red. “I just don’t trust him completely.”
Mrs. Moore passed a platter of crisp fried chicken to Uncle Andrew. “What’s wrong with Slim?” she asked Trixie in a serious tone of voice.
“I don’t think he likes us,” Trixie answered.
“I doubt if he likes or dislikes. He doesn’t know you. As far as trusting him is concerned, I’ve never heard of Slim having any brush with the law, unless it was for hunting out of season. Every man around here does that. They figure the woods belonged to them long before laws about hunting seasons were passed, and they have to hunt to eat.”
“Do you think that your mistrust of Slim could arise from your insuperable aversion to any kind of supervised activity?” Mart inquired, lifting his mouth from an ear of buttered sweet corn.
“Maybe it could.” Trixie surprised Mart so that he dropped the corn. “I guess I don’t go for any kind of restraint. Uncle Andrew, I am anxious to find those specimens. I am eager for us to be the first ones who do find them so we can get the reward and help the handicapped children.”
“I’m for you one hundred percent. Slim may eat his words, too, about the equipment. I wouldn’t trust that frayed rope of his to hold up a two-week-old kitten, much less
Slim. Well, let’s forget him, and cave hunting, too, till morning. I’m going to go over some papers, and then maybe we can have some music in the living room. Linnie and her mother are quite a singing team.”
Honey and Trixie carried the dishes from the table to Mrs. Moore in the kitchen. She separated the scraps that were to go to Jacob from those meant for the chickens and handed the pans to the boys. They carried them out, then fed and watered the mules. While the girls were helping Linnie and her mother wash the dishes, Mart and Brian took turns milking gentle Martha, who waited in the cow shed. Milking was one skill Jim knew nothing about. He played throw-and-fetch-stick with Jacob and then laughed amusedly as the coon dog caught a strange scent and Went off into the woods, baying plaintively.
When the shadows fell and logs in the great fireplace crackled, Mrs. Moore drew down the hanging kerosine lamps and lighted them. Uncle Andrew settled into his easy chair with a sigh of contentment. “Is your guitar tuned up?” he asked Linnie.
“Yes, sir. I don’t know what you want us to sing.”
“One of your real mountain songs. That one about Peter Degraph. The song is called ‘Come All Ye,’ ” Uncle Andrew explained to the Bob-Whites. “A man is about to be hanged for the murder of his sweetheart. He sings this song from the gallows as he protests his innocence. Sing it for us please, Linnie.”
“If Mama will help me. I may need prompting on some of the words.” She sang,
“Come all ye good people my story to hear,
What happened to me in the June of last year;
Of poor Ellen Smith, and how she was found
Shot through the heart, lyin’ cold on the ground.
“It was my intention to make her my wife,
And I loved her too dearly to take her sweet life.
I never did think that we ever would part—
Now people all say that I killed my sweetheart.
The Mystery at Bob-White Cave Page 4
