Wordlessly, Trixie and Honey nodded.
“Me, too,” Regan said. Then he sighed. “I thought I’d caught my culprits, too—and who do I find but the girl detectives from Sleepyside!”
Of course! Trixie thought, tears of relief welling in her eyes. Regan isn't here to drug Gadbox-, he's here to catch someone else doing it, just as Honey and I are!
“Oh, Regan, I’m so glad!” Honey whispered in the darkness.
“Well, I’m not,” Regan said. “This isn’t a safe place for you girls to be tonight. I’d send you home, but I’m afraid you’d come right back, anyhow. So you two might as well stay—but keep close to me, do you hear?”
Again the girls nodded, scrambling to their feet.
Putting a finger to his lips to remind them of the need for silence, Regan turned and left the stall. Trixie and Honey followed close behind him, their own breathing sounding thunderous in their ears.
As they neared the stall where Gadbox was kept, the three heard voices. Exchanging startled looks, they flattened themselves against the wall of an adjoining barn and held their breaths as they listened.
“I give up,” a gruff-voiced man was saying. “We’ve searched every inch of this stall, and we haven’t found the feed pouch. Since that other race, Stinson probably sleeps with the feed bag under his pillow the night before a big race.” The gruffvoiced man laughed stupidly.
“Keep your voice down!” a second man hissed. “And keep looking! We stand to make a bundle on tomorrow’s race. All we have to do is find that feed pouch. It’s too bad there isn’t some dumb kid around to take the rap for us this time.”
Trixie felt Regan’s body go rigid with anger. She reached out a hand to him, but she was too late. Regan had charged forward. “You’ll take the rap for this one yourselves!” he shouted.
Watching from the shadows, Trixie saw a man emerge from Gadbox’s stall, a gun in his hand. Scarface! Trixie thought. She closed her eyes, not wanting to see the flash of fire from the gun’s muzzle. Instead, she heard a dull thud as the scar-faced man hit Regan over the head with the gun.
We have to get out of here, Trixie thought, panic-stricken. We have to get help. “Run, Honey,” she whispered hoarsely.
The girls began to run, but they hadn’t gone more than ten yards before the scar-faced man overtook them, forcing them roughly to the ground with a flying tackle.
Stranded ● 15
TRIXIE AND HONEY struggled with all their might to break loose from their captor’s grasp. “Louie!” the man shouted. “Get out here on the double! And bring some rope!”
Still struggling, Trixie heard the sound of running feet approaching, and then she was yanked to her feet by the second man, while the man who had tackled them hauled Honey to a standing position. The first man, Trixie saw in the darkness, was Scar-face. She twisted her head to look over her shoulder at Louie, his accomplice, who was tying her hands behind her back. He was a small man, but the strength with which he grasped her arms told her that his size was deceptive.
Trixie’s teeth were chattering with fear, but she clenched her jaw to keep them quiet. We can’t let them know that we’re afraid, she thought. We can’t even let ourselves be afraid. We have to keep our heads clear and keep looking for a way out of this.
The small man had finished tying Trixie’s hands; he cut off the leftover rope with a pocketknife and tossed it to the scar-faced man, who tied Honey.
“What do we do now, boss?” Louie asked.
“There’s an empty horse trailer behind the barn, still hitched to a pickup truck. We’ll put our nosy friends in that until we find the feed bag and put the dope in it. Then we’ll all go for a little ride. But only two of us’ll come back.” Laughing at his own attempt at humor, Scarface pulled Honey along with him to the trailer, and Louie followed with Trixie in tow.
The girls were thrown roughly into the trailer, and they lay silent for a moment. Then they heard footsteps approaching again, and they moved out of the way as Regan’s unconscious body landed in a crumpled heap in the trailer.
“I-Is he still alive, Trixie?” Honey whispered, her voice trembling.
Trixie wormed her way over to where Regan lay and maneuvered her bound hands to the pulse on his neck, which was throbbing steadily. “He’s all right!” she whispered joyfully. “But I don’t think it’s a good sign that he’s been unconscious this long.”
As if in reply, Regan moaned and pulled himself slowly to a sitting position, his hands held to his head. “Wh-What happened?” he groaned. “Where am I?”
“You’re all right,” Trixie repeated. “The man with the scar hit you over the head with his gun. He and his accomplice put us in a horse trailer, and as soon as they put the drugs in Gadbox’s feed bag, they’re going to—to take us somewhere,” she finished lamely, not wanting to repeat the threatening words that Scarface had spoken.
“Regan,” Honey whispered urgently, “Trixie and I are tied up. Can you untie us? We have to try to get out of here before those men come back.”
Trixie turned her back to Regan and held out her hands. The young groom fumbled with the knots, but still weakened and confused from the blow to his head, he was unable even to loosen the ropes.
“Did I make those knots too tight for you?” Louie’s voice, followed by his stupid laugh, broke Regan’s and the girls’ rapt concentration. “Well, I brought some more rope, to tie some more knots with. We’ll see what kind of luck you have with those.”
Louie forced Regan to lie on his stomach. He tied Regan’s hands behind him, then bent his legs up behind him and tied his feet to his hands. “Just like the calf-roping at the rodeo,” Louie chuckled. Louie bound the girls’ feet with two more lengths of rope and was proudly surveying his handiwork, when the man with the scar poked his head into the trailer.
“All finished?” Scarface asked.
Louie nodded. “It’ll hold ’em for a while—a good long while, I’d say.”
“Good,” Scarface said curtly. “The drug is mixed in with the feed. If everything works the way we figured, Gadbox will have just enough dope in his system to show up in the urine test after the race. Then he’ll be disqualified.”
“What are you going to do with us?” Trixie demanded nervously.
“There’s a deserted barn out in the country. We’ll dump you there. By the time anybody finds you, the two of us will be headed out of the country, where we’ll live like kings until the heat blows over. Any other questions?” Scarface asked sarcastically. Without waiting for a reply, Scarface signaled to Louie, and the two men disappeared.
Her face burning, Trixie forced herself to remain silent, but her mind was working frantically. She and Regan and Honey were in no immediate danger, but Gadbox would be disqualified. “And possibly ruined as a racehorse, just as his father was,” she murmured.
“Gadbox isn’t the only one who’ll be ruined,” Regan’s voice said, startling Trixie, who hadn’t realized she’d spoken out loud.
“What do you mean, Regan?” Honey asked.
Just then the engine of the pickup truck turned over, and the trailer lurched as it moved forward. The two girls were knocked off balance by the movement, and they struggled to right themselves.
“Who else will be ruined?” Trixie demanded as soon as she recovered.
“If Gadbox is disqualified tomorrow, it will be the second time in seven years that a Worthington Farms horse has been drugged during a claiming race. The first case went unsolved, but the track officials will be too embarrassed to let that happen a second time. They’ll look hard for someone to pin the crime on—maybe Worthington, maybe Stinson.” Regan laughed hollowly. “Maybe even me, if the investigation turns up the fact that I was back in Saratoga.”
“But Regan, the track officials wouldn’t accuse someone who wasn’t guilty of the crime,” Trixie protested.
“Of course not,” Regan said. “They won’t prosecute unless they have sufficient evidence. But track rules call for suspension o
f the owner and the trainer from racing while the investigation is going on. That could ruin both Worthington and Stinson financially.
“Then,” Regan continued, “even if they’re cleared of the charges against them, the cloud of suspicion that hangs over them won’t go away immediately. They won’t get good odds on their horses; other owners will be afraid to bid on them in claiming races—in short, Worthington Farms would be out of business.”
“That’s awful!” Honey exclaimed indignantly. “We have to get back to town before the race, to warn Mr. Stinson not to give Gadbox that feed bag,” Trixie said desperately.
Just then, Trixie, Honey, and Regan were jostled again as the truck pulling their trailer made a sharp turn. Before they could recover, the truck stopped and the doors slammed. The three occupants of the trailer waited for further sounds. They heard the metallic noise of the trailer hitch being pulled loose. Then they heard the doors of the truck open and slam shut once again. The engine turned over and began running smoothly. Finally the noise of the truck receded.
The three sat in the dark stillness for a few moments, until they were sure that their captors had indeed left. Then Trixie whispered, “Honey, come over here and help me untie Regan.”
“Why are you whispering?” Honey demanded in a normal tone. “And how can I help? My hands are tied behind my back, just as yours are.”
“We’ll have to work together,” Trixie said out loud. “You’re better with knots and things than I am, because of all your needlework. You be the hands, and I’ll supply the eyes, as much as I can in this darkness.”
Honey knelt on one side of Regan, her back turned so that her hands could reach the knots that bound his hands and feet. Trixie knelt facing him, directing Honey on which ropes to pull.
It was a long and frustrating process. Trixie, who could see what needed to be done, became impatient at Honey’s groping clumsiness. Honey’s arms grew stiff and sore from the awkward position she was forced to hold them in to work on the knots. Regan lay helplessly on his stomach, asking repeatedly if the girls were almost finished.
The heat and humidity became almost unbearable in the tight enclosure of the trailer. The only sound from outside was the chirping of crickets. Influenced by the stillness outside, the three people inside the trailer unconsciously lowered their voices once again to whispers.
After what seemed like hours, the last of the knots gave way, and Regan’s arms and legs flopped free. Groaning, he pulled himself into a sitting position and massaged his wrists and flexed his ankles. Trixie and Honey waited impatiently, knowing that he couldn’t untie them until some feeling returned to his own hands, but wishing that he would hurry. Finally he turned his attention to the two girls, and soon they, too, were massaging their wrists, rejoicing over their freedom.
“Why are we standing in here?” Trixie asked. “I want some fresh air!” She walked unsteadily to the back of the trailer and jumped out, falling to the ground as her still-numb legs gave way under her. Rolling over on her back, she raised her arms over her head and breathed in the clean, fresh air. Then, opening her eyes, she gasped, “It’s daylight!” The sun was, indeed, well over the eastern horizon. Honey, Trixie, and Regan exchanged panic-stricken glances. They were free—but where were they?
“We’ll just have to start walking in some direction—any direction—and hope that we see a road sign that tells us where we are,” Regan said.
“We were moving for a long time,” Honey said hopelessly. “It could take us hours to get back to town on foot.”
“Then we’ll flag down a car,” Trixie said, jumping to her feet and wincing as her stiff muscles protested. “The main thing is to get going. We have to get back to town before the race.”
The tired threesome limped down the long driveway and out onto a gravel road. Trixie’s muscles ached, she felt hot and dirty, and for the first time, she was noticing how hungry she was. Taking a deep breath, she resolved not to complain. Honey and Regan are depressed enough already, without my making them feel worse, she thought.
The gravel road eventually led to a two-lane blacktop, with a sign that said, “Saratoga, 10 miles.” The three stared at the sign, and then Honey burst into tears, collapsing at the side of the road. “I—I can’t walk ten more miles. I just can’t!” she sobbed.
Completely dispirited, Trixie sat down beside Honey and put her arm around her friend. “I don’t think I can, either. Regan?” she queried, looking up at the redheaded groom.
As if in answer, he sank down on the road beside them. “Sure, I can walk ten miles,” he said. “But the way I feel right now, I’d need about three days to do it. Since we don’t have three days, we might just as well wait right here and hope that someone comes by—someone trusting enough to pick up three dusty, dirty strangers on a deserted road miles from town, at about eight o’clock in the morning.”
They sat and waited, but no cars went by. Finally, a dusty pickup truck came down the road, and the three stood up and waved frantically at it. The driver glanced at them, but he didn’t slow down.
Trixie blinked back tears as she threw herself back down on the ground. Nobody will stop, she thought, at least not in time. “I don’t even care if we save Gadbox anymore,” she wailed. “I just want a shower, and some breakfast, and a long, long nap!”
Just then they heard the sound of a car coming down the road. “It’s coming from the wrong direction,” Honey said.
“That doesn’t matter. If we get a ride somewhere, we can use a phone to call the track officials,” Regan pointed out.
“They won’t stop, anyway,” Honey said, her spirits too low for her to try to think positively.
Trixie was staring intently at the station wagon that was approaching, and suddenly she was on her feet, dragging Honey up with her. “This car will stop, Honey!” she exclaimed. “I know it will!”
She began to jump up and down and wave her arms, and Honey, after a closer look at the car, began to wave and shout.
The car that skidded to a halt on the deserted road was the Bob-White station wagon, and as soon as it stopped, out piled Brian, Jim, Mart, and a big, burly young man with a pleasant, good-natured face.
“That’s Johnny!” exclaimed Regan. “He’s the guy who pawned my boots for me,” he explained to the girls.
Danger at the Racetrack • 16
FOR THE NEXT several minutes, confusion reigned as everyone hugged and shouted at once. Finally, Mart Belden’s piercing whistle split the air, startling the others into silence.
“The repatriation of our prodigal siblings is indeed an occasion that is cause for jubilation,” he said. “But in order to terminate the anguish of a quartet of timorous elders, I suggest that we depart for Saratoga posthaste.”
“Oh, Mart, have you talked to my parents?” Honey asked. “Are they terribly worried?”
“They certainly are,” Jim answered before Mart could muster the large words he needed for a reply.
“They called your room early this morning. When there was no answer, they had the desk clerk let them in. Then they discovered that your beds hadn’t been slept in, and they got frantic.”
“Honey’s parents called our parents,” Brian continued, “and our parents called us at camp, thinking that we might know something about your whereabouts. We didn’t, of course—in fact, we didn’t even know you’d come to Saratoga, since you’ve obviously been too busy getting yourselves embroiled in a mystery to send us so much as a postcard.”
Trixie looked at the ground and kicked a few roadside pebbles with her foot, too embarrassed to answer her brother.
“Listen,” Jim interrupted, “I’m sure there’s a very interesting story behind all this, and I want to hear all about it on the way into town. But I don’t want to keep our folks waiting for us any longer than we have to.”
“Gleeps!” Trixie exclaimed, suddenly remembering that race time was fast approaching. “We haven’t a second to lose. Let’s go!”
She ran to t
he car, with Honey and Regan close behind her, while the boys exchanged bewildered looks as they followed along.
On the way back to town, Trixie, Honey, and Regan quickly told the boys about the chain of events that had led up to that morning. “So you see,” Trixie concluded, “we have to get back to town in time to warn Mr. Stinson not to give Gadbox the food that he prepared yesterday.”
Jim nodded solemnly, his eyes on the road. “You also have to notify the track officials, so that they can try to catch those two crooks. They must be planning to bet on the race.”
“Now you’ve heard our side of the story,” Regan said, “but we still don’t know how you came to find us on a deserted road ten miles from Saratoga—or how you and Johnny wound up together.”
“Deductive perspicuity is not limited to the distaff side of the Bob-White conglomeration,” Mart said smugly.
“Would somebody else tell the story, please,” Trixie pleaded, “so that we can all understand it without using a dictionary, which doesn’t happen to be standard equipment in the Bob-White station wagon?”
Brian chuckled. “Mart just means that we boys can follow clues as well as you girls can. When our folks called to say you’d disappeared in Saratoga, the three of us decided to skip the two-day counselors’ party that ends the season, to drive down here and try to save your silly necks. When we got to the hotel a couple of hours ago, Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler had already questioned the desk clerk. He hadn’t seen you leave, but he suggested that you might have gone riding again, since you had asked for a list of boarding stables in the area a couple of days ago. That didn’t seem very logical, but since logic seldom has anything to do with your actions, we got the list of stables and Started driving around to them.”
“That’s where they found me,” Johnny said shyly. “I was worried about Regan, because he wasn’t out working with the horses this morning, and he wasn’t in the bunkhouse, either. Then the boys showed up, and they showed me Honey’s and Trixie’s class pictures, which they had in their billfolds.”
The Mystery at Saratoga Page 12
