The Mystery of the Castaway Children

mercy.”
    As Jim drove up the farm lane, Trixie drew a deep breath. “Smell that bread! Come on in!”
    “Just try to keep us out,” Jim dared her.
    Before the three could take more than a few steps away from the car, Bobby charged across the yard toward them, round-eyed and out of breath. “Just guess who’s coming!” he shrieked.
    Trixie looked where Bobby was pointing, unsure whether to be fearful or ecstatic. There, coming down the bicycle trail, was Brian on the handsome chestnut gelding, Starlight. Behind him was Dan riding Spartan, with Mart following on Strawberry, his favorite mount from the Wheeler stable. And behind them, led by a rope held by Mart, was a friendly, willing captive—a small, black, shaggy pony.
    Since learning to ride Mr. Pony, Bobby considered himself to be an authority on ponies. “The littlest pony I ever did see” was his joyful comment.
    “Where on earth—” began Trixie.
    “Dan came over to help us with our chores,” explained Brian, “and we finished in record time.”
    “So,” Dan interrupted, “we decided to follow up on those tracks you found at Ten Acres. You people must not have looked closely enough last night, because—”
    “Because,” Mart concluded dramatically, “that is where our equestrian expedition reached a favorable termination, and our exploration evoked an ebony—”
    “I can’t listen to any more of this!” cried Trixie.
    “I have to call Sergeant Molinson!”
    The sergeant was properly impressed with the Bob-Whites’ discovery. “Hang on to him,” he ordered. “Davy will follow.”
    Trixie gulped. Now, how was she going to report about the trip to Sleepyside? Well, all she could do was tell him. So she did just that.
    “ What ?” From the other end of the line, Trixie heard sounds decidedly like muffled curses. “I thought I asked you to search for the boy and the pony, while I looked for the crook!” he snapped.
    “We didn’t hunt crooks,” Trixie said in a small voice, “just an auction clerk. I had to know more about Wicky.”
    “You could have asked Mrs. Dodge!” the sergeant roared.
    “She isn’t here. She went home last night,” Trixie reported.
    Words crackled into Trixie’s ear. “This case is getting out of hand! I suppose she took the baby?”
    “No, sir. Dodgy is here. Di’s watching him.”
    “Well, see that somebody stays with him. I’m not sitting on my hands, you know! I’ve been doing some more checking on Roger Higgins.
    A few weeks ago, he sat in on a poker game where the stakes were way over his head. Now that he’s made the connection between the Dodge children and you, he may decide to pull something!”
    “I—I know. That’s what Honey was worried about,” Trixie confessed miserably.
    “Congratulate Honey for keeping her common sense!” the sergeant barked. “And keep in touch with me, y’hear? If the slightest thing goes wrong, call me!” Bang went the receiver.

What’s Mutual? ● 13

    TRIXIE FELT LIKE A ROBOT in slow motion as she walked back to Honey. “The sergeant is mad,” she said stiffly.
    “How mad?” Honey asked, tears of sympathy welling.
    “Plenty,” Trixie admitted. “We’d better find Davy and get both those kids to the police station.”
    “How about some lunch first?” begged Mart.
    “I’m famished,” agreed Trixie. “Where are Moms and Dad?”
    “Who cares?” Mart yelped, making a run for the kitchen. “They left us fresh bread to make sandwiches!”
    “They went over to the Dodges’ to help them pack,” said Brian. “And also to help them with errands, since the Dodges sold their cars.”
    “Dodgy was napping, so they left him here with me,” Di put in proudly.
    All the Bob-Whites got to work in the kitchen. Bobby wanted to share the excitement. “ ’Member. that sandwich I put on the doghouse?” he asked. “Well, you know what? Something ate it! I found the napkin on the ground behind the tool shed.”
    “Reddy probably picked it up and carried it back there to eat,” Brian said, putting the finishing touches on his ham and cheese sandwich.
    “No tooth marks on the napkin,” Bobby chirped. “I looked.”
    Mart groaned loudly. “Methinks our youngest sibling doth create clamor like unto a shamus.”
    “Nope to whatever you said,” retorted Bobby. Trixie paused between bites of her peanut butter sandwich. “I think Bobby may have found a clue,” she mused.
    Bobby moved to sit beside the one who recognized his detective