The Black Jacket Mystery

it hurts you. You might be surprised. He could turn out to be quite a regular guy, once he gets used to being away from home and decides to make new friends.”
    “Well, I’ll try,” Trixie promised, but she wasn’t very sure of herself.
    She told Honey what Jim had said as they rode out the next afternoon on Susie and Starlight toward the game preserve. Mrs. Belden was sending some of her canned fruit to Mr. Maypenny. The old gamekeeper was very fond of spiced crab apples, but there wasn’t a crab-apple tree on his property.
    “So I’m waving a flag of truce at the enemy,” Trixie said airily. "I may get shot, but I’ll be doing my best to make peace.”
    Honey nodded. “Good for you!” And a moment later, as she glanced ahead and a little to one side of the trail, she reined in and said, “Get out your white flag, Trix. The enemy has been sighted. Look up there on that hill in that clump of oaks.”
    Trixie stopped Susie and squinted at the distant trees. “I don’t see—yes, there he is!” She cupped her hands around her mouth and called, “Yoo-hoo, Dan! We’ve got something for you!” She waved a friendly hand.
    But the slim figure in the black jacket and shiny-peaked cap disappeared among the oaks without showing any sign that he had heard Trixie calling out to him.
    “The flag of truce just came down with a dull thud,” Trixie said grimly. “He doesn’t want to be chummy.”
    They rode on, and when they were in sight of Mr. Maypenny’s sturdy little cabin, they heard the sound of hammering. The sound was coming from the barn behind the cabin, where Mr. Maypenny kept Brownie.
    “Let’s show him what we’ve brought for him,” Trixie suggested. “I love to see his face light up when he sees good food. Maybe he’ll be so happy he’ll make us some hot chocolate with cinnamon m it.
    They dismounted a few yards from the barn and tied their horses to a post. Trixie took the jar with the pinkest of the crab apples floating enticingly in syrup, and they went toward the barn.
    The hammering was still going on as they stepped in out of the wintry sunlight. They saw that a new stall was being built, and that Spartan’s name had already been lettered on a rough-finished board above it.
    But the whistler, who broke off his merry tune and straightened up at sight of them, was not Mr. Maypenny. It was Dan Mangan, in his shirtsleeves.
    “Maypenny ain’t here. He’s out checking the feeding stations,” Dan said shortly, unsmiling.
    “Oh.” Trixie was doing her best to be bright and friendly. “We thought that was you we saw out there a few minutes ago in the oak grove.”
    Dan shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve been right around here ever since I got home from school last night.”
    Trixie frowned. “It didn’t look like Mr. Maypenny.”
    “Meaning you think I’m lying?” he asked curtly. “Trixie didn’t mean any such thing,” Honey said in quick defense of her friend. “She meant that whoever it was that we saw was wearing a black jacket and cap. We know that Mr. Maypenny always wears a turtleneck sweater and funny-looking wool knickers and a red cap and looks quaint.”
    “You saw somebody wearing a black jacket and a cap?” Dan asked, suddenly serious.
    “Of course we did,” Trixie said impatiently. “And you saw us, too. You were looking right at us when we waved. And I don’t know why you’re trying to say it wasn’t you.”
    “Because it wasn’t!” Dan’s black eyes snapped with anger. “It was either old Maypenny you saw or some tramp.”
    “Hey, maybe it was a tramp, Honey!” Trixie hadn’t thought of that possibility before. “He didn’t want us to see him, so he ducked.”
    “I suppose it could have been,” Honey agreed, “unless Mr. Maypenny has borrowed your jacket and cap.”
    “Nope,” Dan said flatly. He cocked his thumb toward the wall of the other stall where old Spartan was calmly munching on oats and ignoring them. “There’s my stuff.” He laughed suddenly. “You two better get yourselves some eyeglasses. You’ve been seeing things.”
    “But—” Trixie flushed angrily at his tone of voice. She wasn’t used to being sneered at. When Mart teased her, it was always in fun. This dark-haired boy seemed to mean it, and it hurt.
    Honey laid a hand on Trixie’s arm and stopped her from making an angry reply. “Let’s leave the fruit at the house. We’ll be late getting home, and your mother will