The Happy Valley Mystery

arm.
    “Of course not!” Trixie said quickly. “His truck seems to be stalled. Honey Wheeler, do you see what he has in his truck?”
    “Sheep,” Diana said. “What about it?”
    “Yes, sheep,” Honey echoed. “Is that the man you said looked like a sheep thief, Trixie?”
    “Yes,” said Trixie in a low voice. “Di, you go on to the box and get the mail, will you please? Honey and I have work to do.”
    “I will not,” Diana said. “I wouldn’t go near that truck. I’m afraid.”
    “Oh, all right,” Trixie answered. “Go on back to the house, then. Honey, you go back, too, and tell the boys. Try to get hold of them before they saddle the horses. I’ll get the mail and then catch up with you.”
    When Trixie ran back down the farmhouse road, Honey and the boys were waiting. “Please take the mail into the house,” she told Diana, and she thrust the package into her hand. “Brian, get Ben’s jalopy. Hurry!” Brian wheeled the car around. Trixie and Honey and Jim and Mart piled into it, and they were off up the road to the highway.
    “I’m sure he’s the thief,” Trixie said excitedly. “I saw him that night on the hill overlooking the sheep pasture. What else could he have been doing there?”
    “Are you talking to yourself?” Mart asked, looking at Trixie.
    “No, I’m not, Mart Belden. I’m talking to Brian and Jim and Honey. Can’t you hurry, Brian? Oh, jeepers, he must have repaired his truck,” she said as they reached the intersection near Army Post Road. “He isn’t even in sight.”
    “I’ll see if I can overtake him,” Brian said and stepped on the accelerator.
    “There probably are speed laws,” Jim reminded him. “Slow down, Brian. You’re supposed to be the conservative one, you know.”
    “How can I slow down when Trixie’s twisting my arm?” Brian asked. “She’s the one who’s in a hurry.”
    “It’s all right now,” Trixie said breathlessly. “There’s the truck ahead, see? It’s turning down that road. After it, Brian! He’s making for some hideout!”
    “Funny kind of hideout,” Mart said. “He’s heading right into Valley Park.”
    “Well, were going to follow him, anyway. He’s probably trying to throw us off,” Trixie cried.
    When the truck parked in front of the small bank, Brian drew right in beside it. Trixie was out of the jalopy in a flash. She peeked into the truck. “They’re the same kind of sheep as Uncle Andrew’s,” she whispered. “The man’s gone into the bank. I’m going to follow him. I’ve got to see what he does.”
    Inside, she went to the desk in the center of the room and pretended to be filling out a deposit slip. Out of the comer of her eye, to her surprise, Trixie saw the president of the bank come from behind his desk and shake hands with the black-bearded man.
    “How are you, Mr. Schulz?” he said. “What brings you into town? Selling some more of your sheep?”
    “Yes, I am,” the bearded man answered. “When my neighbor, Andy Belden, was here, he kept after me to hold on to them for a better price—but I got my price at the auction at Rivervale the other day. That’s where I’m bound for again.”
    Dejectedly Trixie trudged back to the jalopy and climbed into the front seat with Brian. She told them what she had heard. No one said a word till they left the village of Valley Park behind them.
    “How was I to know?” Trixie said then, defensively. “I never met the neighbor across the road from Happy Valley. Anyway, what was he doing in Uncle Andrew’s field that late in the evening?”
    “Part of his farm adjoins Uncle Andrew’s land,” Mart said. “I knew that.”
    “You mean his land jumps across the road?” Honey asked.
    “Sure it does. When they lay out new roads, lots of times they have to cut through people’s land. Mr. Gorman told us that land across the creek belonged to Mr. Schulz. I guess Trixie just wasn’t listening. Dreaming, instead, about black whiskers and—”
    “Cut it out, Mart,” Jim said. “It did look suspicious.”
    “Even bigger brains than yours, Mart,” Trixie said shamefacedly, “men like... well, Scotland Yard and the FBI... they have to track down every clue.”
     
    At the farmhouse, they found that Ben had returned. He was a big, dark, good-natured young man, anxious to talk about the short course he was planning to take at the university in Ames.
    “The dean of the school of agriculture has his own big farm,” Ben said. “I was out