The Happy Valley Mystery

gave a sudden leap into the middle, yelping like mad. Out jumped a big jackrabbit, right under Tip’s nose. In two bounds it was thirty feet away from the astonished dogs. It stopped, looked back tauntingly, wiggled its nose, and was off with the wind.
    Tip and Tag just sat, dejected.
    “If we only had a horse,” Honey said.
    “Do you think even a racehorse could catch a jack-rabbit?” Ned asked. “There isn’t anything that can catch one of them. We ought to have a couple of good shotguns.”
    “That’s not sportsmanlike,” Trixie said.
    “Nuts!” Mart said. “It’s good sportsmanship for one of them to kick me in the stomach and knock me down, I suppose. Come, Tag.”
    They had been working down the field at the edge of the gully. Tip and Tag, acting strangely, sniffed along the ground, following a trail toward the comer of the pasture.
    “They’re after something,” Ned said. “Quiet; let’s follow them.”
    The dogs, yipping, their tails going like windmills, scratched frantically at the ground in the far comer of the Belden acres, routing out a group of sheep that seemed to be feeding greedily on something.
    “If it’s another rabbit they’re after, count me out,” Diana said, dropping to the ground, exhausted from running and laughing. “I’m bushed.”
    “Me, too,” Barbara said.
    “Maybe the dogs have found a rabbit burrow,” Trixie wondered out loud.
    “There you go,” Mart said. “Rabbits—that is, jack-rabbits—don’t have burrows.”
    “Just happy wanderers?” Trixie asked.
    “Nope. They make nests on top of the ground for their young and—”
    “And, Mr. Encyclopedia?” Trixie asked, waiting. “And the baby jackrabbits are left there to more or less fend for themselves. They’re born with heavy fur and with their eyes open. Cottontails are born blind, naked, and helpless.”
    “But the cottontail mothers take good care of their babies for months,” Barbara said. “The jackrabbits shove their children out in the world after just a few days.”
    “I think it’s pretty smart of Mart to know all that stuff,” Diana said. “He’s always the one of the Bob-Whites who can tell us about everything.”
    “That’s right,” Brian agreed. “You don’t give him credit for storing up all that knowledge, Trixie.”
    “Oh, yes, I do,” Trixie said, smiling. “I just can’t let his ego run away with him.”
    “Oh, yes?” Mart said. “Say, what do you suppose those dogs are doing? They’re making a big fuss about something.”
    Trixie jumped up from the ground. “If it’s a nest of baby rabbits,” she said, “I’d love to have one.”
    “Mrs. Gorman wouldn’t let you take it near the house,” Barbara said, getting up from the ground and brushing off her jeans.
    “Gosh, it’s no nest of baby rabbits,” Jim said. “Listen to Tag! Have they found a snake?”
    “Could be,” Bob said. “Newborn snakes come out in the sun in the spring and warm themselves. One time Barbara and I killed four rattlesnakes in our pasture-just killed them with stones.”
    The dogs, who had been racing around a small circle of ground in the far corner, pawing and scratching, jumping into the air and pawing again, now began to run in wider circles. Tag howled like a lost soul and, tail between his legs, ran as though a thousand demons were right behind him.
    “What is it, fella?” Jim called, running toward him. “What’s bothering you?”
    “Look at the air back of you, and you’ll soon see,” Bob called. “Run for your life! They’ve dug up a bumblebee nest! Run!” He took Honeys hand and pushed his sister Barbara ahead of him. “Run!”
    “They’ve nipped Tag on the nose,” Jim said. “Come on, Trixie.”
    Trixie, who had waited to see if she could help Tag, found herself pulled along in a stumbling dead run. The dogs were far ahead, howling so loudly that they brought Mrs. Gorman out of the house.
    “It’s starting to rain,” Bob called back to the Bob-Whites. '‘That’ll slow down the bees. Boy, is it pouring down!”
    “What on earth happened?” Mrs. Gorman asked as she held the door wide to let the rabbit hunters tumble into the kitchen.
    “Tag—bee stung him on the nose—bumblebee,” Trixie gasped. “Poor old Tag!”
    “Did they sting any of you?” Mrs. Gorman asked anxiously, at the same time reaching into the cupboard for a box of soda.
    “They couldn’t catch us,” Trixie said, laughing and still out of breath. “What a nose poor