The Marshland Mystery

secret doors or cabinets and left the gold and silver in the open!”
    “I suppose it would have,” Trixie conceded sadly. Then she brightened again. “Maybe it was buried in the cellar! It could still be there, under all the bricks and dirt. And if we could dig down deep—”
    “Hold it!” Mart threw up both hands. “You’re not about to hornswoggle us into going out there on Trent’s hunch and getting blisters for nothing!”
    “Mart’s right, Trix,” Brian said hastily. “Remember that both Melanie and her son, Rachel’s father, must have searched the house many times during the years they lived there. And the first place they would have looked would probably have been the cellar.”
    “I suppose so,” Trixie conceded with a sigh. “Just the same, I wish somebody could find it. It would be wonderful to be able to hand it to Miss Rachel so she could buy herself another little house, close to town, and open up a handicraft shop or something.”
    “That’s a nice little dream, Trix,” Brian said, “but I’m afraid you’ll have to think up a more possible answer for her. Miss Martin is in real trouble, and she needs more than a dream to get her out of it.”
     

Time Limit • 18
     
    THE REST of the school week passed without any of the Bob-Whites being able to think of any way to help Miss Rachel avoid going to the Home to live.
    “At least we have lots of time to rack our massive brains and come up with something spectacular,” Trixie told Honey as they saddled up Susie and Strawberry for their Friday afternoon ride.
    Honey nodded agreement. Then she said, “Do you think it would be all right for us to ride out that way this afternoon? I just had a horrible thought.”
    “What was that?” Trixie asked in a startled tone. She wasn’t sure whether Honey was joking or not. But when she looked over Susie’s back and saw her friend’s face, she knew that Honey was serious.
    “Why, here we’ve been fussing about Miss Rachel’s having to go to the Home this fall, and nobody has even asked her how she’s going to feel about it! Maybe she won’t mind at all.”
    Trixie stared at her friend, her own eyes widening into two blue pools. “Honey! I never even gave that a thought! I guess we’d better find out before we get all steamed up about trying to keep her out of it!”
    A few minutes later they were riding along Glen Road, in the direction of Miss Rachel’s home.
    They had gone only a short distance along the turnoff road, when they heard a sound like a car engine backfiring. It seemed to have come from up ahead on the old road.
    “Somebody’s old car is having a tough time getting up the road,” Honey called over gaily to Trixie.
    But Trixie, looking down from her saddle at the nearly dry road, suddenly drew in and stopped. “There are no tire tracks,” she said. And just as she finished speaking, there was another distant sharp sound.
    Honey, who had stopped when Trixie did, turned puzzled eyes to Trixie. “It sounded more like a shotgun. Dad took me duck hunting last fall, and his gun sounded just like that.”
    “But this is the closed season, and, anyway, this is within city limits.” Trixie frowned.
    “It could be a poacher or some careless kid trying to be smart,” Honey said worriedly. “Maybe we’d better just turn back. He could hit one of us or the horses by mistake.”
    “Oh, phoo!” Trixie growled. “I hate to turn back after we’ve come this far. My mouth was all set for mint tea.”
    “Mine, too,” Honey sighed, “but there’s no use taking chances on being mistaken for a deer by some goofy amateur hunter!”
    They were turning their horses, when they heard voices of men coming from farther along up the road. The voices were loud and sounded angry.
    “Let’s duck,” Trixie said quickly. “We can get behind those bushes and watch without being seen. Those fellows up ahead seem to be angry about something.” Honey didn’t wait to discuss it. She wheeled Strawberry and headed the roan horse toward the bushes. Trixie was close behind her.
    Now the men were coming around a bend in the narrow road. There were six of them, and they were rough-looking young fellows in denims, carrying long-handled spades and shovels over their shoulders. One of the men was limping and being supported by one of the others. They were all talking angrily about something, but neither of the girls could make out what it was that had upset them.
    Trixie and Honey sat