The Mystery at Bob-White Cave

one.”
    “Spider Webster’s brother, Tad. You thought the brother of our very favorite policeman in Sleepyside wasn't to be trusted.”
    “You thought so, too, at first.”
    “That’s why we should both be more trusting.”
    “You don’t catch criminals by being trusting.” Trixie Belden of the Belden-Wheeler Detective Agency was talking. “All right, Honey, I’ll give Slim the red-carpet treatment as long as he has it coming. Are you ready for dinner?” A
    At the table the talk reverted to Slim. All the Bob-Whites except Trixie had been amused at his attitude.
    “Missouri is the ‘Show Me’ state, you know,” Uncle Andrew said. “It’ll be up to you Bob-Whites to show Slim you aren’t dudes and can take the hardships of cave exploring as well as he can.”
    “Maybe we can’t do it,” Mart suggested. “The girls, anyway.”
    Both Trixie and Honey started to sputter, then realized that Mart was teasing them.
    “I don’t care!” Trixie said, her face red. “I just don’t trust him completely.”
    Mrs. Moore passed a platter of crisp fried chicken to Uncle Andrew. “What’s wrong with Slim?” she asked Trixie in a serious tone of voice.
    “I don’t think he likes us,” Trixie answered.
    “I doubt if he likes or dislikes. He doesn’t know you. As far as trusting him is concerned, I’ve never heard of Slim having any brush with the law, unless it was for hunting out of season. Every man around here does that. They figure the woods belonged to them long before laws about hunting seasons were passed, and they have to hunt to eat.”
    “Do you think that your mistrust of Slim could arise from your insuperable aversion to any kind of supervised activity?” Mart inquired, lifting his mouth from an ear of buttered sweet corn.
    “Maybe it could.” Trixie surprised Mart so that he dropped the corn. “I guess I don’t go for any kind of restraint. Uncle Andrew, I am anxious to find those specimens. I am eager for us to be the first ones who do find them so we can get the reward and help the handicapped children.”
    “I’m for you one hundred percent. Slim may eat his words, too, about the equipment. I wouldn’t trust that frayed rope of his to hold up a two-week-old kitten, much less Slim. Well, let’s forget him, and cave hunting, too, till morning. I’m going to go over some papers, and then maybe we can have some music in the living room. Linnie and her mother are quite a singing team.”
    Honey and Trixie carried the dishes from the table to Mrs. Moore in the kitchen. She separated the scraps that were to go to Jacob from those meant for the chickens and handed the pans to the boys. They carried them out, then fed and watered the mules. While the girls were helping Linnie and her mother wash the dishes, Mart and Brian took turns milking gentle Martha, who waited in the cow shed. Milking was one skill Jim knew nothing about. He played throw-and-fetch-stick with Jacob and then laughed amusedly as the coon dog caught a strange scent and Went off into the woods, baying plaintively.
    When the shadows fell and logs in the great fireplace crackled, Mrs. Moore drew down the hanging kerosine lamps and lighted them. Uncle Andrew settled into his easy chair with a sigh of contentment. “Is your guitar tuned up?” he asked Linnie.
    “Yes, sir. I don’t know what you want us to sing.”
    “One of your real mountain songs. That one about Peter Degraph. The song is called ‘Come All Ye,’ ” Uncle Andrew explained to the Bob-Whites. “A man is about to be hanged for the murder of his sweetheart. He sings this song from the gallows as he protests his innocence. Sing it for us please, Linnie.”
    “If Mama will help me. I may need prompting on some of the words.” She sang,
     
    “Come all ye good people my story to hear,
    What happened to me in the June of last year;
    Of poor Ellen Smith, and how she was found
    Shot through the heart, lyin’ cold on the ground.
     
    “It was my intention to make her my wife,
    And I loved her too dearly to take her sweet life.
    I never did think that we ever would part—
    Now people all say that I killed my sweetheart.
     
    “Yes, I choke back my tears, for you people all said
    That I, Pete Degraph, shot Ellen Smith dead.
    My love’s in her grave, with her hand on her breast,
    But the bloodhounds and sheriff won’t let me have rest.
     
    “My Ellen sleeps sound in the lonely churchyard,
    And I stand on the gallows, heaven knows it is