The Mystery of the Castaway Children

it, Jim!” Mart complained loudly.
    “You want me to kill that kid?” Jim yelled back.
    Trixie gulped down her fright and raised her head. The long black tail of the Shetland was so close to the station wagon that she couldn’t believe Jim had missed hitting him. A small figure wearing a red T-shirt was sliding off the pony and making a dash for the bushes.
    Without another word, Jim leaped out of his seat and dragged the boy, kicking and screaming, back to the car.
    As Jim shoved him into the front seat, the boy cried, “I wasn’t stealing Wicky, honest I wasn’t. He’s mine!”
    “It’s okay, Davy,” Trixie said. “Just stay put. We have to get you to the police station. Come on, Jim! Let’s get out of here!”
    “It’s too late,” Jim announced grimly, watching his rearview mirror.
    The others swiveled around in time to see the red sports car careening into the lane behind them.
    “Now we’re really trapped!” wailed Di.
    As the red car jerked to a halt, a bulky figure hurtled out of the driver’s seat and rushed toward the darkness of the house. A second, smaller figure approached the Bob-Whites’ car. “Lock your doors, everyone,” urged Trixie.
    A man with a face Trixie had never seen peered through the window of the station wagon. “Into the house, kids,” he ordered, tapping the glass with a gun. “Very slowly. Don’t pull any fancy tricks. And give me those car keys.”
    The group had no choice but to obey. With her heart knocking the breath from her throat, Trixie grabbed Bobby’s hand. She saw Mart reach for Davy’s. Brian’s strong arms were wrapped around Dodgy. Cautiously the group began its way to the porch.
    Trixie had a flashing impression of movement.
    After an instant of panic, she realized that Jim had disappeared. Where could he be? she thought wildly. Then she remembered his ten-speed, still leaning against the porch.
    As Trixie stumbled forward, her mind worked desperately on the problem of escaping without endangering lives, but for the moment, she pinned her faith on Jim. Jim had headlights on his ten-speed, and he knew every twist and turn of that bicycle path. In daylight, his downhill speed had been clocked at forty-five miles per hour.
    Unless he was upset by a wandering porcupine or a startled deer, he would reach the telephone at Glen Road Inn in a matter of minutes.
    “You’re hurting my hand,” Bobby mumbled.
    “We have to stick together,” Trixie told him.
    Finally the group entered the Belden kitchen. The light flashed on, and the young people instinctively gathered around the baby, who looked ready to scream any minute.
    The man with the gun followed them in and surveyed the room. “Well, well, well,” he said in a voice that sounded almost friendly. “What have we here?”
    Trixie had figured out that this must be Sax Jenner, the ex-convict the sergeant had mentioned. He was short and slim and deceptively handsome. Roger Higgins appeared in the doorway, and Sax turned on him, demanding, “Where’s that redheaded kid?”
    “Who cares?” Roger retorted. “I just happened to bump into some bicycle tires with my knife.” Trixie’s heart sank.
    “Jim can ride a horse!” Bobby piped up. Quickly Trixie clamped her hand over Bobby’s unshushable mouth.
    Roger winked at Bobby. “Those horses out there by the fence looked kind of lonesome,” he said, “so I opened the gate and sent them home.” Trixie caught her breath. Oh, well. Surely Regan would know that something was wrong when those valuable animals returned home at this hour of the night without any riders. Maybe he would call the police. Anyway, maybe Jim had managed to get away in Brian’s jalopy.
    Just then, Roger threw a sly look at Sax. “I also got rid of the gas in the jalopy,” he said. “I’ve been a busy boy, you know.” He tossed Sax the car keys. “Now it’s your turn to get busy,” he said.
    Sax twirled his gun, an evil smirk on his face.
    “Think you’ll need die persuader?”
    “Depends on your plan,” Roger answered warily. It was obvious to Trixie that Roger didn’t particularly want to handle the gun.
    Sax pretended to consider the problem, but Trixie sensed that he knew exactly what he was going to do. His voice made him seem friendly, but those eyes were as cold as snake eyes. Finally he announced, “We’re going to get that Dodge money, one way or another. All we were going to do was hold on to those two Dodge kids, but now—well, now we’ve