The Mystery off Glen Road

She linked her arm through Trixie’s, and they strolled down the stairs. “Jim and I think you’re just wonderful, Trixie. Practically perfect. So don’t pay any attention to Ben when he makes stupid remarks. I mean, don’t stay away from here all week on account of him. The house party is all set. Di has accepted. I invited her for the whole vacation when I asked her to come out today, because I suddenly remembered that she and Ben are both music-lovers. They’ll probably spend the whole time listening to records, so we won’t ever see them, except at meals.” She stopped to catch her breath.
    Trixie hugged her arm. “You’re the one who’s wonderful, Honey,” she said softly. “Practically perfect. Don’t worry about the house party. It’s going to be great. But I’ve got to go now. It must be four o’clock.” She broke away from Honey and ran off.

    Back at home, Trixie hastily changed into blue jeans and high wool socks. As she slipped her cash-mere sweater over her head, the prongs in the setting of Honey’s ring got caught in the sleeve, and the ring came off, too. Impatiently Trixie plucked it free and tossed it into her top bureau drawer. Then she donned her old heavy wool sweater and hurried downstairs. One good break was that her parents and Bobby had gone off for a drive after lunch. Without even telling a little white lie, Trixie had let them take it for granted that she was going to spend the whole afternoon and evening up at the Manor House.
    At the garage, she hopped on her bike and coasted down the driveway. Then she pedaled along the road as fast as she could. The sun was a red ball cut in half by the tops of the towering evergreens in the distance. When the ball of fire dipped down completely into the Hudson River, it would grow dark very quickly. Too late, Trixie realized that she should have brought along a flashlight.
    It was already gloomy in the woods when she turned off the trail and hid her bike in the bushes. Traveling on foot along that rocky path was very different from riding horseback on it. She soon found out that she couldn’t walk fast without the risk of turning her ankle, and every time she came around a bend, the stretch that lay ahead of her seemed to be blacked out by shadows until her eyes grew accustomed to the dusk. Then, a few yards later, the waning light of the sun was almost blinding.
    “I know how moles feel now,” Trixie said to herself as she stumbled along. “No wonder they can’t see when they come up from their underground tunnels every now and then.”
    In order to keep up her courage, she began to talk out loud: “I wish I were a mole or a bat or an owl. Do any of them eat carcasses? All that business about ants eating antlers was silly. There are only army ants in the tropics. They can demolish a carcass in a matter of hours, but there aren’t any around here.... Mice eat antlers, though. I read about it in one of Brian’s books. I hope there’s an army of field mice in these woods.... Foxes and catamounts are scavengers, too, but not as thorough as buzzards and jackals. . '. . Coyotes do a good job, but they don’t eat antlers. All of the million buffalo horns that have been whitening for ages on the deserts out west are proof of that. Besides, none of the coyotes, which are called brush wolves in the Adirondacks, would come all the way down here just to eat up a dead deer. But there are plenty of big wildcats. That’s why that little purple mountain over there is called Catamount Hill. I wish it were closer.... No, I don’t. Catamounts are supposed to be cowards, but that all depends on your definition of coward. I’m scared to death right now, and I think I’m lost, but you don’t see me running away, do you? Not that I’d know in which direction to run... .”
    For Trixie was lost now. So long as she could see an inch of the sunset between the evergreens, she knew where west was, but now there was only a pale green light in the sky—a yellowish green, which usually meant that a storm of some sort was on the way. The air was growing colder, too, and there was a moistness in it, which, Trixie felt sure, meant that it would snow before morning.
    She stumbled along, her teeth chattering as much from cold as from nervousness, and all of a sudden found herself at the fork where Honey had waited for her with the horses that morning. Now she knew exactly where she was and, in a matter of minutes, burst into the other small clearing.