The Mystery off Glen Road

There were no shadows here, and neither was there any sign whatsoever that a dead deer had ever lain in that spot.
    Trixie rubbed her eyes. “I must have been dreaming, after all.” She knelt, straining her eyes, and then she saw the impression the body of the deer had made in the bed of pine needles. And some of the red brown leaves were that color because blood had been splattered on them. There were also unmistakable signs that a human had eviscerated the carcass at this very spot. Trixie knew about these internal organs of animals because she had often cleaned chickens after her brothers had killed and plucked them. Her mother had carefully taught her how to “draw” a bird, so now Trixie was what the family called an “expert butcher.” The heart, liver, and gizzard were used for gravy-making. The lungs and such, or “lights” as professional butchers called them, were broiled into a rich broth for mixing with dehydrated dog food—for Reddy.
    Trixie sank to her knees. Reddy and Patch weren’t the culprits after all, thank goodness. All over the damp soil in the clearing were tiny pawprints that proved that other, smaller animals had done the scavenging job after the human took the venison away. Bluejays had probably swooped down, too, for their share. Jim would know, even in the gloom, exactly what animals and birds had been there. It was Jim who had taught Trixie how to tell the difference between the footprint of a fox and the footprint of a dog. There was an enormous difference in the pawprint of members of the cat family, and Trixie was glad to see that no cat had been near the spot. Not yet, anyway. It wasn’t dark enough for the catamounts to prowl.
    Then all of a sudden she saw tracks that made her eyes feel as though they were popping out of her head. Bike-tire tracks! Not double, but single-tire tread marks. She followed them across the clearing to the spot where they disappeared on the pine-needle carpet of a narrow path. It wasn’t possible, but it was true. Nobody, not even a circus performer, could have ridden any kind of a bike along the muddy paths and trails of these woods. But the tire tread marks proved that somebody had!

A Peculiar Poacher • 13

    TRIXIE GROPED her way along the narrow path for a few yards, then returned to the spot where the single bike-tire tread disappeared. Visions of tightrope walkers and performing seals danced dizzily through her head as she started back to the fork. Only one thought was comforting: The dogs were not the culprits. They might, tempted by the sport of it, have chased a wounded deer, but they had certainly not killed and eviscerated it. A human had done that, and that human must be a poacher.
    It was almost pitch-dark when Trixie reached the small clearing near the fork, and because of the shadows, she hardly knew which way to turn. By groping blindly, she finally discovered the difference between the narrow paths and the wider trail, and stumbled along it. It seemed to wind through the branches of evergreens interminably. Just when she was sure she had reached the spot where she had hidden her bike, she found that she had emerged from the game preserve onto Glen Road at the very spot where the path, not the trail, ended opposite Mr. Lytell’s store.
    “Now when could I have left the trail?” Trixie asked herself as she trudged along the road. She was sure of only one thing: Nothing would induce her to go back into those shadowy woods except in broad daylight. The road was dark enough as it was, but she knew it so well that it wasn’t long before she was back on her bike, pedaling the rest of the way home.
    When she got there, her parents and Bobby were having supper, and they stared at her in amazement. “Why, Trixie,” Mrs. Belden cried, “we thought you were at the Wheelers’. Didn’t Ben Riker arrive, after all?”
    “Oh, yes,” Trixie told her. “But so did Di Lynch. They’re crazy about each other.” She tried her best to look jealous and heartbroken and resigned but had a feeling that she only looked rather silly. She could see that both her father and mother were trying hard not to smile.
    “Well,” said Mrs. Belden, “have supper with us, then. Macaroni with cheese-and-tomato sauce and salad. Bring me a plate, Trixie, and I’ll serve you.” Trixie was starving, so she had two helpings of everything. Her father chuckled and quoted: “ ‘Men have died and worms have eaten them, but not for love.’ You’re living