The Red Trailer Mystery

be."
    "Maybe so," Honey said, "but I can’t help remembering that hunters’ breakfast at Grandmother’s when you filled all the sugar bowls with salt. Were you ever unpopular!"
    "Kid stuff." Ben grinned. "I was knee-high to a grasshopper then," he told Trixie, "but Honey has never forgiven me ’cause her governess made her eat every bit of that salty, salty oatmeal."
    "It was a mean trick," Honey insisted, "and I didn’t dare tell on him because he said he’d put toads in my bed if I did."
    One of Ben’s chums who had been standing nearby said with a chuckle, "Riker’s a dangerous character, all right, but last night we paid him back for all the stunts he’s pulled since camp opened. Didn’t we, Ben, old boy?"
    Ben clasped his forehead in mock despair. "I’ll say you did. I still can’t get the knots out of my sheets, and you, a pal of mine, Sid!" He turned to Honey. "Sid and I’ll stable your horses while you girls change at the ranch house. Here comes Mrs. Ditmar now. She’ll take care of you."
    A plump, motherly-looking woman led Honey and Trixie past the stable and the corral to the main house. "I’m glad you brought your bathing suits," she said. "You can change in my room. The telephone is out in the hall if you want to call for permission to stay to lunch."
    Honey telephoned the Autoville cafeteria and left a message for Miss Trask with the manager. Then both girls hurried to the quarry. They had time for a quick dip before the swimming race started, and, feeling cool and refreshed, they perched on a large rock in the shade to watch.
    All of the boys were excellent swimmers, but Ben, in spite of his clowning, won with apparently no effort at all. "Nothing to it." He grinned as he joined the girls on the rock. "Before you stands the world’s best swimmer. But I shouldn’t have entered an amateur race. It was like taking candy from a baby. As you no doubt noted, Sid was outclassed from the beginning." Sid had been such a close second that everyone laughed, and Ben pretended to sulk. Sid hoisted himself up on the rock beside Trixie. "I’ll bet you could beat boastful Ben with your arm in a sling," he said.
    Trixie shook her head. "I couldn’t, but Honey could. She’s marvelous."
    Honey flushed. "I’m not at all."
    Ben scrambled to his feet. "Dare you to challenge me. Double dare you." He pulled his cousin down to the starting point on the edge of the quarry.
    "Ready, on your mark, get set, go/" Sid shouted, and they were off.
    Trixie had not really been sure that Honey could beat Ben, but she did, by a whole yard, and the quarry resounded with the boys’ loud cheers. Redfaced and embarrassed, Honey let Ben help her out of the water, and before she could get her balance, he pushed her in again. That was a signal for everybody to drag Ben into the quarry and duck him over and over again. At last it was over and Ben, sputtering good-naturedly, held up Honey’s arm and gasped, "The winnah!"
    The dinner bell rang, and they raced away to change into dry clothes. Honey and Trixie sat on each side of Mr. Ditmar at the long table in the ranch house and had several helpings of the hunter’s stew. "Maybe you proved girls are the best swimmers," Ben teased, "but it looks as if boys are the best cooks."
    "I won’t argue that point," Trixie admitted with a laugh as she passed her plate for more of the savory meat and vegetables. "But I would like to know how you did it. Most stews are awful."
    "First you take an onion," Ben said, his eyes twinkling, "and after that you weep and weep."
    "Not if you peel it under water." Mrs. Ditmar smiled. "But Ben will never learn."
    "By the way," Mr. Ditmar said to Trixie, "you’re not the only people who’ve stopped at the ranch today asking for missing persons. A man came to the back door early this morning wanting to know if we’d seen his little girl."
    Trixie stared across the table at Honey. "Was he driving a red trailer?" she asked.
    Mr. Ditmar looked surprised. "Why, no," he said. "He was on foot and went off through the woods, walking north. I took it that he was a farmer."
    Trixie laid down her fork. "Did he describe the girl?" she asked, trying not to sound excited. "Did he say her name was Joeanne?"
    "No, he didn’t" Mr. Ditmar shook his head. "He simply said she had black pigtails and was about eleven years old. I offered to send a group of boys through the woods to help search for her, but he rather rudely refused the offer and strode away hastily."