The Red Trailer Mystery

hurried on toward the Smith farm. "No wonder we kept getting lost. We never look where we’re going."
    If Miss Trask insisted upon driving home the next morning, Wednesday, Trixie knew that this was the last day in which they could look for Jim. She and Honey had planned to ride to Rushkill Farms after breakfast, so she must get back from the Smith place as soon as possible.
    The sun had risen above the tall trees by now and although Trixie walked along the highway as fast as she could, she kept looking for bicycle tracks in the soft dirt in the shallow ditch between the road and the woods.
    "I just know he’s hiding around here somewhere," she kept encouraging herself. And then the sunlight gleamed on something that was shiny and metallic on a rise of ground above the bushes on the other side of the road.
    "Bicycle handlebars!" Trixie gasped and began to run in that direction. The underbrush hampered her every step, and brambles slapped her arms, but she kept on until the very denseness of the thicket forced her to stop. It was all too obvious that nobody could have dragged a bicycle through that part of the woods.
    "I’ll come back this afternoon with Honey," Trixie decided, "and see if we can find a path that leads to that shrub-covered mound."
    Of course, she couldn’t be at all sure that the thing she had seen gleaming in the early morning sunlight had been part of a bicycle, but somehow she felt positive that it had something to do with Jim.
    The air was hot and sultry now, and although the sun in the east was splashing the sky with rosy gold streaks, a heavy fog hung over the treetops of the western woods.
    "It looks and feels like rain," Trixie told herself, depressed again. "Oh, I hope the sun bums off that fog. If we can’t look for Jim today, I’ll die!"
    And almost as depressing was the thought that they might never find Joeanne or discover the hiding place of the mysterious van. And, as Honey had said, Mr. Darnell might be arrested any minute for the theft of the red trailer. Then what would happen to his poor, half-starved family?
    Hoping against hope that the Darnell trailer would not turn out to be the Robin, she trudged on, feeling like the worst tattletale in the world. It was awful to be tom between sympathy for the Darnells and her sense of duty. The only comforting thought was that kindhearted Mrs. Smith might not notify the police but would instead advise her new hired hand to turn himself in. Then, at least, his punishment would be less severe. But in that case he might well be accused of the other trailer thefts, and how could he prove his innocence?
    "Oh, golly," Trixie groaned aloud, "if only I had time to get proof that would lead to the arrest of Jeff and his bushy-haired friend!"
    When she turned in the Smith driveway, Laddie came rushing out to meet her, barking so loudly that Trixie knew she could not now investigate the barn without being seen by somebody when she passed the house. Indeed, when she came nearer, she saw that Mrs. Smith herself was standing out on the back stoop with Jimmy Crow perched on one fat shoulder.
    With a jolt of surprise, Trixie realized that Mrs. Smith had been crying. Her plump red cheeks were streaked with tears, and her black eyes were almost hidden in little puffy rolls of flesh. It would never have occurred to Trixie that anyone as cheerful as the farmer’s wife would give way to weeping.
    "Oh, you lamb," Mrs. Smith called, her voice choked with gasping sobs, "I’m so glad you came. Come right in and have some waffles and sausages and hot chocolate. I said to Nat only a few minutes ago, nothing will ever cheer me up but a young person around the place again."
    Trixie tried to protest, but Mrs. Smith hustled her into a chair and poured batter into the double waffle iron, talking all the while.
    "My precious babies’ pictures, all of them gone! I wouldn’t mind the locket so much, although Nat must have paid a pretty penny for it. Solid gold it was, studded with real pearls and turquoises. Of all things they could have stolen in this big house, why did they have to take that?"
    Trixie, completely baffled, rubbed her forehead. "I’m awfully sorry, Mrs. Smith," she got out. "What happened?"
    Mrs. Smith heaped sausages on a plate the size of a serving platter and pushed the butter crock and maple-syrup pitcher closer to Trixie. It was not until then that Trixie realized how hungry she was, and, although she was dying to know what her hostess was