The Red Trailer Mystery

We’ve just got to find him right away."
    "Oh, I don’t think either Al or Jeff is going to talk about Jim," Honey objected. "Why should they? It’ll only make matters worse for them if the troopers produce a witness who heard them planning to steal Mr. Currier’s trailer."
    Trixie shook her head. "Those troopers are dying to know who tipped them off. They’ll make Al and Jeff talk eventually. Don’t you see, even though they did catch those men in the barn, it won’t be easy to prove that they are the trailer thieves without Jim’s testimony."
    "What about Mr. Currier?" Honey demanded. "He can identify Al as the hitchhiker he picked up."
    "I doubt it," Trixie argued. "Al must have worn some sort of disguise. Otherwise, Mr. Currier might have recognized him later when he was on duty at the trailer camp. He knew Mr. Currier was going to deliver the trailer to Mr. Whitsun at Autoville." She stopped and gave Honey a look of frank admiration. "You know, Honey, you’re awfully smart. You figured out that when people stopped being careless with their trailers, the crooks would start hijacking. And that’s just what they did."
    Honey giggled. "I never thought they’d have the nerve to do it in broad daylight with the roads filled with troopers, and such a short distance away from Autoville."
    "They did have a lot of nerve," Trixie agreed, "and they would have got away with it, if it hadn’t been for Jim. Oh, I wish he’d just loosened that tire valve and let it go at that. I’m sure the troopers will start combing the woods for him tomorrow, and if he gets the least bit suspicious that they’re on his trail, he’ll disappear for good."
    They had strolled along the road until they reached a spot where the underbrush was less dense than it was near the highway. "Let’s cut through here." Trixie led the way through the wet vines, still worrying. "Jim is so honest he can’t bear anything underhanded. I suppose he had to risk setting the troopers on his own tracks to make sure those crooks didn’t get away."
    "That’s what I thought all along." Honey sighed. "And now I’m scared to death he may have already left this part of the state for good."
    As they picked their way along, the thicket thinned out and became quite a respectable path. "Looks as though someone has been dragging something heavy through here," Honey said thoughtfully. "Whatever it was has laid the underbrush almost flat."
    "How about a bike?" Trixie said over her shoulder. "Jim’s smart. He’d be careful not to leave any signs close to the road, but this far away he’d feel it was safe to make a path to his hideout."
    "Oh, oh!" Honey interrupted with an excited scream. "Look down there where the woods are thick. There’s something stuck to a branch of one of those white birches. Something blue!"
    Almost tumbling over each other in their haste, the girls raced downhill. And sure enough, caught on a twig not three yards from where they had seen blue-jean clad legs disappear into the woods on Sunday was a dilapidated bit of frayed blue sateen. Faded and water-soaked as it was, both girls recognized it at once.
    "Joeanne!" they cried in unison. "It’s one of her hair ribbons."
    "Then," Trixie finished breathlessly, "it was she we saw, not Jim. I’m almost disappointed."
    "Well, I’m not," kindhearted Honey exploded. "I’ve worried myself sick over Joeanne. She’s nothing but a little girl, and, after all, Jim’s perfectly able to take care of himself wherever he goes."
    Trixie looked embarrassed. "I know," she said shamefacedly, "and I’ve worried about Joeanne, too. But I did so hope we’d find Jim’s hideaway before it was too late."
    "Maybe we will," Honey said cheerfully. "The bicycle tracks ended near here. We have no reason to think Joeanne has a bike, but we know Jim has one."
    "Come on," Trixie yelled, starting up the hill again. "Let’s follow that little path and see where it leads." It was hard work walking up the slippery, sloping ground, and they almost missed the path. And they might have missed it if Trixie’s sharp eyes hadn’t suddenly seen, in the mud between the trodden-down vines and thick grass, distinct marks of bicycle tire treads.
    "Now we really are on Jim’s trail at last," she gasped, hurrying ahead of Honey.
    The trail went on through the underbrush and into the woods, where a heavy carpet of old pine needles hid all traces of bicycle tires.
    At that moment Reddy and Bud, their coats muddy and matted