Read The Mystery at Bob-White Cave for Free Online

tasty grasses.
    That’s Bill Hawkins’s place,” Uncle Andrew said.
    We’ll stop there a minute, please, Linnie.”
    A neat cabin faced the road. Back of it, several acres of cleared ground spread, green with corn and other vegetables.
    Linnie called, “Whoa!” and a group of laughing children ran out, seven of them, all ages.
    “Hello, Linnie!” they chorused. Linnie answered, calling them each by name. Bill Hawkins hurried from the nearby field, and his wife came out of the house, smoothing her apron.
    “It’s near time we were eating; won’t you stop and join us?” she asked hospitably.
    “Pa killed some squirrels, and Ma made a potpie,” the oldest boy said. “We’d like it if you’d stop.” He shook hands with the strangers from New York. Then each of his brothers and sisters did the same, repeating their names as Linnie introduced them. “We haven’t seen another girl since school was out,” one of the gingham-clad little girls said. “Ma made dewberry shortcake, too,” she coaxed.
    “We’re in a kind of hurry,” Uncle Andrew explained. “These young people want to do some cave hunting, and we’re on our way to town for some equipment. Another time, Minnie, we’ll stop. Thank you for asking us. Mrs. Moore’s the only one I know who can equal you for cooking. Come over soon, all of you, and sample some of it.
    “Oh, by the way, Bill, I’ve sent for Slim Sanderson to come over to the lodge this afternoon to talk about acting as a guide. I’ll feel a lot better about the safety of these young people if someone who knows caves goes along. Don’t you think that’s a good idea?”
    “Slim Sanderson?” Bill Hawkins’s face sobered. He stroked his chin. “Maybe so. I guess so.”
    Regretfully the children climbed down from the wheel hubs, where they’d been standing, and Linnie started the mules.
    “Give Slim a good talk about his responsibilities, Andy,” Bill Hawkins called after them.
    As the wagon neared town, the woods thinned out to scrub oak underbrush. The road widened, and the mules, sure of rest soon, showed greater evidence of life.
    “We didn’t see anything but the railroad station when we were here before,” Trixie said, delighted. “The buildings are just like those on TV Westerns, aren’t they?”
    “I’ll bet the place gets pretty wild on Saturday nights, doesn’t it?” Mart asked Linnie.
    “Linnie’s probably never been in town on a Saturday night in her life,” Uncle Andrew said, answering Mart’s question. “I can tell you, though, that White Hole Springs is quieter by far than Sleepyside or any other small town in Westchester County.”
    “It’s just like a stage setting,” Trixie insisted. “There’s the barbershop and the bank and—”
    “This is the store,” Linnie said. “I love to come to town.” She stopped the mules, and the boys tied them to a hitching post, watered them, and put on their feed bags.
    Inside the store, a tall man with stooped shoulders and a friendly smile greeted them. “He’s Mr. Owens, the man who owns the store,” Linnie explained.
    Uncle Andrew shook hands and introduced the Bob-Whites. “Sam’s not only the proprietor of the store,” he explained, “but he’s also postmaster, sheriff, and part-time schoolteacher. He even does some doctoring.”
    “Jeepers!” Trixie said.
    Mr. Owens ruffled her sandy curls. “It sounds like something, but it’s a barrel of nothing,” he said. “I’ve got a parcel of mail for you kids. Follow me.”
    He went behind a wicket labeled UNITED STATES POST OFFICE.
    “It seems like your mom misses all of you,” he said, _ examining each piece of mail before relinquishing it. “Your brother Bobby wants you to come back home.” Trixie’s eyes widened.
    “Oh, I always read the postcards. It’s part of my compensation. There’s someone else here from your state, stopping over at the motel on the edge of town.”
    “There is?” Trixie exclaimed. “Do you know his name?