“Well, then,” said Mr. Crispen, who was getting over his disappointment at the animal’s escape, “no wonder it broke my trap, strong as it was. That goat just butted through the boards.” “I’ll say he butted through!” laughed Teddy. “I’m glad I wasn’t in front of him when it happened. Boy, he sure sailed over the fence as if he had wings!” “Where is he now?” asked the cobbler. “About ten miles from here, I should say, at the rate he was going,” laughed Teddy. “He sure was scared,” remarked Joe. “And mad!” added Dick. “No wonder,” said Teddy. “If that was Tony Pasqualla’s big goat, and I think it was from the color, he’s always been kindly treated. To Tony and his family that goat, which they milk, is like a cow. They even bring it in the house, so I heard. No wonder, after having been treated kindly all its life, the goat got mad when it was trapped and shut up.” “Dear me! A goat!” murmured Mr. Crispen. “I was sure it was a deer.” “Well, it did look a little like the mystery deer,” Joe said. “It was brown and white.” “And had horns,” added Dick. “But we couldn’t see it very well. The cracks in the trap were too small,” Teddy remarked. “That’s so,” admitted the cobbler. “I’ll make a new trap and put in bigger cracks. Then we can see what we’ve caught.” Mrs. Traddle, after looking from a window and seeing no signs of any raging animal, came out into the garden again. “Are you fixing,” she asked Mr. Crispen, her mouth drawing to a thin line, “to make another trap and set it in my garden?” “I was,” spoke the cobbler. “No,” said Mrs. Traddle firmly. “No more deer traps in my garden! I’ve been bothered enough. Set your deer trap some other place.” “But this is the best place,” protested the cobbler. “The deer has been here once. He likes your garden, Mrs. Traddle. He is sure to come again.” “Well, if he comes again he can go again. He isn’t going to be trapped and turn into a goat to scare a body into a conniption fit. No more deer traps in my garden!” “Well, all right,” said the cobbler, somewhat sadly. “I guess you boys will have to look around for other places where the deer comes and I’ll set my trap there.” “All right,” assented Teddy. “We’ll have to take the trail again, fellows.” “The trail of the mystery deer!” said Joe. “What’ll we do about this broken trap?” asked Dick. “I’ll take it back to the shop on my cart,” said Mr. Crispen. “I’ll make a better trap next time. I’m sorry about this, boys.” “Oh, well, you couldn’t help it,” said Teddy. “No one could tell that Pasqualla’s goat was going to get loose and roam into the trap at night.” Mr. Lanter, the butcher, came along just then in his truck, ready to load on it the trap and the deer he supposed had been caught. “But there’s nothing now for you to do, thank you just the same,” said Mr. Crispen. “It got away.” “You mean the deer did?” asked the butcher. “No, the goat.” “I thought you said it was a deer.” “So I did, Mr. Lanter, but it turned out to be a goat.”