The Mystery of the Galloping Ghost (2 page)

Trixie
turned to Honey and discovered that her usually poised friend was blushing! The
incident was pushed
aside,
however, as Mrs. Murrow
assigned everyone to a place at the table and began serving heaping platters of
food.

None
of the young people talked much during dinner. They didn’t have to, since Regan
and the
Murrows
kept up a running discussion of
horses—their selection, breeding, training, and showing. Trixie listened to the
conversation, but she also kept an eye on Honey and Pat. Her friend was
pretending to listen intently, but Trixie saw her sneaking frequent looks at
the
Murrows
’ son. Pat seemed to concentrate only on
his plate.

After
dinner, the men went out onto the porch. Trixie and Honey helped Mrs. Murrow do
the dishes and clean the kitchen; then they, too, went outside.

“Why,
it’s still broad daylight!” Trixie exclaimed. “But it must be 8 o’clock by now!”

“
It’s
8:20,” Bill Murrow corrected after looking at his
watch. “We get long summer days in this part of the country because we’re so
far north. It won’t be fully dark until 10 o’clock.”

“But
come December, it will be dark from 5
p.m
.
to
7
a.m.,”
Charlene
said.

“At
least the December cold kills the mosquitoes,” Bill said, swatting one that had
slipped through the screen. “No deerflies to bite the horses, either. Why, it’s
a paradise— if you like twenty below!”

Soon
Pat excused himself and went to his room. Regan joined him.

Trixie
suddenly realized that she was exhausted. “It seems strange to go to bed while
it’s still light out, but that’s what I’ll have to do.”

“You’ve
had a long, exciting day,” Mrs. Murrow said sympathetically. “You’ll have two
weeks of long evenings to enjoy.”

The
girls agreed and went to their room.

A
few minutes later, Trixie was pulling on her nightgown. “We didn’t even get to
see the horses,” she said with a yawn.

“Plenty
of time for that tomorrow,” Honey told her as she crawled into bed.

Trixie
pulled up the covers and sat for a moment, her back against the headboard,
thinking over the day's events. Something drew her eye to the window, which was
almost even with the foot of the bed. Trixie looked and saw nothing at first.
Continuing to stare, she caught a glint of light bouncing off the sash.

Quickly,
she tossed back the covers, got up, and went to the window. There was still
plenty of light, but it had a soft, flat quality to it. Trixie looked out over
the broad expanse of grass that was too big to be called a lawn. It ended with
a dense row of trees that ran as far as she could see in either direction.
The
trees look like
colored
shadows in this light,
Trixie thought.
It’s spooky.

Again,
something caught her eye. This time it was a flash of movement. She squinted,
trying to adjust her eyes to the eerie light. Finally, she made out the figure
of a horse and rider moving slowly and silently in a path parallel to the
trees.

The
rider was wearing a straw hat, and his head was down, almost lolling on his
chest. The horse had his head down, too, his neck bobbing with each slow step
he took. Together the horse and rider had a mournful aspect, Trixie thought.

Trixie
stared in fascination for a moment,
then
turned away
from the window. “Honey, come look,” she said softly.

Honey
got up and shuffled over to the window. “Look at what?” she asked, blinking
sleepily as she stared out.

“At that!”
Trixie said, pointing to the spot where she’d seen
the horseman.

But
there was no one in sight.

“What am I
supposed to be looking at? Honey
asked. Her voice sounded small and befuddled.

“There
was a horseman,” Trixie said, still pointing out the window. Where could he have
gone?”

“Probably home to bed.”
Honey headed back to her own bed.

“But how?”
Trixie demanded. “One minute he was there, and the
next minute he wasn’t. And he looked so sad and lonely and mysterious.”

“Mysterious?”
Honey’s voice suddenly sounded a little less sleepy. She loved a good mystery
as much as Trixie did, and together the two girls had been involved in dozens
of cases. Then Honey’s mouth opened in an enormous yawn. “Oh, Trixie, I’m
sorry, but I’m just too beat to think about mysteries tonight. Maybe in the morning
we can try to find the ghost’s footprints. I mean
hoofprints
.
I mean the ghost’s horse’s footprints. Oh, you know what I mean. Good night.”
She turned over and pulled the blanket close around her, as if to ward off
further conversation.

Trixie
kept staring out the window, but she saw no further sign of the ghostly horse
and rider. Nor did she see any more flashes of light.
But there was a
horseman and a flash of light. I’m sure of it,
she thought.
We’ll have
to investigate.
Then, yawning, she added,
Starting
first thing tomorrow.
She shuffled back to bed and quickly fell into a
deep, dreamless sleep.

The
next morning at breakfast, Trixie tried to think of a subtle way of mentioning
the mysterious horseman, but nothing came to her. She looked across the table
at Honey, hoping to convey the thought to her always-tactful friend. But Honey
had other things on her mind.

“Will
we be going out to the stable?” Honey asked. “I really want to see your horses,
and see how you work with them.” Her glance went from Bill to Pat as she spoke,
and she ended her question looking the young man squarely in the eye.

“You
can if you want,” Pat Murrow said. Then he lowered his head and concentrated on
his blueberry pancakes as if they might jump off his plate if not watched closely.

Honey’s
cheeks took on a delicate pink
color
. Quickly sizing
up the exchange, Bill Murrow winked at Honey and said, “Long-winded rascal,
isn’t he? Of course, you can come out to the stable.”

“I
wouldn’t let you stay away if you wanted to,” Regan added. “Observing the
Murrows
’ training techniques is what we’re here for—
remember?” He drawled the last word teas-
ingly
,
obviously aware that Honey had other things on her mind.

After
breakfast, everyone but Mrs. Murrow trooped out to the stable. The building was
old and weather-beaten, but it was kept carefully painted and immaculately
clean
. Bill led Trixie and Honey down the line of stalls,
introducing the girls to each of the horses. All were purebred Arabians, with
the delicate, intelligent faces that are a sign of that breed. Some of the
horses stretched out their necks to be petted. Others backed far away in their
stalls, raising their heads out of reach and rolling their eyes until the
whites showed.

“They’ve
all got minds of their own,” Bill observed. “That’s what I love about ’em.
That’s the challenge of training ’em.”

“Can
we see how you do it?” Honey asked.

In
response, Bill nodded toward the first stall. Pat Murrow was leading out a
fiery,
fineboned
black stallion. “That’s Al-
Adeen
,” Bill said, a note of pride in his voice. “He’s the
horse I’ve been waiting for my whole life—I hope.” Without further explanation,
he went outside as Pat and Regan led the horse into the corral. The girls
followed them.

Using
a halter with a long rope attached to it, Pat
lunged
the horse, guiding him as he galloped in wide, smooth circles around the
corral. The technique would get the horse accustomed to human control, Trixie
knew, for she’d watched Regan work with the Wheelers’ horses. Pat obviously had
lots of patience. His eyes never left the horse, and he kept up a constant
stream of calm, quiet reassurance. He used a flexible rod called a “lunging
whip” to correct the horse’s pattern, always with a smooth, gentle touch.

Trixie
turned to say something to Honey, but refrained at the sight of her friend’s
admiring gaze.

Turning
back toward the corral, Trixie felt her heart skip a beat. Riding slowly toward
them from the open land beyond the corral was a straw-
hatted
horseman.

“It’s
him!” she hissed, grabbing Honey’s arm. Just as she spoke, the rider nudged his
horse into a canter.

Seeing
their rollicking gait, Honey said, “He doesn’t look very sad and lonely to me.
Or very mysterious, either.”

Before
Trixie could defend herself, Bill Murrow shouted, “Hi, Gus!” Turning to the
girls, he said, “Gus is our hired hand. He’s lived around these parts since
before
I
was born, if you can believe that. Still rides his old bay
everywhere. Won’t even own a car—hates ’em worse than our friend Regan does.”

Gus
tied his horse to the corral rail and watched Pat work with Al-
Adeen
. When Pat finished, Gus took the reins and led the
stallion away for grooming, while Pat began working with a trim little filly.

Trixie
had to admit that there was nothing mysterious about Gus. He was short and stocky,
with a stubbly beard and a wide smile that showed missing teeth. “But how could
he have disappeared so suddenly?” she wondered aloud.

“Maybe
he just rode out of sight. You can’t see as far when the light’s dim,” Honey
replied.

That
sounded logical to Trixie. She watched in silence as Pat worked with the filly,
riding her around the corral, taking her from a walk to a high-stepping trot to
an easy canter. As with Al-
Adeen
, Pat’s gentleness
and patience were apparent.

Pat
worked with total concentration,
undistracted
by the
fact that everyone was staring at him. Even Regan, the dedicated horseman,
seemed content to be a spectator. He leaned against the rail of the corral, a
small, appreciative smile on his face.

“It’s
beautiful to watch, isn’t it?” Charlene Murrow had strolled over to the corral
and was standing right behind the girls.

“Al-
Adeen
was even more impressive, if that’s possible,” Trixie
said.

“Oh,
it’s possible, all right,” Mrs. Murrow replied. “Bill and Pat have worked a lot
of miracles with mediocre horses. But this time, the
horse
is the
miracle. We saved for years to buy him. If we can show him well enough to
attract some attention, and breed him to some good mares, we may finally start
getting ahead in this business. You know,” she said, lowering her voice to keep
from being overheard, “sometimes I actually have nightmares about something
happening to that horse!”

“Nothing
will happen,” Honey said firmly. “You’ve worked long and hard, and now you’re
entitled to some good luck.”

But
Mrs. Murrow’s worried look only deepened. Without saying another word, she
turned and walked quickly back to the house.

Confused,
Trixie looked toward Honey and saw the real cause of Mrs. Murrow’s abrupt
departure: a shiny red pickup truck with oversized tires and fancy wheel covers
had just pulled into the driveway.

Honey
followed Trixie’s gaze, and both girls watched as the truck’s door opened and the
driver stepped out. The man was wearing an outfit that went perfectly with his
truck—cowboy boots, stiff-looking jeans, a red shirt with pearl buttons, bolo
tie, and a black felt cowboy hat with a feathered hatband. He stood for a
moment as if waiting for everyone to admire him, then began walking toward the
corral.

Pat
Murrow dismounted from the filly and led her off into the barn without saying a
word. His departure seemed a little less abrupt than his mother’s, but Trixie
had a feeling it was just as pointed. Bill Murrow stayed behind, leaning
casually against the rail of the corral.

“Hello,
Bill,” the man called cheerfully, proving that he was not a stranger, after
all.

“Mornin’,
Burke.”

“How’s
it going?”

“It’s
goin
’.” It was an unusually brief answer for the
usually talkative man.

Burke
reached the corral and put one shiny boot on the bottom rail while leaning his
forearms on the top one. Bill remained with his back to the corral, so that the
two men were standing side by side but facing opposite directions.

“Have
you given any more thought to our talk?” Burke asked.

“Oh,
now, you know I don’t think much,” Bill said. “It makes my head tired, and I
have a feeling it probably causes baldness.”

Bill’s
words were his usual teasing nonsense, but from the tone of his voice and the
look on his face, Trixie had no desire to laugh.

Jon
Burke, a young man with a smooth face, looked flustered. “Well, I think it’s
worth thinking about,” he said.

“Oh,
no doubt, no doubt,” Bill replied. “But if I start
thinkin
’
about one thing it’ll lead to another, and before you know it I’ll be
thinkin
’ all the time. Probably be bald as an onion and
running for Congress, eventually. So you see
,
it just
doesn’t do to get started.”

“Does
that mean your answer is no?” Burke asked.

“Let’s
just say I’m
waitin
’ for a better class of question,”
Bill said. He tipped his hat and walked into the barn.

Burke
gave Trixie and Honey a contemptuous look, then turned and stalked back to his
truck. He started it with a roar and drove out of the driveway in a cloud of
dust.

“I
don’t suppose we dare ask anybody for an explanation of what just happened,”
Trixie said.

“No way!”
Honey held up one hand as if to fend off the
possibility.

“Then
this will have to stay a mystery, too,” Trixie said.

“ ‘Too’
? You’re not still counting the horseman you saw last
night as a mystery, are you? It was only Gus.”

“I
guess so. But he didn’t look quite the same today. Hey, that reminds me, Honey.
We were going to look for tracks!” She hurried off, with Honey close behind.

Trixie
walked swiftly to the spot where she’d first seen the horseman. “Oh, woe,” she
groaned. “What made me think we could track a horse on a horse ranch? Every
inch of this ground has been churned up by horses’ hooves.”

“It
certainly has,” Honey agreed. “Let’s just assume the horseman was Gus unless we
have some reason to think otherwise.” Seeing her friend’s wrinkled nose, she
added, “I know it’s less exciting that way, but we’ll have plenty of excitement
in the next two weeks without a mystery to solve.”

“You
seem to have found plenty of excitement already,” Trixie retorted.

“I-I
don’t know what you mean,” Honey said, carefully avoiding Trixie’s gaze.

“Sure
you do,” Trixie told her.

Honey
let her feelings burst forth with a sigh. “Oh, Trixie, don’t you think Pat
Murrow is just about the cutest boy you’ve ever seen?”

“No,
I don’t,” Trixie said. “That’s probably just as well, since you obviously
do
think so.”

“What?”
Honey sounded shocked. “You don’t think he’s cute? Those beautiful eyes, those
sensitive hands...”

“I
didn’t say he isn’t cute,” Trixie corrected her. “He’s just not the cutest boy
I’ve ever seen. I hadn’t noticed his hands, though,” she added with a smile.
“I’ll have to take a closer look.”

“Don’t
you
dare!
” Honey said, grinning back at Trixie.
Sharing her feelings seemed to have restored her emotional balance. The ringing
of the lunch bell eliminated further discussion.

The
arrival of everyone from outside caused a traffic jam in the kitchen. Pat and
his father washed up at the kitchen sink, while Charlene dodged around them
carrying food to the table. Trixie, Honey, Regan, and Gus took turns going down
the hall to wash up at the bathroom sink. The three who were left waiting
huddled close to the door, trying to stay out of everyone’s way.

“Charlene
saved her egg money for two years to buy that dining room suite out there,”
Bill said, holding his hands over his head as he dried them in an exaggerated
attempt to stay out of his wife’s way. “That doesn’t mean we have to use it,
though. Oh, no—we’ll just invite the whole county into the kitchen. It’s so
cozy
.”

“It
is
cozy
,” Honey said.

Bill
rolled his eyes as he tossed the towel over the rack and sat down. “Women!” he
muttered.

Honey’s
attention was once again focused on Pat Murrow. But Trixie thought that the old
hired hand was far more interesting. She found, though, that most of the
questions she asked him were answered by Bill Murrow.