The Mystery of the Galloping Ghost

with Wilhelmina James. I wonder if he’s
teasing us because he suspects something, she thought.
    If
he did suspect, he wasn’t about to let on.
    Instead
he said, “You must be bored with Minnesota life already.” At the girls’ protests, he merely raised a hand. “Don’t try to
argue. I know the symptoms, and you’ve both got ’em. Fortunately, I also know
the cure. About four hours bouncing around in the saddle and you’ll be as good
as new.”
    “A
trail ride!” Trixie exclaimed, suddenly wide-awake. “I’d love it!”
    “Me, too!” Honey agreed. “But you’d have to draw us a map. We
don’t know the trails around here.”
    “Oh,
I’ll do better than that. I’ll send a guide along.” He stared across the table
at his son, who was busily eating.
    There
was a long silence before Pat sensed that all eyes were upon him and looked up.
“Who, me?” he asked.
    Bill
Murrow pushed back his chair and rose from the table. “Thanks for volunteering,
son,” he said, and strode out the door.
    “But
I—” Pat broke off as he realized that his father couldn’t hear his protests. “I
guess the horses need exercise, anyway,” he said. “I can get them ready.”
    “Oh,
let us help, please,” Honey said.
    Pat
looked at the slender girl doubtfully.
    “The
rule back home is, ‘No work, no ride,’ ” Regan told Pat. “If you start spoiling
them, I’ll have a heck of a time when we get back.”
    Regan’s
request seemed to turn the tide. “All right,” Pat said. He pushed back his
chair, walked to the door, and held it open for Trixie and Honey.
    Both
girls jumped up from the table eagerly. The difference is that I want to go so I can ask about the Galloping
Ghost, Trixie thought. All
Honey is thinking about is the Handsome Horseman!
    In
the stable, Pat assigned the girls to two mares, Mur-Elda and Mur- Hadj . From the prefixes, Trixie knew that the horses had
been raised on the Murrows ’ ranch. That would account
for the horses’ sweet dispositions, although both had an Arabian spirit.
    Pat
didn’t quite trust the girls’ abilities with the horses. He bridled the two
mares himself, led them into the corral, and handed the girls brushes and
currycombs. When he came back with the blankets and saddles, he ran his hand
along both horses’ backs, checking for signs of loose hair or dirt before he
let the girls proceed with saddling up.
    As if we didn’t know that dirt under the blanket
causes saddle sores! Trixie thought resentfully as she settled the blanket
on the horse’s back.
    “It’s
just that he cares so much about the horses,” Honey said, reading her friend’s
thoughts. “He doesn’t know how strict Regan has been with us.”
    “I
guess so,” Trixie said, feeling unconvinced.
    Pat
reappeared from the stable leading a saddled and bridled Al- Adeen .
He tied the stallion to a fence post and came over to double-check the cinches.
Finding no fault with the girls’ work, he let out a grunt that could have been
either surprise or approval, walked back to his own horse, and swung easily
into the saddle.
    “I’m
surprised he didn’t offer us a leg up,” Trixie muttered as she mounted Mur- Hadj .
    “Trixie!” Honey gave her friend a pleading look.
    “All
right, all right,” Trixie replied. “I won’t make any trouble.” As long as Honey likes Pat Murrow so much,
I’ll try to like him, too, she told herself.
    “Just a minute!” Mrs. Murrow called. She hurried toward them, holding
a large paper bag in one hand and a Thermos in the other. She handed them up to
Pat, saying, “I put in some cookies and a few apples and mixed up some
lemonade.”
    “We
won’t be gone forever,” Pat said, knowing his mom’s mothering instincts all too
well.
    “Be
sure to stop and rest somewhere along the way,” Mrs. Murrow told him. “The
girls probably aren’t used to spending all day on a horse, the way you are.”
    “That’s
very nice of you,” Honey said.
    “You
just stop him if he pushes too hard,” was Mrs. Murrow’s indirect reply.
    Trixie
had been expecting the trail ride to go along the river. Instead, Pat led them
down the gravel drive and out along the shoulder of the blacktop road. He set
the pace at a sedate walk.
    At
that leisurely pace, Trixie was able to relax and enjoy the view. The
countryside was one of low, rolling hills. Everything—trees, grass, crops—was
the tender green of early summer. The sky was cloudless and the sun was warm
and gentle. There was