Mystery Ride

There was a hum of anticipation as Max began to explain the rules of the Mystery Weekend to the Pony Clubbers.

“Clues have to be left where they’re found so that other riders can find them. But a team doesn’t have to tell about a clue. It’s perfectly okay to keep that information secret. On Sunday, at our final lunch, the prize will be awarded. And now …”

There was a clatter on the stairs. The riders turned.

May Grover appeared. Her eyes were red. Her cheeks were tear-stained.

“The worst …,” she said, and started to cry.

“What?” said Max.

“My saddle is gone!” May wailed.

“I
THINK WE
saw that maple tree half an hour ago, except it had twice as many leaves,” Lisa said. She looked down. The ground under the tree was carpeted with a ring of newly fallen yellow leaves.

“I’m totally sure we did,” Stevie said. “Kind of.”

The members of The Saddle Club, Lisa Atwood, Stevie Lake, and Carole Hanson, groaned. It was a crisp, cool Thursday afternoon in late fall. The next day was the beginning of the Mystery Weekend at Pine Hollow Stables, where the girls rode. The MW, as they’d taken to calling it, was going to last from Friday afternoon to Sunday morning. Max Regnery, the owner of Pine Hollow and
head of their Pony Club, Horse Wise, had said the MW would involve a pretend mystery and lots of riding.

Carole, Lisa, and Stevie had ridden out to inspect the trails so that on Friday they would notice any freshly planted “clues.” But now the girls were busy wondering if they had kicked off the MW by getting lost in the woods. If they had, the other members of Horse Wise would never let them forget it. Especially snooty Veronica diAngelo.

The Saddle Club had never ridden in a Pine Hollow MW before, and the girls were confident they would be the ones to solve Max’s mystery. Even though he had told them not to expect too big a prize, they felt their honor was at stake. After all, weren’t they the ones who had solved the horsenapping during a three-day event at Pine Hollow? And hadn’t Lisa prevented a horse-poisoning before the famous Preakness race? And wasn’t Stevie known as the wiliest fox around during their mock fox hunts? Even if it was only a game, the MW was right up The Saddle Club’s alley.

“I’m sure I remember those toadstools,” Stevie said. “And that skunkweed is almost totally familiar.”

“Yes, but which way is the stable?” said Lisa.

They stared into a grove of birch trees. In fall everything changed. Familiar landmarks, such as rocks, were buried
under blankets of leaves; wild asters turned white, and blackberry bushes turned into twisted purple stems.

“I bet Carole knows,” Lisa said. Carole knew everything there was to know about horses, so—it stood to reason—Carole would know how to get back to the stable.

“Well,” Carole said with a weak grin, “we’re definitely in the woods behind Pine Hollow, and”—she rubbed her chin judiciously—“I would say that we’re definitely on a riding trail. And furthermore, I would say we’re definitely on horseback. Right, Starlight?” She reached down and gave her dark bay horse a pat.

“Great,” Stevie said. “We promised Max we’d keep an eye on the younger riders, but we can’t even keep an eye on ourselves.”

Carole looked up. Overhead a hawk was circling, making high-pitched cries. Carole noticed that the sun caught its belly. She knew this meant that the sun was low. She looked at a birch tree and saw that its leaves were transparent with light.

“That must be west,” she said, pointing, “because the light is coming from over there.”

“Yes!” Stevie said. “So that must be the way back to Pine Hollow.”

They turned their horses and rode toward the light of the setting sun.

“Fall’s almost over,” Carole said sadly. “And spring is about a million years away.”

“One last beautiful weekend,” Lisa said.

“And then mud,” Stevie said.

“And ice,” Carole said. In winter Horse Wise mostly rode in the indoor ring at Pine Hollow. That was fun, but it wasn’t the same as the glorious freedom of the trail.

“We’ll have to make the MW great for everyone, especially the little kids,” Carole said. She remembered that when she was a kid, riding at Marine Corps bases, winters seemed practically infinite. Even though many of those Marine Corps bases had been farther south, she’d gotten used to trails that turned muddy and treacherous in winter. “We have to make sure the kids’ ponies are properly tacked up. And that they don’t gallop.” It was a rule of the MW that no one was allowed to gallop. “And we have to help them with their clues so they don’t get frustrated.”

“And we have to keep them from getting lost in the woods like us,” said Stevie with a grin. The Saddle Club would be glad to help the younger riders. That task would fit in with the club’s two rules—members had to be totally horse-crazy, and they had to help out when there was trouble.

“A.J.’s coming to the MW,” Stevie added. A.J. was a rider from Cross County, a Pony Club in a nearby town.
He was famous for his practical jokes. He was also best friends with Phil Marsten, Stevie’s boyfriend.

“And?” said Lisa with a grin.

“And he’s bringing his friend Bart,” Stevie said.

“And?” said Carole.

“No Phil,” said Stevie dejectedly. “We had a three-hour phone conversation last night. He was planning on coming, but his grandmother is sick and his family is going to visit her. His mother even came on the phone to tell me how sorry she was.”

“That’s a bummer,” said Lisa sympathetically.

“Totally,” Stevie said. “I was counting on outwitting Phil this weekend.”

“You can always outwit him another weekend,” Carole said.

“It’s not the same,” said Stevie, looking at the golden woods. She had anticipated riding with Phil down these trails and maybe stealing some time alone with him.

As they came around a curve in the trail, the woods opened onto a large field. On the edge sat a dark barn with a shingled roof and a padlocked door.

“We have to make sure the younger kids stay away from these barns,” Carole said. “The park uses them to store machinery, so they’re off-limits to everyone but park employees.”
Silverado State Park included the woods and the mountains behind Pine Hollow Stables.

“We also have to make sure the kids understand that the fields around the park aren’t public,” Carole said. “They belong to neighboring farms. People let us ride through them as a favor, so it’s our job to be careful.”

“Wow, look at that,” said Lisa, pointing at a tall black shape in a stand of aspen.

“Creepy,” Carole said.

“Yes,” Stevie said with a grin. “It’s a terrifying pump.” As they rode closer they saw that it was indeed an old water pump with a curved handle.

“Who would put a pump in the middle of the woods?” Lisa asked.

“Some of these woods used to be farmland,” Stevie said. “So they’re full of odd things.”

Lisa shivered. In the fading light the silvery foxtail grass looked gray. She remembered that this time of year the days were getting shorter, and that when night fell the temperature dropped rapidly. “How far from Pine Hollow are we?” she said.

“Mmmm,” Carole said. “I think I smell hickory smoke.”

The three of them sniffed.

“How do you know it’s hickory?” said Lisa.

“It has a kind of tangy smell,” Carole said. “And wasn’t
somebody explaining to us that hickory smoke is the best smoke?”

“Max!” Lisa said. Just the other day Max had been laying in a supply of hickory logs on his side porch.

“What do you want to bet that Deborah has started a fire?” Carole said. Deborah was Max’s new wife, and this was their first winter as a married couple. Chances were that they’d spend a lot of time together in front of the fireplace in the house near the stables.

“What a nice thing to come home to,” Carole said.

It seemed to the girls that they were almost back at Pine Hollow. The horses must have felt the same way, because their tails switched contentedly, and they walked a little faster.

“Prancer’s thinking oats,” Lisa said. “She’s thinking a rubdown.” Prancer’s ears twitched.

“Max says that horses can’t understand English, but sometimes I wonder,” Carole said.

Suddenly Starlight shuddered and danced sideways. Stevie’s horse, Belle, bobbed her head. Something was wrong. The girls were alert, leaning forward in their saddles, scanning the underbrush, wondering what had spooked the horses.

Prancer whinnied. “Easy, easy,” Lisa murmured. As an
ex-racehorse, Prancer was more skittish than the others, and more likely to take off.

The girls looked ahead. Trail dust rose through the trees. There was the sound of hoofbeats.

“Hello,” Carole called. This time of evening, when the trails were mainly deserted, the other rider should have greeted them. He was showing bad trail manners.

“What was that?” Lisa said.

“Maybe it was a beginner,” Stevie said. The woods, after all, were used by many people, and not all riders knew the rules of the trail.