The Mystery of the Galloping Ghost

place.
    Wilhelmina
wore her usual baggy-style pants. Tonight, however, the pattern was a wide
vertical stripe of orange and brown, which clashed with her blue-and-green
plaid blouse. When she sits on that
red plaid blanket, she must look like an explosion at a paint factory, Trixie thought.
    She
started to giggle at the thought, then bit her lip, realizing that she was
being unkind. Wilhelmina is just too
interested in apparitions to worry about appearances, she thought.
Her pun made her start to giggle again. To stop herself, she said aloud, “We
have some exciting news!”
    She
and Honey took turns telling the story of Gunnar Bjorkland ,
as Gus had told it to them.
    Wilhelmina
had pulled a notepad and a pencil out of her pocket, and was taking page after
page of notes as the girls talked. Sometimes she would interrupt with a
question, to clarify something in the story. Trixie was embarrassed at how
often she couldn’t supply the answer.
    One
time she’d asked, “Was Gunnar definitely guilty of stealing the cow? Was he
caught with it? Was his guilt ever proved?”
    “I-I
don’t know,” Trixie said. “Is it important?”
    “It
would be to Gunnar,” Wilhelmina said with a rare flash of humor .
“In addition, if Gunnar had been innocent, the guilty-con-science explanation
would carry more weight.”
    Honey
crossed her arms and hugged herself protectively. “It never even occurred to me
that old Gunnar might have been innocent. The story was horrible enough when I
was sure he was guilty.”
    “Unfortunately,
jumping to conclusions has always been the human being’s favorite form of
exercise,” Wilhelmina said. “It’s rare that any good ever comes of the
practice. That’s why we at the institute work so hard to avoid it.” She closed
her notepad with an emphatic slap. Then her firm look softened. “You girls have
done extremely well in one day’s investigation. You don’t think you aroused any
suspicion by asking questions, do you?”
    Trixie
shook her head. “Gus was the only one we asked, and he seemed to enjoy telling
the story,” she said.
    “Good.
Anything else you can find out would be appreciated.” Wilhelmina put away her
notepad and wrapped her hands around the binoculars, which were hanging safely
from her neck. It seemed to be a signal for the girls to leave so that she
could take up the watch once more.
    “We
have to be going,” Honey said obligingly. “We promised to be home before dark,
and if we break that promise, we’ll never get out of the house alone again.
Good-bye. We’ll keep you posted.”
    Wilhelmina
nodded and waved absently, her mind already a million miles away.
    The
shadows were lengthening eerily as the girls made their way along the riverbank
to a safe point at which to cross the open land behind the Murrows ’
stable. Trixie was feeling suddenly insecure. In a world where a man could be
lynched on suspicion of stealing a cow, anything could happen. From the way
Honey followed close behind her, Trixie imagined that her friend was thinking
similar thoughts.
    “Of
course, there’s no reason to assume Gunnar was innocent,” Trixie said.
    “That’s
true. I mean, Wilhelmina is such a stickler for accuracy that I’ll bet she asks
lots of obvious questions, just for the record.” Honey sounded as though she
were trying to convince herself.
    There
wasn’t much more conversation between the girls. They were too eager to get
away from the riverbank to slow themselves down with talk. As they crossed the
open land near the house, they avoided the topic in the same way that they
avoided looking at the jagged, looming oak tree.
    As
they approached the stable, they began overhearing a conversation. Two angry
male voices were coming from inside.
    “Just
toss in a match and burn the whole place down, if you’re so determined to
destroy it,” one voice said.
    “I
wouldn’t do that and you know it,” the other voice said.
    Trixie
looked questioningly at Honey, who only shook her head. She wasn’t sure whom
the voices belonged to, either. There
aren’t too many choices, Trixie realized. Regan was unlikely to get
into an argument with any of his hosts. Gus’s accent would surely be
recognizable. It must be Pat and
Bill, she concluded.
    “Moving
Fairhaven Ranch would destroy it,” the first voice said.
    “Why?
It’s just a bunch of buildings standing on a plot of land. Wood and dirt,
that’s all. We can find those somewhere else,” the
second voice