The Mystery of the Galloping Ghost

was
punctuated with slaps at their legs, arms, and ears.
    “I’m
glad we’re wearing our riding boots,” Honey said. “Flies usually go for my
ankles.”
    “These
boots aren’t great for walking, though,” Trixie said, as she nearly fell after
catching her boot heel on a root.
    The
half-mile seemed like two or three, but eventually the girls spotted the
outline of old Gunnar’s cabin. It was indeed tiny—not more than ten feet on a
side, with a roof that was hardly higher than a tall man’s head. The cabin was
made of logs, with inch-wide cracks between them that had been filled with mud.
Much of the mud had fallen out over the years. What remained made a vivid
contrast to the weathered gray of the logs.
    The
door was made of four vertical boards held together with two crosspieces. It
was sagging at an angle that kept it from closing completely. Trixie peered
through the crack to see inside, but the cabin was too dark.
    “Well,
here goes,” she said as she prepared to pull the door open. “There probably
won’t be much to see, after all these years.”
    Trixie
squared her shoulders, took a deep breath, and pulled hard on the door. When it
creaked and swung open, she stepped inside quickly, before her courage left
her.
    Inside,
as her eyes grew accustomed to the dim light, she felt her heart thump once and
then seem to stop beating.
    “It—it
looks like someone’s been here,” Honey breathed from behind her.
    Trixie
nodded. “Like someone’s been living here,”
she whispered back.
    The
cabin was dusty and dirty. That fit in with what they’d been told about old
Gunnar Bjorkland . But a tattered patchwork quilt was
stretched neatly over the narrow bed. An old hat, so worn that its original
style was unrecognizable, hung on the wall. Most remarkable of all, there was a
half-eaten meal on the table. A chipped, blue metal plate held a serving of
beans and a thick slice of crusty bread. A tin cup held coffee that was still
warm enough to be giving off an aroma. Trixie held her hand out over the beans
to confirm that they, too, were warm.
    “I
don’t see any silverware,” Trixie said.
    “Here.”
Honey bent down and picked up a fork that was lying on the floor between the
table and the doorway. “You walked right over it.” She tossed it onto the
table.
    Trixie
hastened to inspect the rest of the room, knowing she didn’t want to stay there
for long. Fortunately, there wasn’t much else to see. An old dry sink stood under
the cabin’s one window. To the left of the window was a hanging cabinet. Under
that was a cast-iron stove.
    Trixie
opened the cabinet door, saw that it was empty, and was just closing it when a
crow cawed in the forest. Startled, she jumped and banged her leg on the handle
of the iron stove. “Ouch!” she said, raising her voice for the first time since
she’d entered the cabin. She rubbed the spot with her hand and felt a welt
already rising.
    “I’ve
seen enough,” Honey said. “Let’s go!”
    Trixie
was only too happy to agree.
    On
their way back through the forest, Trixie said, “We should have brought pencils
and paper so we could take notes on the spot. That’s what Wilhelmina would have
done. As soon as we get back, let’s write down everything.”
    The
girls were grateful to have a project to keep them busy until dusk came and
they could sneak out to Wilhelmina’s hideout.
    By
now, the route was familiar, and the girls made the trip quickly. “Besides,”
Trixie said, “after that cabin, the woods don’t seem spooky at all!”
    When
they found Wilhelmina, they followed the plan they’d agreed on earlier. They
related the incidents of the past few days in order, including the disappearing
brushes and combs, the falling picture, the mysterious gust of wind, the
galloping hoofbeats , and the apparition in the
surveyor’s transit.
    Wilhelmina
listened objectively, taking notes. She was angry at the girls for having
replaced the combs and brushes. “Any scientific value in the incident was, of
course, immediately lost at that point,” she said stiffly.
    The
thundering hoofbeats she found more interesting, and
at the story of the surveyor’s sighting, she definitely perked up.
    Trixie
rubbed her hands together excitedly. It was working out exactly as she’d
planned.
    Now
they’d relate the best part, which they’d saved for last.
    Wilhelmina’s
reaction to the story of Gunnar’s cabin was not what they’d expected, however.
“Take me there