The Mystery of the Galloping Ghost

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