The Mystery of the Headless Horseman

uncle, Bill Regan, who was the Wheelers’ horse trainer, had brought him to Sleepyside-on-the-Hudson. Now Dan lived and worked with Mr. Maypenny, the gamekeeper for the Wheeler estate.
    “Then is it all arranged for this afternoon?” Di asked anxiously.
    Trixie raised her eyebrows at each Bob-White in turn. “Yes,” she said at last. “It’s all arranged. Be at the stables as soon as you can. Agreed?”
    The Bob-Whites agreed.

    The bus let the three Beldens off at the foot of their graveled driveway. Brian hurried away at once and disappeared indoors.
    Trixie and Mart were about to follow him, when Bobby, their six-year-old brother, came running toward them. He had had the whole day off from school. His first-grade teacher, too, was attending the conference in White Plains.
    Bobby’s eyes were sparkling. “Trixie, are you going to play with me this afternoon?”
    Looking after her young brother was one of Trixie’s chores at Crabapple Farm. Usually she didn’t mind. Today, though, she knew it would be impossible to look after Bobby and search for Harrison at the same time.
    She dropped to one knee and put her free arm around her small brother. “I’m not going to have time to play this afternoon,” she said. “There’s something very important we’ve all got to do.” Bobby’s lower lip quivered. “But I had it all planned,” he cried. “I told Reddy that you and me would take him for a long walk.”
    “Then you and me will have to take Reddy for a walk some other time. You know he’s only going to want to chase rabbits, anyway—”
    As she spoke, the Beldens’ big Irish setter appeared around the corner of the garage. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw them. Then, at top speed, he came bounding forward. From the back of his throat, he uttered short, sharp yelps of welcome.
    Mart and Trixie yelled together, “No, Reddy, no! Down, boy!”
    But it was too late. Their dog, his tail streaming behind him like a banner, flung himself briefly at Mart’s chest. Then he turned and launched himself into one final joyful leap.
    He caught Trixie off-balance and knocked her backward. He pinned her to the ground with one great paw, then smothered her face with kisses.
    It took the combined efforts of Mart and Bobby to pull him off.
    “You’re a bad dog!” Mart said sternly.
    “And no walk today,” Trixie added, scrambling to her feet. “No walk! Understand?” She began to scrub vigorously at her face with a handkerchief.
    For a moment, Reddy looked sorrowful. Then, remembering how much he loved them all, he sat back on his haunches and grinned. His sides were heaving. His long red tongue hung from the side of his panting mouth.
    “He didn’t mean to be bad,” Bobby said. “He was only saying hello.”
    “Then someone should teach him to sit politely and shake paws instead,” Mart snapped. “That dog is definitely undisciplined.”
    “Does that mean he won’t do as he’s told?” Bobby asked.
    “That’s just what it means,” Mart said, glaring at the unrepentant culprit. “Someone ought to give him obedience lessons.”
    Trixie sighed. “Somehow I don’t think anyone could train Reddy. Just lately he seems to have been giving himself disobedience lessons.”
    “Nonsense!” Mart said. “I have a book in my room that tells exactly how to train a dog. Reddy is a dog. Therefore, he can be trained!”
    In spite of all the worries that were crowding Trixie’s mind, she had a sudden sly thought. “It wasn’t so long ago that you and Brian tried teaching Reddy how to behave, remember? Reddy didn’t learn.”
    “That’s because we were giving him conflicting orders,” Mart said. “Anyway, now that I’ve got this book, it’d be a piece of cake.”
    “Does that mean you’re going to eat the book?” asked Bobby, who knew that his brother was always hungry.
    “No,” Trixie said, smiling at him. “What Mart meant was that he thinks he can train Reddy to do what we want. He can’t, of course—”
    Mart fell right into the trap. “Sure I can,” he boasted. “I bet I could train him in a week.” Trixie pounced. “What will you bet?”
    For a moment, Mart didn’t answer. Then he said loftily, “If I win, you’ll have to make my bed for a week.”
    “And if you lose?”
    “I’ll make yours for a month.”
    Bobby jumped up and down with excitement. “Mine, too? Will you make mine, too?”
    Mart grinned. “Okay, yours, too, small fry. And you can watch me teach