The two girls walked out into the aisle. The woman
wearing the riding breeches was leading her horse
toward them. The horse's neck was dark with sweat. As
it walked, Nancy noticed that it limped slightly on one
of its front legs.
“Is your horse all right?” Nancy asked with concern.
The woman shook her head. “No. Secret bruised the
sole of his hoof.”
“Tough break,” Bess said.
The woman smoothed the horse's forelock, tears
filling her eyes. “Secret and I have been training all
summer for this show. We're lucky it's just a bruise and
not something worse.”
Turning to Nancy and Bess, she held out her hand.
“I'm Valerie Dunn. I want to thank you. Mr. Texel
explained that your quick thinking saved Secret's life
and possibly the lives of all the horses in the barn.” She
shuddered. “I can't imagine what would have
happened if this place had caught fire.”
“Ms. Dunn, do you have any idea how the hay—”
Nancy started to ask.
“Just a second there, young lady.” R. Texel strode up
with a guard who was half his size. The name on his
badge was A. Brackett.
Texel hooked his thumbs in his belt. “I'll ask the
questions, if you don't mind.”
“I don't mind,” Nancy said with as much politeness
as she could summon. She held out the match. “You
might be interested in this. I found it in the sawdust.”
She dropped it into Texel's hand.
His bushy eyebrows rose, but he didn't say a word.
Nancy and Bess said goodbye to Valerie Dunn, then
headed toward the other end of the barn.
“Well,” Bess said, “Mr. Texel made it clear he didn't
want our help.”
“Fine with me,” Nancy said as they left through the
same doors they'd entered earlier. “I want to have fun
at the show, not hunt for an arsonist. Besides, Ned
should be arriving any minute.”
Stopping outside, Nancy scanned the parking lot. A
tall, attractive young man with brown hair and an
athletic build was striding toward them.
Nancy waved. “Ned!” she called.
“Hi, you two,” he said as he jogged up. “How's the
competition?”
“We've been too busy putting out a fire to see any of
it yet,” Bess replied.
“What happened?” Ned asked with concern.
“Someone dropped a match onto some hay,” Nancy
said. She guided him in the direction of the
showgrounds. “We'll fill you in while we go to meet
Lee Anne.”
The trio made their way to the showgrounds. The
area was crowded with horses of all sizes, colors, and
shapes. Some were saddled and carried riders. Others
were being walked, washed, or groomed. In one of the
rings, several equestrians rode their mounts in small
circles.
“There's Arena One.” Nancy pointed to a flat
rectangular area bordered by a low white fence. Twelve
black letters on white boards were posted around the
arena. “And there's Lee Anne.”
Lee Anne was striding toward them, her arms filled
with towels, jars, and sprays, which she dumped in a
bucket under a tree. Nancy was about to introduce
Ned when Lee Anne waved toward the arena.
“Michael's just going in! If we hurry, we can watch
from the hillside.”
As they climbed the grassy slope, Lee Anne said, “I
felt bad about leaving you, but Michael gets upset if I
don't help him. There he is now.”
Nancy sat beside Ned and Bess just as Michael and
Curio trotted down the center of the arena. The pair
halted in the middle. Picking up the rein in his left
hand, Michael dropped his right hand and nodded to
several people sitting at a table under a canopy.
“He's saluting the judge,” Lee Anne whispered.
Ned leaned closer to Lee Anne. “What do all the
letters around the arena mean?”
“The letters let the rider know where to execute
each movement. For example, Michael knows he must
halt and salute at the letter X, which is the center of
the arena. Now he's tracking right at C and executing a
circle at R . . .”
Ned and Bess stared at Lee Anne in confusion.
“Just watch,” Lee Anne said with a grin.
Nancy tried to concentrate on the horse and rider,
but her thoughts kept drifting back to the fire. Who
had set it? she wondered. And why?
“Nancy.” Lee Anne nudged her. “See the man under
the big oak tree? That's Klaus Schaudt, Aristocrat's
owner.”
Nancy glanced at the man, noting his steel gray hair
and military posture. A delighted gasp from Lee Anne
drew her attention back to the arena. Michael and
Curio were charging past, the horse's front legs
reaching out.
“Did you see Curio's extended trot?” Lee Anne
exclaimed. “Perfect!”
As the horse and rider rounded the corner, Nancy
could see a look of intense concentration on Michael's
face. At the letter V, Curio broke into a smooth,
rocking canter, then cantered diagonally across the
arena. Nancy thought Curio looked as if he were
dancing.
“Next is the piroutte,” Lee Anne said. She held her
breath as horse and rider executed the move. “Perfect,”
Lee Anne murmured as Curio spun in a neat circle.
“That was beautiful,” Nancy said. She watched as
Curio trotted in place, lifting his legs high as if
prancing to music. “I've never seen a horse perform
such difficult movements.”
“That's called the passage,” Lee Anne explained.
“Wow.” Bess whistled. “Getting a horse to dance
must be tricky, but Michael makes it look easy.”
“That's how it's supposed to seem. The horse should
look as if he's performing on his own, but believe me,
Michael's working hard.”
Five minutes later Curio halted in the center again.
When Michael saluted the judge, Lee Anne jumped to
her feet and cheered loudly.
“Let's go congratulate him,” she said. Picking up her
bucket, she took off toward the arena exit.
Ned, Nancy, and Bess walked down the hill. Michael
and Curio had stopped under the tree. Lee Anne held
Curio's reins. Michael had dismounted and was
loosening the horse's girth. Klaus Schaudt stood
between Lee Anne and Michael.
As Nancy approached, she could see that Curio was
breathing hard, his nostrils blowing in and out. Taking
off his top hat, Michael handed it to Lee Anne. His
hair was matted with sweat, and his mouth was pinched
in an angry line.
No wonder, Nancy thought as she drew closer.
Schaudt was admonishing him sternly. “Your flying
changes were rough, Michael. The passage was only
passable. Your scores will never get out of the low
sixties if you don't work on those two movements.”
Nancy stopped a
few feet away, Ned and Bess
behind her. Michael's face was bright red. Lee Anne
stared down at the reins in her hand.
“We didn't get enough time to practice the test
during warm-up,” Michael said through clenched
teeth.
The man frowned at Lee Anne. “And why not? You
were supposed to coach him.”
“I—I'm sorry,” Lee Anne stammered. “There was a
fire in one of the stalls and—”
“A fire?” Michael whirled to face her.
“Whose stall?” Schaudt demanded. “One of our
horses?”
“No,” Nancy said quickly, stepping toward the trio.
“I'm Nancy Drew, Lee Anne's friend.” Taking
Schaudt's hand, she shook it firmly, then introduced
Ned and Bess. “The horse belonged to a woman named
Valerie Dunn. When it bolted from the stall, it bruised
the sole of its hoof.”
Michael snorted with amusement. “Too bad for
Valerie, though I'm sure glad she won't be able to
compete against me.”
Nancy was surprised by his unsportsmanlike
comment. Did he really mean it or was he just reacting
to the pressure?
“Ha!” Schaudt scoffed. “If you don't improve your
performance, Valerie could beat you with a lame
horse.”
Turning his attention to Nancy, Ned, and Bess,
Schaudt smiled so warmly that Nancy found it hard to
believe he was the same person who had just chewed
Michael out. “It's nice to meet you and your friends,
Miss Drew. Now if you'll excuse me . . .”
With a nod of his head, he strode off across the
showgrounds. Michael scowled, then jerked the reins
from Lee Anne's hand and led Curio away.
Lee Anne blew out her breath. “Sorry you had to
hear that. Klaus is very demanding, and he's been
especially hard on Michael these past few days.” She
flashed them an apologetic grin. “Which means
Michael's under tons of pressure. He hasn't been
himself lately.”
“I know how intense sports competitions can get,”
Ned said.
“Well, I'd better help Michael cool Curio off,” Lee
Anne said. Tucking the top hat under her arm, she
bent to pick up the bucket. “Why don't you stay and
watch some of the other horses?” she added before
hurrying off.
“Whew,” Bess said when Lee Anne had gone. “I
sure wouldn't want to work with Klaus Schaudt, no
matter how wonderful a trainer he is. And I don't care
what excuses Lee Anne makes—I think Michael's
rude.”
“Give the guy a break,” Ned said. “He might be
totally different when he's not stressed.”
Nancy reluctantly agreed. “Lee Anne did say he was
trying to earn high scores at this show so he could
qualify for—”
Loud yelling cut Nancy off.
Behind Bess, a young man was struggling to hold on
to a horse that was shaking its head so wildly it jerked
the lead line from the man's grasp.
Nancy gasped as the horse wheeled and raced in
their direction. Eyes wild with fright, it slid to a stop
right behind Bess. As it reared, Nancy could see that its
hooves were inches from Bess's head.
3. Thief!
“Bess!” Nancy screamed. Grabbing her friend's wrist,
she yanked her out of the path of the horse's hooves.
Bess crashed into Nancy, and the two of them landed
in a heap on the ground. The horse loomed over them,
its nostrils flaring.
“Whoa.” Speaking calmly, Ned stepped toward the
animal and caught the dangling lead line. Bess
scrambled to her feet, pulling Nancy with her. At the
same time the young man ran around and took the lead
from Ned.
The man backed the horse up, then stopped it. As
he patted the horse's neck, he spoke in a soothing
voice. Listening closely, she realized he was speaking
German.
“Thanks, Nan,” Bess said as she brushed off the seat
of her shorts.
Stooping, Nancy picked up her cap, which had fallen
off. “Thank Ned. He kept us from getting trampled.”
“Are you all right?” The young man came up to
them, a worried expression on his face. After pulling
off his cap, he held it against his chest. In his other
hand he held the lead tightly, but by now his horse was
standing docilely by his side.
“Yes. We're fine,” Nancy told him.
“Thank goodness.” He blew out an exaggerated
breath. “I would not want two beautiful American
women to be stomped to death.”
Bess giggled. The man grinned at her, his blue eyes
twinkling. He had wavy blond hair, a slim, athletic
rider's build, and an infectious smile.
“Gunter Werth.” He took Bess's hand and shook it
heartily. “And you two ladies are . . . ?
“Bess Marvin.” Bess shook his hand. “And these are
my friends Nancy Drew and Ned Nickerson.”
“I am honored to meet you.” Gunter bowed at the
waist, then straightened up. “Well, Bess, Nancy, and
Ned, my horse, Persaldo, apologizes for his rude
behavior.” He grinned boyishly. “Perhaps you would
accept my invitation to dinner tonight as an apology?”
Bess grinned. “That sounds wonderful, Gunter, but I
. . . we hardly know you.”
“And I hardly know anyone in this country,” Gunter
said wistfully. “I need someone to show me the sights
and explain American words—like why they call it a hot
dog and why everyone says awesome.' ”
“Why don't you join us?” Ned suggested. “We'll
answer your questions about America if you'll answer
our questions about dressage. We're newcomers to the
sport.”
“Ah.” Gunter smoothed his hair and put his cap back
on. “Dressage is a tricky sport to understand, but it's
beautiful to watch. I will be happy to—how do you say
it?—fill you in.”
They agreed to meet at the motel at seven-thirty.
Reluctantly Bess said goodbye as Gunter led his horse
away.
“Wow,” she gasped. “He's really nice. Ned, thanks
for inviting him to have dinner with us.”
“We can ask Lee Anne and Michael, too,” Nancy
suggested. “Make it a fun night out.”
Bess groaned. “A fun night with Michael? No way.”
“Let's give the guy a chance,” Nancy said. “Lee
Anne seems to like him, so there must be something to
like.”
“I doubt it.” Bess shook her head. “Now, with
Gunter there's a lot to like. He knows how to charm a
girl. Not like you American guys.” She playfully
punched Ned on the arm. “Always taking us for
granted and expecting us to fall all over you.”
“Take Nancy for granted?” Ned joked. “Never. She
might stick a scorpion in my bed.”
“Don't give me ideas, Nickerson,” Nancy teased
back.
“Hey, speaking of ideas”—Bess pointed to a littl
e
girl eating a chili dog—“let's eat. In fact”—she pulled a
brochure from the pocket of her shorts—“according to
this, the concourse of the indoor arena is filled with
over fifty vendors!”
“Oh, great.” Ned rolled his eyes. “Shopping.”
“Good idea,” Nancy said. “After we find something
to eat, we can browse. Then I'd like to stop by the
security office to see if they found any clues about the
fire.”
The three of them headed for the huge arena. It was
dark and cool inside, a welcome respite from the
intense sun.
After Nancy's eyes adjusted, she looked around.
Bess was right. The top level of the circular concourse
was filled with vendors' booths. Most were hawking
horse supplies, but others sold jewelry, handmade
clothing, and leather goods.
Bess's eyes glowed as she made a beeline for a glass
case filled with silver and turquoise earrings. “A pair of
these would look great with my new blouse.”
Ned strolled over to a rack of hand-tooled leather
belts while Nancy headed for a booth selling old books.
She scanned the shelves, noticing that all the books
were about horses. She found one of her childhood
favorites. Pulling it out, she flipped through the pages,
admiring the illustrations.
“That would be a neat present for Lee Anne,” Bess
said over her shoulder.
They browsed for a few more minutes, waiting for
Ned. When he finally rejoined them, he wore a new
belt in the loops of his denim shorts.
“What do you think?” he asked, putting his thumbs
behind the silver buckle to show it off.
“I think for someone who hated the idea of
shopping, you did really well,” Nancy joked. “You look
like a cowboy.”
“Ready to eat?” Bess asked.
The three stood in line at a concession stand. After
they'd received their orders, they sat at a small round
table overlooking the indoor ring below. Rows and
rows of seats sloped down to the circular area where
several riders schooled their horses.
As Nancy munched her tuna salad on whole wheat,
she watched the horses move effortlessly, with their
necks arched and their heads tucked in, their legs
rising and falling in perfect rhythm.
“Dressage is an art as well as a sport,” she
commented.
“Umm.” Bess nodded in agreement as she ate a
french fry. Ned was polishing off his second chili dog.
The Missing Horse Mystery Page 2