The Penny Parker Megapack: 15 Complete Novels

by Mildred Benson

  The creaking of the rusty hinges brought Silas Malcom from the tumble-down house. He stared blankly for a moment and then recognized Penny.

  “Well, bless my heart,” he said. “If it ain’t the young lady that helped me at the newspaper office!”

  “And now it’s your turn to help us,” laughed Penny. “We’ve lost our horse.”

  “I knowed somebody would be along for her purty soon,” the old man chuckled. “She run into the barn yard ’bout ten minutes ago an’ I turned her out to graze. I’ll git her for you.”

  If Mr. Malcom was surprised to see Penny so far from Riverview he did not disclose it. He asked no questions. Hobbling to the fence, he whistled a shrill blast. White Foot pricked up her ears and then came trotting over to nuzzle the old man’s hand.

  “You certainly have that horse under control,” said Penny admiringly. “I guess it’s all in the way you handle ’em.”

  “It’s also all in the way you handle a Flying Fortress or a stick of dynamite,” Louise cut in. “You may have my share of horses!”

  “White Foot didn’t throw you off?” Mr. Malcom inquired.

  “Oh, no,” Louise assured him, and explained how the horse had run away.

  Old Silas chuckled appreciatively. “White Foot always did have a habit o’ sneakin’ off like that. Raised her from a colt, but sold her to Williams down in Hobostein when I got short o’ cash.”

  Wrapping the reins about a hitching post, the old man allowed his gaze to wander toward the valley. With a gesture that was hard to interpret, he indicated the long stretch of fertile pasture land, golden grain fields and orderly rows of young orchard trees.

  “See that!” he commanded.

  “It’s a beautiful valley,” Louise murmured politely.

  “It’s mor’n that,” corrected the old man. “You’re lookin’ at one o’ the richest parcels o’ land in this here state. Me and the old woman lived down there fer goin’ on twenty years. Then we was put out o’ our cabin. Now that penny-pinchin’ Burmaster owns every acre fer as you can see—not countin’ the village o’ Delta an’ three acres held fer spite by the Widder Lear.”

  Old Silas took a chew of tobacco and pointed to a trim little log cabin visible through a gap in the trees.

  “Stands out like a sore thumb, don’t it? Burmaster’s done everything he can to git rid o’ that place, but the Widder Lear jes’ sits tight an’ won’t have no dealings with him. Says that if the old skinflint comes round her place again she’s goin’ to drive him off with a shotgun.”

  Penny and Louise waited, hoping that the old man would tell more. After a little silence, he resumed meditatively:

  “The Widder was the smartest o’ the lot of us. From the first she said Burmaster was out to gobble up all the best land for hisself. Nobody could get her to sign no papers. That’s why she’s got her little place today and the rest of us is tryin’ to make a livin’out o’ these stone patches.”

  “Burmaster forced all of the valley folk off their land?” Penny inquired, perplexed. “How could he do that?”

  “Some of ’em sold out to him,” Old Silas admitted. “But mostly the land was owned by a rich feller in Boston. He never paid no attention to his holdings ’cept to collect a bit o’ rent now and then. But last spring he up and sold out to Burmaster, and we was all told to git off the land.”

  Penny nodded thoughtfully. “I suppose that was entirely legal. If Mr. Burmaster bought and paid for the land one couldn’t accuse him of dishonest dealings.”

  “I ain’t accusin’ nobody o’ nothin’,” Old Silas replied. “I’m jes’ tellin’ you how things are in this here valley. Ye came to find out about that Headless Horseman, didn’t ye?”

  “Well, yes, we did,” Penny acknowledged.

  “Figured you would. You’ll never win that reward Burmaster’s offerin’, but you could do a heap o’ good in this here valley.”

  “How?” asked Penny, even more puzzled.

  “You got a pa that runs a big city newspaper. When he prints an editorial piece in that paper o’ his, folks read it and pay attention.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

  “You will after you been here awhile,” the old man chuckled. “Where you gals calculatin’ to spend the night?”

  “I wish we knew.”

  “Me and the ole woman’d be glad to take you in, only we ain’t got no room fitten for city-raised gals. The Widder Lear’ll be glad to give you bed and fodder.”

  The girls thanked Mr. Malcom, though secretly they were sure they would keep on until they reached Delta. A suspicion was growing in Penny’s mind that she had not come to the valley of her own free will. Rather she had been lured there by Old Silas’ Headless Horseman tale. She had assumed the old fellow to be a simple, trusting hillman, while in truth he meant to make use of her.

  “Calculate you’re anxious-like to git down to the valley ’fore night sets on,” the old man resumed. “The turnpike’s no fitten place for a gal after dark.”

  “You think we might meet the Headless Horseman?”Penny asked, smiling.

  Old Silas deliberately allowed the question to pass.

  “Jes’ follow the turnpike,” he instructed. “You’ll come fust to the Burmaster place. Then on beyond is the Widder Lear’s cabin. She’ll treat you right.”

  Penny had intended to ask Old Silas if he still had a spinning wheel for sale. However, a glimpse of the darkening sky warned her there was no time to waste. She and Louise must hasten on unless they expected to be overtaken by night.

  “Goodbye,” Penny said, vaulting into the saddle. “We’ll probably see you again before we leave the valley.”

  “Calculate you will,” agreed Old Silas. As he opened the gate for the girls he smiled in a way they could not fathom.

  Once more on the curving turnpike, Penny and Louise discussed the old man’s strange words. Both were agreed that Silas had not been in the least surprised to see them.

  “But why did he say I could do good in the valley?”Penny speculated. “Evidently he thinks I’ll influence my father to write something in the Star.”

  “Against Burmaster perhaps,” nodded Louise. “Everyone we’ve met seems to dislike that man.”

  The girls clattered over a little log bridge and rounded a bend. Giant trees arched their limbs over the pike, creating a dark, cool tunnel. Penny and Louise urged their tired horses to a faster pace. Though neither would have admitted it, they had no desire to be on the turnpike after nightfall.

  “Listen!” Louise commanded suddenly. “What was that sound?”

  Penny drew rein to listen. Only a chirp of a cricket disturbed the eerie stillness.

  “Just for a minute I thought I heard hoofbeats,”Louise said apologetically. “Guess I must have imagined it.”

  Emerging from the long avenue of trees, the girls were slightly dismayed to see how swiftly darkness had spread its cloak on the valley. Beyond the next turn of the corkscrew road stood a giant tulip tree. Riding beneath it, Penny stared up at the gnarled limbs which were twisted in fantastic shapes.

  “There was an old tulip tree in the Legend of Sleepy Hollow,” she murmured in awe. “And it was close by that the Headless Horseman appeared—”

  “Will you please hush?” Louise interrupted. “I’m jittery enough without any build-up from you!”

  Some distance ahead stretched a long, narrow bridge with a high wooden railing. By straining their eyes the girls could see that it crossed a mill pond and led in a graceful curve to a rambling manor house of clapboard and stone.

  “Mr. Burmaster’s estate!” Louise exclaimed.

  “And it looks exactly as I imagined it would!”Penny added in delight. “A perfect setting for the Galloping Hessian!”

  “Too spooky if you ask me,” said Louise with a shiver. “Why would anyone build an expensive home in such a lonely place?”

  The girls rode on. A group of oaks, heavily matted with wild grapevines, threw a deeper gloom
over the road. For a short distance the dense growth of trees hid the estate from view.

  Suddenly the girls were startled to hear the sharp, ringing clop-clop of steel-shod hoofs. Unmistakably, the sound came from the direction of the long, narrow bridge.

  “There! I knew I heard hoofbeats a moment ago!”Louise whispered nervously. “Maybe it is the Headless Horseman!”

  “Be your age!” chided Penny. “We both know there’s no such thing—”

  The words died on her lips. From somewhere in the darkness ahead came a woman’s terrified scream. Frightened by the sound, Bones gave a startled snort. With a jerk which nearly flung Penny from the saddle, he plunged on toward the bridge.

  CHAPTER 6

  GHOSTS AND WITCHES

  His ears laid back, Bones plunged headlong toward the gloom-shrouded bridge. Pins shook from Penny’s head, and her hair became a stream of gold in the wind. She hunched low in the saddle, but could not stop the horse though she pulled hard on the reins.

  As she reached a dense growth of elder bushes, a man leaped out to grasp the bridle. Bones snorted angrily and pounded the earth with his hoofs.

  “Oh, thank you!” Penny gasped, and then she realized that the man had not meant to help her.

  “So you’re the one who’s been causing so much trouble here!” he exclaimed wrathfully. “Get down out of that saddle!”

  “I’ll do no such thing!” Penny retorted. She tried to push him away.

  Louise came trotting up on White Foot. Her unexpected arrival seemed to disconcert the man for he released Bones’ bridle.

  “What’s he trying to do?” Louise demanded sharply, pulling up beside her chum.

  Before Penny could find tongue, another man, heavily built, came running across the narrow bridge. His bald head bore no covering and the long tails of his well-cut coat flapped wildly in the wind.

  “You let that rider get away, Jennings!” he cried accusingly to the workman. “Did you see him ride across the bridge and then take a trail along the creek bed?”

  “No, I didn’t, Mr. Burmaster,” the workman mumbled. “I heard hoof beats and came as fast as I could from the grist mill. The only rider I saw was this girl. There’s two of ’em.”

  “We have a perfect right to be here,” Penny declared. “We were riding along the pike when we heard hoofbeats, then a scream. My horse became frightened and plunged down this way toward the bridge.”

  “I’m sorry I grabbed the bridle, Miss,” the workman apologized. “You see, I thought—”

  “Your trouble, Jennings, is that you never think!” cut in the owner of Sleepy Hollow curtly. “You never even saw the rider who got away?”

  “No, sir. But I’ll get the other workmen and go after him.”

  “Don’t waste your efforts. He was only a boy—not the man we’re after.”

  “Only a boy, sir?”

  “The scamp clattered a stick against the railing of the bridge just to frighten my wife. Mrs. Burmaster is a very nervous woman.”

  “Yes, sir,” replied the workman rather emphatically. “I know, sir.”

  “Oh, you do?” Mr. Burmaster asked, his tone unfriendly. “Well, get to the house and tell her there’s no cause to scream to high heaven. The boy, whoever he was, is gone.”

  “I’ll tell her,” the workman mumbled, starting away.

  “And mind, next time I order you to watch this road, I mean watch it!” the estate owner called after him. “If you don’t, I’ll find another man to take your place.”

  As Mr. Burmaster turned toward the girls, they obtained a better view of his face. He wore glasses and his cheeks were pouchy; a hooked nose curved down toward a mouth that was hard and firm. Yet when he spoke it was with a surprisingly pleasant tone of voice.

  “I must apologize for the stupid actions of my workman,” he said to Penny. “He should have known that you were not the one we are after.”

  “Not the Headless Horseman?” Penny asked, half jokingly.

  Mr. Burmaster stepped closer so that he could gaze up into the girl’s face. He scrutinized it for a moment, and then without answering her question said: “You are a stranger to the valley.”

  “Yes, we are.”

  “Then may I ask how you knew about our difficulties here at Sleepy Hollow?”

  Penny explained that she had seen the estate owner’s advertisement in the Hobostein Weekly. She did not add that it was the real reason why she and Louise had made the long trip from Riverview.

  “I’ll be willing to pay any amount to be rid of that so-called ghost who annoys us here at Sleepy Hollow,” Mr. Burmaster said bitterly. “Night after night my wife has had no rest. The slightest sound terrifies her.”

  “Tell us more about the mysterious rider,” Penny urged. “What time does he appear?”

  “Oh, there’s no predicting that. Often he rides over the bridge on stormy or foggy nights. Then again it’s apt to be just after dusk. Tonight we thought we had the scamp, but it proved to be only a mischievous boy.”

  “Your workmen stand guard?”

  “They have orders to watch this bridge day and night. But the men are a lazy lot. They wander off or they go to sleep.”

  “Isn’t it possible that the disturbance always has been caused by a boy—perhaps this lad who clattered over the bridge tonight?”

  “Impossible!” Mr. Burmaster snapped impatiently. “I’ve seen the Headless Horseman at least five times myself.”

  “You mean the rider actually has no head?” Louise interposed in awe.

  “The appearance is that. Of course there’s no question but someone from the village or the hills has been impersonating Irving’s celebrated character of fiction. The point is, the joke’s gone too far!”

  “I should think so,” Louise murmured sympathetically.

  “My wife and I came to this little valley with only one thought. We wanted to build a fine home for ourselves amid peaceful surroundings. We brought in city workmen, a clever architect. No expense was spared to make this house and estate perfect. But when we tried to recreate the atmosphere of Sleepy Hollow, we didn’t anticipate getting a ghost with it.”

  “When did the trouble first start?” Penny asked.

  “Almost from the hour of our arrival. The country folks didn’t like it because we imported city labor. They hindered our efforts. The women were abusive to my wife. Then last Halloween, the Headless Horseman clattered over this bridge.”

  “Couldn’t it have been a holiday prank?”

  “We thought so at first, but a month later, the same thing happened again. This time the scamp tossed a pebble against our bedroom window. Since then the rider has been coming at fairly frequent intervals.”

  “If you know it’s a prank why should it worry you?” Penny inquired.

  “A thing like that wears one down after awhile,” the owner of the estate said wearily. “For myself I shouldn’t mind, but my wife’s going to pieces.”

  “Was it your wife we heard scream?” Louise asked, seeking to keep the conversational ball rolling.

  “Yes, she’s apt to go off the deep end whenever anyone rides fast over the bridge. My wife—”

  Mr. Burmaster did not complete what he had intended to say. At that moment a soft padding of footsteps was heard, a creaking of boards on the bridge. From the direction of the house came a tall, shadowy figure.

  “What were you saying about me, John?” The voice was that of a woman, shrill and strident.

  “My wife,” murmured the estate owner. He turned toward her. “Matilda,” he said gently, “these girls are strangers to the Valley—”

  “You were complaining about me to them!” the woman accused. “Oh, you needn’t deny it! I distinctly heard you! You’re always saying things to hurt my feelings. You don’t care how I suffer. Isn’t it enough that I have to live in this horrible community, among such cruel hateful people without you turning against me too?”

  “Please, Matilda—”

  “Don’t �
��Matilda’ me! Apologize at once.”

  “Why, certainly I apologize,” Mr. Burmaster said soothingly. “I was only telling the girls how nervous it makes you when anyone rides at a fast pace over the bridge.”

  “And why shouldn’t I be nervous?” the woman demanded. “Since we’ve come to this community, I’ve been subjected to every possible insult! I suppose you let that rider get away again?”

  “He was only a mischievous boy.”

  “I don’t care who he was!” the woman cried. “I want him caught and turned over to the authorities. I want everyone who rides over this bridge arrested!”

  “This is a public highway, Matilda. When we built this footbridge over the brook we had to grant permission for pedestrians and horseback riders to pass.”

  “Then make them change the ruling! Aren’t you the richest man in the Valley? Or doesn’t that mean anything?”

  Mr. Burmaster glanced apologetically at Penny and Louise. The girls, quite taken aback by the woman’s tirade, felt rather sorry for him. It was plain to see that Mrs. Burmaster was not a well woman. Her sharp, angular face was drawn as if from constant worry, and she kept patting nervously at the stiff rolls of her hair.

  “Well, I guess we’d better be moving on,” Penny said significantly to Louise.

  “Yes, we must,” her companion agreed with alacrity. “Mr. Burmaster, is Mrs. Lear’s place on down this road?”

  The owner of Sleepy Hollow was given no opportunity to answer. Before he could speak, his wife stepped closer, glaring up at Louise in the saddle.

  “So you’re friends of Mrs. Lear?” she demanded mockingly. “I suppose that old hag sent you here to snoop and pry and annoy me!”

  “Goodness, no!” gasped Louise.

  “We’ve never even seen the woman,” Penny added. “Silas Malcom told us that Mrs. Lear might give us a room for the night.”

  “Silas Malcom!” Mrs. Burmaster seized upon the name. “He’s another who tries to make trouble for us!”

  “If you’re in need of a place to stay, we’ll be glad to have you remain with us,” Mr. Burmaster invited. “We have plenty of room.”