A Wild Ride: The Adventures of Misty & Moxie Wyoming (Girl Detective & Her Horse Mystery Story Ages 6-8 & 9-12)

by Niki Danforth

“You’re not old enough, Moxie. You have to be a teenager,” Pickle piped up.

  Moxie gave him a stare that would stop a grizzly in its tracks. But Pickle got that look from Moxie at least five times a day, so he was used to it.

  Mrs. Turner squeezed Moxie’s shoulders. “I believe you’ve just turned ten—”

  “My dad says that’s double-digits,” Moxie interrupted. “So I guess I’m almost a teenager!”

  “Slow down there, pardner!” Mrs. Turner said. “You and Pickle—please don’t be in such a hurry to grow up.”

  Why do people keep telling me that? Moxie Wyoming smiled just the same.

  ~~~~~

  After the rodeo, the kids wandered among the different pens and corrals comparing the horses and bulls. They looked through one fence to admire an enormous black bull with deep, dark eyes.

  “Don’t stare at him, Pickle,” Moxie giggled. “He’ll give you the stink eye and put a hex on you.”

  Pickle quickly looked away. “Okay...”

  “Hey, Clem Brown!” a voice called out from a nearby pen. “Why aren’t you on duty, drivin’ ‘round in your fancy new highway patrol cruiser?”

  Moxie looked up in time to see a man in a highway patrol uniform shaking hands with two cowboys. So that’s Officer Clem Brown, she thought, the one who’d called her dad and told him about their broken fence. She nudged Pickle.

  “How are you Jenkins boys doing?” The officer smiled at the two cowboys and then spoke quietly. “Hey, what’s been happening since that roundup went bad near Rock Springs last month?” Both cowboys looked surprised and uneasy.

  The highway trooper went on. “Jeb, I heard you were almost arrested by some sheriff’s deputies over that way.” Moxie and Pickle’s eyes grew big as they listened in.

  “Whew! That was a close call,” the cowboy in the dusty-brown hat said, looking around to make sure no one overheard. Uncomfortably shifting his eyes away from the uniformed officer, Jeb mumbled, “But hey, big buddy—”

  “Don’t look so worried, guys,” Officer Brown interrupted in a low voice. “I just had a talk with your friend over there, Tony Olsen. He told me we could, uh, help each other if you’re planning more...well...” The highway patrolman also looked around, but he seemed to be searching for the right words.

  Pulling on Pickle, Moxie ducked down, although they could still see the three men through the fence. The trooper went on. “I might be interested in, you know, lending a hand, if you get something going.”

  Jeb and the other cowboy studied the lawman for a long moment. “Well, well, you do surprise me, Officer,” Jeb said in a quiet voice. “So, you know Tony Olsen?” He paused a moment. “We just might be gettin’ ready for a new roundup, this time in the Snowies.”

  Moxie Wyoming jabbed her friend hard in the ribs, and Pickle almost yelped. Moxie quickly put her finger to her lips, showing Pickle he had to stay quiet.

  Jeb looked at the cowboy in the charcoal-gray hat next to him, who nodded back. “My brother Frank and I have been thinkin’,” he said. “There’s one person we haven’t found yet—”

  “—who could help us,” Frank spoke up, but also in a low voice. “If we decide to do a roundup, that is.”

  Peeking through the fence, Moxie thought Jeb and Frank Jenkins sort of looked tough. Their hats were pulled low over their faces, that were covered with scruffy whiskers.

  “Do you guys have enough help for the roundup?” Officer Brown asked.

  Jeb laughed. “I’m sure there’d be plenty of ranchers ‘round here who’d line up to join us, but we ain’t there yet.”

  “Keep this to yourself, Clem,” Frank said. “We’re buildin’ a corral, not far from Centennial. It’s secret, okay? Nobody knows about it.” His voice got even quieter, but Moxie could certainly still hear. “It’s the perfect pickup spot for our buyer. He’s paying’ big bucks, by the way.”

  “Hey, I’m over that way all the time,” Officer Brown said. “Even though I’m new around here, I know the area you’re talking about. How can I help?”

  “We’ll let you know right before if the roundup happens, ‘cause if it does, some trucks will be drivin’ to and from the corral,” Jeb said. “That way you can be a sort of lookout.”

  Moxie and Pickle couldn’t believe what they were hearing. Anxious, they glanced around carefully, not wanting to be discovered.

  “And we’ll pay you good money for keepin’ the nosy neighbors away,” Frank added, covering his mouth with the edge of his hand as he spoke.

  “Great,” the officer said. “I could use the extra cash.”

  “Remember, don’t talk about this with anyone!” Frank reminded him.

  “We don’t want to get arrested for makin’ some money.” Jeb smiled crookedly. “Just because some people think we’re breakin’ the law.”

  “And you definitely want to keep your fancy highway patrol job, so it’s better if you don’t get caught helpin’ us.” Frank jokingly fake-slugged the officer’s arm. “Get my drift, buddy?”

  Wide-eyed over what they had just heard, Moxie and Pickle peeked through the fence right above the back of the black bull. Officer Brown and the two cowboys walked away slapping each other’s backs and laughing.

  Pickle rubbed his hands over the goose bumps on his arms. “That sounded scary.”

  “They sure didn’t want anybody else to hear them,” Moxie said.

  “I’m glad they didn’t see us.” Pickle shuddered. “Are they planning a crime?”

  “Yeah, they could be,” Moxie said, noticing Pickle’s shivers and the bumps on his arms. “You heard what they said about breaking the law and not getting arrested. So whatever they’re planning, it must be no good.”

  The two stood up, and Pickle shook his legs out nervously. “They were talking about a roundup. What do you think they want to round up?” he asked.

  “And a secret corral,” Moxie added. “They said they’re building a secret corral near Centennial.”

  “That’s close to us...” Pickle’s nervous voice cracked.

  “I wonder where exactly, and what for?” Moxie looked around. “Maybe for cows or horses?”

  “You mean they’re going to steal someone’s cows and horses?” Pickle asked.

  Moxie Wyoming scrunched her face in thought. “Hmmm. Remember, they said other ranchers would probably join their gang. So they wouldn’t steal ranch cows and horses.”

  Then Moxie’s eyes lit up. “Hey, maybe we can find out what’s going on and why this corral’s supposed to be a secret. We can be like cowboy detectives!”

  Pickle didn’t look very happy about that idea.

  Chapter Four

  While cleaning Misty’s stall the next day, Moxie Wyoming thought a lot about the suspicious conversation she and Pickle had heard the evening before. She tried to figure out how to review the case as if she were a real detective.

  First, she needed to go places to investigate and find out exactly what Jeb and Frank Jenkins were planning—was it a crime? She wasn’t old enough to drive, so how could she follow them around to see what they were up to? If only she had a better horse...

  Moxie paused every now and then to sneak a look at Misty. She tried to keep in mind what Grandpops had written about how special the horse was. Dad had even called her the queen of the herd. But Misty sure didn’t look special or act like a queen. Finally, Moxie stopped sweeping and looked directly at the swaybacked horse.

  “Just thought you might like to know I had a dream about the ranch where you used to live, Your Majesty.” She leaned against the pitchfork she had been using to spread around clean straw. “I was on my very own horse, a pretty palomino. She didn’t have any gray hair like you.”

  Misty looked at her and then shifted her gaze to the pitchfork Moxie was leaning against. The mare snorted, smiled with all her teeth showing, and then flicked her tail. The pitchfork wobbled, bounced up, and tipped over, causing the girl to lose her balance and topple into the straw.

  M
oxie Wyoming coughed from the dust. “Excuse me, Your Highness.” Sniffing and embarrassed, she struggled to her feet. “What kind of hocus-pocus was that?” She glanced around the stall, a little bit spooked. Was someone playing a trick on her? Misty now had both eyes closed.

  Moxie picked up the pitchfork and stomped out.

  A loud snore erupted from the stall, and Moxie stopped. That poor excuse for a horse is taking a nap, she thought. How rude!

  She hurried over to where they kept their equipment and dropped the pitchfork, knocking it into some buckets. She hoped the clanking noise would wake up Misty. It didn’t.

  Then Moxie heard Pickle calling her. She raced out of the barn, leaving behind the little snoring mare.

  ~~~~~

  “Pickle, hold on tight,” Moxie yelled from the all-terrain vehicle as the two of them raced along a dirt road past Pickle’s house and toward the highway.

  “Slow down, pleeease!” Pickle shouted back, sitting behind Moxie. “You’re driving way too fast! If my dad catches us—”

  “Where’d you see them?” Moxie Wyoming slowed the four-wheeler just a little. “Are you sure they were the same two guys?”

  “It was definitely those guys from the rodeo, the ones we saw talking to the officer,” Pickle insisted. “They were fixing a tire on their truck right near the Deer Crossing turnoff.”

  Moxie quickly turned the handlebars, steering the machine to the left to avoid a deep hole, and their helmeted heads lightly clunked each other. “Okay, that felt weird...”

  “Mox-ie Wy-o-ming!” Pickle yelled. “I don’t like the way you drive! My dad said I’m only allowed to go slow—”

  “Okay, okay.” Moxie slowed down some more. “If we can find those Jenkins guys, maybe we can discover their secret corral.”

  “But, Moxie, you know we’re only allowed to ride on the road between my house and your house. We can’t go near the highway. My parents will ground me for sure, and yours will, too, if we drive any further,” Pickle shouted. “Anyway, we shouldn’t go looking for them, they’ll hear us coming.”

  Moxie ignored her friend and continued driving. Pickle rolled his eyes and gave in. He slumped down on the back, hanging onto Moxie.

  As they raced on a dirt road alongside the highway, Moxie tried to spot the truck. She carefully hit the brakes as they neared a side road. The ATV came to a stop, but there was no truck in sight.

  “My mom and I were coming home, and this is exactly where I saw them changing the tire.” Pickle then pointed to the side road. “I wonder if they drove down the turnoff over there.”

  “I don’t see anything down that road, you know, like dust from a truck,” Moxie said. “How much of a head start do you think they got?”

  “Don’t know, maybe fifteen minutes—”

  “Let’s go.” Moxie Wyoming gunned the engine.

  The two friends sped along Deer Crossing, which took them over hills and down hidden gullies. They drove into the foothills below the Snowies and watched for anything suspicious.

  As they drove over one more rise and sailed down the other side, Moxie and Pickle spotted a truck parked among the trees on the right. They also saw two cowboys working inside a partially built corral. The ATV cruised to a stop.

  From the vehicle, Moxie and Pickle watched Jeb Jenkins use a noisy chainsaw to cut wood. Frank Jenkins pounded wood posts into the ground with a sledgehammer. “Should we try to get closer?” Moxie asked over the noise of the saw.

  Just then Jeb spotted them and turned off the saw. “Hey, you two! What are you doin’ over there?!” he yelled, putting down the saw to move in their direction. He smiled. “Hey, Frank, check it out.”

  Startled, Frank whipped around, seeing them, too. He dropped the sledgehammer, hopped the fence, and also started in their direction, grinning. “Do you kids wanna take a better look?”

  Moxie shivered; he was creepy.

  “GO, GO!” Pickle shouted, pounding Moxie’s back.

  “Come on. We’re just buildin’ a corral for our pack horses,” Jeb called out.

  Moxie just wanted to get out of there fast.

  With Pickle hanging onto her like glue, Moxie nervously revved the engine, turned the ATV around, and took off. She glanced back while racing over the hill, terrified but excited that they’d found the secret corral, just like real detectives.

  By the time they made it back to Moose Creek Ranch and pulled up to Moxie’s barn, the kids had calmed down.

  A blacksmith was hunched over with Misty’s white-socked leg propped between his knees. He nailed a new horseshoe onto the hoof.

  “Whose horse is that?” Pickle asked. “She looks kinda broken down.”

  “It’s a long story.” Moxie sighed.

  “Hey, is she staring at us?”

  But Misty looked at Moxie, not Pickle, and when only the girl looked back at her, the little horse winked.

  Did Misty just wink at me again, like the other day? I’m sure that was a wink! Moxie winked back this time.

  “What’s wrong with your eye?” Pickle asked.

  “It’s just an itch.”

  Misty gave Moxie another secret wink, this time adding a circle-swoosh with her tail.

  Chapter Five

  A big, wet tongue slurped Moxie Wyoming’s cheek as she lay sprawled on the rear seat of her dad’s pick-up truck. Her eyes popped open, and she found herself staring straight into Bunker’s face. He gave her another slurp, this time on her nose.

  “Enough, Bunker.” Moxie took the back of her hand and wiped her face. “I wish Daddy would hurry up in the feed store. I’m hungry, and it’s lunchtime.”

  She heard the sound of footsteps nearby. Before she could sit up to greet her father, the footsteps stopped, and the back of the vehicle next to her dad’s clunked open.

  “Everybody’s talking about those M-M-Mustangs over in the Snowies,” a teenager’s voice said with a nervous little stutter. Moxie perked up at the mention of wild horses, since Mustangs were her very favorite.

  “I know. Stan was just telling me about it inside the feed store,” a man with a gravelly voice answered. Moxie very slowly raised her head to peek through the window. She saw two people loading supplies into the truck parked alongside her dad’s.

  “Well, they’re too c-c-close to our place.” The teen sneezed, and then added, “I’d like to get rid of them all.”

  Moxie Wyoming, shocked by what she’d just heard, tried to get a better look. The older girl’s black hair was in a ponytail, and her dark, reddish-brown cowboy hat cast a shadow over her face.

  “There may be a way.” The man slammed the truck’s tailgate shut.

  A way to do what? Moxie worried. Get rid of the Mustangs? Who was this guy, anyway? Was he the teenager’s boss, or maybe her father?

  She noticed the cowgirl didn’t stand very straight as she stared at the ground. Moxie’s mom was always pulling back her shoulders, telling her that good posture showed the world she felt good about herself.

  The two got in their truck and backed out of the parking space. As they drove off, Moxie read the words Curly T Cattle Ranch, Centennial Valley, Wyoming on the side of the vehicle.

  Bunker barked happily as Moxie’s father and a young store clerk carried out several bags of horse feed. Before Moxie could hop out to help, her dad said, “Sit tight, kiddo. We’ve got it.” He and the clerk loaded the bags into the truck bed. “Thanks for your help, Ben.”

  “No problem, Mr. Woodson. See you around.” The teenager went back into the feed store.

  “Okay. What’ll it be? Burgers or a B-L-T for lunch?” her dad asked, as they drove off.

  “A burger, please,” she said. “I’m starving!”

  ~~~~~

  After lunch, Moxie Wyoming strolled out to the corral to water Misty. She saw her father and a bow-legged, mustached cowboy fixing a hinge on the corral gate. The cowboy was Willie Turner, Pickle’s father. The two men were absorbed in their work and didn’t notice Moxie near the barn.<
br />
  “...there’s been talk about a wild Mustang herd running loose in the Snowies,” Willie said.

  “Yeah, Stan Sheffer mentioned it when I was at his feed store earlier,” Moxie’s dad answered, as he and Willie lifted the gate back onto its hinge. “How big of a herd?”

  “You know Matt Larson at the Moore Ranch?” Willie asked. Moxie’s father nodded, and the ranch hand continued, “Well, when he was passing through a few days ago, Matt thought he saw about fifteen to twenty Mustangs led by a palomino-colored stallion.”

  Moxie Wyoming held her breath. Fifteen to twenty Mustangs! I wish one of those was here instead of that old Misty in the barn.

  “I wonder if they were the same Mustangs that ran through one of our fields and damaged our fence,” Moxie’s dad said. “Anyway, what do you think will happen to them? You know how a lot of ranchers feel about wild horses.”

  “Yeah.” Willie swung the gate back and forth to check the new hinge. “Some of those guys would like to see the Mustangs just disappear, if you know what I mean.”

  Disappear? Disappear why? Moxie Wyoming’s eyes grew huge. And where to? She rushed into the barn and dashed to a window to look out at the Snowies. She tried to imagine the herd of wild Mustangs running through the canyons of the mountain range.

  Her gaze settled on Misty, who stood peacefully in the paddock. The mare’s eyes were closed, and Moxie heard a snore. “Hello. It’s the middle of the day, and you’re asleep! I don’t believe it,” Moxie harrumphed.

  Misty’s brown eyes opened wide and she stared straight at the girl, then let out a huge snort. Moxie jumped as if she’d been caught sneaking a cookie, and laughed nervously, kind of embarrassed. She looked over at a plastic container filled with horse snacks, then back at Misty. “You like treats?”

  Misty’s eyes flashed, and she pounded her right hoof twice.

  “Okay, okay...” Moxie Wyoming gawked at the little horse. “I get it, I think.” She grabbed a handful of nuggets from the container and walked into the paddock toward Misty. “Is that pounding with your hoof some kind of trick signal or something?” The horse’s eyes were closed, and she was perfectly still. Asleep again, Moxie thought. Come on!