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

by Niki Danforth

  “Wake up, Misty.” Moxie carefully held out several of the treats in her palm. “I’ve got something for you!”

  Misty opened her eyes. She looked at the nuggets, then at the brown-haired girl who was holding them, and carefully took them with her lips.

  “Oooh, that tickles,” Moxie giggled, giving Misty more.

  As Misty crunched on the goodies, Moxie stroked her neck. “Uh, maybe you’re not so ugly, you know, the way I thought when you first got here,” she said in a grumpy voice. Then Misty sneezed, spraying Moxie. “Eeeew!” the girl screeched, but she laughed, staring at the little horse. “You are kinda funny-looking in a cute-weird way.”

  As Moxie Wyoming walked back to the barn, Misty fell in behind her, interested in more of those tasty treats.

  ~~~~~

  “Pickle, how’s your new puppy?” It was late afternoon, and Moxie closed the fridge. She poured cold lemonade from a pitcher into two glasses.

  “You mean Flopsy?”

  “What kind of a name is that for a puppy?” Moxie asked. “That sounds like the name of a rabbit.”

  “Well, she’s the same color as my rabbit, so who cares? She likes her name, and so do I.” Pickle beamed. “I’m so glad you rescued her from the grocery store.”

  “Yeah, well she looked so sad and lost and hungry in that parking lot all by herself.” Moxie put the pitcher back in the fridge. “I tried to find the mama, but I didn’t see one. And Mom said I had to find a home for her because we already have enough animals around here.”

  “I’ve wanted a dog forever, and Flopsy’s perfect. Thank you for giving her to me.”

  Moxie took a drink of her lemonade. “Hey, I wasn’t being a snoop, but I listened to your dad tell my dad that a herd of wild Mustangs is running around the Snowies.”

  Pickle nodded. “I know. I heard him tell my mom about them last night.” The boy reached into an old-fashioned cowboy-shaped jar for some fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies. “Mmmm. These smell good! How many do you want?”

  “Two, please.” Moxie grabbed the glasses of lemonade. “Follow me.”

  “Where we going?” Pickle piled five fat cookies onto a paper towel.

  “To look at pictures of Mustangs.” Moxie’s voice drifted down the hallway, and Pickle hurried out of the kitchen after her.

  They entered her parents’ office, and Moxie carefully placed the lemonade on a table in the middle of the room. “Did you know that some people out there can’t stand Mustangs?” she said. “I heard these two people saying awful things about them today. Boy, how can anybody hate horses?”

  ”I don’t know,” Pickle said. “They’d have to be pretty mean.”

  While Moxie looked through a bookcase in the office, Pickle gazed at the walls filled with photographs of Moxie’s parents during their competitive riding days. Many blue ribbons and belt-buckle-awards from competitions surrounded the pictures.

  “These buckles are so cool!” Pickle stood transfixed in front of one extra-gigantic silver buckle. “Your dad won this?”

  “Yeah, at the rodeo in Jackson,” Moxie said. “That’s also where he met my mom one summer when she was on vacation from Connecticut…and then they got married…and then they bought this ranch…and then they started raising cutting horses.”

  “Cool,” Pickle said, still staring at the belt buckle.

  “Here, I found it.” Moxie brought a large book over to the table.

  The friends sat quietly munching cookies and looking at the book together.

  “It says here, There were two-million wild horses in North America by 1900. Wow, I never knew that. That’s a lot of horse poop.” Moxie Wyoming guffawed at her own joke.

  Pickle rolled his eyes and continued reading out loud. “There are a lot fewer wild horses today, maybe even less than 50,000. Okay, that’s really, really sad.”

  “Look at this picture of this brown horse,” Moxie said. “It says here she’s a ‘lead mare.’ See, it also says, A band, or family, of Mustangs needs an older lead mare to take the horses away from danger. She’s the one the others in the herd trust to lead them to safety. The stallion brings up the rear, protecting the Mustangs from danger.”

  “They’re kind of like a people-family with a mom and a dad,” Pickle said.

  The kids studied the photographs closely. “They sure are nice-looking,” Pickle said. “Too bad your new horse doesn’t look like one of these.”

  “Well, that’s just ‘cause she’s not so young anymore,” Moxie said in a matter-of-fact tone. “I’m sure Misty used to be nice-looking, too. Maybe she needs some makeup or something...”

  “That’s goofy,” Pickle said. “A horse with makeup...”

  Spinning in the desk chair, Moxie Wyoming leaned back and closed her eyes. “Boy, I sure wish I could see those Mustangs up in the Snowies!”

  Chapter Six

  “Misty, did you see that little guy dive under the ground over there?” Moxie Wyoming giggled. “Those critters are so cute! And funny!”

  Since her birthday, Moxie and Misty had been spending more and more time together. At the moment, the two walked inside a fenced-in pasture as tiny ground squirrels called chislers poked their heads up from burrows in the dirt and then darted back underground.

  “There goes another one! Misty, look, that chisler’s huuuge!” Like all the others, this big one dove into a burrow beneath the ground.

  Misty put her face close to one of the holes, and Moxie kneeled down to watch. The horse tapped the ground lightly with her right hoof and then snorted softly into the hole.

  Soon a small furry head peeked out, looking at Misty. The little chisler reached up, rubbed noses with the mare, then caught sight of Moxie and dove back into the hole.

  Moxie stared at her horse. “Misty, I don’t know what kind of magic you have, but that was amazing!”

  “Moxie Wyoming!” her dad’s voice called. He came around the side of the barn and walked toward his daughter.

  “How are you and your little mare doing on this fine day?” he asked. “Are you trying to see how close you can get to a chisler? I used to do that all the time when I was a kid.”

  “Misty and I got close to that last one.” Moxie guided her horse toward her father. “Daddy, I have a question.”

  “Sure, kiddo,” he answered. “Shoot.”

  “I heard you talking to Mr. Turner about some wild Mustangs in the Snowies.”

  “Yep, that’s true.”

  “And you thought maybe they were the same wild horses that broke our fence,” Moxie said. “Does that mean you don’t like Mustangs?”

  “Not at all,” he said. “And we’re really not sure how the fence got broken. Why do you ask?”

  “Mr. Turner said some of the ranchers want those Mustangs to just disappear. What did he mean? Disappear how?”

  Her father didn’t answer right away. Moxie’s brow furrowed with worry. “Why can’t the Mustangs stay in the Snowies? They’re not bothering anybody, and they’re so pretty.”

  “Well, some people believe too many wild horses are running around these parts.” Mike Woodson climbed over the fence so he could stand next to his daughter. “There isn’t enough range, or grazing land, for the cattle and the Mustangs.”

  “Don’t we have enough grazing land for all the animals?” Moxie Wyoming asked as she moved even closer to her father.

  “There are ranchers who don’t think we do,” he answered. “They believe the Mustangs eat too much grass, and not enough is left for their cattle. They also say these horses damage the range and drink too much water in places that don’t have enough.”

  “So what’s gonna happen to the horses?” Moxie’s voice got small and sad. “Will they die?” She blinked back tears.

  “Well, some people break the law by rounding up Mustangs to sell and ship them out of the country. So…” He sighed, his eyes looking sad. “So, I’m afraid some of them will.” Moxie’s tears spilled down her cheeks.

  He pulled hi
s daughter close, and she dried her tears on his shirt. “I know it’s hard, squirt. Another thing, the United States government has been rounding up a lot of Mustangs and moving them to pastures in the Midwest where there’s more grass. Those roundups aren’t against the law.”

  That sounded like a good possibility, Moxie thought, but her father didn’t sound too cheerful. “Is it bad for the horses when th-th-the government rounds them up?” Moxie sniffled.

  “To be honest, I’m not sure the government ones are so great either. Roundups stress and scare the horses and separate the foals from their mothers.”

  Moxie Wyoming put her hands on her hips and said, “I think wild Mustangs should stay free and go where they want!”

  Misty, who had been napping during this conversation, woke up with a snort and a sneeze. She showed all her teeth like a huge smile, and both father and daughter burst into laughter.

  “This old girl has been here about a week, and you two have had some time to get acquainted. Do you think you’d like to go out for a little ride?” Her father walked back to the pasture gate. “I’ve got to move some horses in Strawberry Meadow. Want to come?”

  “You bet, Dad.”

  Just then, Pickle walked around the corner of the barn leading his black-and-white pony. “Hi, y’all. Want to come with me for a ride?” he asked Moxie. “Paint’s saddle is big enough for both of us.”

  “Hi. I can’t. I’m going to ride Misty and help Daddy check on some horses.” Moxie Wyoming tried to sound very grownup.

  “Misty?” Pickle asked, looking around. Then he pretended surprise. “Ohhhh, you mean that funny-looking horse standing there next to you?”

  “Don’t talk that way about Misty, Pickle Turner.”

  “Just kidding,” Pickle said. “Don’t be so bossy—”

  “Okay, kids, settle down,” Moxie’s father said. “Pickle, would you and Paint like to join us?”

  “Thanks, Mr. Woodson!” Pickle climbed up on Paint’s saddle.

  Within minutes, Moxie’s dad had Misty saddled up. They all set off, and the ride over to Strawberry Meadow didn’t take them very long.

  Soon, the kids were helping move horses to another part of the ranch. Moxie definitely loved doing cowboy chores, and spending time with her dad and her best friend.

  On their way back to the barn, Moxie Wyoming thought about how riding Misty was kind of confusing. She would give Misty a kick, and the mare would take off. Moxie liked the long, easy stride of her lope since it was slower than a gallop. But then after a while, Misty would start huffing and puffing and move in a bouncy, uncomfortable trot.

  “What a slowpoke,” Pickle teased as he rode alongside her on his pony.

  “Pickle, don’t make fun of Misty!” Moxie pulled back on the reins to slow down and give the mare a rest. “Sorry, Dad. I thought you said she used to be queen of the herd.”

  Before her father could answer, Misty came to a complete stop and folded her front legs down as though she were kneeling.

  “Whoa!” Moxie hollered when Misty folded her back legs, too. “Daaaaad!” Her father jumped off his horse.

  “Get off, get off!” Pickle yelled.

  Moxie quickly pulled her feet out of the stirrups and pushed off the saddle. Misty plopped onto her side and started wriggling in the dust.

  Her father came to Moxie’s side. “You okay, squirt?”

  “I’m fine.” Moxie laughed and danced around Misty, who was still squirming on the ground. “It looks like Misty’s got an itch, and she wants it scratched.”

  “I’m sure that wiggling around in the dust feels good to her,” Moxie’s father said. “I think maybe Misty’s just trying to tell us that she’s tired.” Misty got up. “Kids, let’s walk our horses home together.”

  “Sounds like a plan, Dad.”

  “You bet,” Pickle said.

  Just then Misty did the funny winking thing with her one eye, and this time both Moxie and Pickle saw her do it.

  “Did you see that?” Pickle asked. “What’s that thing Misty’s doing with her eye?”

  “Probably just a fly bothering her,” Moxie answered, smiling at the ground.

  “I dunno,” Pickle said. “It kinda looked like a wink to me.”

  Moxie Wyoming had no doubt that Misty was winking at her, and she quickly winked back when Pickle wasn’t looking.

  “I’ve never seen a winking horse before,” Pickle muttered. “That’s just plain weird.”

  Moxie didn’t think so. “You’re weird, Pickle.” She definitely wanted their winking thing to stay a secret, at least for now.

  ~~~~~

  At dusk, Moxie Wyoming swept out the stall across from Misty’s. It had been empty for a long time, and she had decided to claim it for herself. The stall had a creaky old cot, which she’d covered with blankets and brightly-colored pillows from the house.

  Misty hung her head over her stall door to observe Moxie’s decorating efforts.

  “Dad said I could fix up this stall any way I want.” Moxie wiped off a small, beat-up wooden desk. “And if you get lonely, you know, missing your horse friends—”

  Misty gave a long, gentle whinny, like a sigh.

  “—well, I can come stay here, and we can hang out.”

  The little mare batted her eyes.

  Moxie smiled and unrolled an old hooked rug on the hard-dirt floor. She plugged in two lamps, a small one on the desk and a dented metal floor lamp near the cot.

  Then Moxie pushed tacks into the walls to hang up her favorite posters and pictures of beautiful horses. One was a poster of a Mustang herd grazing in a meadow. Moxie stood back, leaning against Misty’s stall door to inspect her work.

  “I wonder about those Mustangs in the Snowies,” she said, looking at the poster. “I hope they’re okay, Misty.”

  The small horse snorted.

  Moxie Wyoming grabbed a large roll of paper, a handful of tacks, and a marker. “Somethin’ else. Our ranch is almost four-hundred miles from where you used to live. Daddy showed me.”

  She marched into Misty’s stall, unrolling the paper.

  “So, this is for you to look at when you get homesick.” She tacked up a map of the Gros Ventre Mountains east of Jackson and marked a huge X on one spot. Then she wrote Darwin Ranch in big letters next to the X.

  Chapter Seven

  Moxie Wyoming had finished her chores and skipped into the barn, pulling a carrot out of her back pocket. Misty delicately munched it from Moxie’s hand.

  Moxie looked around Misty’s stall, pleased with her attempt to transform it into a magical space in just a couple of days. Half a dozen large Chinese moon lanterns now hung down from the ceiling. The paper moons had big smiles and turned in the gentle afternoon breeze.

  Various portraits of Misty, signed by the artist, Moxie Wyoming, hung on the two side walls and around the map marking the Darwin Ranch. That back wall with the map also displayed another Moxie Wyoming original, a painted mural of an evergreen forest in the mountains.

  Strands of twinkling colored lights and other ones with horse and cowboy hat lights draped the top of the walls near the ceiling. The final touch was Misty’s water bucket, now covered with glitter and tied with a huge red bow.

  “If I were a horse, I’d like living here.” Moxie continued looking around. “You like it, girl?”

  Misty took her right front leg and pounded her hoof twice. Moxie watched her hoof and looked up in surprise. She remembered the other day when Misty had thumped the ground twice for a horse treat when she was in the paddock.

  “Is that a yes?”

  The mare grabbed Moxie’s shirt sleeve with her teeth and again pounded her hoof twice.

  “Hey! I get it. Wow! Okay. Let’s see, how would you say no?” Moxie wondered. “Hmmm. Let me think of a question that I’m positive you would say no to.” She hesitated for only a moment. “Do you like fire?” This time Misty took her left front leg and thumped hard on the ground one time.

  Moxie smile
d. “Okay. Here’s another one. Are you a foal, you know, a baby horse?” The little mare again thumped her left leg on the ground once.

  Moxie looked from the hoof into Misty’s eyes. “So that’s how you say no. One thump with the left hoof for no and two thumps with the right hoof to say yes?”

  Misty pounded twice with her right front leg.

  “This is amazing. I’ve never really talked to a horse before. I mean, I’ve never had one talk back to me. This is so cool! Is this some kind of magic?”

  Misty whinnied softly, batting her eyes as she answered.

  Moxie Wyoming grinned from ear to ear. “And you wink, too. That was you winking, wasn’t it, when you do that thing with your eye?”

  Misty thumped twice with her front right leg and winked to give her answer a little something extra.

  Moxie noticed the mare’s eyelashes were looking rather sparse. Oh well, she thought, as she rubbed Misty’s forehead. She’s got those skimpy lashes because she’s old, like over thirty. Well, she may be old, but she can talk to me, and that’s just plain amazing!

  Beaming, Moxie Wyoming kicked up her heels on her way out of the little horse’s stall and sang, “I can talk to Misty, Misty can talk to me-ee.” Well, not really talk-talk, but I know what my horse means, she thought.

  Moxie skipped over to her own stall where she’d also applied her decorating skills. She twirled, surveying the results of her work. She had painted the desk a glossy red. Art supplies for an almost-finished Moxie Wyoming painting covered the top of the desk.

  Dangling chimes draped the beat-up floor lamp that now stood next to a worn-out, overstuffed chair covered in colorful Native American blankets. A small pine bookcase leaned against the wall by the big chair. Horse novels filled its shelves, and horse statues, arranged lovingly, stood in clusters across the top of the bookcase.

  “Moxie Wyoming, you in there?” Willie Turner’s voice called from outside the barn.

  “Yes, Mr. Turner,” Moxie answered.