The little mare snorted twice in agreement.
Moxie Wyoming and Misty landed in a pasture and walked in the direction of the barn. ”With the Jenkins brothers and now that man and his daughter from the Curly T ranch against them, the Mustangs need more friends on their side. And that’s you and me, Misty.”
The small horse snorted and did a mini-kick with her back legs to show she agreed.
Chapter Ten
“Mo-om, where are my pink boots?” Moxie Wyoming hollered, as she rummaged through her closet several days later. “I can’t find them, and I want to ride.” Shoes, slippers, and boots came flying out one after the other from her closet. Bunker, watching intently, ducked and barked every time a shoe or slipper zoomed by.
“Bunker! Settle down!” Moxie’s mother called from the ranch office. “I took the boots to the cobbler, kiddo, to get the heels fixed. They looked kind of worn down, but wasn’t that nice of Grandpops to send them to you?”
“Yes, Mom. They’re my very favorite. I have to wear them to ride.”
“Granny Rose’s boots will be back in a couple of days,” Moxie’s mother said. “Wear your brown boots until then.”
“Oh, Mom, you totally don’t get it.”
~~~~~
So there she was in her pink slicker and pink riding tights, but in the—ugh!—old brown cowgirl boots, saddling up Misty, who stared at the boots. “I know, I know. These definitely don’t go with my outfit.”
Moxie walked Misty through the back pasture and climbed on board. “These boots don’t feel as comfy as the pink ones either...” She gave Misty a little kick and the horse moved into an easy lope.
Once they were some distance from the house, Moxie asked, “Well, girl, how ‘bout it? Want to try to find those Mustangs again?”
Misty threw up her head and neighed several times as she trotted, picking up some speed. Moxie took hold of Misty’s mane, gave her a confident kick, and said, “Let’s go!”
Misty continued loping. Again, Moxie said, “Let’s go!” Nothing happened. She noticed that Misty was huffing and puffing, and the gray remained in her coat.
One more time. “Let’s go!” Nothing. Misty and Moxie slowed down and came to a stop so that the horse’s breathing could settle down.
“What’s the matter? Don’t feel like flying today?”
Misty’s hoof pounded yes as her breathing returned to normal.
Moxie leaned over and hugged Misty around her neck. “It’s okay, girl.”
Misty snorted her disappointment.
“I wonder why it’s not working…”
Moxie glanced down at her dull brown boots and her face lit up. “It’s the boots!”
Misty whinnied.
“Do I need the pink boots when we want to fly?”
Misty pounded the ground twice with her right leg to say yes.
“Hmmm, those boots have some powerful magic!” Moxie Wyoming said. Misty neighed loudly, and Moxie giggled.
Even though the Snowies didn’t look that far away, Moxie decided to steer Misty back toward the ranch. As the mare shuffled along a rocky trail on the side of a scrubby hill, Moxie stared down at the grasshoppers jumping around Misty’s legs and zoned out.
“Hey you, kid!” a gruff voice up ahead hollered out from under a brown cowboy hat, startling Moxie and Misty. Moxie recognized the voice right away. It was Jeb Jenkins from the rodeo. She shivered as she caught a glimpse of his blotchy face and a scar running down one of his cheeks. She looked around, now fully alert, wondering where his partner was or if he was riding alone.
Jeb raised his fingers to his mouth and whistled loudly. To Moxie’s horror, another cowboy, the one with the charcoal-gray hat, rode out from behind several huge boulders uphill.
“Yeah, what’s up?” the second cowboy asked, as he walked his horse down to the trail. When he pushed up his hat and caught sight of Moxie, she glimpsed his crooked nose. “Well, Jeb, lookie what we have here,” he snickered.
“Hey, Frank, isn’t that one of those kids we saw? The ones who was spyin’, uh, I mean, checkin’ out the corral we were buildin’?” Jeb asked. “It’s a little hard to tell though, ‘cause those kids had helmets. Do you think she’s one of ‘em?”
“Could be. What should we do about it?” Frank asked in a loud voice while looking straight at Moxie. “Do you think we should have a talk with her about what we’re doin’...you know, our plan to find nice horses, wild ones, for orphan kids and keep ‘em in the corral until we tame—”
“You stay away from from Misty and me!” Moxie Wyoming interrupted, using her loudest voice.
Moxie grew more and more nervous as the two men continued to walk their horses slowly in her direction. They blocked her path home, and she wondered if she and Misty should turn around and gallop away.
But there were two of them, and she wasn’t wearing the pink boots. If they came after her, they’d catch her for sure.
All of a sudden, Moxie remembered the gold chain hanging around her neck and slowly pulled it out from her shirt. She fingered the whistle on the end, while Misty backed up, throwing her head from side to side and snorting.
Jeb spit on the ground. Ew, gross, Moxie thought, settling her mare and grasping the whistle. Those guys were getting closer; she hoped they couldn’t hear her teeth chattering from fear.
Leaning down, Moxie whispered to Misty, “Should I blow it?”
Misty tapped the ground with her right hoof twice.
Moxie blew into the magic whistle with all her might until she couldn’t exhale anymore. The cowboys stopped, surprised, but then started laughing. Moxie blew the whistle again. It screeched loudly, and the men plugged their ears with their fingers.
“Whew, that’s loud,” Frank said. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think she’s tryin’ to scare us.”
“Oh, I think I’m gettin’ scared.” Jeb smirked.
But Moxie was the one who was terrified. Terrified, tired, and winded. Still, she blew the whistle a third time.
“Are you scared now, Jeb?”
“Oh, reeeal scared, Frank. Listen here, little lady. No need to—”
Misty neighed loudly as Moxie turned to make a getaway on the rocky path. Hugging tightly to Misty, she felt her heart thump in her chest as she and her horse pounded down the trail. Moxie didn’t dare look back, but she could hear the brothers riding in her direction on the bumpy path.
“Wait,” Frank called out. “We just want to tell you about the orphan kids! You might wanna help us—”
A loud roar thundered down from the side of the hill. Startled, the three of them stopped and looked up. A ferocious brown bear, at least ten feet tall, was up on its hind legs; it growled again.
“Frank, isn’t that a grizzly?” Jeb’s voice was shaky, and his horse nervously danced on the trail. “Whoa, boy.”
“Yep. Don’t look him in the eye, and back up slowly,” Frank said. “We need to get outta here.”
The animal raced down the hill toward Frank and Jeb. Between its shoulders, Moxie could see the distinctive grizzly bear hump that her dad had shown her in photographs. She also noticed that one of its ears had a notch in it, like a tear from an old battle. The grizzly chased the two men, who galloped a speedy retreat.
Moxie’s mouth hung open in surprise, and her eyes went wide. “Holy-moly…is that what’s supposed to happen?” she asked Misty.
Misty pounded yes, and Moxie smiled, looking at the gold whistle. “That’s better than having a bodyguard. Wouldn’t it be cool to take him to school?”
Misty snorted a distinctive no.
“It was just a thought. Geez...” Moxie tucked the whistle safely inside her shirt, and they continued home. “Well, one thing we know is that the Jenkins brothers want to put horses in that secret corral. And I don’t think those horses are for orphan kids.”
As Misty walked along the path to the ranch, Moxie thought more about the secret corral.
“Where will they get horses to put i
n that corral?” she wondered.
Moxie suddenly flashed on the palomino stallion, the chestnut lead mare, and the Mustang herd she had seen in the Snowies, and put two and two together. “Wild horses! That’s it! They want to round up Mustangs.” Moxie stared down at her stirrups and wiggled her toes in the brown boots.
“Let’s see. When Pickle and I saw them at the rodeo, those guys talked about a roundup and making money. Probably they want to sell the Mustangs. And like Daddy said, they’ll break the law by selling them to people who will send the horses away.”
Moxie was eager to get back since Pickle was coming over. She hoped Pickle wasn’t still a grouch about all the time she was spending with Misty because she had important detective news to tell him.
Moxie wanted Pickle to know that she had figured out what the Jenkins guys were up to. She also wanted to tell Pickle about the folks from the Curly T Cattle Ranch, and that the girl, Jamie, wanted to round up the Mustangs with a helicopter.
Boy, that would really scare the horses.
Moxie even wondered if Jamie and her father were working together with those brothers on the same roundup. Maybe if she and Pickle did more detective work, they could figure it out.
Moxie sighed, and wished she could share with her best friend what had just happened with the gold whistle and grizzly bear. But Pickle would never believe it in a million years. Moxie Wyoming hardly believed it herself.
Chapter Eleven
It was that time of year again—Laramie Jubilee Days, in honor of Wyoming’s birthday. It had become a state in 1890, and Moxie and Pickle were having fun at the week-long anniversary celebration.
Moxie Wyoming was in her best cowgirl outfit, a short denim skirt with suede fringe and a rhinestone-studded pink vest over a blue shirt. The vest had been a special Christmas present from her grandfather. It looked perfect with Granny Rose’s newly repaired pink leather boots.
Pickle looked very Western, too, in his denim jacket with cactus designs. Both kids wore straw cowboy hats that Moxie’s dad had bought them before he’d signed up for the ranch rodeo competition. They had cheered and waved their hats when his team came in first in trailer loading.
As they walked along, Moxie and Pickle laughed each time they tipped their hats at each other. They stopped at a stand where a grizzled old cowboy was bent over, scooping up snow cones.
“Well, well, a couple of real young-uns. What can I getcha?” he asked, his bright blue eyes crinkling.
“Two snow cones, please.” Moxie pulled money out of her pocket. “My treat, Pickle. Mom gave me money for both of us.”
The gray-bearded man scooped the cherry-colored ice into two paper cones. “Are you havin’ fun at Jubilee Days?”
“Yes, sir,” the kids answered in unison. Moxie noticed that even though the old cowpoke was clean and tidy, his clothes and boots were old and kind of worn out.
“Have you been coming here a long time, mister?” she asked, as she noticed the big shiny silver buckle on his belt.
“Oh, ‘bout sixty years,” he chuckled. “Here you go.” Moxie and Pickle tried hard not to stare at his gnarly knuckles and shaky hands as he gave them the paper cones. They thanked him, and then rushed across the road to a bench where they licked the icy snow cones.
Moxie and Pickle stiffened when they saw the Jenkins brothers saunter up to the stand and order. It had only been a few days since Moxie watched the grizzly bear chase the two cowboys. She was surprised to see them here at Jubilee Days.
Hoping to stay unnoticed, she and Pickle pushed their hats down to cover more of their faces and didn’t say a word. But the cowboys were too busy making fun of the old man to notice the children.
Jeb suddenly reached toward the elderly cowpoke as if to tug his beard, causing the fellow to step back and nervously drop one of the cones on the ground.
“Useless old man,” Frank muttered. They threw their money on the ground and walked away, cackling at him.
As the man slowly stooped over to pick up the coins, Moxie thought back to the day Misty had first arrived at Moose Creek Ranch. She remembered feeling so disappointed when she had thought Misty was an old, broken-down nag. Now, of course, she knew better.
“They are so mean,” she muttered under her breath. “He’s not just some useless old man!”
“What?” Pickle asked.
“That old guy,” Moxie said. “Didn’t you hear them make fun of him?”
“Yeah,” Pickle answered.
“Well, did you see that big belt buckle the snow cone man’s got? It’s like the ones hanging on the wall at home. You know, from when my dad competed in rodeos.”
“Somebody probably gave it to him.” Pickle slurped the last of his cone. “He’s really old, Moxie.”
“You don’t know that. Maybe a long, long, long time ago, he was a rodeo champion and won that buckle. You know, before he sold snow cones,” she said.
“Him? No way,” Pickle said.
Moxie thought of her Misty, who looked old to the rest of the world. “You never know. Maybe he used to be like my dad and could do lots of stuff.”
The kids threw away their empty paper cones, and Moxie pulled Pickle back over to the snow cone stand. “Are you okay, mister?” she asked. The old cowboy looked at them, confused, with sad eyes, like maybe he expected more trouble.
“We saw those two guys bothering you,” Moxie said.
“And they were so mean,” Pickle piped up.
“Should we find the sheriff? You know, to report them?”
The old man’s expression softened. “No, no. I’m fine. Thank you for being a nice to an old cowpoke like me.” His blue eyes twinkled again. “You kids be on your way and have a good time here at Jubilee Days. Thanks for askin’ though.”
“You’re welcome, mister,” Moxie said.
“Bye!” Pickle added. They waved at the old man and continued walking around the area surrounding the rodeo arena. Moxie wondered if the old man had known her Granny Rose from her rodeo days.
“Look!” Pickle said, his eyes the size of saucers.
“What?” Moxie asked.
Pickle pointed across the road at a tall, brown-haired cowgirl, coming from the Ferris wheel. “That’s Mary Lou Hendricks!”
“Yeah?” Moxie wasn’t impressed. “So?”
“My mom read about her and showed me her picture. Mom says she’s very important, because she’s Queen of Jubilee Days, so she’s like a V.I.P., you know, very important person—”
“I know what a V.I.P. is, Pickle,” she said, looking at the cowgirl in the red shirt and tan leather vest edged in red. Her matching tan leather chaps were fringed with the same red, and Miss Laramie Jubilee Days was embroidered in red down the right leg. Moxie gawked at the shiny, ruby-red cowgirl boots peeking out from the bottom of the tan chaps.
“She’s so pretty.” Pickle, still staring, moon-eyed, pulled Moxie across the road to get a closer look.
But Miss Laramie Jubilee Days spotted them first. “My, my! Don’t you two look adorable!” Mary Lou said, smiling.
Pickle grinned from ear to ear. Moxie stood mesmerized by the sparkly tiara attached to the young woman’s red cowboy hat. Finally, the first words out of Moxie’s mouth were, “Are those real diamonds?”
Mary Lou pointed at her tiara and laughed. “These? No, they’re rhinestones. You know, pretend-diamonds.” She reached out to shake their hands. “Hi, I’m Mary Lou Hendricks.”
Moxie grabbed Mary Lou’s hand and pumped it hard, maybe a little too hard. “I’m Moxie Wyoming Woodson, and this is my best friend, Pickle Turner.” Before Pickle could shake Mary Lou’s hand, Moxie jumped in with another question. “Is it hard being Miss Laramie Jubilee Days?”
“Well, it can be busy, but I love it,” Mary Lou said. “I always dreamed of being a rodeo queen, so I get to represent the Laramie rodeo all year long during my reign.”
“How did you get picked to be queen?” Pickle blurted out. “Is it tough? Do you have to
do lots of rodeo stuff?”
Mary Lou smiled. “I started out by coming up through the princess program. Moxie, maybe you’d like to sign up.”
Moxie scrunched her face with doubt. “So what do you do when you’re not a rodeo queen?”
Mary Lou burst into laughter, and the kids joined in. “So many questions, you two. I’m training to work as a sheriff’s deputy right here in Laramie.”
Moxie and Pickle’s eyes grew huge. “You’re going to arrest people?” Moxie asked.
“You’re too pretty to arrest people,” Pickle said, and then clapped a hand over his mouth.
“I don’t wear all this make-up and these fancy clothes when I’m working my other job,” Mary Lou said. “My hair’s in a ponytail, and I wear a uniform—”
“Do you have a favorite kind of horse?” Moxie Wyoming interrupted. “Like…um…what do you think of wild Mustangs?”
“I love all horses, so of course I love Mustangs,” Mary Lou said, and Moxie’s face lit up.
Mary Lou continued, “Mustangs are extra special. When people see a Mustang, they think of the American West. But some bad people are rounding up wild horses to ship them out of the country illegally, and that’s wrong.” The kids hung on every word Mary Lou said, and she smiled at them. “Why do you ask about wild horses?”
“Oh, nothing. Just curious,” Moxie stammered, glancing at the ground. “If it’s okay…I mean, would you mind…uh, could I have your phone number, please?”
Curious, Mary Lou looked at her for a moment, then pulled out a card and wrote her number on the back. “This is my private cell phone number. You call me if you ever need help or want to tell me something, all right?” She tipped her hat at the kids. “I have to be on my way, but I really enjoyed our conversation.”
“Thank you.” Moxie smiled as Mary Lou walked off. “Bye.” She looked at the card with the phone number and tucked it into her vest pocket.
Chapter Twelve
“Where have you two been?” Mike Woodson asked his daughter, when Moxie and Pickle walked up to him. Smiling, he added, “We were getting ready to send out a posse.”
A Wild Ride: The Adventures of Misty & Moxie Wyoming (Girl Detective & Her Horse Mystery Story Ages 6-8 & 9-12) Page 5
