“Daddy, you’ll never believe it!” Moxie exclaimed. “We just met—”
“Miss Laramie Jubilee Days,” Pickle piped up. “And she’s cool. Her name is Mary Lou Hendricks.”
“And, Dad, we had a conversation with her,” Moxie said with self-importance. “That’s why it took us so long.”
“Well, do you think you’re ready to pack it in?” Jane Woodson put one arm around her daughter and the other around Pickle. “You’ve been running around since Jubilee Days opened up this morning. You must be exhausted—”
“Nooooo, Mom. Pleeease,” Moxie begged.
“Excuse me, excuse me.” Pickle raised a hand as if he were still in school. “Moxie and I were wondering if we could stay for the big parade?”
“Please, please, please,” Moxie continued pleading. “And the fireworks, too—” She halted mid-sentence as she looked at a gazebo across the road and saw Officer Clem Brown talking with the Curly T Cattle Ranch people.
The conversation looked like an important one, because they stood close to each other as if they didn’t want anybody else to hear what they were saying.
“Mom, Dad, look over there. Who is that?” Moxie Wyoming quickly nudged Pickle.
They all turned at the same time to see. The three by the gazebo noticed, stopped talking, and waved. Moxie’s parents waved back.
“That’s Officer Brown from the highway patrol,” her dad said.
“Right, but who are those other two people he’s talking to?” Moxie asked.
“That’s Sam Bingham and his daughter, Jamie,” Moxie’s dad said. “They own the Curly T Cattle Ranch in Centennial Valley, like us. But they’re at the other end of the valley, pretty far away from Moose Creek Ranch. Anyway, you don’t see much of them around since Sam’s wife, Trish, died a few years back.”
“It hasn’t been easy for Jamie either. She’s very young, only nineteen or twenty,” Moxie’s mother said. “Sam always wanted a son to run the ranch, and he’s tough on Jamie. Why do you ask, Moxie—”
A ring tone interrupted their conversation. Her mom pulled a cell phone out of her pocket. “Hello, Willie. Everything okay?” She listened, and her face went white. Pickle seemed to notice, and his brows scrunched.
“When did this happen?” Moxie’s mother continued listening while looking at her husband with concern.
“Are my mom and dad okay?” Pickle spoke up, worried.
“Your parents are fine,” Jane Woodson said, covering the phone, then turning back to the caller.
“We’ll leave right away,” she said into the phone, looking for a moment at Moxie. “We’ll be home in less than an hour.”
“What?” Moxie asked, once her mother hung up.
“Now, kids, let’s go over there and sit down,” Moxie’s mom said. “I’ve got something important to tell you.” She and Moxie’s dad walked the girls toward a bench.
Moxie and Pickle looked at her with growing alarm. “What’s going on?”
“Remember when your dad went off to fix that spot where the fence was down, the one that Officer Brown called him about?”
“Yeah, but Dad fixed it, right?” She and Pickle sat down on the bench.
“Yes, honey, he fixed it,” Moxie’s mother said. “But it turns out we might have another place where the fence is down. Most of the horses were already in the barn, but a few others still got through.” She kneeled in front of Moxie. “Four of the horses were hurt.”
Pickle jumped in. “How? Did a car hit them?”
“We don’t know—”
Moxie grabbed Pickle’s arm. “Which horses, Mom?”
“A driver found them on the road and called the highway patrol, who called Willie. He’s on his way there right now to find out more.”
“Which horses, Mom?” Moxie’s voice grew shaky.
“The driver described them as two medium-sized chestnut horses—”
Pickle interrupted, “Guyetta and Mozart!”
“Who else, Mom?” Moxie’s eyes blinked back tears.
“Two black horses...” Mrs. Woodson paused, looking at her husband, who put his arm around Moxie.
“One of them was small and gray-flecked,” she finished. “Willie thinks it might have been Misty.”
Moxie Wyoming took in a sharp breath and started to cry as her dad folded her into his arms.
She cried all the way home in the truck, thinking about Misty, hoping her elderly mare would be okay.
~~~~~
“Oh, good,” Moxie’s father said, as the truck pulled into the ranch. “Dr. Johnson’s already here.” Moxie could see the veterinarian’s van parked by Willie’s truck, waiting to take Pickle home.
The moment they came to a stop, Moxie jumped out and dashed in, heading straight for Misty’s stall. She looked over the door. No Misty. In a panic, she swung open the gate, stepped inside, and looked in every corner.
“Oh, no,” Moxie gulped. Were things worse than her parents had told her in Laramie? Had something really, really horrible happened to Misty?
She ran among the other stalls calling out, “Misty!” and searched each one. She stopped at Mozart’s, where she found Dr. Johnson wrapping one of the horse’s legs with a bandage.
“Oh, Dr. Johnson,” she said, out of breath.
“Well, hello there, Moxie Wyoming.” Dr. Johnson’s kind eyes creased at the corners. “Just getting Mozart here fixed up, and she’s going to be like new.” He stroked the horse’s back. “Guyetta and Skipper should be all right, too.”
“But Dr. Johnson,” Moxie wailed. “Where’s Misty? I can’t find her. What’s happened to her?”
“I took care of Misty first and she’s in the paddock behind the barn.”
Moxie took off for the back of the barn at a full run.
“Don’t you want to know how she’s…” Dr. Johnson’s voice trailed off as Moxie burst through the back door into the paddock.
Misty stood contentedly, her head down in the dish of oats at her feet, munching away. Her swayback looked more scooped out than ever, and her front legs were bandaged from right above her hooves up to her knees.
“Misty!” Moxie hollered.
Misty looked up, neighed, batted her skimpy eyelashes, and leaned down for another mouthful of oats.
Moxie ran over, threw her arms around Misty’s neck, buried her face in the mare’s gray-flecked coat, and began to snivel. “Misty, Misty, Misty...” A big sob erupted from her throat. “Please don’t ever scare me like that again.”
Moxie looked Misty straight in the eyes. “I thought I might never see you again.” Then she noticed the scrapes all over Misty’s face and touched one carefully. The horse pulled away; the wounds were tender and hurt.
“I’m so sorry.” Moxie hugged her little mare. “Even with your face scratched up, you’re still beautiful to me!”
Mike and Jane Woodson, both smiling, watched their daughter from the barn door as Dr. Johnson walked over to Misty and Moxie. “Now, young lady, your horse is going to be just fine.”
The doctor put some ointment on his fingers and carefully applied it to Misty’s face. “Here, you try it.” Moxie dipped her fingers into the ointment and softly touched the mare’s wounds.
“The horses got tangled in the barbed wire fence that was down. Some of them got their legs and faces all cut up, and they all bled a lot.” Dr. Johnson leaned down to check Misty’s bandages. “It looked much worse than it actually was.”
He stood up. “I’ve already taken care of Guyetta and Mozart, but I still need to attend to Skipper’s legs.”
He reached out his hand. “Come with me, Moxie Wyoming. I’ll teach you how to wrap their wounds, and you can practice on Skipper while I’m still here. That way you’ll know how to take care of Misty’s legs and make sure her bandages are always clean.”
“I can do that!” Moxie gave Misty a kiss above her nose and walked into the barn with Dr. Johnson.
Chapter Thirteen
A week later, Misty’s
scratches were almost gone. Since the accident, Moxie Wyoming had dedicated herself to taking care of Misty’s every need, from making sure the glitter bucket was always filled with fresh water to having plenty of treats on hand.
Each morning, Moxie had gently patted the ointment Dr. Johnson had given her onto the mare’s wounds. She’d then carefully wrapped clean bandages around Misty’s legs. They’d also regularly walked together in the pasture so the little horse wouldn’t get too stiff while she healed.
Now Moxie found she had the rest of the day to herself. Pickle and Mrs. Turner had driven to Laramie for a visit to the dentist, and her own mom was running errands.
“Let’s go for a little ride. How about it, girl? Feel ready with those legs?”
Misty neighed yes and stomped the ground twice.
So Moxie made a picnic and packed it in saddle bags. As she tied the leather bags to the back of Misty’s saddle, she checked to make sure they hung evenly on each side of the saddle. The two walked out of the corral.
After a few minutes of leading Misty by the reins, Moxie flipped them over the horse’s head and climbed on board. The two continued toward a grove of trees.
As they entered the shade of the pines and came to a stream, Moxie noted that Misty seemed a bit tired. “Ready for that picnic, girl?” Misty threw her head up and down, tapped the ground twice, and neighed. “Okay, there’s a good spot over there.”
Moxie directed Misty toward a log surrounded by good grass for munching. “Perfect,” she said, dismounting.
After spreading a blanket for herself next to the log, Moxie pulled plastic containers from the saddle bags. She sat down in the middle of the blanket and organized the containers around her. On Misty’s side, one container held carrots, one held sliced apples, and another had horse treats. On her side, she had a peanut butter and banana sandwich, chocolate chip cookies, and lemonade.
Moxie hopped up to give the little horse a carrot and then sat down to eat two bites of sandwich. She jumped up to feed Misty an apple slice and then plopped down to bite into a huge chocolate chip cookie. She sprang up again with horse treats and then dropped down on the blanket for another bite. Finally, she led Misty over to the stream for a drink while she gulped her lemonade.
“That was good, huh, girl?” Moxie said, as she walked Misty back to the picnic blanket. “So how about a nap?” Loud snores answered.
Moxie rolled her eyes, plopped onto the blanket, and pulled out a letter that had arrived that morning from her grandfather. She tore open the envelope and started reading.
Dear Moxie Wyoming,
Heard from your parents that you and Misty are getting along famously. That’s fantastic! And now that you have the pink boots, I’m guessing that you’ve discovered something special happens when you wear them and ride Misty.
As you know, my mother, your great-grandmother, Rose Woodson, was a champion rodeo queen in the 1940s. She had those boots made to order by a famous bootmaker in El Paso. She wanted them to go with her all-pink rodeo outfits. I’ve enclosed a 1950 postcard showing her wearing the boots while riding in a barrel racing event. Not only was my mom beautiful, she was a rider with impressive talents who won many first-place ribbons.
Then she discovered magical things happened when she wore the pink boots and rode her favorite horse. I never actually saw the magic...just heard the stories over the years.
By the way, I searched high and low for that mysterious bootmaker. I wanted to learn more about the magic, but I never could find him. What I do know from Granny Rose’s stories is that she used this gift to help others, and she told me that gave her far more happiness than winning all those ribbons.
In the 1970s, my mother gave me the boots and asked me to save them for someone special, someone who could use the gift wisely. I’ve been waiting a long time to find that someone special, and Moxie Wyoming, I believe it’s you.
Remember, if you intend to keep those pink boots, you must help others. And if you do, you’ll make your great-grandmother, the Pink Rose of Texas, proud.
Love,
Grandpops
P.S. Nobody else knows about the magic!
Moxie looked at the old postcard and thought about how her rodeo champion great-grandmother used the magic pink boots to help others. This was a whole new side of Granny Rose to think about.
Chapter Fourteen
Some days later, Moxie Wyoming took Misty riding in the Snowies. After their first liftoff, Moxie quickly realized that she and her horse were a little rusty at flying together. As soon as they hit a couple of bumpy air currents, they found themselves bouncing up and down.
“Uuuugh, Misty,” Moxie groaned and leaned on the horse’s neck. “This is worse than a rollercoaster. I think I’m going to be sick...”
Misty landed as fast as possible and without a jolt. She stood patiently while her rider’s normal color returned.
“I think we just need some practice.” Moxie gave the mare a gentle kick. “Let’s go!” They took off, and this time, the flying went much better—no more bumps, rollercoaster rides, or feeling sick.
The horse and rider landed, and Misty moved into a smooth lope. She took Moxie up a new canyon and through the woods along a trail the two of them had never ridden before.
After ten minutes, Misty slowed down to a walk. Moxie stretched her legs and wiggled her toes in the pink boots. The horse stopped suddenly, almost sending Moxie over her head.
“What’s the matter, girl?” Moxie pushed herself off Misty’s neck and back into the saddle. “Want a break?”
Misty pounded the ground once with her left leg.
“No, okay. So why did you stop?” And then Moxie grinned. “The Mustangs are close by, aren’t they?”
The mare pounded the ground twice with her right leg.
“Are they up ahead?”
Misty stomped twice.
“Let’s check it out.” Moxie flattened herself against one side of the mare’s neck so that Misty would look more like a horse with no rider.
The girl and horse rounded the bend. They walked quietly to a canopy of trees at the edge of a grassy flat.
Moxie and Misty paused silently at the edge of the meadow, watching a herd of twenty Mustangs peacefully eating the grass. A few of the horses stood quietly napping and nodded every now and then in their sleep.
Peeking over Misty’s neck, Moxie gazed in wonder at several of the foals nestled closely against their mothers’ sides. The smile on her face grew when she saw one little filly prance around on skinny young legs.
The beautiful palomino-colored stallion, who had been feeding on the far side of the grassy flat, stuck his head up and neighed loudly in Misty’s direction.
Misty responded, also loudly.
Other members of the herd, including the chestnut lead mare with the black mane and tail, looked in Misty’s direction.
The stallion trotted over, snorting and neighing more.
“Uh oh,” Moxie stammered. “He’s not going to be happy when he sees me.”
But Misty and the stallion continued back and forth in a kind of horse conversation.
Misty neighed again and pushed her head toward Moxie, who got the message. “Okay, okay.” She slowly sat up in the saddle.
The other horses took notice, too, and the herd began to make nickering sounds. Moxie felt twenty sets of eyes on her.
Even though Moxie held Misty’s reins in her hands, she let the little mare lead the way through the herd. Moxie felt butterflies in her stomach when she saw some of the horses put back their ears. She knew it meant the Mustangs were alarmed, and she should be careful.
“Oh, Misty, they aren’t happy about us being here. Do you think it’s okay to just walk around?” Then to Moxie’s surprise, their ears stood back up. “Uh, maybe they like us?”
Misty pounded twice, agreeing, and continued walking.
As she and Moxie rode through the herd, Misty whinnied quietly, greeting all the different horses. Moxie also
greeted the animals in a low, gentle voice.
“Hi there, cutie-pie!” she said to one of the foals peeking out from behind her mother’s legs.
“You are so beautiful!” she told a sturdy copper-red Mustang with a white streak, called a blaze, between his eyes and a wheat-colored mane and tail.
A smoky-colored filly pranced out in front of Misty, and Moxie giggled.
Misty sidled back up to the large, pale yellow stallion and glued herself to his side. The wild horse didn’t seem nervous at all that Moxie was so close, so she took her feet out of the stirrups and sat sideways in Misty’s saddle, leaning against the big stallion’s back as if it were the back of a comfy sofa.
“I’m sure you’re the boss,” she said to him.
The lead mare threw her head from side to side and neighed in objection. “Except for maybe her,” Moxie said.
She pointed to the chestnut-colored horse, looked her in the eye, and continued. “I’ll call you Mamma Mia. Okay?”
The mare pounded the ground with her front hooves.
“I hope that’s a yes,” Moxie said, and then looked over at the stallion. “Anyway, I think I’ll call you Rocky. It sounds strong, like you’re in charge with Mamma Mia.” She draped her arm along his back and rubbed his neck. “You like that name?”
The stallion looked at Moxie with his dark eyes and nickered, then looked at Misty, who batted her big eyes, which were once again thick with lashes.
The four of them walked together around the flat.
The rest of the herd fell in behind, with Misty, Moxie, Rocky, and Mamma Mia guiding the Mustangs. Misty was once again leading a herd, and Moxie Wyoming felt happy to be her friend.
Over the next few days, Moxie and Misty developed a routine. The Mustangs had a favorite mountain pond in the Snowies, so that became their regular picnic spot, too.
Each day, Moxie would pack a peanut butter and banana sandwich and lemonade in one saddle bag. The other she’d fill with apples and carrots for the herd.
A Wild Ride: The Adventures of Misty & Moxie Wyoming (Girl Detective & Her Horse Mystery Story Ages 6-8 & 9-12) Page 6
