Moxie sat very still at the table, sure the game was up. Pickle looked at her curiously.
“Tip-off from a confidential caller? Wow,” he said. Moxie’s eyes popped open, and Pickle’s, too.
“Okay, Willie. I’m glad they got to them before they shipped those Mustangs out of the country. Keep us posted. Bye.” Her dad hung up and joined the kids at the table.
“What happened, Mr. Woodson?” Pickle tried his best to sound casual, as if he hadn’t overheard the Jenkins brothers at the rodeo the night before. “What Mustangs?”
Moxie’s mother put a plate of hot pancakes and a pitcher of warm maple syrup in the middle of the table.
“Yeah, what Mustangs?” Moxie asked.
“Well, good morning, squirt,” her father said, reaching for the pancakes. “How many pancakes would you kids like?”
“Two, please,” Moxie said.
“Two, please,” Pickle echoed.
Moxie’s father scooped up the pancakes and slid them onto their plates. “Your dad just talked to a buddy from the sheriff’s office, Pickle. They picked up some guys an hour ago, not far from here.” He handed his daughter the syrup, and his wife joined them at the table.
“They’ve been watching them for a while, but couldn’t ever prove anything,” her father said. “These two brothers have been shipping horses out of the country for quite some time, across the border north to Canada and south to Mexico.”
Moxie’s father sat back and crossed his arms. “This time the sheriff and his deputies caught them red-handed, right in the middle of an illegal Mustang roundup.”
“Wow!” Pickle exclaimed. “It’s like in the movies!”
“Funny thing, though,” Moxie’s dad added. “Willie said that Sheriff Peterson and his deputies first chased the men up the canyon from the corral as they tried to escape. Next thing he knows, they’re riding down the canyon to give themselves up. The guys were hollering about a grizzly bear just sitting there next to some kid on an old horse. Those tough guys were scared to death. Go figure.”
Pickle gaped at Moxie’s dad with a stunned look on his face. “Wow, a grizzly bear?” He turned to his best friend, who looked hard at her pancakes.
Moxie’s father picked up the butter dish and offered it to his daughter, but she shook her head no. Pickle nodded yes.
“Any idea who told them about the roundup?” Moxie’s mother asked as she sipped her coffee. “I heard you say the sheriff got a tip.”
Moxie chewed her pancakes double-speed. Pickle’s mouth hung open as he continued staring at his friend. Moxie kicked Pickle under the table, and he clamped his mouth shut.
“That’s the funny thing,” Moxie’s father said, spreading butter on his stack. “Remember how you met Miss Laramie at the festival?” The kids nodded and looked at each other. “Well, she’s training to be a sheriff’s deputy in Laramie, and she got the tip on her cell phone.”
Moxie froze. Should she just confess that she was the caller right this minute? Pickle opened his mouth to speak, but Moxie gave him another swift kick. Pickle looked at Moxie with a confused expression.
“Well, Miss Jubilee must not have known who it was,” her dad said, and Moxie exhaled, relieved. “But the person called them the Jenkins gang. Nobody but the police knew that name, so she went straight to Sheriff Peterson.” He reached for the maple syrup. “Peterson’s office took over from there. So, we have a mysterious good citizen to thank for saving those horses.”
“Do you think that person should get a reward?” Pickle’s eyes narrowed as he glanced at Moxie. “If the sheriff knew who she, uh…” He hesitated and then went on. “…or he was—”
Moxie kicked him again under the table. Pickle shrugged at Moxie. “What? Why are you kicking me—”
“What was that about Officer Brown?” Moxie’s mother interrupted. “I thought he was so nice.”
“That’s what we all thought.” Her father poured syrup over the pancakes. “But get a load of this. The roadwork he told the kids about was all a lie. He wanted to keep traffic away so the trailers could pick up the horses.”
“You’re kidding,” Moxie’s mom said.
“It turns out Officer Brown was the Jenkins’ lookout guy.” Mr. Woodson took a sip of coffee. “Anyway, he confessed. He said he needed the money.”
“Daddy, did those Jenkins guys take a lot of Mustangs?” Moxie asked.
“Seems so, kiddo. The gang had built a huge corral down the road not far from the turnoff, right in the foothills of the Snowies.”
Mike Woodson dug into his pancakes, and the kids focused on theirs, too. They hoped their expressions wouldn’t give away that they already knew all about the secret corral.
“That corral was filled with maybe sixty horses. They think the Mustangs are from all over this area.” He paused to take another bite. “Jane, these pancakes sure hit the spot!”
“Why, thank you.” Moxie’s mother grinned at her daughter, and Moxie smiled back.
Her dad continued. “Remember Willie’s friend, Matt Larson? He was riding through there some weeks back. He saw a Mustang herd, fifteen or twenty of them, led by a pale yellow stallion. I wonder if those horses were part of the roundup…”
Moxie was too busy eating her pancakes to talk anymore, knowing full well that those twenty Mustangs, her Mustangs, were safe and sound.
But what could she do to help the sixty horses that had been trapped in the Jenkins’ corral? What would happen to them?
Chapter Twenty-Two
It was Monday morning, and Moxie had already fed and brushed Misty, gathered eggs, and finished her other chores when a heavy rain began to pour. She quickly discovered that the roof over her hangout in the barn had three leaks. After placing kitchen pots around the stall to catch the drips, she left Misty to her morning nap and went inside the house.
Now was the perfect time to make a cup of hot chocolate, kick off her boots, and curl up on the sofa with Bunker and a good book. She happily reread one of her favorite novels, Black Beauty. Every few pages, she slipped the dog a treat.
Her mother had driven into Laramie to run some errands. Her father had taken his truck to a garage in Centennial for repairs. So right now, Moxie Wyoming was in charge of Moose Creek Ranch, and she felt very grown up.
Moxie marked her page with a scrap of paper and took a sip of cocoa. She thought back to her adventure the day before and imagined Rocky and his herd of Mustangs hanging out at Dizzy Humphrey’s Animal Shelter. She wondered if it was it raining there, too.
She also liked picturing the Jenkins gang galloping up to Misty with huge Grizz sitting on the rock behind them. She really loved the part where, scared to death, they turned right around to ride back to the sheriff and his deputies to surrender.
She also liked imagining Miss Jubilee Days giving the sheriff the all-important tip from the secret caller so they could catch the Jenkins Gang. Since Pickle had figured out that she was the secret caller, Moxie had made her best friend swear that he would never ever tell anyone.
She took another sip of cocoa and pulled the rodeo queen’s card out of her jeans pocket. She went over to the phone and dialed.
It only took two rings. “Hello?” a friendly voice answered.
“Hi. It’s Moxie Wyoming Woodson.”
“Oh, I’m so happy to hear from you.” Mary Lou’s voice sounded like music to the young girl’s ears. “You did an important thing, Moxie, leaving me that message about the Jenkins brothers. Your tip solved the case.”
A smile beamed across the girl’s face. “Wow, thank you, Miss Jubilee Days—”
“Moxie, call me Mary Lou.”
“Uh, okay. Thank you, uh, Mary Lou, for not telling anybody my name.”
“No problem. Your secret’s safe with me.”
“Uh, I’ve been thinking a lot about those Mustangs that were rounded up.” Moxie took another sip of cocoa, her mind racing to figure out how she and Misty could get those sixty horses up to Dizzy’s shelter.<
br />
She looked down at her magic pink cowgirl boots on the floor and flashed back to Mary Lou’s shiny ruby-red boots. Were hers magic, too, and could she fly on her horse and maybe help Moxie get the sixty Mustangs to Dizzy’s? Was it possible that Mary Lou was also in Dizzy’s club?
But Moxie didn’t know the secret password yet and didn’t want to break any rules since she was a new member of Dizzy’s club. She quickly decided she’d better wait before asking Mary Lou about her ruby-red boots. “Um, Mary Lou?”
“Yes?”
“What will happen to all those Mustangs?” Moxie asked.
“The government will try to find people who will adopt them. Often, families will adopt one or two horses.”
“Okay…” The girl’s voice drifted off.
“Hold on, I know what you’re thinking, Moxie. First, keep in mind that it’s a big responsibility, but if you still want to adopt a wild horse, you should talk with your parents. They can call the sheriff’s office for more information.”
“Thanks,” Moxie said. “I’ll talk to my mom and dad.”
“And you call me whenever you like about anything, okay?”
“It’s a deal!” And they signed off.
~~~~~
By late morning, the rain had stopped, and Moxie’s parents had returned from their errands.
“Moxie Wyoming!” her mother called from outside. “Throw on your boots, and let’s go for a ride with your dad.”
“Great!” She pulled on her pink cowboy boots.
While her parents saddled up Captain and Skipper, Moxie leaned against her horse, struggling with the saddle’s girth strap around Misty’s belly. She wanted to make sure the saddle wouldn’t slip to one side while she was riding. Her father stepped over to help her get the strap nice and tight.
“Ready to go, squirt?” her father asked.
“All set, Daddy,” Moxie answered. “Just need to put on the bridle.” She took it off a hook.
“Hold it there, young lady.” Moxie’s mother walked over with one arm behind her back. “I think I’ll trade you that old one for this one.” She brought out her hand, holding a beautiful silver bridle that she always put on Skipper.
“But, Mom!” Moxie’s eyes were huge. “You won that silver bridle for your riding. I can’t take that!”
“Moxie, it was always going to be yours one day.” Her mother smiled. “I’ve decided you should have it sooner rather than later, and that Misty should wear it since she’s your very own horse.”
“Oh, Mom! Thank you!” Mother and daughter put the silver bridle on the little mare, who fluttered her eyelashes, feeling quite gorgeous in her shiny new jewelry.
The family rode side by side across the back pasture. The sun peeked out from behind some clouds, and the Snowies looked crystal clear in the distance.
Finally, Moxie’s mother broke the silence. “I can’t help but think about those Mustangs when I look up at the Snowies. I’m so glad the sheriff caught that gang.”
“Yeah, sixty wild Mustangs. Beautiful horses, from what I’ve heard,” Moxie’s father said. “You know, that gang was getting ready to stuff them into trailers just as Sheriff Peterson got there.”
“Well,” her mom said, “it sounds like the sheriff arrived just in time to stop the whole nasty business. What a relief!”
“And I heard,” Moxie added, “that the people in charge want to find good homes for those Mustangs, you know, nice people who can adopt them.” She casually twirled the end of her reins. “Aaaand, Mom, Dad, we are nice people. Right?”
“What are you trying to say, Moxie?” Her father looked over at Moxie’s mother with a smile.
Moxie sat up straight on Misty. “Dad, we’re just the right kind of family to adopt a Mustang.” Misty’s ears perked up.
“We have enough horses, dear.” Her mom adjusted the reins as Skipper threw her head around. “Besides, you already have your sweet Misty to tend to. You won’t have time to take care of a new Mustang.”
“I could take care of both Misty and a new Mustang friend for her,” Moxie said, as Misty’s ears twitched, changing direction each time another voice spoke up. “And Willie could help me train the new Mustang.”
“Now, Moxie Wyoming,” her dad said. “Taking on a wild horse is a big responsibility—”
“That’s right, Daddy, and we should help out. The government needs lots of nice people like us to sign up and help, don’tcha think?” Moxie asked.
“Squirt, let’s continue this conversation later.” Her father smiled. “We’re out here to ride.” And with a slight kick of his boots, Mr. Woodson’s mount, Captain, moved into an easy lope.
Moxie’s mother was the next to take off. Skipper pranced and then launched into such a fast gallop, that Moxie’s mom turned the horse in circles to slow her down. Skipper finally shifted into a smooth, comfortable trot.
Moxie watched her parents move ahead. She gave Misty a little kick with her pink boots and then, without thinking, said in a quiet voice, “Let’s go.”
Misty perked up and got frisky. Her gray began to fade, and she pushed off her back legs.
In the nick of time, when they were only five feet above the ground, Moxie caught herself, terrified her parents would look back and see them flying. She said with urgency, “Yikes, Misty! Not this time!”
Misty sailed down to a soft landing and the gray in her coat returned. Moxie leaned over and whispered, “We don’t want them to find out our secret.”
“Come on, Moxie,” her dad called from ahead. “What’s holding you up?”
“Be right there,” Moxie shouted to him as she and Misty trotted to catch up.
~~~~~
Back from the ride, Moxie made herself a peanut butter and banana sandwich in the kitchen and found some carrots for Misty. When she left, she noticed a letter addressed to her on the front hall table. She grabbed it on her way out, stuffing it in her jeans pocket, and headed for the barn.
Dragging the desk chair from her hangout, she placed it in Misty’s stall and put her sandwich on the seat. “Got something for you, girl!”
Moxie gave her mare a big kiss on the nose, scratched her fuzzy ears, and pulled the carrots from one of her pockets. “Here!”
The little horse grabbed the carrots in one swoop.
“Hey! Don’t take my hand off. Easy, girl.”
Misty crunched away noisily.
Moxie pulled the letter out of the other pocket, picked up her sandwich and plunked down on the chair. She took a bite of the sandwich and tore open the envelope.
“Who do you think wrote me this time?” she asked Misty.
Moxie unfolded the page, and her eyes lit up. “It’s from Dizzy!” Misty stared at her, ready to listen, and Moxie read the letter out loud.
Dear Moxie Wyoming,
Good news travels fast! I heard about the capture of the Jenkins Gang. Just think, it was your phone call that led to their arrest. Don’t ask me how I know all of this, but I do.
Anyway, you did a fantastic thing saving some grand Mustangs. The Pink Rose of Texas would be proud of her great-granddaughter! That’s right, I knew her, too. She and Misty used to bring animals in danger to our shelter all the time.
So you see, Moxie, you’re extra special, just like your Granny Rose, even if you’re not a rodeo champion…yet!
I know you understand the magic of the pink boots, the power they give you when you ride Misty, and that it’s important to use this power to help others. And you have! First, you and Misty rescued Rocky and his herd, who are very happy at the shelter, by the way. And then you helped save those other Mustangs from a terrible fate.
You’ve more than proven yourself, Moxie, and you took the oath, so you’re officially on the team. I have more cases for you and Misty. You’re a can-do duo!
I may even team you up with a few of our other club members— Mona Arizona, Lily Illinois, Noelia New Mexico, Diamond Duke Dakota, and Smoky Carolina are all working with us right now. When
the time is right, I’ll send you a secret password. You’ll need it to meet up with them.
Your friend always,
Dizzy
P.S. Do you remember Pumpkin, the little beagle from North Carolina? Well, she loves Rocky and likes to sit on his back and howl “yippee-ki-yay” like a real cow dog! LOL
Chapter Twenty-Three
It was nap time at Moose Creek Ranch, and all was quiet except for two sets of gentle snores coming from inside the barn. Misty snoozed in her stall, while Moxie Wyoming did the same in hers. Still wearing the pink boots and pink riding tights, Moxie Wyoming had propped up her feet on one end of the old cot. Her hat covered her face to keep out the light.
Suddenly, Misty neighed loudly, and two sets of eyes popped open, Misty’s and Moxie’s. They both shook their heads to wake up.
“What’s going on, Misty? Were you dreaming?” Moxie asked, still sleepy.
Then she noticed a padded brown envelope propped on the chair by her desk. “What’s that?”
Moxie brought it back to her cot and examined the outside of the envelope, handling it as if it might break at any moment. It was stamped Special Delivery and Confidential several times on both sides. She glanced at the upper left corner on the front. There was no street, town, or state. She noted the letters D.H.A.S. written carefully. That had to be from Dizzy Humphrey’s Animal Shelter.
“Misty, Dizzy sent this!” Her face lit up as she tore open the envelope. The little mare watched. “Do you think it’s a present?”
Misty snorted as a small, dark-green walkie-talkie fell out of the envelope. Stuck to it was a yellow Post-it with the words Password: Howling Red Wolf.
“What’s this?” Moxie picked it up. “This is like the big black walkie-talkie that Daddy and Willie use around the ranch when Willie’s in the field and Daddy’s in the barn and needs to talk to him.”
The girl and the horse stared at the device.
“Except this one’s smaller. And it’s cuter.”
A Wild Ride: The Adventures of Misty & Moxie Wyoming (Girl Detective & Her Horse Mystery Story Ages 6-8 & 9-12) Page 10
