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rolled on the lawn with her old dog Shep, still loved horseback riding and tennis, still loved to sit on his lap occasionally and hear about her mother and the old days of the Patrol. It was a happy reunion, and half the Jungle Patrol fell madly in love with her. They were all dismayed to learn that she had a young man back in England.
Weeks had put his daughter on a horse for the first time when she was five years old. She had ridden ever since. She was an expert horsewoman, excelling at jumping, racing, and the difficult art of dressage. As soon as she had caught her breath, unpacked, said hello to everyone, and spent a few days reviving old memories of the town where she had spent her childhood, she went to the stables.
Though the Patrol was motorized, they still kept a dozen fine riding horses, plus a gentle little mare that the older wives could ride. They brought out the mare for Caroline. She laughed and petted the gentle beast, then picked a spirited brown stallion. The stablemaster wasn't sure about letting her have Dynamite. Too much to handle. But Caroline put Dynamite through his paces, jumped him over a few fences, raced him around the field, and returned to the applause of the stablemaster, stableboys, and half the watching Patrol, including the Colonel. After that, Caroline rode every day on trails she had known since she was a child. It never occurred to anyone that she would ride as far out as the Phantom Trail. No one told her about Killer's Town. Maybe they forgot because of wanting to forget that frustrating place.
It was a beautiful morning and Dynamite moved like the wind. People stared and waved as the Colonel's daughter raced by in jodhpurs, riding boots, and an orange-red shirt that matched her own red mane flowing behind her. Soon she had left the dirt road at the edge of town and moved onto the loamy shadowy path that led into the jungle. This, for some reason, had always been called the Phantom Trail. She wondered about the name, telling herself to ask about the origins of it when she got home.
In England, she had dreamed about this jungle. The path Neemed wider and bumpier and more used than she remembered. Trees were occasionally scarred and bushes bent back and broken, as though a large truck had passed. She noticed a tire track in the dust. Like everywhere else, she supposed things had progressed a bit there, too. But beyond these few signs, it seemed unchanged. As she rode deeper into the jungle, there were monkeys in the trees chattering at her, the whirr of wings as brightly colored birds took off, bright eyes gleaming from the bushes, then a soft scampering as small furry animals hurried away, all startled by the hooves of Dynamite. She went on like this, walking, trotting, galloping, stopping, then walking again, for two or three hours. She suddenly realized that she was far from home, that she was hungry, and would never get back in time for lunch with her father. There was a road sign ahead. She approached it and paused for a moment. " Killer's Town —Private—No Admittance."
Some sort of joke? What else could it be? There had never been a town out here. Caroline had a wild sense of humor, and she enjoyed it in other people. She wondered who had made that official-looking sign. Some mad person she'd love to meet, she thought. She rode on, around the bend, again feeling her hunger, thinking she should have brought
a sandwich, thinking she should turn back now, but in trigued by the sign, and not wanting to stop. Then miracu lously, high walls appeared before her, shining white buildings behind them, gleaming glass, paved streets seen through the tall iron-barred fence. Wonderful! New sub urbs were springing up everywhere. This one had been built while she was away.
She rode up to the closed gate. A man had seen her coming. As she approached and he saw her clearly, he put his rifle aside and unlocked the gate.
"Do you have a restaurant or cafe here? I'd love tea and a sandwich," she