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blanket
on the horse’s back.
    “It’s
just that he cares so much about the horses,” Honey said, reading her friend’s
thoughts. “He doesn’t know how strict Regan has been with us.”
    “I
guess so,” Trixie said, feeling unconvinced.
    Pat
reappeared from the stable leading a saddled and bridled Al- Adeen .
He tied the stallion to a fence post and came over to double-check the cinches.
Finding no fault with the girls’ work, he let out a grunt that could have been
either surprise or approval, walked back to his own horse, and swung easily
into the saddle.
    “I’m
surprised he didn’t offer us a leg up,” Trixie muttered as she mounted Mur- Hadj .
    “Trixie!” Honey gave her friend a pleading look.
    “All
right, all right,” Trixie replied. “I won’t make any trouble.” As long as Honey likes Pat Murrow so much,
I’ll try to like him, too, she told herself.
    “Just a minute!” Mrs. Murrow called. She hurried toward them, holding
a large paper bag in one hand and a Thermos in the other. She handed them up to
Pat, saying, “I put in some cookies and a few apples and mixed up some
lemonade.”
    “We
won’t be gone forever,” Pat said, knowing his mom’s mothering instincts all too
well.
    “Be
sure to stop and rest somewhere along the way,” Mrs. Murrow told him. “The
girls probably aren’t used to spending all day on a horse, the way you are.”
    “That’s
very nice of you,” Honey said.
    “You
just stop him if he pushes too hard,” was Mrs. Murrow’s indirect reply.
    Trixie
had been expecting the trail ride to go along the river. Instead, Pat led them
down the gravel drive and out along the shoulder of the blacktop road. He set
the pace at a sedate walk.
    At
that leisurely pace, Trixie was able to relax and enjoy the view. The
countryside was one of low, rolling hills. Everything—trees, grass, crops—was
the tender green of early summer. The sky was cloudless and the sun was warm
and gentle. There was just enough breeze to waft
fresh, sweet smells Trixie’s way.
    Lost
in her enjoyment of the scene, Trixie wasn’t sure when she first became aware
of the drone of machinery. It was growing quite loud by the time Pat urged his
horse into a canter. Matching his pace, Trixie caught a glimpse of a large sign
on the same side of the road as the Murrows ’ ranch.
The sign said Burke
Landing. Behind the sign, the land was bare and brown, with stacks of
huge felled trees piled around. Out of the stripped land rose a large frame
structure on which construction crews were busily working. Earth movers were
already digging the foundations for more buildings. At the edge of the clearing
was a construction trailer with a sign nailed to its side that said Reserve now. Open
daily 9-4.
    Just
beyond Burke Landing ran a gravel road. Pat led the girls along it, and soon
they came to a lake edged by a dirt path. They circled the lake, alternately
trotting and cantering. Mur- Hadj was a joy to ride,
Trixie discovered. The mare responded effortlessly to every command. Her small
size let Trixie feel at one with her, instead of overwhelmed as she sometimes
felt on bigger horses.
    Pat
Murrow never turned around to look at the girls, but sometimes he turned his
head to the side, as if to check their progress by the sound of the horses’
hooves.
    On
one straight, level stretch of ground, he kicked his horse into a full gallop.
Honey, riding right behind him, hesitated for a second before following his
lead. Trixie didn’t hesitate at all before signaling Mur- Hadj to follow— and she doubted if the fiery
little mare would have stood for being left behind, anyway.
    Trixie
felt the wind whistling past her face. She gathered the reins more firmly in
her hands and gripped the saddle with her knees. It was a wonderful,
exhilarating feeling, and it ended too soon. As the path headed downhill, Pat
reined Al- Adeen into a more manageable canter, then
down to a trot, and finally into a walk. After another few yards,