The Mystery of the Masked Rider by Carolyn Keene Page A

Gloria turned to Nancy and Bess. “My three girls aren’t riding until tomorrow morning. I’d be happy to help with Nightingale.”
    â€œThat’s okay,” Nancy replied. “I think we can handle it.”
    â€œAt least let me walk her for a while,” Gloria insisted, “to make sure she’s not hurt.”
    â€œThat’s a good idea, Nancy,” Bess said. “Especially since we don’t know much about horse injuries.”
    â€œAll right,” Nancy finally agreed. Gloria seemed sincere. But right now she didn’t want anyone handling Nightingale except her and Bess. Too much had happened already. Even though it might have been an accident—in all the excitement and confusion, Colleen might have forgotten to tighten Nightingale’s girth—Nancy wanted to be extra cautious.
    In silence Nancy, Bess, and Gloria walked to the stable area. Nancy held tightly to Nightingale’s lead. Even the mare seemed quiet, as if she knew something was wrong.
    â€œI’ll put the saddle away,” Gloria offered.
    â€œThere’s a saddle rack in the extra stall,” Bess said.
    When Gloria went in, Bess reached out and ran her hand down Nightingale’s white blaze. “I sure hope Colleen’s okay,” she said to Nancy in a low voice. “When I signed up for bodyguard duty, I thought I was going to protect a horse. I wasn’t figuring on Colleen getting hurt.”
    Nancy frowned. “I know how you feel. Here, hold Nightingale while I get her halter, okay?”
    She handed the reins to Bess, then walked into the extra stall. Gloria had set the saddle down on the rack and was standing on the far side of it. She’d lifted the flap of leather the rider’s leg rested against and was peering underneath.
    When she saw Nancy, Gloria’s face flushed as if she’d been caught with her hand in a cookie jar. “Uh, just running up the stirrups,” she said quickly.
    â€œThanks,” Nancy murmured, keeping her eyes on the older woman. With a strained smile Gloria dropped the leather panel and stepped around the rack.
    â€œI’ll check Nightingale’s legs now,” she said, and strode from the stall without looking at Nancy.
    Now what was all that about? Nancy wondered. She knew Gloria wasn’t running up the stirrups on the stirrup straps. They’d already been secured before they’d left the ring. It was very unlikely that a stirrup had slipped down again.
    Curious, Nancy walked around to the other side of the saddle. She lifted the panel and checked underneath. There were two straps that were fastened under the horse’s belly. Each strap had a buckle on either side. One set of buckles was unfastened each time the saddle was removed. The other set of buckles remained fastened at the same place, and these holes hadbecome worn with use. Studying the girth, Nancy immediately noticed that it had been lowered one notch below the two worn holes where Colleen normally buckled the straps. Nancy remembered, because she’d been careful to rebuckle the girth at the two worn holes when she’d cleaned it earlier. Then she’d double-checked the tightness with Colleen.
    A chill ran over Nancy as she dropped the leather flap. So Colleen’s fall definitely wasn’t an accident. Grabbing the halter, she darted back into the aisle. She had some questions to ask Gloria Donner.
    But the older woman wasn’t there.
    â€œWhere’s Gloria?” Nancy asked Bess.
    â€œShe left,” Bess replied, startled. “What’s going on?”
    Nancy threw her friend the halter. “No time to explain,” she said as she took off toward the stalls where she’d first met Gloria. But the trainer wasn’t there, either.
    Nancy approached a young girl brushing a bay horse. “Have you seen Gloria Donner?” Nancy asked her.
    â€œShe just left a minute ago,” the girl replied. “I