Nancy catapulted out of the saddle. Her face banged against Tristram’s mane, but she held on to keep from falling under his legs. Tristram whinnied in fear as he struggled to stand up. Nancy held her breath as the mighty bay horse wobbled upward and hoisted his foot out of the hole.
Nancy exhaled against Tristram’s neck as the horse steadied himself. She shimmied back into the saddle and grabbed the loose reins. A second later, the panicky Tristram crashed into the cornfield ahead.
“It’s okay, Tristram,” Nancy said in a soothing voice. She stopped him, then turned to look at her friends.
“Are you okay, Nancy?” Elsa asked.
“I’m fine. I just hope Tristram wasn’t hurt.” Nancy guided him out of the cornfield, then jumped off to examine him for injuries. As she ran her fingers over his legs, she said, “He’s lucky he didn’t break a bone falling in that hole. But he seems fine. I don’t see a scratch on him.”
“I didn’t notice that hole when I jumped the fence,” George said.
“Me neither,” Elsa said.
“Let me check it out.” Nancy handed Tristram’s reins to George. She walked over and inspected the hole. It was about a foot deep and wide, and it looked freshly dug. It also looked like the hole had been covered by a grid of sticks, which was now smashed. On top of the sticks were bits of grass. Someone had dug this hole on purpose!
Nancy beckoned to her friends. “This is so weird. Someone made this hole and then disguised it as smooth ground.” She pointed to the grid. “See? They sprinkled grass on these sticks for camouflage. No one could see the hole until it was too late.”
Elsa paled. “But who would want to hurt a horse . . . or a rider?”
“Has anyone ridden on this trail recently?” George asked. She looked at Elsa. “You and I were lucky. Our horses must have just missed it.”
“I don’t think any Green Spring kids came here today,” Elsa answered. “We were busy practicing stadium jumping in the morning. But a bunch of us rode these trails yesterday, so this hole couldn’t have been here then. People from all over the area ride through here, but I guess we were the first ones to land in the hole.”
“Lucky us,” George said dryly.
“So the hole was probably dug last night or this morning,” Nancy reasoned, scanning the ground around it. “Do you guys have a minute? I want to see something.”
George grinned. “Of course we’ll wait. This is becoming a case, isn’t it?”
Elsa brightened. “I’d forgotten you’re a detective, Nancy. If anyone can figure out who did this, you can. I just hope this doesn’t mean more danger for the campers and the camp.”
Even though Nancy was only eighteen, she was already an accomplished detective. Bess and George, also eighteen, had helped her out many times. Nancy wasn’t sure whether this hole more than just some isolated prank, but she wanted to check out the area for clues.
Nancy met Elsa’s worried gaze. “Has anything weird been happening around Green Spring?” she asked.
“Well . . .,” Elsa began. “I haven’t known of any other traps like that hole, but some strange things have been happening at camp. For instance . . .” She paused for a moment, and began speaking in a whisper. “Promise you guys won’t tell anyone outside the camp? I just don’t want to hurt Green Spring’s reputation by blabbing about what happened.”
“Of course I won’t tell,” Nancy assured her.
“Me neither,” George said.
“Well, just this morning, the girth to a girl’s saddle snapped while she was stadium jumping,” Elsa explained. “The saddle slid off with Juliana on it. She fell right under the horse! It was a miracle she wasn’t hurt.”
“Was the leather worn? Could it have broken on its own?” Nancy wondered.
Elsa sighed. “No way. It was a brand-new saddle, and the cut in the girth was straight. Only a razor or a knife could have done that. The person who did it must have left a small part of the leather attached so Juliana would put on the saddle without noticing the cut.”
“Juliana must have freaked,” George said.
“You bet. And that’s not the only thing that’s happened.” Elsa blew out her breath, then continued. “Two days ago, we found poison ivy mixed in with some horses’ feed.”
“Did the horses eat it?” Nancy asked her.
“A few of them did,” Elsa said, “and they were fine. Fortunately, horses aren’t allergic to poison ivy. They eat it in fields all the time and never get sick. But the counselor who handled it broke out in a rash. She was so upset, she quit this morning.”
All these things sound serious, Nancy thought. Whoever is doing them has to be stopped before people—or horses—get hurt. “Is that it?” Nancy asked.
Elsa frowned. “Isn’t that enough? I mean, just before lunch today, three campers left because they were so creeped out by all the stuff that’s happened.”
“I don’t blame them,” George said. “I’m sure the kids are wondering whose saddle girth is going to go next.”
“Mrs. Rogers gave everyone strict orders to check horses, tack, stalls—everything—for safety before we ride,” Elsa explained. “The most frustrating thing is that camp used to be so much fun. Now it’s a downer. These accidents have affected everyone’s mood.”
“One thing’s for sure,” Nancy said firmly, “they’re not accidents.”
“Let’s fill in this hole so no one else gets hurt, and then I’ve got to get back to the stable,” Elsa said. “Dressage practice starts in half an hour, and I’m coaching.”
Once they’d returned to Green Spring, the girls unsaddled their horses, rubbed them down, then let them loose in a field to graze. Nancy took her helmet off and shook out her shoulder-length reddish blond hair.
“Let’s go find Mrs. Rogers,” Elsa suggested, putting the helmets in a tack room box. “I want to tell her about that trap.”
The girls found Mrs. Rogers working in her office in a corner of the barn. A small, plump woman of about sixty-five, with apple red cheeks and gray hair wrapped in a bun, Mrs. Rogers threw a dazzling smile at the girls as they stepped in the door. “Welcome!” she said in a hearty voice, standing up to greet them. “How nice, Elsa, to bring friends.”
After the introductions were made, Mrs. Rogers studied Nancy. “Are you by any chance Carson Drew’s daughter?” she asked her.
“I am,” Nancy said, smiling.
“I met your father at a party at Josh Bryant’s house,” Mrs. Rogers said brightly. “Josh’s farm is across the valley from mine. The party was a fundraiser for his own riding program, and Josh invited all the people he thought might contribute to it. Since your dad is a busy lawyer, he was high on Josh’s guest list. Your father’s a charming man, Nancy. You look quite a lot like him. I’ve no doubt you’re a chip off the old block.”
“Thank you,” Nancy said.
“Did you girls have a nice ride?” Mrs. Rogers asked.
Elsa told Mrs. Rogers about the booby trap.
“Why, Tristram could have broken his leg!” Mrs. Rogers said, horrified. “Are you sure he’s okay?”
“He’s fine,” Nancy assured her. “He didn’t limp at all on the way home.”
“Mrs. Rogers,” Elsa said, “whoever set that trap might also be the one who cut Juliana’s girth and mixed the poison ivy into the feed. He, or she, is really getting dangerous.”
Mrs. Rogers drew herself up, her blue eyes resolute. “Getting dangerous? This person was dangerous from day one! Juliana could have been killed when her saddle broke. We’ve got to find out who’s doing these things—and fast.” Her gaze turned to Nancy. “Correct me if I’m wrong, Nancy, but I’m now remembering your father telling me that you’re an amateur detective. He seemed very proud of your sleuthing abilities.”
Nancy laughed. “Well, you know how dads can be.” She met Mrs. Rogers’s gaze. She knew what the camp director was about to ask: whether she would help solve the mystery. Nancy was eager to say yes, but how could she investigate without all the campers realizing her role? If she was going to do a good job, she’d have to go undercover.
Mrs. Roger seemed to read Nancy’s mind. “I hate to intrude on your busy life, Nancy, but is there a chance you could help me out? You could go undercover as a counselor here so no one would know you’re investigating.”
“Brilliant idea!” Elsa exclaimed. Her skin flushed with excitement. “But what about George? She’d be a help, too. Could she be a counselor too?”
“What do you say, George?” Mrs. Rogers asked.
“Count me in—if Nancy agrees,” George said.
Nancy gave George a quick thumbs-up sign before Mrs. Rogers continued. “A counselor quit this morning, so our little ruse will make sense. I’ll say I’m hiring George as an extra counselor because we need all the help we can get to prepare for the upcoming rally. I assume you girls have adequate experience with horses?”
“Enough not to blow our cover,” George said, pausing for a minute. “Well, as long as we don’t teach dressage,” she confessed.
Before Mrs. Rogers could comment, loud voices cut through their conversation. A boy and girl were arguing in the tack room next door about their riding skills.
Mrs. Rogers and the three girls froze as they listened to the heated conversation. “Face it, Rafael, your family’s broke! You can’t afford to match me. I’ll always be a better rider than you—and you know it.”