“Oh, no,” Penny assured him. “We just came for the fun of it. Is it true that some prankster has been causing trouble in the valley?”
“Prankster?”
“Yes, someone fixed up to resemble the Headless Horseman of fable.”
Quigley grinned broadly. “Well, now, you couldn’t prove it by me. Some folks say that on certain foggy nights the old Galloping Hessian does ride down out of the hills. But then there are folks who claim their butter won’t churn because it’s been bewitched. I never put much stock in such talk myself.”
“Then you’ve never actually seen such a rider?”
Joe Quigley remained silent. After a thoughtful interval he admitted: “Well, one night over a month ago, I did see something strange.”
“What was it?” Louise asked quickly.
Quigley pointed far up the hillside. “See that big boulder? Witching Rock it’s called.”
Penny nodded. “We were there only a few minutes ago.”
“At night fog rises up from the valley and gives the place a spooky look. Years ago a tramp was killed there. No one ever did learn the how or why of it.”