The Indian Burial Ground Mystery (5 page)

“
And then
Charles said we
weren’t allowed to work there,” Trixie said to Professor Conroy, trying to
control her anger. “We were working just where you told us, too.” Professor
Conroy looked perplexed. Slowly turning a small trowel over and over in his
hands, he looked at the red-faced girl standing in front of him.

“It really doesn’t matter where anyone digs,” he finally said. “I’ll
speak to Charles and see if there’s any reason for this. In the meantime, why
don’t you go over to the students in the cleaning tent and see if they need any
help.”

Slightly annoyed that Professor Conroy hadn’t exactly taken her side,
Trixie stood there lamely, trying to hide her anger. Although Professor Conroy
didn’t say as much, Trixie detected an expression of annoyance on his face. She
wished she could think of something to say that would make him go off and scold
Charles Miller. Then, thinking better of it, Trixie turned away. After finding
Honey, they spent the afternoon hanging around the cleaning tent, accomplishing
nothing.

That night after supper, the Bob-Whites met in their clubhouse. The
clubhouse had once been the old gatehouse on the Wheeler estate. The Bob-Whites
had repaired it, hung curtains, and added some old furniture. They’d even
gotten a wood-burning stove from Mrs. De Keyser, who lived down
Glen Road
. The
stove made it possible for them to use the clubhouse for most of the year.

Trixie was curled up in a newly covered armchair. She had just finished
telling Di, Mart, Dan, and Brian about the unfortunate meeting in the woods
with Charles Miller and Harry.

“Maybe there’s a
real
treasure buried on the preserve,” Trixie concluded excitedly.

“I still say, Little Miss Detective,” Brian said firmly, “the only thing
Charles Miller could possibly be talking about is the buried ‘treasure’ of
archaeology. You’re wasting your time.”

“I am not,” Trixie countered. “I think Charles Miller and Harry know
something about a real treasure. I say they’re using this dig as a cover for
finding it. Maybe they’re looking for Captain Kidd’s treasure.”

“The only thing people find when they’re looking for Captain Kidd’s
treasure,” Mart said with a superior look on his face, “is
other
people
looking for Captain Kidd’s treasure.”

“What about the map part?” Trixie asked. “What other kind of map could
they be talking about in the same breath as treasure?”

“Probably an old map of the Indian encampment,” Brian said reassuringly.
“Now don’t get yourself all worked up over nothing.”

“Nothing!” Trixie blurted angrily, but inside she was disappointed that
Brian didn’t agree with her. He usually took her side, and Trixie was always
grateful for it.

“Speaking of nothing,” Mart interrupted, “I have had nothing to eat
since dinner. What we need in this clubhouse is a refrigerator full of food.”

“It’s only been an hour since dinner, but let’s all go to the Manor
House,” Honey suggested. “There’s always loads of food there, and Miss Trask
said she’s missed us lately.”

“I’ve missed her, too,” Di said softly. “I’ve been so busy with the dig
and taking care of the twins. I haven’t had a chance to see anyone.”

“Let’s go,” Mart whooped, skidding out the door. “No sense hanging around
here talking about food. We could be up in the kitchen doing something about
it!”

As the six young people trudged up the driveway, they heard the sound of
laughter and music coming through the trees.

“That must be coming from the dig,” Trixie exclaimed.

“It sounds like guitars and
folksinging
,” Di
said.

“It sounds like a party to me,” Brian said. “Let’s go see!”

“What about food?” Mart moaned dramatically, clutching his stomach.

“Forget about food for a while,” Dan said. “Maybe we’ll have some fun, instead.”

“What could be more fun than food?” Mart mumbled as he grudgingly
followed the other Bob-Whites along the dirt road leading to the dig site.

When they came to the clearing, a lively campfire was burning. The
students were sitting around the fire on logs and rocks, singing and talking.
Professor Conroy was there, too, and it looked as if a delightful songfest was
on.

“Join us,” he boomed, seeing the six Bob-Whites straggle in through the
trees. “We need a tenor. Any of you a tenor?”

“At your service,” Mart called back. Then he began to warble, “Do-re-mi-
fa
-so-la-
ti
-do!” They all found
spots in the circle, and the singing continued.

“Where’s Charles?” Brian asked, after looking around the assembled
group.

“He’s in the city,” answered one of the graduate students. “He goes
there every night.”

“Why?” Trixie asked with interest.

The girl replied with a toss of her long blonde hair. “He pays his own
tuition, so he has to work every summer to earn money. But he didn’t want to
miss the dig, either. He decided to do both.”

“How can he do both?” Di asked.

“He works on the dig during the day, and he has a night job, that’s how.
That way he earns the money, and doesn’t lose the course credit.”

“Whew,” Brian said. “That’s a rough deal.” Trixie suddenly had a
thought. All the talk of Charles had stirred her questions again. Since she
hadn’t gotten too much sympathy from the others, she decided to talk with
Professor Conroy. Maybe he would have a key to what Charles was talking about
in the woods. Shifting her place, she managed to find a spot next to him around
the campfire.

“You wouldn’t happen to know any stories about treasure in this area?”
she asked during a break in the singing.

“Oh, yes,” Professor Conroy answered. His eyes started to glow in that
special way they always did when he was about to begin one of his little
lectures. “But there are always hundreds of treasure tales that circulate in
areas of great historical significance such as this one. Why, I could go on all
night.

“Ahem.” He cleared his throat happily. “For example, Captain Kidd—whom
you surely have heard about—is said to have buried various treasure caches
along the
Hudson River
. There’s supposed to be
a cave somewhere around Crow’s Nest—right near here— which contains some of his
treasure. He was also supposed to have buried treasure on Gardiners Island, in
Gardiners
Bay
,
and on
Long Island
. But no one’s ever found a
bit of it. I can only assume that he never actually buried it. Maybe he spent
it all,
heh-heh
.”

Professor Conroy was obviously enjoying himself. “There are Dutch
treasure legends, too,” he went on. “With ghosts! A long time ago, a Dutch ship
laden with treasure sank in the
Hudson
.
The survivors knew where the treasure should have been, but because of shifts in
the channel and shoreline of the river, they were never able to find it. But
they swore to continue looking. Rumor has it that at low tide, when the moon is
full, their ghosts still wander up and down in search of the gold, while a
white hound howls at their shadowy wraiths.”

By this time, the singing had petered out and the group around the
campfire grew hushed. The professor’s rumbly, eerie voice made the stories seem
truly scary. Honey shivered. Trixie was sorry she’d even asked. She didn’t
really believe in ghosts, but still....

“
Ooooo
Ooooooo
,”
Mart wailed spookily. Trixie jumped as the others laughed. “Let’s tell ghost
stories around the campfire,” Mart said.

“Let’s not and say we did,” Honey answered nervously. “Besides, it’s
getting late. I should be getting back home. We all have to get to work early
tomorrow.”

“Absolutely right, Miss Wheeler,” said the professor. “We should all
pack it in. Early day tomorrow for us chaps, too.”

Everyone stood up, and while they were stretching, collecting guitars and
cases, and pouring sand on the fire, Trixie seized another chance to ask
Professor Conroy about Charles Miller.

“Why, yes, Miss Belden,” he answered cautiously. “I did talk with
Charles Miller about that little contretemps this morning. I’ve decided to have
Charles supervise the work only on the burial ground. As student head of the
dig, he should be spending his time on the most important area. The village
site has far less significance—not that you girls should feel bad about being
assigned there.”

“But what about—” Trixie started. Professor Conroy went right on
talking. “Charles is an exceptional student—one of the best I’ve ever had. But
he has money problems, and that sometimes makes him bad-tempered. I don’t think
you girls should worry about Charles. I’m sure he’ll be around to apologize to
you tomorrow.”

Trixie nodded her head, but she felt wary.
Apologize? I’ll believe it when I see it,
she thought glumly.

Noticing that the other Bob-Whites were saying good-night to everyone,
Trixie quickly excused herself and caught up with them.

“There wasn’t one speck of food at this gathering,” Mart grumbled as
they walked home. “I suppose it’s too late to make a little side visit to your
refrigerator, Honey.”

“I’m afraid so, Mart,” Honey said with a laugh. “Will you live?”

“I doubt it.”

The group split up at the clubhouse, and Honey ran up her driveway. Dan
walked Di back to her house, and then he went on to Mr.
Maypenny’s
.
The three young
Beldens
made their way home to
Crabapple Farm.

As they walked, Trixie thought about everything she’d learned tonight.
One thing stuck out in her mind—Charles Miller needed money, badly. Instead of
calming her suspicions, that fact pointed to just one thing— Charles’s guilt.
Graduate students aren’t known for being
burglars,
Trixie thought,
but most students aren’t as poor as Charles Miller is,
either. And then there was that mysterious conversation with Harry in the
woods, and the newspaper article, and Charles’s hostility toward her and Honey.
It was all pretty suspicious—and pretty confusing, too.

By the time they arrived home, Trixie was too tired to think about
Charles Miller anymore. Slowly, she made her way up the stairs to her room,
thankful that it was bedtime. Tomorrow would be another long day.

When Trixie
got to the second floor
of the hospital the next day, she made a startling discovery.

As she wheeled her book cart into room 204, the door started to swing
shut. It banged against the side of the cart and a pile of magazines slid to
the floor with a loud flap. She didn’t see who the patient was until she stood
up, holding the slippery pile in her arms—and then she almost dropped it again.

“Professor Conroy!” Trixie exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m not sure I know,” Professor Conroy answered. He attempted a weak
smile, but his voice quavered. “Bump on the head, apparently.”

“How did you bump your head?”

“That’s the odd part. I got up last night to head for the bathroom, and
the next thing I knew I was in here.”

“What does the doctor say?” Trixie asked, appalled.

“Must have hit my head on a low-hanging branch or something. Might have
a concussion. I’m in here for observation for ten days. Can’t even get up.
Terrible!”

“What about the dig?” Trixie gasped. “Who will take care of things?”

“Fortunately, I have Charles,” Professor Conroy sighed. “I don’t know
what I’d do without him.”

Trixie thought for a moment. An upsetting conclusion was forming in her
mind.
Fortunately, my foot,
she thought.
I need to find
Honey—and right away!

“Would you like a magazine or a book?” Trixie asked quickly. “Can I get
you anything at all?”

“No, thank you, Miss Belden,” the professor answered weakly. “I think
I’ll just lie here quietly. I don’t know whether I’m supposed to read or not.
The doctor said he’d drop by this afternoon and have a chat about my
condition.”

Trixie told Professor Conroy she’d check in on him the next day. Then
she quickly pulled her book cart out of the room, and parked it in the
corridor. She raced off to find Honey.

It was almost 1 o’clock when she finally found Honey sitting at the
bedside of an elderly man, reading him the newspaper. Trixie controlled her
urge to interrupt, and backed out of the room. In a few minutes, Honey would be
through, and she could tell her everything on the way home.

“Don’t you see?” Trixie said as they rode their bikes along
Glen Road
. “Charles
didn’t like being told to stay away from the village site. So he hit Professor
Conroy on the head last night, figuring it would look like an accident. Now
he’s in charge of the dig for ten days, and he can do anything he wants!”

“I still don’t see why Charles wanted us to move. What’s the connection
between the place where we were assigned to dig and a treasure? Besides,
Charles was off at work last night.”

“He could have come back from
New
York
anytime. Or Harry could have done it.”

“I thought you said Charles was a burglar. Burglars don’t hit people on
the head unless they get interrupted in the middle of a burglary.”

“I’m sorry you don’t agree with me, Honey. But I know there’s something
fishy going on, and I’m going to find out what it is.”

The two girls rode on. Since Professor Conroy had told them to continue
working at the village site, that’s where they headed. But when they arrived,
they found a very gloomy-looking Charles sitting on a log.

“Didn’t I tell you girls to get reassigned?” he asked grouchily. “You
keep turning up all the time, like bad pennies.”

“Didn’t he tell you?” Trixie started with a smug look on her face. “We
checked with Professor Conroy last night, and he said that he’d told you to
devote all your time to the burial ground.”

“He never said a word to me about it,” Charles replied.

“What?” Trixie asked, startled.

“Listen,” Charles continued, “I’m student head of this dig, and I’m
telling you to get reassigned.”

Trixie was furious. Honey was perplexed. Both of them had heard
Professor Conroy say he’d spoken with Charles. But Charles was denying ever
having had such a conversation. One of them wasn’t telling the truth, and it
was probably Charles. But how to prove it? And what could be the reason for
Charles’s denial? Suddenly Trixie had an idea.

“All right,” Trixie said with a conciliatory smile. “Anything you say.
But we’re worried about Professor Conroy. How did he get knocked unconscious in
the middle of the night?”

“Unconscious?” Charles was visibly surprised. “He wasn’t knocked
unconscious. This morning he complained that he felt ill, something about
allergies. He went off to see the doctor. How do you know he was unconscious?”

“Because he told me so in the hospital this morning,” Trixie said,
carefully observing Charles’s facial expression. “The doctors think he might
have a concussion.”

Charles looked shocked, then mumbled something about having to check
into it later. He turned away from the girls, and began consulting a chart
showing geological features and elevations of the preserve.

The girls said a hurried good-bye and went off to look for Brian.

“He’s obviously lying,” Trixie mumbled. She swatted a fly that was
buzzing furiously around her face, and she couldn’t resist making a joke about
it. “You know, Honey, this forest is full of annoying insects. The
sixlegged
and
the two-legged kind, if you
know what I mean!”

Stomping back through the woods was difficult. The air was hot and
muggy, and it felt like rain. Both girls were feeling bad-tempered and
confused. When they finally located Brian, he wasn’t much help.

“I still don’t feel any differently about Charles Miller,” Brian told
his sister. “Charles is a very nice guy. I spent the morning with him in the
archive room at the Historical Society. I had a chance to watch him and talk
with him. There’s nothing strange about him, believe me.”

“What was in the archive room that Charles Miller needed to look at?”
Trixie asked sharply.

“Revolutionary War papers and books, for your information,” Brian
snapped back. But there was a small twinkle in his eye. “No maps,
Trix
, just diaries and letters and stuff like that.”

“He’s supposed to be interested in Indians, not the Revolutionary War,”
Trixie said in a sulky voice. “That’s history, not archaeology.”

“Not true,” Brian said, tousling her hair. “You think the Indians
disappeared the minute the settlers arrived? They ate Thanksgiving dinner and
then said good-bye forever?”

“No. I guess not,” Trixie conceded.

“There happens to have been a big overlap,” Brian continued. “A lot of
the letters and diaries written back then mention Indian customs, lore, and
stories. Is that so suspicious?”

“Maybe not,” Trixie said, but she refused to give up. “I’ll have to do
my own research. But I still say that Charles hit Professor Conroy on the head
last night. He was angry at him, wasn’t he?”

“Maybe he
was
angry at him,” Brian said, trying to be
patient. “But that doesn’t mean he hit him on the head. We’re civilized people,
not a bunch of monkeys who go around acting out our aggressions. Sometimes I
get angry at you, but I don’t go banging you on the head, do I?”

“Brian, I wish you would take me seriously,” Trixie said in an exasperated
voice. “I would never accuse someone if I didn’t feel I had good reason. You
know that.”

“This time I think you’re wrong.”

“We’ll see,” Trixie said. “If you thought about it, you’d know I was
right.”

Honey was surprised to see Brian and Trixie arguing like this. Usually
the two were quite close. But neither of them would give an inch. Finally
Trixie squared her shoulders and stomped off in a huff. Brian shrugged and went
back to work.

Honey hurried after Trixie. “What are you going to do?” she asked.

“You’ll soon see,” Trixie answered. “I’ve got a plan.”

Trixie pulled her bike from the bushes, and brushed a stray lock of hair
from her face. “I’m going to the archive room.”

“But why?” Honey asked.

“I want to see if I can find what Charles Miller was
really
looking for,” Trixie said. “He may have my poor brother snowed, but not me. I
bet he was looking for something specific—a map that shows where a treasure is
buried. The guard will let me in because I’m Brian’s sister.”

“Aren’t you going to change first?” Honey asked. She looked Trixie up
and down.

“No,” Trixie said wearily. “It’s so hot that by the time I get to town,
I’ll just be all rumpled up again. Are you coming with me?”

“Of course,” Honey answered. “I have to go into town anyway. Miss Trask
asked me to pick up a book for her at the library. I was supposed to get it on
my way home from the hospital today, but I completely forgot. While you’re in
the archives, I’ll stop at the library and get the book.”

The two girls pedaled along
Glen
Road
, trying to keep close to the shaded edge of
the road. The afternoon was uncomfortably hot. There was a gentle breeze, but
it didn’t do much to cool things off.

They finally reached the library, which was very near the Historical
Society. Both were among the oldest houses in Sleepyside. Surrounded by huge
oak trees, the buildings were cool even on the hottest days.

“Whoever gets finished first can come and get the other one,” Trixie
said as she and Honey parked their bikes near some shade trees.

“Will you be long?” Honey asked.

“Who knows?” Trixie answered grimly. “This could take hours.”

The two girls went their separate ways. Trixie headed up the front steps
of the beautifully restored Historical Society. Inside, she quickly found Jake
Hanson, the guard. He was delighted to take her down to the archive room.

“
Lotta
renewed interest in history these
days,” he said as they went down the wooden staircase to the locked basement
room. “Why, I think it’s terrific that young folks like yourself are willing to
take time to study these things.”

Trixie nodded as she followed the
stoopshouldered
,
frail little man. He’d been the guard at the Historical Society for as long as
she could remember. When she was little, she’d always thought Mr. Hanson lived
in these quiet, old rooms—just another antique like the rest of them.

“
Yessiree
,” he continued, opening the door for
her. “It’s important to know your history. Now, you let me know when you leave,
and I’ll lock up after you.”

Inside the archive room there were rows and rows of glassed-in
bookshelves and display cases. A small, square wooden table with two matching
chairs were in the center of the room. Lying open on the table was a small
leatherbound
book with a locking clasp.

Sliding into one of the chairs, Trixie pulled the book closer and took a
look. It appeared to be someone’s diary, and it was open to an entry dated
January 3, 1777. Trixie silently read the pale, spidery handwriting. It said:

Although I have worked with all zeal
to establish false proof of my regard for this infamous uprising, I have reason
to fear that I will soon be unmasked. The recent declaration, or resolve, by
the new illegal government gives me cause for fear. Aid and comfort given to
any person allied with the rightful King George will result in the pains and
penalties of death.

I intend to bury a sum of gold in a
certain cave known only to me. In this way, should I be taken, these
selfstyled
patriots shall not have my family’s fortune to
aid and abet their grievous war against our sovereign. Should I survive, I will
reclaim it. My only fear is that the privations of war will so change the
landscape that my cache will forever be hidden from me as well. So be it.

Trixie felt her breath catch in her throat. Whoever wrote this was
talking about buried treasure. And whoever had been reading this before she
came into the room was therefore looking for buried treasure. Trixie quickly
picked up the book and thumbed through the pages to see whose diary it was. As
she did, the diary flopped open to a yellowed page with a picture on it.
Bending down to get a better look, Trixie saw that it was a map.

“Holy cow!” Trixie whistled softly.

The crudely drawn map showed several roads, a forest, three hills, the
name “
Depew
,” and a large X next to something
that looked like a cave entrance.

“This is it!” Trixie gasped. “But I can’t take the book out of the
archives. Oh, no. What am I going to do?”

Trixie tried to memorize the map, but it was no use. She realized she’d
have to make a copy of it, but how? Desperately, she looked for a piece of
paper. But there were no pads or pencils in the little room. Quickly turning
the book over, she saw a name on the front:
Edward
Palmer.

Then she remembered who Edward Palmer was. She’d learned about him in
history class. He was a Tory spy who’d been hung on Gallows Hill, right near
Sleepyside, in 1777. Since the diary entry was dated January 3, 1777, Palmer
had probably been caught and hanged some time after that. It was impossible to
know if he had ever returned to the cave to get his gold. That meant the gold
might still be buried—and someone besides Trixie Belden knew about it, too!