The Indian Burial Ground Mystery (4 page)

“Trixie!” Honey called after her disappearing friend.

But Trixie didn’t hear. She raced back to the main area of the dig to
find her brother. Honey followed her as fast as she could.

After Trixie had spoken to Brian, he made it clear that she was being
much too suspicious.

“Charles Miller is a very nice, bright guy,” he said. “Your mind is so
full of crooks and mysteries that you seem to have lost the ability to see
anything else.”

“You like him because he cozied up to you, Brian,” Trixie wailed. “Can’t
you see he wants to use you to get into the Historical Society?”

“Why shouldn’t he want to get into the Historical Society?” Brian asked
in his most rational tone of voice. It was the tone that often annoyed Trixie.
“After all, he’s a scholar. That’s what scholars do—research in historical
societies.”

“Not to find out about archaeology and Indians, they don’t,” Trixie
huffed back at him. Her hands were placed squarely on her hips as she defiantly
faced her brother. “That’s where a person would look for a treasure map—just
like the one they were talking about!”

“Trixie,” Brian said, his voice carrying a slight warning, “please calm
down. I think you’re on the wrong track. If it turns out you’re right, though,
I’ll buy you a five-course dinner at the fanciest restaurant in town.” With
that, he turned back to his work. Honey, who had been listening to the whole
exchange, gently took hold of her friend’s elbow.

“Come on, Trixie,” she said. “It’s 5 o’clock. Let’s head back to the
house. Maybe we can get Miss Trask to fix us some lemonade.”

“I don’t care if he doesn’t believe me,” Trixie muttered hotly. “I’ll
investigate on my own!”

“Not on your own,” Honey said quietly. “Remember, I heard them, too.
I’ll help you. But in the meantime, let’s assume they were talking about the
buried treasure of archaeology, and a map of the dig site.”

“I doubt it,” Trixie said. “I really doubt it.” The girls walked back to
the main site, where they’d left their bicycles, then continued on to the Manor
House.

The next morning
,
Trixie was ten minutes late leaving the house for the hospital. The girls had
decided to ride their bikes to and from work each day, so Mrs. Belden wouldn’t
have to drive them. But Trixie missed Honey this morning, and had to ride her
bike to town alone. She didn’t catch up with her friend until 10 o’clock, when
they were already on their rounds.

“Honey,” she said in a loud whisper as they passed each other, “I have
to talk to you!”

Both Trixie and Honey were pushing book carts through the hall. Part of
their job as candy stripers was to bring the little “libraries on wheels” to
each patient. There were magazines, newspapers, and paperback books to choose
from.

“I can’t stop now,” Honey said softly. “Is it important?”

“Of course it’s important,” Trixie said. “But I suppose I can tell you
later.”

“I’ll meet you at 1 o’clock,” Honey said, beginning to push her cart
again. “I hope that’s okay. It’s just that there are so many floors in this
hospital.”

“I know,” Trixie replied with a smile. “I guess the patients are glad to
see us, because they all like to chat and then take hours to pick out a book.”

“Three patients asked me to get them things from the gift shop,” Honey
said. “I’ll be running around all morning!”

“Look,” Trixie said, “I’ll see you after we get off. It’s
important!”

The night before, as Trixie was falling asleep, she’d had a terrible
thought. Maybe whoever had been robbing the
Westchester
estates—the ones she’d read about in the newspaper—were planning to rob the
Manor

House, too. She was worried because Honey and Miss Trask were alone for
the next month. I Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler were away on a trip,
i
and Jim was off being a camp counselor.

It was true that Regan was still home, but he didn’t live in the main
house. He lived in an apartment over the garage, which was separated from the
main house by about fifty feet. Regan might not hear burglars if they came
snooping around late at night.

At 1 o’clock, the girls met on the front steps j of the hospital. As
they walked around to the bicycle rack at the side of the building, Trixie told
Honey about her fears.

“For one thing,” she was concluding, “there are strange people around
and one of them is Harry—and he has a truck. It’s a perfect set- • up, don’t
you see? We did overhear Charles Miller and Harry talking about a ‘treasure
trove.’ And you remember that Charles spent a lot of time examining the
valuables in your living room. It all adds up.”

“It does and it doesn’t,” Honey said reasonably. “I don’t think that
Charles Miller is a burglar—he’s a graduate student, after all. However, it’s
true that Miss Trask and I are alone in the house, and it’s also true that
people are being robbed. So I guess there is a
little
something
to worry about. Maybe I should mention that article you saw to Miss Trask. She
always manages to come up with a good solution.”

Honey and Trixie pedaled their bikes along
Glen Road
as fast as they could.
Splitting up at the Belden driveway, they agreed to meet on the dirt road in
fifteen minutes.

Trixie rode home, changed into shorts and a T-shirt, had a bologna
sandwich and a glass of milk, and climbed back on her bike. Pedaling as fast as
she could, she met Honey, and they quickly made their way to the dig site.

The students and Professor Conroy were just finishing their lunch break.
Professor Conroy, after carefully wiping his hands and his mouth, began another
of his mini-lectures before they all got back to work.

“I love this,” Trixie whispered to Honey as they sat down with the
group. “I bet this is just what college is like.”

“Now, before we begin in earnest,” Professor Conroy said, rubbing his
hands in anticipation, “I want to refresh your memories about how we dig. We
don’t, and I repeat
don’t,
dig—we scratch! A pick or a shovel is too heavy a tool to use. Mark off
a small section for yourself, and carefully scratch the ground away. You might
come across a delicate pottery shard, and you don’t want to break it. You also
don’t want to miss anything, so go slowly and carefully.

“If you find something, make a note of where you found it, and how deep
down it was before you continue. And don’t throw anything away. What looks like
a rock to you could easily be a tool of some sort, or a pipe head encrusted
with dirt. That will be the hard part for you, as it is for all of us. Trying
to decide what is junk, and what is a junk-encrusted find, is something that
torments all archaeologists.

“I thought I’d show you some pictures of standard pipe heads, so you’ll
see what the general shape is. The eastern tribes were the most frequent pipe
smokers, and they designed a number of different pipes. One of them, as you can
see here, has a flat, oblong base on which is set a round bowl. Because this
style of pipe resembles the Civil War battleship, it has come to be called a
monitor pipe. Other pipes have very tall bowls set at varying angles near the
end of long, flaring bases.

“A pipe has the general shape of the letter L. This shape is not
commonly found in nature. If you find something with this shape, check with the
student head of the dig before you throw it away. I’ve assigned that position
to Charles Miller.”

“Oh, no. Not him!” Trixie groaned as Professor Conroy gestured towards Charles.
Charles nodded his head and smiled.

“Now let’s get to work,” Professor Conroy concluded. “We all know what
we’re supposed to be doing, and where we’re supposed to be doing it. Good
digging—I mean, good scratching!”

Trixie and Honey trudged away from the beehive of activity at the burial
ground site. They followed the path leading east through the woods, away from
the busy meadow and the cheerful students, and finally found their section.
Gloomily, they surveyed the area. The trees were tall, and closely grown. A
thick mat of vines and briars made it difficult to walk around. Several large
fallen tree trunks crisscrossed what little clear space there was to be found.

“I still don’t get it,” Trixie mumbled. “What a dumb place to make a
village.”

“Maybe it wasn’t such an unlikely place five hundred years ago,” Honey
said. “We learned in geography that everything changes. What J was once a
meadow becomes a forest; what was once a lake becomes a meadow. Who
j
knows, maybe this used to
be a cozy little clearing.”

“Well, it certainly isn’t a cozy little clearing now,” Trixie muttered.
She sat down on a rock disconsolately. “What are we going to find | around here
anyway? Probably nothing but a few aluminum flip-tops from soda cans.”

“They didn’t have soda five hundred years ago.”

“Honey!” Trixie choked out after a burst of laughter. “You know what I
mean!”

The two girls were so busy giggling, they didn’t hear the sound of
approaching foot- j steps. As Trixie wiped tears of laughter from her eyes, she
saw that Charles Miller was f standing in front of her.

“What are you doing here?” he asked gruffly.

“W-we, uh, we’re working here,” Honey stammered.

“Well, I don’t want you working here,” Charles said, glancing around
nervously.

“Wait a minute!” Trixie snapped, her hot temper getting the better of
her. “Professor Conroy assigned us to work in this section, and this is where
we’re going to work.”

Honey glanced at her friend in amazement. Only a few minutes before,
Trixie had been complaining about this spot. Now she was defending her right to
stay here as if she loved it more than anything in the world.

“Well, I’m the head of this dig, and I say you can’t dig here,” Charles
told her. As he spoke, his face got red, and he rubbed his palms along the
sides of his shorts.

Why, he’s nervous,
Honey thought.

“We’ll just see about that,” Trixie retorted. “I’m going to check this
with Professor Conroy. C’mon, Honey.”

Charles became more upset, and started to follow Trixie. Then he stopped
in his tracks and called after her instead.

“I wouldn’t bother him if I were you. You high-school kids aren’t
serving any purpose on this dig. We don’t need you here at all.” Honey hurried
to catch up with Trixie. Reaching out her hand, she touched Trixie’s shoulders
softly.

“Slow down a minute and catch your breath,” Honey said. “You shouldn’t
go storming up to the professor. Try to calm down.” Trixie realized her friend
was right.

“In fact,” Honey continued, “he may even assign us to someplace better.
Sometimes these things work out for the best, you know.” Trixie took a deep
breath. “I know that, Honey, but Charles made me so mad. He really shouldn’t
talk to us that way.”

“No,” Honey agreed, “but for some reason he doesn’t want us working
there. Once Professor Conroy reassigns us, though, we’ll be with the other
students and we’ll make new friends. It’s the best thing that could have
happened.”

“Maybe,” Trixie said slowly. “But I’ve been thinking about it, and I’d
rather work at the village site than, well, on the actual burial ground. What
about the ghosts?”

“Trixie! You don’t believe in ghosts any more than I do.”

Trixie clapped her hand over her mouth. “Oh, rats!” she said, stomping
her foot. “I left my pick and my sifter back at the village site. I’ll be right
back.”

“But, Trixie...” Honey yelped.

“I’ll meet you back at the meadow,” Trixie called over her shoulder.
Then she set off running through the woods.

She was almost at the site, when she heard voices drifting through the
trees. Slowing to a crawl, Trixie walked as quietly as she could, trying to
catch a glimpse of who was talking— and trying to avoid being seen.

It was Charles Miller, and he was talking to Harry again.

“Make a date with that kid from the Historical Society,” Harry was
saying, his voice a low whine. “We gotta get that map, and we gotta get it in a
hurry.”

“I don’t see why—” Charles began, but Harry cut him off.

“Take it from me, kid,” Harry said, “we haven’t got much time. You wanna
fool around in the woods with a pail and shovel, be my guest, but—”

It was at this moment that Trixie, trying to creep closer in order to
hear better, tripped over a gnarled tree root. With a cry of dismay, she
sprawled flat on her face right in front of the two men.

“What the...” Harry snapped at the intrusion. “Who’s that?”

“A troublemaker, that’s who,” Charles said as he looked down at the
disheveled girl. “Didn’t I tell you to get lost?”

“I forgot my tools,” Trixie explained lamely. She could feel herself
blushing with embarrassment.

“Well, hurry up and get them, and then get out of here,” Charles said,
scowling at her.

Trixie scrambled to her feet and walked slowly across the tiny space
separating her and Charles. She had to climb over a fallen tree trunk to get to
the place where she’d left her tools. “Yes, sir. Your wish is my command.”

I sound just like Mart
, she thought as she quickly collected her things. Then, straightening
up, Trixie looked defiantly at Charles Miller.

“If I were you,” she said with a smug grin, “I’d try being a little
nicer to people. Nobody likes a grouch!”

“Why you...” Charles started.

“Hey, do you think she was listening?” Harry snapped, his eyes narrowing
as he watched her.

“I doubt it,” Charles answered. But he looked a little worried. “It
doesn’t matter, anyway. For one thing, she’s just a high-school kid.

And for another, I’m going to see to it that she gets thrown off this
dig.”

Squaring her shoulders and holding her head high, Trixie slowly marched
away from the two men.

“We’ll see about that,” she muttered under her breath. “And wait until I
tell Brian and Mart what I just heard. You guys won’t get
near
the
Historical Society if I have anything to say about it.”

Filled with determination, Trixie hurried through the woods to find
Honey—and Professor Conroy.