Revenge of Superstition Mountain

by Elise Broach

  Simon slowed down and dropped one leg to the ground, peering through the bushes.

  “Do you think they saw us?” Delilah asked him.

  “I hope not,” Simon said grimly. “And I hope Sara won’t tell them we were there.”

  “I don’t think she will,” Henry said after a minute. “Or if she does, I don’t think they’ll take it seriously. She seems so confused.”

  Delilah was silent. Finally, she said, “She’s not confused about the way people talk after someone dies. She knows exactly what they say.”

  “Yeah,” Jack said. “She’s always saying stuff about dead people!”

  Henry shuddered. “Maybe the mountain made her like that.”

  “No, it didn’t, Hen,” Simon corrected him. “You heard Emmett. He said she was always strange.”

  “Well, she told us something important about tonight,” Delilah interrupted them. “It sounds like the librarian and Officer Myers are coming here to help Mr. Delgado dig up Julia Thomas’s grave! What if they find the gold from under Jacob Waltz’s bed? The deathbed ore?”

  Simon frowned. “Before we do? We can’t let them.”

  “Simon,” Henry said, “we can’t do anything to stop them. They’re at the house right now, or at least Mr. Delgado is. If he catches us messing around in the cemetery, who knows what he’ll do to us. And he’ll definitely figure out what we’re up to.”

  “Yeah,” Simon said in disappointment. “You’re right. But we can’t let them take the gold! Not after all our hard work. If we can’t get the gold from the Lost Dutchman’s Mine, at least we have to find the deathbed ore. We’re coming to the cemetery tonight.”

  “Yeah!” Jack yelled. “We can watch them dig up the grave!”

  Delilah hung back, her hands gripping the handlebars of her bicycle. “I don’t think that’s right, digging up graves,” she said, lips pursed. “What if the gold’s not even there? Somebody might be buried in that grave.”

  “I guess we’ll find out tonight,” Henry said soberly. He glanced through the black iron fence at the stark rows of tombstones quietly staring back at them. If the cemetery felt spooky during the day, how was it going to feel at night … with a bunch of grave robbers in it?

  Lost in their private thoughts, they continued the hot ride home, across the rough desert, with the dark bluffs of Superstition Mountain rising in the distance.

  * * *

  After a hurried dinner, the boys were all back on their bikes, riding to Delilah’s and then the cemetery. It was a little after seven o’clock and the sky was streaked with pink as the sun slid to the horizon. The desert looked strange at night, Henry thought; a lunar landscape of boulders and spires, with even the ordinary suburban houses rising from the dust like bastions of some alien civilization. He thought of one of his favorite books, A Wrinkle in Time, which took place on another planet.

  Josie was in the front yard as the boys left, stalking something in the grass. The commotion of the bikes broke her concentration, and she stared at them in disgust, her amber eyes glowing in the fading light. Henry saw her start to follow them, darting after Jack’s bike. But then she disappeared into the bramble of the desert, the white splotch on her neck flashing in the darkness.

  “What if Sara Delgado just made all that up, and they’re not coming tonight?” Delilah asked. Though the light was dusky, Henry could see the worried expression on her face.

  “I brought the map,” Henry told her, patting his front pocket. “If they don’t show up, we can look for Uncle Hank’s grave plot.”

  “In the dark?” Delilah sounded skeptical.

  “Sure!” Simon called. “I have a flashlight.”

  “We’re going to need it,” Jack said. “It will be spooky dark there.”

  “Okay, quiet,” Simon said. “That’s the cemetery ahead. We can hide our bikes in the bushes on the side.”

  Henry thought the gravel made an inordinate amount of noise as they pedaled toward the wrought-iron fence. Simon led the way off the road and over the sandy ground, toward the bushes. Quickly, they stashed their bicycles behind the shrubbery, then snuck along the fence to the front gates.

  “Uh-oh,” Jack whispered. “They’re locked.”

  “Locked?” Simon repeated in surprise.

  “Now what do we do?” Delilah asked. “They probably lock the gates at sunset.”

  Again, Henry noticed how much she seemed to know about this sort of thing, and he felt a stab of sadness for all the things she must have had to learn after her father died.

  “Okay, we’ll have to try to climb the fence,” Simon said. “In the back, where nobody can see us. Follow me.”

  He raced along the side of the fence, his sneakers crunching over the pebbly desert. The sun had almost vanished now, and the violet dusk was darkening all around them. “We’ll go to that area where the old graves are. So we can climb over the fence right where we want to be.”

  “I don’t know,” Henry said softly, scanning the wrought-iron posts. “It’s pretty high. How are we going to climb it?”

  “We’ll use the bushes, and my shirt if we have to,” Simon said, unperturbed.

  When they got to the back corner of the cemetery where the older graves were clustered, Simon boldly clambered over the bushes and reached for a finial in the evenly spaced row that bordered the top of the fence. He was able to grab one and haul himself upward, pressing the soles of his sneakers against the vertical rungs of the fence. When he got to the top, he straddled the thick bar that ran along the top.

  “Wow, I can see everything from up here,” he told them. “The lights are on in the house, and that brown car is in the driveway … next to a police car!”

  “Officer Myers,” Delilah said.

  “Yeah, I bet. But nobody’s in the cemetery.” Simon adjusted his position. “Oww,” he said, under his breath. “Here, Delilah, give me your hand. I’ll help you.”

  Delilah climbed over the bushes and gamely extended her arm. Simon grasped her wrist with one hand and her elbow with the other, then yanked her upward. “Whoa…” Delilah cried, as they both toppled over the spiky top of the fence and half climbed, half fell, in a muddle of arms and legs on the other side.

  “Oops,” Simon said, and they both started laughing. “We’re in!”

  “Shhhhh!” Henry hushed them. “We have to be quiet.” He watched them resentfully. How was he going to get over the fence now that Simon was on the other side? Was he going to have to help Jack? Or worse yet, ask Jack for help, which would be embarrassing in front of Delilah? And why hadn’t he gone first and helped Delilah over the fence? He sighed, thinking that Simon always seemed to be in the right place at the right time.

  “Okay, now you, Hen.”

  “No, I want to go next!” Jack cried, barreling over the shrubs and throwing himself against the fence. He couldn’t reach the finials, but by grabbing the rungs, he managed to pull himself up to the top, where he threw a leg over.

  “Wait, Jack,” Henry said desperately. “If you pull me up, I can hold on to you as you go down the other side, so you don’t fall.”

  “Okay,” Jack agreed, reaching down for Henry’s hand. The branches of the bushes were trampled and broken now from the weight of three trespassers. Henry couldn’t get nearly high enough to grab the top of the fence, but with Jack’s help, he managed to haul himself up and straddle the top bar. Then he held Jack’s hand as Jack descended into the cemetery.

  “Can you get down by yourself?” Delilah asked, standing below him.

  “Sure,” Henry said, brushing her off, though he didn’t feel at all sure. He glanced around from his high vantage point, the cold metal bar gripped between his legs. The tombstones unfolded in their silent, orderly rows beneath him. The night was turning blue, and a glowing half moon lit the field of graves. Henry gazed toward the caretaker’s cottage. He saw the brown sedan and the police car, its town logo shining officially. As he watched, the door to the house swung open, and a long rectang
le of light filled the small yard. A large, shadowy figure blocked the doorway, and Henry could hear the distant murmur of voices.

  “Wait,” Henry whispered. “They’re coming out of the house.”

  “What are they doing?” Simon asked.

  Henry squinted at the dark shapes in the distance. Someone reached for something—a long, awkward object that was leaning against the house.

  “They’ve got a shovel,” Henry said.

  “Can you see who it is?” Simon asked.

  Henry could only see the three blurry silhouettes, but one was smaller and more slender. “It looks like Mr. Delgado, Officer Myers, and Mrs. Thomas,” he said. And then, “Uh-oh. Here they come!”

  CHAPTER 18

  CONFESSIONS

  THE THREE FIGURES were moving toward the front gate of the cemetery. Swiftly, Henry swung his other leg over the top bar of the fence, nearly slicing it open on one of the finials. He perched, off balance, then jumped. He was so worried about being seen by the band of grave robbers that he didn’t even think of the long drop to the ground. For a strange, elongated second, he was sailing through the darkening night air, a mosaic of white crosses and headstones mapped out before him. Then he landed on both feet, hard, and tumbled forward on his knees, almost banging his head on a tombstone.

  “Hey, good jump,” Delilah said, helping him up. Despite his thudding heart, Henry was glad she’d noticed.

  “Quick, Hen,” Simon whispered. “Get out the map and let’s figure out where Julia Thomas’s grave is.”

  Henry took the map from his front shorts pocket and spread it flat against his thigh.

  “It’s too dark. Turn on the flashlight,” Jack said, trying to grab it from Simon.

  “Shhh,” Simon hushed him. “We can’t. They’ll see the light.”

  Delilah knelt on the ground and peered at the map. “We’re near this path,” she said, tapping the paper with her forefinger. “The one that winds along the back wall. And that’s the old section of graves—over there.” She stood and pointed. “We have to go this way.”

  She struck off toward a narrow gravel path, and the boys followed her. “I hope you’re right,” Simon said. “Because we don’t have time to mess around.”

  Henry stepped softly on the crushed stones, trying not to make a sound. On either side of the path, the tombstones rose in their straight lines, the names of the dead appearing and disappearing in the night, like faint whispers as they walked past.

  “Hurry! They’re at the gate,” Simon said, and in the distance, Henry heard the clank and creak of metal and the low murmur of voices.

  “Here!” Delilah whispered urgently. “I found it.”

  She was a dozen yards ahead, in the section of the graveyard where the tombstones were dark and tilted and the grass grew in renegade clumps. In front of her was the brown tilted tombstone with JULIA ELENA THOMAS in block letters across the top. Henry shivered in recognition. What lay beneath it in the hard earth? Was it the deathbed ore of Jacob Waltz?

  Then he froze. Through the black air, he heard a man’s voice.

  “It’s over in that far corner. Follow me.”

  Whipping around, Henry could just make out the bulky shape of Richard Delgado leading Officer Myers and Julia Thomas down the path, toward the corner of the cemetery where they were crouching. Mr. Delgado carried a shovel, and it looked like Officer Myers was toting a long pole of some sort. In the faint gleam of moonlight, his police badge flashed silver.

  “We have to hide!” Simon whispered. He spun, looking in every direction. “These old tombstones are too small. Look—over there!”

  He pointed to a massive granite monument about thirty yards away, raised off the ground on a large rectangular slab. Two ornate sculpted urns flanked it.

  “We won’t be able to see what they’re doing from way over there,” Jack protested.

  “Shhhh!” Henry grabbed his arm. “Come on, Jack. There’s no time.”

  They scrambled off the path into the grass and raced over the graves to the monument. Delilah ran lightly after them, and Simon followed. They squeezed against each other behind the headstone and waited.

  Henry pressed his sweaty palms against the cold stone, his breath tight in his lungs. Delilah’s shoulder was under his chin and Jack’s elbow pressed into his side. The three dark shapes advanced down the path, the large shovel swinging loosely in Mr. Delgado’s hand.

  “This is a waste of time.” Julia Thomas’s crisp voice floated toward them. “The real gold is in the gold mine. We should be working on a plan to get that … before those kids go back and take it.”

  “They won’t go up the mountain again,” Officer Myers replied confidently. “The avalanche scared them. And”—Henry thought his voice sounded conciliatory—“you’ve done a good job, with that message you wrote in the dirt and the one you put in the girl’s bike basket. I don’t think we have to worry about them going after the gold. They think it’s buried by that rock slide forever.”

  Henry turned to the others and saw their outraged expressions. “They’re confessing to everything,” Simon hissed. “I wish we had a tape recorder.” Delilah nodded in grim agreement.

  “Hey! They wrote the words in the dirt,” Jack whispered, and he clenched his fist against Henry’s leg.

  “Shhhh, Jack, quiet,” Simon warned, his words barely audible.

  “Your gunshots didn’t scare them off,” the librarian retorted. They were passing the monument now, approaching the section of old tombstones.

  “They tried to KILL you!” Jack whispered to Henry, outraged.

  “Down,” Simon said softly, and Henry, Jack, and Delilah crouched even lower, in a jumble of knees and elbows.

  Mrs. Thomas’s sharp voice carried through the thin night air. “And if bullets don’t, I can’t think what would. They’re obsessed with the history of this place.”

  “Huh,” Mr. Delgado snorted. “That’s pretty funny coming from you, Julia. You’ve turned yourself into a copy of a woman who lived a hundred years ago, right down to her name and her handwriting.”

  Henry turned to Delilah in astonishment. Was this it? Would they finally learn the explanation for the strange resemblance between the librarian Julia Thomas and her namesake?

  Mrs. Thomas brushed him aside. “She was my great-great-aunt! Of course there are family similarities. And Thomas was my middle name already. It wasn’t difficult to change that to my last name legally.”

  Behind the monument, the ripple of surprise was palpable. But in their desperation to keep silent, the boys and Delilah could only stare at each other with widened eyes. Unable to contain herself, Delilah leaned close to Henry’s ear and breathed, “No wonder they look so much alike!”

  “Julia,” Officer Myers was saying, “he’s right. You live in the past.”

  “My knowledge of the past is what’s gotten us this far,” she snapped. “And it’s going to get us the gold. If those kids don’t get it first.”

  Henry peered around the edge of the monument and saw that the librarian and the two men were in the older section of the graveyard now, among the crooked, discolored tombstones, bending over the graves.

  “I don’t understand how they’ve been able to figure out so much, though,” Mrs. Thomas continued. “There must have been something at Hank Cormody’s place that pointed them to the gold mine. I knew we weren’t thorough enough. We should have searched that desk more carefully.”

  Henry, Simon, and Jack looked at each other in indignation. They’d broken into Uncle Hank’s house! And searched it! When Henry thought of them poking around among Uncle Hank’s private things, it made his skin crawl.

  “No,” Officer Myers said sharply. “It would have been too risky. And if anyone besides those kids starts to suspect what we’ve been up to, you know what it means. We’ll all have to leave Superstition for good. We’ve broken a half-dozen laws already, and we’re just lucky I’ve been able to keep the rest of the police department off our tail.”


  Through the darkness, Henry thought he saw Mrs. Thomas shrug. “If we find the gold, we’ll all be leaving Superstition for good anyway. That’s always been the plan.”

  “Hold on,” Mr. Delgado interrupted. “This is it.”

  Shifting positions, Henry and Simon slowly lifted their heads to spy over the top of the monument.

  The three grown-ups were clustered around the tombstone of Julia Elena Thomas. Henry could see that Mr. Delgado was pacing the perimeter of the grave, then pausing to stamp the ground with his boot. “Pass me the pole, Dave, and I’ll see where the coffin is located.”

  “It had better not be a coffin or we’ll be digging up Julia’s great-great-aunt,” Officer Myers said.

  “Nonsense,” the librarian replied. “My aunt is buried in Phoenix.”

  “Well, not coffin, then … treasure chest!” Mr. Delgado took the pole and repeatedly thrust it into the ground.

  Finally, he said, “Here it is! I can feel something. We should dig here.”

  Officer Myers grabbed the shovel and positioned the blade, pressing it into the ground with his heel. He began lifting shovelfuls of dirt and dumping them to the side in a growing pile, grunting with the effort.

  Delilah unfolded herself, half standing next to Henry, her braid brushing his cheek. “What do you think it is?” she whispered.

  “I hope not the gold!” Henry said fervently. “Or a dead body…”

  “Did you hear something?” Mrs. Thomas’s voice sliced through the air.

  The children immediately ducked to the ground behind the monument and froze. Simon pressed his finger to his lips and shook his head almost imperceptibly at the others.

  “No,” Officer Myers replied. “You always think you’re hearing something.”