The Indian Burial Ground Mystery
Page 1
The TRIXIE BELDEN Series
1 The Secret of the Mansion
2 The Red Trailer Mystery
3 The Gatehouse Mystery
4 The Mysterious Visitor
5 The Mystery Off Glen Road
6 The Mystery in Arizona
7 The Mysterious Code
8 The Black Jacket Mystery
9 The Happy Valley Mystery
10 The Marshland Mystery
11 The Mystery at Bob-White Cave
12 The Mystery of the Blinking Eye
13 The Mystery on Cobbett’s Island
14 The Mystery of the Emeralds
15 The Mystery on the Mississippi
16 The Mystery of the Missing Heiress
17 The Mystery of the Uninvited Guest
18 The Mystery of the Phantom Grasshopper
19 The Secret of the Unseen Treasure
20 The Mystery Off Old Telegraph Road
21 The Mystery of the Castaway Children
22 The Mystery at Mead’s Mountain
23 The Mystery of the Queen’s Necklace
24 The Mystery at Saratoga
25 The Sasquatch Mystery
26 The Mystery of the Headless Horseman
27 The Mystery of the Ghostly Galleon
28 The Hudson River Mystery
29 The Mystery of the Velvet Gown
30 The Mystery of the Midnight Marauder
31 The Mystery at Maypenny’s
32 The Mystery of the Whispering Witch
33 The Mystery of the Vanishing Victim
34 The Mystery of the Missing Millionaire
35 The Mystery of the Memorial Day Fire
36 The Mystery of the Antique Doll
37 The Pet Show Mystery
38 The Indian Burial Ground Mystery
Copyright © 1985 by Western Publishing Company, Inc.
All rights reserved. Printed in the U.S.A. No part of this book may be reproduced or copied in any form without written permission from the publisher. GOLDEN®, GOLDEN & DESIGN®', A GOLDEN BOOK®, and TRIXIE BELDEN® are trademarks of Western Publishing Company, Inc. Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 84-82558
ISBN 0-307-21561 -X/ ISBN 0-307-61561-8 (lib. bdg.)
All names, characters, and events in this story are entirely fictitious.
Contents
1 * The Archaeologist
2 * A Change of Plans
3 * The Dig
4 * Suspicions
5 * Treasure Talk
6 * A Mysterious Accident
7 * The Stolen Clue
8 * More Information
9 * The Ghost
10 * In the Cave
11 * Trapped!
12 * A Surprise Suspect
13 * Trixie’s Scheme
14 * The Real Treasure
1 * The Archaeologist
“Well,” Trixie sighed gloomily, “I guess I won’t have to worry about my summer job. I just know I flunked the math final, so I’ll probably be in summer school.”
“Trixie Belden!” snapped her dearest friend Honey Wheeler with mock irritation. “If you tell me you failed the math final one more time, I’m not going to talk to you until we get our grades. You know perfectly well you never fail anything.”
“There’s always a first time,” the sandy-haired, fourteen-year-old said mournfully as they walked up the driveway to Crabapple Farm, where the Belden family lived.
There were only a few more days of school left, and the two girls had been trying to line up summer jobs. It was going to be easy, though. In past summers, Trixie and Honey had volunteered as candy stripers at Sleepy-side Hospital, and they expected to work there again this year.
“What do you think Mart and Brian will do this summer?” asked Honey, trying to get off the subject of the math final as tactfully as possible.
“They’re looking for part-time jobs,” Trixie replied.
Mart and Brian Belden were Trixie’s older brothers. Brian, the oldest of the Belden children, was a junior at Sleepyside Junior-Senior High School. He was serious and hard-working, and he planned to go to medical school after college. Mart was Trixie’s “almost twin.” He was only eleven months older than Trixie, and he loved to tease her. Bobby was the baby of the family.
The blond-haired six-year-old came running down the driveway to meet the girls. His cheeks were rosy from the heat, and his eyes were glistening.
“What took you so long?” he gasped. “Moms says that you and Honey have to go straight over to the Manor House. I’m going to make my own garden. Reddy and me started working already.” Reddy was the family’s Irish setter.
“Why should we go to the Manor House?” Honey asked, bending to plant a kiss on Bobby’s damp, curly hair. “Is there a problem?”
“I don’t know,” Bobby chortled. He spun around in the driveway and began a little hopping dance. “Reddy and me dug a big hole today. Moms says I can grow my own garden because Reddy cleared away the vines for me. You wanna help?”
“Of course,” Honey said with a smile.
“But first,” Trixie interrupted, “we’d better get over to the Manor House and see what Miss Trask wants. Wait for me while I drop off my books, Honey. I’ll be back in a flash.”
Trim, middle-aged Miss Trask had been a math teacher at Honey’s boarding school until the Wheelers bought the Manor House in Sleepyside-on-the-Hudson. They’d hired Miss Trask to be Honey’s governess. When Honey got too old to need a governess, Miss Trask became the manager of the Wheeler estate. Since the Wheelers traveled frequently, the arrangement worked out perfectly. She was cheerful and efficient—and Honey adored her.
Trixie dashed up the driveway of Crabapple Farm, past the row of crabapple trees and the fenced-in garden. The two-story, white farmhouse nestled comfortably in a wooded hollow. Hurrying up the porch steps, she dropped her books on the glider, then turned to run back.
“Trixie?” a melodic voice called from inside. “Is that you?”
“Yes, Moms,” Trixie answered.
“Did Bobby give you the message?”
“Yes, he did. I’m on my way.”
“Don’t stay long. I need your help in the kitchen tonight.”
“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” Trixie called over her shoulder. Then she launched herself off the porch and started back. Honey and Bobby were scratching letters in the dirt when she came up to them. By now, Trixie was panting and red-faced. Sighing at how cool and collected Honey looked with her shoulder-length, blonde hair and her crisp blouse and skirt, Trixie ran her fingers through her short, untameable curls. But it wasn’t much use.
“You were probably born neat,” she groaned as Honey straightened up. “You never, ever look messy the way I do.”
“First of all, you don’t look messy. And second of all, I didn’t just run up and down the driveway in this heat,” Honey answered with a laugh. “Ready?”
“Willing and able,” Trixie replied. “See you later, Bobby.”
“I wonder what’s going on?” Trixie asked as the two girls quickly walked along Glen Road and up the long, winding driveway to the Manor House.
“I don’t know,” Honey answered as the elegant mansion came into view, “but it looks as if someone is visiting.”
Trixie and Honey glanced at the unfamiliar station wagon parked in the circular driveway, and then bounded across the veranda into the spacious front hall. There were voices coming from the living room.
“Come on in, girls,” came the booming voice of Mr. Wheeler. “I’d like you to meet someone.”
Trixie and Honey slowed down to a sedate walk, and entered the huge, luxurious living room. Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler were seated on the so
fa facing a stocky, balding man wearing a tweed jacket. A friendly smile creased his face when he saw the girls.
“Victor,” Mr. Wheeler said proudly, “this is my daughter Honey and her best friend Trixie Belden. Honey and Trixie, meet Professor Conroy.”
“How do you do?” Honey murmured, nodding politely.
“And I want you also to meet my assistant, Charles Miller,” Professor Conroy said. His voice was high-pitched and his accent British. He gestured toward the French windows.
Trixie and Honey turned to see a tall, gangly young man who looked about twenty years old standing stiffly at the side of the room. Although nice-looking, with even features and shaggy, brown hair, the young man didn’t smile. Nodding glumly at the girls, he immediately turned his attention back to the painting hanging on the wall.
“Is that a Renoir?” he asked pointedly.
“It certainly is,” answered Mr. Wheeler. “It’s small, but I like it, don’t you?”
“Lovely,” Charles murmured. One corner of his mouth lifted as if he were about to smile, but when he caught Trixie looking at him, he quickly turned back to the gemlike work of art.
“Pleased to meet you,” Trixie said sarcastically, after throwing a sharp glance at Honey. But Honey didn’t seem to be paying attention. Trixie turned to the adults seated in the center of the room.
“Professor Conroy is an archaeologist who will be spending the summer here on the game preserve,” Mrs. Wheeler was saying. “He’s bringing a group of first-year graduate students for a real archaeological dig.” Trixie’s eyes lit up.
“Really?” gasped Honey. “That’s fantastic!”
“I think so, too,” replied Professor Conroy. “Your parents have kindly consented to allow me to search for artifacts left by the Algonquin and Iroquois tribes.”
“Here?” Trixie interrupted. “I didn’t know there were Indians here.”
“There were Indians all over this area,” Professor Conroy said. “But I’m sure you already learned that in school.”
Trixie blushed furiously as she remembered that she had, indeed, studied the Indians who had lived in the Hudson Valley. But somehow the notion that all Indians lived only in the wild West had persisted. She glanced behind her at Charles Miller, hoping he hadn’t noticed her foolish remark. But he wasn’t even listening to the conversation. Prowling restlessly around the beautifully decorated room, he appeared to be examining everything with great care.
“As a matter of fact,” Professor Conroy continued, “I have reason to believe that there is an important Algonquin burial ground right here on the estate. Thanks to the Wheelers, my students and I will be able to study the tribal movements of the east coast Indians on this dig.”
“How can you study tribal movements from a burial ground?” Trixie asked, puzzled. “I mean, all the Indians are dead.”
Professor Conroy burst out laughing, and Trixie blushed. Oh, woe. How could I have asked such a silly question? she thought in anguish. But before she could get even more embarrassed, Professor Conroy explained.
“That’s a good question, young lady,” he said. “You see, each tribe had specific ways of decorating its belongings. For example, clothing, pottery, knife blades, beadwork, basketry, and pipe heads had special designs etched or worked in as decoration, or to give the things religious significance. When a member of the tribe died, his belongings were usually buried with him.”
“This is the part I don’t understand,” Mrs. Wheeler put in. “What do decorations tell about movements?”
“Elementary, my dear Mrs. Wheeler. The tribes moved around from season to season, and they followed herds of animals, as well. As they traveled, they met other tribes. They traded goods or gave gifts. I can tell the difference between a Virginia Iroquois tribe’s pipe head and an Ohio Valley pipe head.”
“That means,” Trixie burst out, unable to control herself any longer, “it’s kind of like detective work!”
“Exactly,” Professor Conroy said, looking very pleased with her. “That’s just what I tell my students.”
“So you can figure out who those Indians were visiting,” Trixie continued, “and who was visiting them.”
“You are a very smart young lady,” Professor Conroy said with an appraising look.
“She certainly is,” Mr. Wheeler agreed. “One of the smartest young ladies in town. Both these girls are good students and excellent members of the community.”
“Oh, Professor Conroy,” Trixie bubbled enthusiastically, “I don’t mean to be pushy, but can high-school students work on your dig, too? We have the summer off, and it would be the most fantastic experience. I just love mysteries and detective work.”
Trixie suddenly stopped, and her hand flew up to her mouth in dismay. She’d done it again—started talking too soon, trying to get in on something she shouldn’t have. She didn’t even know Professor Conroy, and she didn’t know a thing about archaeology.
“Actually,” Professor Conroy said with a kind smile as he turned toward the Wheelers, “I was intending to ask if you knew any young people who might like to help out on the dig. There’s a lot of tedious work that needs to be done. It doesn’t necessarily require any experience or knowledge—just enthusiasm and a strong back.”
On hearing these words, Charles Miller suddenly spun around with a look of shock on his face. His mouth opened and closed quickly. A deep frown furrowed his brow. Before he could say a word, Mr. Wheeler had started to speak.
“I’m quite sure both these girls would be delighted to help. As a matter of fact, I think all the Bob-Whites would want to pitch in. It’s a wonderful idea for a summer job.”
“There would be no pay, of course,” Professor Conroy said, coughing gruffly. “But the work would have marvelous educational value.”
“Oh, gleeps,” Trixie and Honey said in unison, clasping their hands with excitement. “I can’t wait to tell the others!” Trixie added.
Professor Conroy pulled himself up from his chair with a pleased smile on his face.
“You do that. I certainly hope they’re all as nice and smart as you two are. Now, Charles, I think we must be going. We’ve taken up quite enough of the Wheelers’ time for today.”
Trixie’s eyes narrowed slightly as she watched the young man’s shoulders droop. He threw one last look around the magnificent living room, and for a moment, Trixie thought she saw a look of desperate longing cross his face. But it disappeared, and was instantly replaced by the same scowl he was wearing before. Glumly, he followed Mrs. Wheeler and Professor Conroy out into the hall.
Honey dashed over to the couch and threw herself down next to her father. While she excitedly thanked him for suggesting that the Bob-Whites work on the dig, Trixie watched the two men depart.
Then Trixie heard a low hiss.
“How could you ask a bunch of dumb high-school kids to join us?” Charles Miller was saying as the front door was opened.
Trixie strained to hear what Professor Conroy answered, but the door banged shut behind him. All she could hear was some harsh mumbling. Professor Conroy sounded very annoyed.
Moving quickly, Trixie crossed the room to the French windows, hoping to catch a glimpse of the men. Luckily, the windows were open onto the veranda, and she was able to pick up their faint voices.
“Try and behave in a civilized way, you young pup,” Professor Conroy snapped as they went down the steps. “Getting this burial ground is a stroke of good fortune for me, in more ways than one. I can’t afford to have you mess up my carefully laid plans.”
Charles’s shoulders slumped even further as he walked swiftly to the car. Trixie smiled happily.
Talk about stuck-up, she thought as she watched the car drive away. At least Professor Conroy knows a smart person when he sees one. Charles Miller will have to get used to the idea that just because he’s in college, it doesn’t mean he knows everything!
Turning away from the window with a satisfied look on her face, Trixie walked toward the
front door.
“Won’t you stay for dinner, Trixie?” Mrs. Wheeler asked.
“I think I’d better start home,” Trixie replied. “Moms wants me to help her out tonight.”
“Come for dinner tomorrow, then,” said Mr. Wheeler. “You know we always like to see you.”
“Yes,” Trixie answered, waving good-bye, “that would be nice.”
She skipped down the veranda steps thinking what a wonderful summer it was going to be. An archaeological dig! Wait till I tell Mart! she thought happily. Then a slight frown flickered across her face as she thought about Charles Miller. He certainly seemed unpleasant, but Trixie didn’t care. She wasn’t going to let a grouch like him interfere with an exciting summer like this one!
2 * A Change of Plans
“Moms!” Trixie wailed as she threw herself full-length on the comfortably worn sofa in the Belden living room. “I can’t believe you won’t let me work on the dig with Professor Conroy. I just can’t believe it.”
“I never said you couldn’t, Miss Smarty-Pants,” Mrs. Belden said with a wry smile as she watched her daughter’s theatrical misery. Helen Belden had heard nothing but “dig, dig, dig” for the last four days. Even Bobby Belden had been forced to listen to Trixie’s tales about how “wonderful” the dig was going to be. “I only said that you can’t let them down at the hospital. You know they depend on their volunteers each year. I would be most distressed if a daughter of mine went back on her word.”
“But, Mother,” Trixie moaned, “I can’t miss the dig. Brian and Mart will be there, since they’ll be working only mornings at the Historical Society. And Honey’s parents said she could join in, too.”
“Well, perhaps you can work something out, Beatrix,” Mrs. Belden answered. “But until you’ve spoken to Mrs. Beales at the hospital, I don’t think you should make any plans.”
Despite the fact that her mother had called her Beatrix—her real name, which she hated —Trixie brightened at the thought that it might be possible to arrange something. She’d do anything to work on the dig with Professor Conroy! Springing into action, she flung herself off the couch and ran for the telephone to call Mrs. Beales. Mart, who was lounging in an armchair and lazily scratching the top of Reddy’s head, watched her scramble out of the room. The Irish setter’s tongue lolled out happily with pleasure.