The Indian Burial Ground Mystery

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