The Indian Burial Ground Mystery

overheated,” he warned as they rode out of the
stable. “And make sure you bring them back soon, and groom them, and put away
the tack. And be careful.”
    “We will,” Honey called as she and Trixie trotted off down the driveway.
Bill Regan took his job seriously. He had been known to get upset with them if
they did anything careless or unsafe while riding.
    “We’ll see you later!” Trixie called over her shoulder. “And don’t worry
about us. We’re always very careful.”
    The two girls broke into a canter and disappeared down one of the smooth
trails through the woods.



8 * More Information
     
    The shaded path that
Susie and Lady followed soon emerged onto the shoulder of Glen Road . After checking for traffic in
both directions, the girls guided their horses across the road and headed onto
a new path. They followed it for a while, and then picked up another of the
many paths that threaded through the preserve. This one led past the dig site,
but the girls didn’t mind.
    “It’s late,” Trixie said, “and Charles has probably left for the city by
now. Why don’t we swing past the village site and see if we can find anything
there that looks like what was on the map.”
    Soon the horses broke through into the bug-infested part of the woods
where the village site was located. No one was there, and Trixie slowly slid
off Lady and started walking around. Suddenly she stopped.
    The little clearing sloped gradually up a slight rise. Trixie was
standing near a large fallen tree. A few feet in front of her, a huge hole had
been dug out of the hummock, and piles of fresh dirt were scattered all around
the hole.
    “Wow,” Honey said with a whistle as she came up behind Trixie to survey
the rubble. “Somebody was pretty busy here this afternoon.”
    “He certainly was,” Trixie agreed. “And it doesn’t look as if he was
using proper archaeological methods, either.”
    “Whoever did this used a shovel and a pick,” Honey agreed. “It would
take a year to get this much dirt out using that little scratching tool
Professor Conroy gave us.”
    “No kidding,” Trixie said. “No sifting or anything! You can bet that
whoever dug this hole wasn’t looking for any Indian artifacts. He was looking
for something else!”
    “Unless, of course, he wasn’t an archaeologist,” Honey said with a wry
smile.
    “Oh, I think an archaeologist dug this hole,” Trixie muttered. “And
there’s only one archaeologist I can think of who would bother.”
    “Right. The archaeologist who thinks he found a treasure map in the
Historical Society archive room!”
    “He may have the treasure map,” Trixie said, grinning, “but by the looks
of this hole, I don’t think he found the treasure yet. Do you?”
    “Nope.”
    “This is probably the wrong place,” Trixie said with a laugh as she got
back on her horse. “Well, I hope he enjoys digging holes.” Honey laughed too.
“And it looks like he’s got an awful lot of digging ahead of him!” They rode
away from the village site. The day had cooled down, so they decided to keep
the horses out for a while longer before returning to the stables. They chose a
path through a blackberry thicket. Stopping briefly, they pulled some ripe
berries off the bushes and popped them into their mouths. Trixie decided they
should return in a few days and pick the rest before the birds got to them. She
knew her mother would use them to make her special blackberry jam.
    They rode on until they reached the edge of Mrs. Vanderpoel’s property, then they turned back. Going past the old orchard, Trixie pulled up
her horse. There in the orchard was Old Brom . A
chubby old man with a bush of white whiskers, he lived in a small cottage on
the land which had belonged to his family since the seventeenth century. Now
the land was part of the Wheeler game preserve. Very proud, and usually very
shy, Old Brom was a treasure trove of wonderful old
ghost stories which he liked to tell to the neighborhood children.
    “Let’s ask Brom if he knows the name ‘ Depew ,’ ” Trixie suggested. “After all, he knows so much
about this area.”
    The girls dismounted, looped the bridles around a fence post, and walked
over to Old Brom .
    “Nice day,” he mumbled into his long beard. “Care for an apple?”
    “No thanks, Brom ,” Trixie said. “We were
wondering about something, and thought maybe you could help us.”
    “ Dunno ,” Brom replied tersely. Then his eyes twinkled. “ Mebbe