The Secret of the Unseen Treasure

already in the stable,” Dan told her. “But you’ll have to count me out for now. I’ve got to help Mr. Maypenny finish putting out salt blocks for the deer, and then I have to do some errands in town. I’ll see you guys and gals later!”
    “Let’s get going,” said Trixie, starting down the sloping drive bordered by pink and red hollyhocks.
    Honey hurried past her. “Last one to the stable can groom Lady for me!”
    Everyone ran, shouting and laughing.
    Bill Regan, the horse trainer, appeared in the wide stable doorway. He hunched his broad shoulders and raised his hands to his red head in mock dismay.
    “Oh, is this going to be an afternoon to survive!” he said. “Frisky horses getting out for the first time in days—and frisky kids just out of school.”
    “Regan,” Trixie apologized, “we haven’t had time to exercise the horses. We all had to study for final exams. If we hadn’t passed, we’d be in school all summer. Then you would have a problem getting the horses exercised!” f “All right, all right.” Regan grinned. “They’re all groomed and waiting.” He forced a stern expression on his pleasant face. “But from now on, through the summer, you kids do the grooming and take care of the tack. Now, get ’em out and saddle up. Honey, mind how Lady blows herself up when you take up the girth.”
    “I won’t forget,” Honey replied, recalling how the saddle had once slipped to the side, comically spilling her off the dapple-gray mare.
    Trixie entered the stable, savoring the smells of oats, bran, polished leather, and horses. As she opened a box stall, she reached into the pocket of her jeans for a carrot.
    “Hi, Susie. Remember me?” Trixie spoke softly to Miss Trask’s beautiful little black mare. The horse’s coat gleamed like dark satin after Regan’s currycombing and brushing. Velvety lips gently accepted the carrot from Trixie’s palm. Then, crunching away contentedly, the mare made no fuss about the bridle being slipped on.
    Out in the gangway, there was an excited tattoo of hooves. Trixie saw that it was Jupiter, Mr. Wheeler’s black stallion. No one but Mr. Wheeler, Regan, and Jim Frayne could manage him. Jim, who firmly held Jupiter now, had been rescued from a very cruel stepfather by Honey’s parents, who had adopted him. Jim had red hair like Mr. Wheeler and had become like a real son to his foster parents and a real brother to Honey.
    “All right, Jupe, take it easy,” Jim said soothingly, holding close to the bit. “Just a minute and we’ll be ready to go.”
    Regan spoke quietly. “Don’t let him have his head right off, Jim. Wait until he knows you’re the boss, not him. That goes for all of you. Don’t let your mounts take command.”
    The frisky horses wanted to run, but Trixie and the others held them to a walk for a quarter of a mile. Bees hummed, birds sang, and the sweet scent of honeysuckle and the tang of wild huckleberries filled the air.
    Jim, leading the way on Jupe, tinned off Glen Road onto a trail into the hills. “Anyone ready to canter?” he called back.
    “The horses are,” Trixie replied. “And so are we!”
    Jupe wanted to go all out on the trail, but Jim remained in control, setting the pace at a steady canter. Trixie’s mare Susie drummed after them, with Honey right alongside on the dapple-gray Lady. The others were close behind.
    When they reached the crest of a long, steady slope, Jim reined in his mount. “That ought to take some of the edge off them,” he said, breathing hard.
    “That was fun!” Trixie exclaimed.
    Di, the quiet one, nodded and smiled.
    “As soon as they get their wind back,” Mart suggested, “let’s do it again.”
    “Whoa,” Brian cautioned. “Regan won’t like it if we bring them back overheated.”
    While they gave the horses a breather, Trixie gazed down into a picturesque, secluded little valley. Mrs. Elliot’s cottage nestled there, a white bungalow surrounded by flowers of all colors, like a pearl amid bright gems. Beyond the flowers, neat rows of vegetables formed a small truck garden. A larger area toward the mouth of the valley was lush with com. In the dark green center of the cornfield, a man leaned on a hoe.
    “That must be Max,” said Honey.
    “Working hard, isn’t he?” Mart gibed.
    “Just like when you’re supposed to be helping me hoe the garden at home,” retorted Trixie quickly.
    “Maybe he is working,” Mart replied. “Testing out my theory.”
    “What