Read The Indian Burial Ground Mystery Online
Authors: Julie Campbell
The Indian Burial Ground Mystery
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
“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 sofa 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!
