A Wonderful Discovery

Bess and George quickly joined Nancy as she directed the beam of the flashlight into the hole left by the brick she’d removed. The light reflected dully off what appeared to be an old, tin box.

“Have you found the Kachina’s treasure? ” Bess asked breathlessly. “Do you suppose the box could be full of gold? ”

“I don’t think so, ” Nancy said as she pulled the tin box out. “It isn’t heavy enough.”

“Maybe it has the treasure map in it, ” George suggested.

Nancy blew the dust off the box and lifted the lid with trembling fingers, then jumped nervously as another door opened down the hall and Heather emerged. “What’s going on? ” their hostess inquired as she approached the three girls.

“Nancy has found something, ” George explained. “The Kachina led her to it.”

“What is it? ” Heather asked, joining them in front of the painting.

“It looks like a diary or journal, ” Nancy answered, lifting an old, leather-bound book out of the tin box. She opened it with care.

“That’s all that was in it? ” Bess asked, taking the box and peering into it.

“It’s Jake Harris’s journal! ” Nancy announced after she’d scanned the first page.

“Maybe he wrote something in it that will tell us where the treasure is hidden, ” Bess said hopefully.

“If there really is a treasure, ” Heather reminded her. “No one has ever been sure about that, you know.”

“Look and see if there’s a map, ” George urged.

Nancy leafed through the pages carefully. There were not a great many entries, and once the spidery script ended, there was nothing else. “No map, ” she told them. “Guess I’ll have to read it and see if he’s put a clue in his entries.”

Bess, George and Heather peered over her shoulders at the open book. “I hope you can read it, ” Heather said. “His writing is so shaky and faded.”

“I’ll do my best, ” Nancy assured them. “Now, let’s repair the painting and see if we can all get some sleep.”

Heather shook her head. “To think that’s been hidden there all these years. I wonder why no one else has ever found it.”

“No one else is as good a detective, ” George stated firmly.

“I just followed the Kachina’s guidance, ” Nancy told them. “It gave me the clue.”

“And you investigated it and found the journal, ” Heather finished.

Chuck, awakened by their voices in the hall, came out to join them. He inspected the journal and listened as Nancy recounted how it had been found, then helped by replacing the brick she had pried out of the wall. That done, they all returned to their rooms. Nancy took the journal with her.

Though she was tired, she opened it at once. Even with the good light from her bedside lamp, she had difficulty reading the script. Yet she was immediately intrigued.

Deer Slayer was here today. He brought me a haunch of venison to trade for some canned goods, and we talked long about Winslow and his offer for the Kachinas. Deer Slayer doesn’t want to sell them, but the year has been a bad one and a few of his tribe are beginning to talk of all the food Winslow’s money would buy.

Deer Slayer and some of the other tribe elders have asked me to speak for them in the bargaining with Winslow and I’ve agreed, though I don’t think they should sell the figures. The ones they’ve let me use to copy for my wall paintings are so beautiful, it would be a tragedy to let them go.

Nancy turned the page as that entry ended. The next day’s writing dealt with ranch matters, a missing heifer, the possibility of sending a few calves to the reservation for Deer Slayer’s people. Later, there was another entry about Jake’s meeting with Mr. Winslow and their discussions about the Kachinas.

The man is offering far too little for the Indians’ treasure. He would cheat them of the very food for their children. I’ve advised the chiefs and elders not to even consider selling the Kachinas to him. If they must part with them, I’m sure I can contact a reputable trader who will at least make it worth their while.

Nancy yawned. Her eyes were burning from the strain of deciphering the writing. The next entry was more about his painting and the fact that Winslow had seen the pictures on the wall of the hall and acted very strangely.

It seems that Mr. Winslow believes that the Kachinas are here. He has taken to riding out here at odd times and even asked to be allowed to spend the night. I think he hopes to become my friend to use me against the Hopi chiefs in his trading schemes.

Nancy stopped for a moment and stared out at the shadows of the palo verde tree. Had something moved there? she asked herself. The hair on the back of her neck prickled as though someone was watching her, yet she could see nothing.

Fully awakened by the feeling, she continued her reading. Jake seemed to be growing more and more concerned about his Indian friends and about his own safety. He described the way he’d pried the brick loose and cleared the box-sized space behind it.

I’ll paint a Kachina to guard my hiding place, and to guide my friends to this book, should something happen to me. Perhaps it is just the fancy of an old man too long alone, but I see things in the night — fearsome torches on the distant hills and shadowy figures nearer to my house. I sleep on the second floor now, with the stairs barricaded. I’ll be glad when Deer Slayer comes to visit again and I can tell him what I’ve learned about this man Winslow. Once he tells Winslow that the Kachinas are not for sale, perhaps my ordeal will end.

Nancy turned the page and stopped, startled to find that there was nothing written on the next page or the one after it. In fact, a quick flipping through of the remaining pages told her that there were no more entries at all. A closer inspection of the book, however, revealed the rough edges of three or four pages that had been torn from the journal.

Frowning, she closed the old book and carefully placed it in the drawer of the nightstand, then turned off the lamp. Moonlight glowed beyond her window, and she lay watching the feathery shadows of the palo verde as it stirred in the night wind.

The entries in the journal certainly seemed to prove that Maria’s theory of the old man’s death was the correct one. Jake Harris had been a friend of the Hopi, not an enemy, and there appeared to be no reason for them to have hounded or frightened him to death.

And what about the stories of hidden treasure? she asked herself. Could it be the Kachinas?

That seemed more likely, though Jake hadn’t mentioned seeing any except the ones he’d used as models for his wall paintings. Nancy drifted off to sleep, still not sure what clues she’d gained from her late-night discovery.

Her dreams were haunted by frail, old men and floating, teasing, beckoning Kachinas. The chanting seemed to surround her, and the Kachinas circled and reached out to her in pleading ways. It was almost a relief when a great pounding on her bedroom door brought her back to reality.

“Fire! ” Chuck shouted. “We’ve got a fire in one of the cottages! ”