The Treasure Hunt Read online

  Miss Price stepped up to the chalkboard and began the lesson.

  Seated at the very end of the third row, Lydia could easily see all three of the big boys—Joe, Israel, and Anton—without turning her head. How she hoped they would behave! Every now and then, she saw Israel and Anton smiling at each other. She did not like the way those smiles looked.

  It happened in math class. Anton wadded up a ball of paper and flipped it across the row. It landed squarely on Israel’s desk. Israel grinned and began unfolding the paper.

  “Anton.” Miss Price’s voice cut the air like steel. “Go to that corner and stand with your back turned to the classroom. Stay there until I tell you to go back to your desk.”

  Anton blinked in surprise. He waited a few seconds, but Miss Price’s gaze never wavered. She stood still with her hands on her hips.

  Finally he got to his feet, half lifting the desk with his knees as he did so. The soles of his shoes made a scraping noise as he walked across the bare, wooden floor. Lydia didn’t dare turn her head to watch him head for the corner, but when Miss Price relaxed and went back to the first-grade math class, Lydia knew that Anton must have obeyed.

  Lydia tried very hard not to let the incident spoil her day, but she simply could not understand why it had happened. Why did the boys want to give our new teacher a hard time? And on the very first day of school?

  That night in the barn, Lydia blurted out her question to Joe. “Why did Israel and Anton act like that?”

  Joe was carrying the lantern over to the pigpen but stopped when he heard the question. The lantern cast a glow over his face as he answered slowly, “I don’t know.”

  “Miss Price has to work hard to teach so many children,” Lydia went on reproachfully. “Why would anyone want to make trouble for her?”

  “I don’t know,” Joe said again, still standing there with the lantern. After a while he added, “A week ago Israel was talking about how he might try out the new teacher.”

  “Oh,” said Lydia, thinking that over. “Is that why you weren’t enthused about going to school this morning?”

  “Maybe,” said Joe as he moved on to the pigpen.

  “Trouble at school?” Father asked, suddenly appearing out of the shadows.

  Lydia’s face grew warm when she realized he had been listening. Not that she’d said anything to be ashamed of, but she felt uncomfortable about Father finding out about the actions of those two boys. “Anton threw a paper to Israel,” she explained. Saying it like that made it sound like a small thing. Too small to call trouble.

  “He was being disrespectful,” Father said.

  “Yes,” replied Lydia, relieved that he understood. “So was Israel.”

  “Anybody else?” Father’s eyes went to the glow of the lantern over by the pigpen where Joe was busily forking straw.

  Lydia shook her head. “Not Joe.”

  “We want to teach our children how important it is to obey. It’s the only way to have God’s blessing.” Father’s voice sounded a little strange, as though something was caught in his throat.

  Father cleared his throat and moved a few steps toward Joe to make sure he could hear. “Dr. Crawford stopped me on the street today to talk about Willie.”

  “You mean you were in town?” Joe asked. “I thought you couldn’t drive yet with that hand.”

  “I caught a ride with Reuben Kanagy,” Father explained. “Anyway, the doctor said Willie is out of the hospital now, though he was pretty sick for a while.”

  “But he isn’t back in his home?” asked Lydia.

  “No, he’s living with his brother over at Ordway. Willie sent a letter to Dr. Crawford to tell him about the gold in that box and how he wants to pay his hospital bill. The doctor plans to stop in here sometime soon to pick up that little box.”

  “Shall I go get it first thing tomorrow morning?” Joe quickly offered.

  “That would be a good idea.”

  The next morning Joe was out of bed at the crack of dawn. Taking the shotgun in case he met a squirrel, he strode toward the creek. Little by little the sun peeped over the horizon, until finally the light touched Pikes Peak, far away on the western horizon.

  Hastily Joe grabbed his pan and scooped up some gravel. This was another reason why he wasn’t too enthused about school starting. There was no more time for his treasure hunt.

  He stared at the pebbles, hoping to see a gleaming fleck or even a nugget, but there was nothing. As Joe tossed out the gravel, he remembered what Father had said the other Sunday evening: “We want your conscience to be tender, willing to make things right.” Last night Joe had overheard Father say to Lydia that the only way to have God’s blessing was to be obedient.

  Slowly Joe put the pan back in its hiding place. Am I being obedient if I keep on panning for gold in secret without Father’s approval? Am I any better than boys like Israel and Anton who disobey openly?

  Joe ducked down and entered the low doorway of Willie’s house. There in the cupboard was the little box. Joe opened it and stared at the gleaming gold.

  But I only hunt for gold because I want to help Father, Joe argued with himself. Tucking the box under his arm and picking up the shotgun, he started for home. It was high time to help with the chores.

  17

  Storm Dog

  Jake came walking in from Wild Horse one October evening. His face was as brown as a nut beneath his tumbled red hair. It seemed to Lydia that he had grown taller and wider too. His arms rippled with muscles when he took off his jacket. “I must have pitched a million sheaves,” he told the girls with a grin.

  “What about Ben? And Jonas? Are they back too?” Mother asked

  “Yep. Threshing is over for this year, at least for that crew. What’s for supper, Mother?”

  “Potato and turnip soup along with some dried corn,” answered Mother.

  “Mmmmm. Sounds good and smells even better.” Jake sat down at the end of the table in his usual spot.

  Scurrying to set the table for supper, Lisbet asked, “Why are you so hungry? I thought they made big meals for threshers.”

  “Well, yes, but…” Jake paused. He wasn’t used to making a fuss about things. “I guess I’m ready for home cooking again.”

  For Lydia that answered a question she hadn’t dared to ask. Jake was glad to be home. Sometimes she had worried about him while he was in Kansas. After all Father had made it sound like there was a danger of falling into bad company.

  “You came just in time,” Father informed Jake. “We’ve run out of coal. Joe and I were wondering whether we could go and get some on our own, but Joe is supposed to go to school, and I’m not much good at driving or handling a shovel for that matter.”

  Jake’s eyes went to Father’s hand. “Still not well?”

  Father shook his head. “No, but it’s coming. Very slowly.”

  So the very next day, Father and Jake went off to the coal mines, twenty miles away, where all the families dug their own coal. More fuel was needed right away. The nights were growing colder now that November was almost here.

  But winter never came in 1910, at least not the kind of winter Lydia had known in North Dakota. There was no snow. Throughout January 1911, the mild, sunny weather stayed on.

  At last one morning in February, Lisbet woke Lydia with a little shriek. “Snow! Lots of it!”

  In a flash Lydia joined her at the window. The pane was so plastered with snow that she could barely see outside. In the swirling whiteness, the dim shape of the barn was just visible. “Why, it’s a blizzard!” Lydia exclaimed.

  Lisbet didn’t agree to that. “Have you forgotten the North Dakota blizzards? Remember how the wind used to pound the house? You couldn’t see a thing outdoors.”

  “Well, yes, but this is almost as good,” Lydia said while putting on her shoes. “I wonder if I have time to go outside before breakfast.”

  When she entered the kitchen, however, she heard the men stamping snow off their boots on the porch.
Apparently they had finished the morning chores already.

  Joe’s coat was all frosted with snow when he burst in and said, “Do you know what, Lydia? There’s a dog out there.”

  “A what?” she exclaimed in disbelief.

  “A dog. In the barn,” Joe repeated.

  “Is it a nice dog? Not wild?”

  “I don’t know if it’s nice. It looks pretty sick to me. It’s just lying in the hay with its head between its paws. Hardly paid any attention to us while we were doing chores,”

  “Poor dog. Maybe it got too cold in the storm, and it came to our barn for shelter,” said Lydia. She wanted to run out through the snow right away, but she couldn’t because everyone was sitting down for breakfast.

  Half an hour later, Lydia eagerly pulled on her coat. “I have time to go see the dog before I have to get ready for school, don’t I Mother?”

  “Yes, but…” Mother looked at Father. “You’ll go out with her? We don’t know anything about this dog.”

  Father nodded and got his hat and coat. Already the snow had stopped, and the sun was shining. What a dazzling world! The drab brown prairie had been transformed into a winter wonderland.

  Lydia didn’t spend much time enjoying the scenery, though. She had to see that dog. For years she had wished to have one. Now, maybe her wish was coming true!

  The dog’s coat was black—a dull and patchy black. The moment she saw him, Lydia felt sure that his fur had once been gleaming and thought she could probably get it to gleam again.

  The dog raised his head when he saw Lydia. His tail thumped three times on the hay. Then his head went down again, and the tail lay still. Lydia knelt beside him, murmuring, “You poor dog. You’re all worn out and probably hungry. Just look at your ribs sticking out.”

  Father stood looking down at the two. “Shall I bring him some milk?”

  “Please!” By this time Lydia was stroking the dog’s head. The dog gave a little sigh, as if to say, Now I’ve found someone who likes me.

  Lydia fed the poor, tired dog a bowl of milk.

  When Father brought the milk, Lydia shoved the bowl right under the dog’s black nose. How eagerly he slurped it up! As though the milk had given him strength already, he staggered to his feet. After a few seconds, though, he flopped down again.

  “I have to go,” Lydia told the dog reluctantly. “Will you bring him some more milk at noon, Father?”

  Father smiled. “I guess I could.”

  With wings on her feet, Lydia hurried to school. She could hardly wait to tell the other girls about her dog. They were suitably impressed and asked all sorts of questions. Lydia didn’t know all the answers, but one thing she did know was that the dog’s name would be Storm Dog because the snowstorm had brought him.

  Apparently Joe told the boys about the dog too. During the lunch hour, Anton Higgins teased Lydia about the tramp she was taking in. Israel chimed in with a taunt about girls who didn’t know a dog from a coyote.

  Lydia flounced away from the big boys without saying a word, even though she felt like telling Anton, “That dog’s a lot nicer than you are!”

  Actually Anton had been behaving pretty well for the last little while. For weeks he had kept doing little things to make life miserable for the teacher, but Miss Price never backed down. Firmly and consistently she punished him when he did wrong—just as she did with any of the students. With Anton it had finally paid off. Though he would never be a model student, he had learned a lot. The funny thing was that anybody could see that deep down he really did like his teacher.

  By the next day, a warm chinook wind blew down from Pikes Peak. The snow melted fast and turned the fields into mud. Torrents of brown water ran down to the creek.

  “I wonder what the creek looks like!” Joe said to Lydia on their walk home from school. “Maybe it’ll overflow the banks. I’m going to have a look.”

  Lydia wasn’t interested. “I have to see how Stormy’s doing.” Already she had shortened the dog’s name to Stormy. She turned in at the barn even before going to change her clothes.

  Joe changed in record time. Grabbing a cookie, he told Mother that he wanted to check out the creek before chore time. “I’m wondering if Willie’s den is flooded,” he explained.

  Mud sucked at his boots as he crossed the fields. By the time he reached the creek bank, his boots had grown to twice their normal size.

  When he saw the stream, Joe forgot about his boots. Was this the same quiet, meandering creek where he’d spent hours panning for gold? Wild and brown, the current tore down between the banks as if it couldn’t wait to reach the river. The water was nearly halfway up the bank!

  After locating Willie’s chimney, Joe carefully let himself down the bank while hanging onto the bushes. Sure enough, the water lapped at the bottom of Willie’s door. Joe sloshed it open. Water had spread across the floor, eddying around the legs of the table and chairs, but so far nothing had been damaged.

  “If the water goes down soon, things should be okay,” Joe muttered as he pulled himself to the top of the bank again.

  Suddenly he thought of something. Where’s my gold pan? The last time I used it, about a week ago, I wedged it between the exposed roots of that one certain cottonwood partway up the bank.

  Joe walked along the creek until he reached the spot. He was pretty sure this was the spot because at the edge of the swirling water, he could see those gnarled roots. But he saw no rusty old pan. It must have been torn from its hiding place and carried downstream by the swift current.

  Joe turned his back and headed for home. “Good riddance,” he said under his breath.

  18

  Set Free

  With the arrival of spring, new hope poured into the hearts of the farmers who had watched last year’s crops wilt away. Steam tractors were hired to break more land. They chugged around the neighborhood, spewing clouds of smoke and steam.

  “May I go closer to watch Mr. Baumgartner, Mother?” Lydia asked on the day the tractor came to their farm.

  “Yes, but stay out of his way,” Mother warned.

  “I will,” Lydia promised. “Here, Stormy!”

  The black dog scampered up to her, pushed his head under her hand, and begged to be petted. His coat was shiny now, and his ribs no longer showed.

  “Let’s go to the field,” Lydia told him. He bounced away ahead of her, always ready for a gopher hunt. That was what a walk in the fields meant to Stormy. Nothing was more fun than chasing gophers back into their burrows.

  While Lydia stood watching the big steam tractor turning over the soil, Stormy yapped at any gophers he saw. Suddenly his bark changed into a kind of puzzled yip-yip.

  Lydia hurried over to him. His nose was down to the ground. There in the grass, lay a quivering bundle of black and white feathers.

  “A bird!” Lydia scooped it up in her hands. She could feel the violent beating of a tiny heart. Something was wrong with one of the bird’s wings.

  “Did the tractor hurt your wing?” she murmured to the tiny creature. “I’ll take you home. As soon as your wing gets well, you can fly again.”

  Back at the house, Lydia told Mother, “I’ve found a bobolink.” How well she remembered the high, ecstatic trilling of the bobolinks above the fields of North Dakota!

  Mother peered into Lydia’s cupped hands. “Hmmm. It does look like a bobolink. It’s the first one I’ve seen in Colorado. How did you manage to catch it?”

  “Oh, it can’t fly. I think the steam tractor must have hurt it. Can I keep it in the barn until its wing heals?”

  “I suppose so, but you’ll have to put it in a box, or Greasy the cat will eat your bobolink for supper.”

  “What? A bobolink?” asked Joe, coming in just then.

  “Yes, a lame one. I’m going to help it get well,” Lydia told him. “His name is Bobby.”

  Joe grinned. “First Stormy, then Bobby. You’re gathering quite a menagerie.”

  “What’s a man-ash-ry?” Lydia asked
.

  “Oh, it’s a collection of animals. Pretty soon we’ll have a zoo on our farm.”

  Undaunted by her brother’s teasing, Lydia set to work making Bobby comfortable. She used a wooden packing box to make a cage. Across the opening she tacked a piece of screen that was left over from building the screen door. She gave Bobby some hay to sit on and some grain to eat.

  At supper time, when Mr. Baumgartner was eating with the Yoder family, Mother mentioned the bobolink to Father. Mr. Baumgartner spoke up. “I doubt if it’s a bobolink. You don’t see those around here.”

  “So there must be another bird that’s black and white and yellow like a bobolink,” Mother said.

  Mr. Baumgartner nodded. “Ever heard of lark buntings? They’re common around here. Could I see the bird you found?”

  “Of course,” said Mother. “Lydia will show it to you. She has it in the barn.”

  Lydia felt her face grow warm. She was a little afraid of this big, yellow-whiskered man, but Father went along, and soon the steam tractor operator was peering into Lydia’s homemade cage. “That’s a lark bunting, all right. Bobolinks are much lighter colored on the back than this bird. Lark buntings are great singers—every bit as musical as bobolinks, I think.”

  Lydia began hoping that Bobby, now named Bunny since he was a bunting and not a bobolink, would sing for her. Bunny, however didn’t sing. The only noise he made was an angry chirp whenever Greasy paid him too much attention.

  As spring wore on, Bunny seemed to thrive, and so did the crops. With thankful hearts, the farmers received timely rains, and the grain fields grew tall and green. Ben’s sugar beets were doing well too.

  In June the grain turned golden. One Saturday evening after a walk through the fields, Father announced, “By Monday we hope to start cutting the grain.”

  That Sunday afternoon, clouds with an eerie pinkish glow rolled up and blotted out the sun. Lightning flashed, and a clap of thunder followed. “We’re going to have a storm,” Lydia said, moving away from the window. She wished it were nighttime so she could pull the blankets over her head.