Missing on Superstition Mountain

by Elise Broach

  Her eyes widened, and her hand tightened over the books so that Henry couldn’t budge them. “Barker? Didn’t you move into Hank Cormody’s house?”

  “How do you know that?” Jack exclaimed. “He’s our great-uncle!”

  “Was he?” Mrs. Thomas gazed at them so intently it made Henry squirm. He wanted to pick up the books, but with her hand resting on them like that, he thought it might seem like he was trying to snatch them away. He briefly imagined wrestling her for them.

  “I should have known that’s who you were,” the librarian said, almost to herself. “Barker.”

  “We really need to go,” Simon interrupted. “Our mom will wonder what’s taking us so long.”

  “Of course.” She reluctantly released the books, and Henry hugged them to his chest. “Welcome to Superstition! I hope you’ll use the library often. And about the mountain … remember what I said.”

  “We will,” Simon answered. He led the way through the double doors into the library parking lot, which blazed in the afternoon sun.

  CHAPTER 12

  THE SUPERSTITION HISTORICAL SOCIETY

  “WHY WAS SHE so interested in your uncle?” Delilah asked, as soon as they had pedaled a short distance down the street.

  She had both library books balanced in the wicker basket of her bike. It looked like the same goofy bike she’d ridden in that parade, Henry thought. But at least it didn’t have all the ribbons tied to it.

  “Well,” Henry began, “Uncle Hank was eccentric. He was a scout for the U.S. Cavalry and a cowboy and got into fistfights—”

  “And he even killed a rattlesnake with a screwdriver once!” Jack interrupted.

  Henry paused. “I’m named after him,” he finished modestly.

  “You are?” Delilah seemed impressed.

  “Yeah,” Henry said, pleased.

  “But your name is Henry.”

  “Henry was his real name. Hank is the nickname for Henry,” Henry told her, but it didn’t seem very plausible even to him.

  “That doesn’t sound right,” Delilah said.

  Henry sighed and rode up alongside Simon. “It was weird that librarian knew who we were as soon as she heard our last name, didn’t you think?” he asked.

  Simon considered. “Yeah. But it’s a small town. It seems like everybody knows everybody else. And Dad always said Uncle Hank was a character, so people would remember him.”

  “I wish we could have checked out that little book,” Henry said.

  “Me too!” Jack yelled, speeding past them. “That had all the good stuff in it.”

  Simon turned his wheel abruptly toward the curb and stopped, while they all squealed to a halt around him. “Wait a second—it was something that the historical society did, right? Maybe we can get a copy straight from them.”

  “That’s a great idea!” Henry exclaimed.

  “We just need an address. Let’s ride over to Dad’s and see if he has a phone book.”

  “I’ll go first,” Jack said, zooming off.

  “Hold on!” Simon pedaled furiously after him. “Mom doesn’t want you crossing the streets without me.”

  Henry started to follow, but then realized Delilah was still at the curb, awkwardly rotating her bike in the opposite direction.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “Going home,” she said. Her cheeks were pink, which made the freckles stand out even more. Henry thought she seemed upset.

  “Why?”

  “Well, you’re going to your dad’s,” Delilah said.

  “Aren’t you coming?”

  She looked at him. “Can I?”

  Henry blinked. Girls were so weird. “Don’t you want to?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  Henry rode off, calling to her, “Then come on!”

  * * *

  When they reached their father’s masonry shop, he was standing outside talking to a customer. He smiled when he saw them. “What’s up, guys?”

  “Do you have a phone book?” Simon asked. “We need an address.”

  “Sure, in the office,” Mr. Barker replied. “Who’s your friend?”

  “She’s just following us around,” Jack said promptly.

  Henry glanced at Delilah, who shifted on her bike. “This is Delilah,” he said to his father. “She lives by us.”

  “Oh!” Mr. Barker said, his grin broadening. “The girl who found our long-lost cat! It’s a pleasure to meet you. We certainly appreciate your help getting Josie back.”

  The boys groaned, but their father stretched out his hand. Delilah shook it, glancing at the boys smugly. “That’s okay,” she said politely. “I’m glad I found her.”

  Henry rolled his eyes at Simon, then led the way into the reception area. A yellow phone book sat on the desk. He thumbed through the pages, looking for a Superstition Historical Society listing.

  “There’s nothing here,” he said finally. “Do you think it could be called something else?”

  Simon thought. “Maybe just ‘historical society’?”

  Henry flipped backward to the H’s. Simon, Delilah, and Jack huddled over the page, scanning the columns of names.

  “Is it there?” Jack demanded.

  The names went from someone named Hipley to someone named Hiverton. Henry closed the book dejectedly.

  “So now what?” he asked.

  “I have an idea,” Delilah said, twirling one braid.

  Simon shot her a skeptical look. “What?”

  “Why don’t we look for that guy who was the president. Emmett something. Remember? You said his name, Henry. He’d probably have a copy of the book.”

  “Emmett Trask!” Henry exclaimed. He flipped quickly to the last chunk of pages, running his index finger down the list of T last names. “Trask! Here it is. And it has his address—44 Black Top Mesa.”

  “Dad!” Simon yelled. “Do you have a map?”

  “A map of what?” Mr. Barker answered.

  “Superstition! Superstition! Superstition!” Jack shouted. “We’re trying to find someplace. It’s important!”

  “In the top desk drawer,” came their father’s faint reply.

  Simon spread the map across the desk and checked the index. “Okay, here it is,” he said finally, tracing his finger along a thin, curving black line. “This little crooked road past the cemetery.”

  “That’s almost out of town,” Delilah said. “Can we ride there on our bikes?”

  “Sure,” Simon scoffed. “This town is tiny. It’s not far.”

  Henry thought their mom might have a different opinion about the distance to the edge of town, but he said nothing. He wanted so badly to know what was on the missing page.

  They clambered back onto their bikes. Their father, still immersed in conversation, glanced their way. “Where are you off to now?” he asked.

  “We’re—” Jack began.

  “Just riding around,” Simon interrupted. They raced off down the street before Mr. Barker could ask any more questions.

  * * *

  It took them almost half an hour to ride all the way to Black Top Mesa. Simon was right, the town was small, and it wasn’t long before they reached the outskirts. But Black Top Mesa, as it happened, was not a paved road. It was dirt and gravel, full of ruts, and it threw up clouds of brown dust as they rode. Jack’s front wheel kept twisting in potholes, causing him to tumble. Finally Henry hung back, riding in front of him to lead him safely around the worst ones. Superstition Mountain loomed ahead. Even in the daylight, it seemed menacing and full of shadows.

  The number 44 was painted on a metal mailbox toward the end of the road. A long gravel drive led to a small white house with a red pickup truck parked next to it. Simon rode his bike partway down the driveway and stopped, facing the front door. The others followed.

  “Okay, you guys, let me do the talking,” he instructed them.

  Delilah assessed the house. “I don’t know,” she said. “Do you think it’s okay? I mean, he’s a st
ranger.”

  Henry wavered. Their mother would certainly not think it was okay.

  “You don’t have to come if you’re scared,” Simon said impatiently.

  “Yeah, we’re not scared,” Jack said.

  Henry was a little scared. “I think it’s okay if we stay together,” he ventured. Before they could make up their minds, the door opened and a tall man wearing glasses stepped onto the porch.

  “You guys need something?” he called to them. He looked at them more closely. “You’re pretty far from the library.”

  “Oh!” Henry cried. “It’s that guy! The one with the computer.”

  “He’s not a stranger,” Jack announced, promptly pedaling right up to the porch steps. Henry hesitated, then followed him, with Simon and Delilah close behind.

  “Are you Emmett Trask?” Simon asked, as their four bikes skidded to a stop, spraying gravel.

  He studied them curiously. “Yep, that’s me. What can I do for you?”

  “The president of the Superstition Historical Society?” Simon continued.

  Emmett Trask raised his eyebrows. “Not anymore. Why?”

  Henry slumped in disappointment.

  “We came all this way for nothing!” Jack protested.

  “What are you looking for?” Emmett asked. “I can give you the name of the new president. But you probably already met her.”

  Henry and Simon exchanged bewildered glances.

  “Where?” Delilah asked.

  “At the library. It’s Julia Thomas, the director.”

  CHAPTER 13

  MOUNTAIN MYSTERIES

  HENRY SHUDDERED. The black-haired librarian! One thing seemed certain: she would never help them find the missing page.

  “THAT lady?” Jack cried. “The creepy one?”

  Emmett laughed.

  “She wasn’t very helpful,” Delilah told him. “She took the book we wanted and wouldn’t let us check it out. It was a book from the historical society.”

  “Missing on Superstition Mountain?” Emmett said. “I’ve got a copy.”

  “You do?” Simon asked. “Can we borrow it?”

  “I’ll give you one. I’ve got at least a dozen of them. That was the historical society’s main research project while I was president. But first, tell me how you found me.”

  “We saw your name in the list of historical society members and looked you up in the phone book,” Henry said.

  “So Julia didn’t send you here? The librarian?”

  Henry shook his head.

  “Good,” Emmett answered, leaning against the side of the house. “Why are you so interested in Missing on Superstition Mountain?”

  When Simon paused, Henry jumped in. “We just moved here, and we’re trying to find out more about the mountain.” And then, because Emmett Trask didn’t seem like a parent—didn’t seem like he’d fuss and scold and pester them with warnings—“We’re not allowed to go up there, but nobody will tell us why.”

  Emmett snorted. “I’ll tell you.”

  They looked at him expectantly, and he took a breath, as if he weren’t sure where to begin. “Well, there have been over twenty disappearances or deaths on the mountain. Which makes it not a safe place for anyone, let alone kids. Now, I’m sure there are rational explanations for what happened up there, but it’s not always obvious what they are.…” Henry thought of the list in the book; the people missing and murdered. It certainly wasn’t obvious to him what the rational explanation would be.

  “What’s ‘rational’?” Jack asked.

  “It means logical,” Henry told him, and Emmett elaborated, “Within the bounds of human knowledge. Something that has a natural or human cause … not supernatural.”

  Henry doubted that Jack understood any of that, but he sat back on his bike seat, seeming satisfied.

  Emmett continued, “But the thing is, some people around here don’t like rational explanations. They’d rather have a supernatural one. So they say the mountain is haunted or cursed, under a spell.” His mouth turned down in disgust. “That’s why I left the historical society. Those folks aren’t interested in historical research anymore. It’s turned into a club for ghost hunters and treasure seekers.”

  Frankly, Henry thought ghost hunting and treasure seeking sounded much more interesting than historical research. What if there were ghosts on Superstition Mountain? He remembered the feeling of being watched, the prickles on the back of his neck.

  “Treasure?” Simon asked, his face brightening. “What treasure?”

  Emmett shook his head. “Oh, there probably isn’t any. But the rumor is there’s a gold mine, the Lost Dutchman’s Mine, hidden somewhere on the mountain. It’s supposed to be one of the richest veins of gold anywhere in the West. People have been searching the mountain for over a hundred years trying to find it.”

  A gold mine! Henry pictured the gold mines in movies and books, where people walked into a cave and discovered that the walls, floor, and ceiling were sparkling with precious gold.

  “GOLD!” Jack cried, bouncing on the toes of his sneakers and almost falling off his bike. “Wow!”

  Simon flashed Henry a quick glance, and asked Emmett, “Why do people think that?”

  Emmett looked annoyed. “You know, if that’s what you guys are interested in, you really should talk to the historical society. That’s all they care about these days—figuring out the location of the Lost Dutchman’s Mine.”

  “But it’s gold!” Jack insisted. “If we found it, we’d be RICH.”

  “Yeah, that’s the idea,” Emmett said. “But people have been looking for that mine for over a century and haven’t found anything. If you ask me, it’s a big distraction from the real research we should be doing, about the Apaches and the early settlers … the Spanish influence in this area.”

  Which all sounded mind-numbingly boring compared to a hidden gold mine, Henry thought. Who wanted to learn about early settlers when you could be searching for the biggest pile of gold in the country?

  Simon leaned over the front of his bike, not the least put off by Emmett’s dismissive comments. “But why do they think there’s a gold mine on the mountain? And whose gold is it?”

  Emmett ran his hand through his hair. “There’s no question that there’s gold on the mountain. Plenty of people have found gold ore, starting with the Spanish in the 1500s. But it was pretty well tapped out in the 1800s; I doubt there’s anything left to speak of. As to who it belongs to … well, I guess you’d have to say it belonged to the Apaches originally. Or to the mountain. But as far as the Lost Dutchman’s Mine, that belonged to Jacob Waltz.”

  “Waltz? That’s the name of my street!” Delilah exclaimed.

  “Most of the streets around here are named for historical people or places,” Emmett told her. “Waltz wasn’t a Dutchman—as a matter of fact, he was German. Came here in the mid-1800s. Supposedly, he and his partner discovered gold on Superstition Mountain and struck it rich. They kept the mine a secret, and after their deaths, nobody ever found it.”

  “And people have died looking?” Simon asked. “That’s the big secret, the reason our parents won’t let us go up the mountain?”

  “Well, that and a few other things,” Emmett replied.

  What other things? Henry wondered. “How did people die?” he asked, but even as he said it, he realized that he knew the answer: they were shot, or fell into canyons, or had their heads cut off. That wasn’t the important question. The important question was why did people die? Why was the mountain so dangerous a place that to climb it meant to risk your very life?

  Jack blurted out, “Yeah, our mom says there are mountain lions and rattlesnakes! Did people get EATEN?”

  Emmett shook his head. “There are mountain lions and rattlesnakes, but they haven’t killed anyone lately, to my knowledge. Sometimes it’s a rock slide. Or a flash flood that fills a canyon and drowns someone. There are a lot of steep slopes … people have fallen. But more often, they just get lost o
n the mountain without enough water. They die of dehydration.”

  Henry felt a tremor go through him, remembering their trip up the mountain and Jack falling into the hidden canyon where the three skulls perched.

  Emmett sat down on the top step of the porch. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, dislodging his glasses, and for a moment, he looked not smart and earnest and teacher-ish, the way he had when they first saw him in the library, but vaguely goofy, like a big kid himself.

  “And then there are the deaths that haven’t been fully explained,” he said. “People get worked up over those. That’s why there’s so much talk about the mountain being haunted.” He seemed to be choosing his words carefully. “But the truth is, whenever there’s a scarce, valuable resource—like gold—and a bunch of people wanting it, there are reasons to get rid of the competition.”

  Henry thought again of the long list of names in Missing on Superstition Mountain, each of them a real person whose life had ended unexpectedly. Violently. Too soon.

  “You mean people have been murdered,” Simon said, unfazed.

  “Well, yes. Some have died of gunshot wounds. Some have been decapitated.”

  That word again. Delilah stiffened, and Henry pictured the bleached skulls. “Did they catch the people who did it?” he asked softly.

  “No, not in most cases. This is rough, isolated country … lots of places to hide for someone who doesn’t want to be found.” Emmett smiled suddenly. “There used to be a fellow in Superstition who was a pro at hiding in the mountains. He made a lot of money gambling in the little towns around here, quite a cardplayer. When the people he beat at poker came looking for him to get their money back, he would hightail it into the mountains for weeks at a time. They never found him.” His smile broadened. “So I guess you could say Superstition Mountain has saved a few lives too.”

  Henry shivered. He couldn’t imagine anyone staying overnight on the mountain. He thought of how the wind would sound blowing through the canyons in the black night. “What happened to that guy?” he asked.

  Emmett sighed. “He died a few months ago.” Then, seeing their faces, “Don’t worry, it wasn’t anything suspicious. I don’t know how old he was, but he’d led a long, full life. Used to be a scout for the cavalry, actually.”