The Seven Treasure Hunts

by Betsy Byars

  Contents

  1 The Hunt for the Secret Treasure

  2 The Hunt for the Chocolate Treasure

  3 The Hunt for the Stolen Treasure

  4 The Hunt for the Missing Treasure

  5 The Hunt for the Buried Treasure

  6 The Hunt for the Garbage Treasure

  7 The Hunt for the Frozen Treasure

  About the Author and Illustrator

  Credits

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Chapter One

  The Hunt for the Secret Treasure

  Last Saturday Goat and I hid treasures for each other to find. My treasure was seven pennies, a knife with one blade, a decal, and a balloon, all stuffed in a Band-Aid box. I buried it in a pot of flowers on my front porch.

  Then I made a map that was very tricky. It would lead Goat all over the neighborhood. And not only was it tricky, it looked like a real pirate map. I had drawn it on brown paper and burned the edges. I was proud of that map.

  After I finished, I went to the corner where Goat and I had planned to meet. Goat had probably been busy hiding a treasure for me and making a map, and he looked pleased too. He had a big smile on his face.

  “Here you go, Goat my Pal,” I said.

  I handed him my map. He handed me a dirty scrap of paper.

  “What’s this?” I asked.

  “Clues.”

  “Clues? You were supposed to draw a map.” I looked at the piece of paper. It was so little, it was hard to read.

  Finally I made it out:

  4 to the right. 6 to the left. 7 across. 1 ahead. 2 sideways. Look up.

  “What’s this, Goat?” I asked again, but Goat was already running down the sidewalk.

  It looked to me as if he were heading straight for my house, straight for the pot of flowers.

  4 to the right. Quickly I took four steps to the right. 6 to the left. I did that. 7 across, 1 ahead, 2 sideways.

  I looked up. All I could see were some clouds in the sky.

  “Goat!” I ran after him. When I got to my house, he was standing on the porch. He was pulling my mom’s pansies out of the pot, spilling the dirt all over.

  He reached in and came up with the Band-Aid box.

  “Ta-daaaa!” he said.

  “Goat, you didn’t even use the map. I spent all morning on that map!”

  “I didn’t need it,” Goat said. “I saw a piece of pansy on your watch—look, right there. Then I knew—you hid it in the old pansy pot.”

  I felt cheated.

  “That’s not fair,” I said. “You were supposed to use the map!”

  “I would have if I had needed it. Did you find your treasure yet?”

  He knew I hadn’t.

  “No.”

  “Too tricky, huh, Jackie?”

  “I haven’t even had a chance to read the clues yet.”

  I glanced down at the piece of paper, pretending I was looking at it for the first time. “It’s not so tricky.”

  “It’s trickier than yours,” Goat said. He stuck my mom’s pansies back into the pot. He opened the Band-Aid box and shook out the contents.

  He said, “Money—I can use that.” He put it in his pocket. “A broken knife—”

  “It’s not broken.”

  “It’s only got one blade.”

  “Well, it still cuts. Look!” I showed him a scar on my thumb.

  “A decal that came from a cereal box—I know because I eat the same kind. And a balloon that says I was a good patient. I know where you got that, from our dentist. He stopped giving them to me because I bit him.

  “Well, go ahead. Find your treasure.”

  I stared back at him. All week I had been looking forward to hiding treasures. Now he had ruined it. I opened my front door. “I’m bored with this.”

  “So, Jackie, it’s too tough for you, huh? Go ahead and quit.”

  “I’m not quitting.”

  “Then find the treasure. I want to see if you can do it.”

  “All right!” I stamped down the steps, down the sidewalk. Goat followed. I could hear him flipping the top of the metal box open and shut.

  “You have to start at the corner,” he said.

  “I know where to start.”

  “Just being helpful,” he said.

  We walked to the corner without saying anything. I kept looking at the scrap of paper. I had held it so long that the writing was smeared.

  4 to the right.

  Four what? I knew it wasn’t four steps. I had already tried that. Maybe it was giant steps. Maybe it was minutes. Walk four minutes to the right? With Goat it could be anything.

  When we got to the corner, I was still looking at the scrap of paper. Four blocks maybe. No, that would put us on the other side of the highway. We weren’t allowed to cross the highway.

  “I’ll give you one more clue,” Goat said. “It’s not four blocks. That would put us across the highway.”

  “I know! I figured that out!”

  “So what do you think it is?” he asked.

  “Houses maybe? Four houses?” I looked down the street.

  “How could it be houses?” Goat said. “You can go four houses to the right, but how can you go six houses to the left? There aren’t any houses there.”

  “No, nothing but trees.”

  Goat stuck his hands in his pockets. It was a quick movement, and it gave him away just as the flower had given me away.

  I felt better.

  “Let me see,” I said. I started down the sidewalk. “Could it be four trees? One—two—three—four trees?”

  Goat followed slowly.

  “Six trees to the left. Now, what’s the next clue? Seven across. Why, yes, there are seven trees.”

  Goat was following even slower now. “You didn’t really figure it out,” he said. “I gave it away.”

  “Well, so did I. You didn’t even have to look at my map—just the old flower on the watch. Here we go. One ahead, two sideways. Look up. Aha!”

  There was a small paper bag hanging from the limb overhead. I took it down and opened it.

  Inside was half a package of breath mints, a Matchbox car with one wheel missing, and two bird feathers.

  “How do you like your treasure?” Goat asked finally.

  “Everything I always wanted, Goat my Pal.”

  “Look, if you don’t want the breath mints, I’ll put them back in my mom’s purse.”

  “I want them. And if you don’t want the knife, you can give it back to me.”

  “I want it.”

  I put all the stuff in my pocket, and Goat and I stood there for a moment. Goat looked down at his shoes and then up at me. “Want to do it again?” he asked. “Treasure hunt?”

  “I guess.”

  “Maps or clues?”

  “I’ll do a map—you do clues.”

  “Fine with me,” Goat said, “only I’m not going to give it away this time.”

  “Me either.”

  “Let’s get going.”

  And we ran in opposite directions for home.

  Chapter Two

  The Hunt for the Chocolate Treasure

  “Where are you going, Jackson?” my mom asked.

  “Goat and I are having a treasure hunt. Here’s my map. Last time I burned the edges so it looked like a real treasure map, but I’m in a hurry. I’ve got to go. ’Bye.”

  “You’re not going anywhere.” She got between me and the door. “You have to practice.”

  “Practice what?”

  “Piano.”

  “Mom, I practiced!”

  “When? Last week? Last month?”

  “Mom, I’ve got to go. Goat’s waiting for me. We had one treasure hunt, bu
t it didn’t work. So we’ve got to have another one.”

  “I’m sorry, but you need to practice.”

  “Mom!”

  “Your lesson is—” My mom looked at her watch. “Your lesson is in one hour. You have not practiced all week.”

  She pointed to the living room. When my mom points, I go.

  I sat down at the piano. I turned to “The Parade of the Little White Mice.” I began to play.

  When I played, the little white mice didn’t exactly parade. They stumbled around like the cat had got them. Sometimes they even rolled over and played dead.

  The doorbell rang. The little white mice stopped.

  “I’ll get it,” I called.

  My mom stuck her head in the living room.

  “Practice!” she said.

  I played a few more notes, but I was listening to what was happening at the front door.

  It was Goat. He said, “Hi. Where’s Jackson? We were supposed to be having a treasure hunt. I got my clues and everything. My treasure is waiting!” Goat sounded very happy and excited.

  I rose from the piano.

  “Jackson is practicing.”

  I sat back down.

  “Oh,” Goat said. “When will he be through?”

  “In an hour and a half.”

  “An hour and a half!” Goat said. “My treasure won’t last for an hour and a half. My treasure is the kind of treasure, well—let’s just say that doesn’t last an hour and a half!”

  “I’m sorry, Goat.”

  “Well, tell him he missed out on something he really likes.”

  “I will.”

  “Something he really likes.”

  “I’ll tell him.”

  “Here are the clues he would have followed if he had been able to. And if he’d followed these clues, he’d have gotten something he really, really likes.”

  “I’ll give them to him after he finishes his lesson.”

  “That will be too late,” Goat said.

  Suddenly I knew what my treasure was. If it was something that wouldn’t last, it was something that would melt.

  I closed my book.

  What could it be? Something that would melt—something that would melt—

  Suddenly I knew. A chocolate Popsicle. I love chocolate Popsicles. Somewhere in some hollow tree was a chocolate Popsicle. My chocolate Popsicle! And it was beginning to melt.

  “I don’t hear you practicing, Jackson,” Mom called.

  I hit a few notes, like little white mice scrambling for safety. But all I could think of was my chocolate Popsicle. I wanted that chocolate Popsicle. I had to have that chocolate Popsicle.

  I jumped up. “Mom, I have to go to the bathroom,” I called.

  I ran through the living room. There was a small dirty scrap of paper on the table. My clues. I read them fast.

  Sidewalk, left. Street, right. Corner, cross. Sidewalk, right. Halfway, up. Door, knock. . . .

  I ran out the front door and took a left. Popsicle—chocolate Popsicle. It was all I could think about.

  I ran to the street and crossed. At the sidewalk I took a right. Popsicle—chocolate Popsicle. Halfway down the block, I came to the steps.

  It was Goat’s house. I ran up the steps and knocked at the door.

  “Who is it?” Goat’s mom called.

  “It’s me—Jackson,” I called. I was panting. The words beat in my brain—chocolate Popsicle—chocolate Popsicle—choc—

  “Come in, Jackson. I don’t know where Goat is.”

  “I’ll look.”

  I went in the house reading the rest of the clues.

  Room, enter. Door, right. Room, cross.

  I entered the room. I took a right into the kitchen. I crossed the floor.

  Door, open.

  There was the door—the refrigerator door. I opened it. My mouth had started watering.

  I looked in the freezer. There was the chocolate Popsicle—the most beautiful chocolate Popsicle I had ever seen in my life. I grabbed it. I tore off the paper. I bit.

  Ah, chocolate Popsicle!

  I yelled, “Mrs. McGee, tell Goat I’ll see him later.”

  “All right.”

  I closed the door and ran out of Goat’s house. I started for home.

  I ate my Popsicle as I ran. I ate so fast my teeth hurt.

  I finished the Popsicle as I went up the steps. My mom was on the phone and had not missed the sounds of the little white mice.

  I ran in the bathroom and washed my hands. Then I went back to the piano. I was ready to play now.

  “Come on, you guys, parade!” I said to the little white mice.

  The mice were really parading when Miss Jones arrived for my lesson.

  “That sounds wonderful, Jackson,” she said.

  “I know.”

  “You must have been practicing.”

  “I have.”

  “I think you’ll be ready to play ‘The Parade of the Little White Mice’ in the Christmas program.”

  I felt good enough to promise anything. That’s what a chocolate Popsicle does for me. “I’m sure I will.”

  The white mice were parading again when I heard someone say, “Pssst!”

  I looked at the window. Goat was there.

  “Pssst,” he said again. This time he beckoned.

  “Miss Jones, would you excuse me a minute? That’s a friend of mine.”

  I went to the window. Goat said, “Mom said you came to the house. What did you want?”

  “My chocolate Popsicle.”

  “Chocolate Popsicle! How did you know it was a chocolate Popsicle?”

  “I figured it out. Well, you gave it away again. I heard you tell Mom that the treasure would not last too long. When I heard it would not last long, I knew it was something that would melt.”

  “I didn’t mean it would not last long because it would melt.”

  “You didn’t?”

  “It wouldn’t melt in the freezer.”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “I meant it would not last long because I’d eat it myself.”

  I said, “Too late for that, Pal.”

  “Too late for what? I already ate it!” he said.

  I said, “You couldn’t have! I—”

  Miss Jones called, “Jackson, I’m waiting.”

  “I couldn’t help it,” Goat said. “You know how I am about chocolate.”

  “I’m the same way,” I said. “That’s why I—”

  Miss Jones said, “Jackson!”

  Goat said, “I’ll make it up to you. I’ll write new clues, hide a new treasure. How long before you’re through?”

  “Thirty minutes, but—”

  “Thirty minutes. That will be just enough time. This treasure will be the best.”

  I went back to the little white mice, wondering how Goat and I could both have eaten the same chocolate Popsicle.

  Outside, Goat ran for home.

  Chapter Three

  The Hunt for the Stolen Treasure

  I went out the door with my treasure bag in one hand, my map in the other. There was a smile on my face.

  I was pleased with my treasure. It was an old Superman comic book, a fake ice cube with a fly inside, and four M&M’s.

  These were all things that Goat liked. He collected comic books. He had wanted my fake ice cube ever since I had put it in his lemonade for a joke. And he loved chocolate.

  I stuffed the bag and treasure in my pocket and set out for Goat’s house.

  I rang the doorbell. Goat’s mom came to the door.

  “Is Goat home, Mrs. McGee?” I asked.

  “No, Goat has gone to the store,” she said.

  “I’ll wait for him, if you don’t mind. Goat and I are doing treasure hunts.” I patted my pocket where the treasure was.

  “I had to stop because of my piano lesson, but I’m through now and I have my new map and my treasure.” Again I patted my pocket. “Goat is really going to like this treasure, Mrs. McGee. Don’t tell him,
but it’s a comic book, a fake—”

  “I’m sorry. Goat can’t play. He’s being punished.”

  “Aw. Why? What did he do?”

  “Goat ate his sister’s Popsicle.”

  I had that feeling of things about to go wrong. I swallowed.

  “That wouldn’t have been a chocolate Popsicle, would it?”

  “Yes, and he’s gone to the store to get her another one. He has to pay for it out of his next week’s allowance. He knew it was his sister’s Popsicle. I don’t know what makes Goat do these things.”

  “His sister’s Popsicle, huh?” I said.

  “Yes, there were two Popsicles in the freezer. One was Goat’s and one was Rachel’s. Goat claims he only ate his, but they are both missing.”

  “Oh.”

  “So you’ll have to do your treasure hunt some other time, Jackson.”

  “His sister’s chocolate Popsicle, huh?” I felt like a broken record.

  “There’s no need waiting for him. When he gets home, he’s going straight to his room.”

  “Oh.”

  My chocolate Popsicle—or rather Goat’s sister’s chocolate Popsicle—had formed into a hard ball in my stomach. It felt colder now than when it had come out of the freezer.

  I swallowed. “Mrs. McGee—” I said.

  I was looking down at my feet, so she didn’t hear me. She closed the door.

  I rang the bell.

  “Yes?” she said. She did not look pleased that it was me again.

  “Mrs. McGee–”

  “Yes!”

  “Mrs. McGee, I ate the Popsicle.”

  “What?”

  “I ate Rachel’s Popsicle.”

  “You?”

  “Yes,” I went on miserably. “I got the clues for the treasure hunt. And I was in a hurry because of my lesson. My mom was listening for the little white mice. And so I rushed in your house and there was the Popsicle right where the clues said it was supposed to be, and I—I just ate it.”

  “Well, that was not very nice, Jackson.”

  “I didn’t know Goat had already eaten his Popsicle himself. Honest. I just saw the Popsicle, and I thought, Ah, my treasure.”

  I felt as bad as if I had swallowed the stick along with the Popsicle.

  “I’ll go to the store and get Rachel another Popsicle out of my next week’s allowance and—”