“Left. No! No, turn right,” said fourteen-year-old Henry Alden. He held the map up and frowned. “Yes, that’s it. We’re supposed to turn right at the next stop sign.”
James Alden nodded. He was Henry’s grandfather, and he was driving his four grandchildren—Henry, Jessie, Violet, and Benny—to visit the daughter of an old friend. Her name was Maris Greyson and she was a park ranger at Seven Mountains Wilderness Park.
“Are we lost?” Violet, who was ten years old, asked in a worried voice. “We’ve been driving for a long, long time.”
“We’re not lost,” Henry said cheerfully. “We’ll be there soon.”
Six-year-old Benny, who had been looking out the window, said, “We haven’t passed any houses for miles and miles.”
“Oh—but look,” twelve-year-old Jessie said. “There’s a sign that says ‘Greyson.’”
Grandfather turned down a very narrow, very bumpy dirt road. They rocked from one rut in the road to another.
Finally, Grandfather stopped the car in a small clearing. In the middle of the clearing was a small log cabin. The door opened and a big, furry dog came bounding out.
A woman followed the dog out into the clearing. “Shoe,” she said, “heel!” The woman was small and strong-looking, with short jet-black hair. She wore jeans, hiking boots, and a red-and-black-checked wool shirt.
Grandfather got out of the car. “Maris Greyson, it’s good to see you,” he said. “It’s been much too long.”
“It has,” she said with a quick smile. “But you haven’t changed.” She gave Grandfather Alden a hug. “It’s so good to see you, James. Welcome to Seven Mountains Park.”
“Is your dog nice?” Benny asked, almost tumbling out of the car. “We have a dog, but we didn’t bring him. We found him when we were living in the boxcar. His name is Watch and he’s a good watchdog.”
“Whoa, Benny. Slow down,” said Henry. He put his hand on his brother’s shoulder.
“My dog’s name is Snowshoe, Shoe for short, and she’s friendly to people,” Maris said.
“May we pet her?” Violet asked.
“Sure,” said Maris. “Shoe, come!”
“Hey there, Shoe,” said Henry, bending to stroke the dog’s back. “She looks almost like a wolf.”
“Husky, mostly, with a few other things thrown in,” said Maris. “I found her wandering on one of the trails when she was still practically a puppy. She was a skinny little thing. You wouldn’t know that now, would you, Shoe?”
The dog’s ears flattened when she heard her name and she wagged her tail harder.
“These are my grandchildren,” said Grandfather. “Henry, Jessie, Violet, and Benny.”
“Pleased to meet you. Come on in,” said Maris. “I’m making stew for dinner. I’ll show you where to put your gear. By the time you unpack, it’ll be time to eat.”
“Henry and I can unload the car,” Jessie volunteered. Jessie liked to take charge and organize things.
In a few minutes, Henry and Benny were climbing up a ladder to a sleeping loft at one end of the cabin, pulling their packs and suitcases behind them.
“Wow,” said Henry. “This is cool.” He looked around the loft, tucked under one end of the sloping roof. Two narrow beds were pushed against each wall. A skylight let in the last rays of the sun above them.
“I like it here,” Benny said. He began to unpack.
“Me, too,” agreed Henry, doing the same.
At the other end of the cabin, Violet and Jessie were unpacking in a loft that looked just like the boys’. Down below, they could hear Maris talking to Grandfather as he unpacked his things. The good smell of stew filled the cabin.
“I’m hungry,” Benny said suddenly. He leaned over the railing that enclosed the loft and sniffed. “Very hungry.”
“Me, too,” called Jessie from the other loft.
“Come on down,” Maris said, looking up at them. “As soon as the table is set, we can eat.”
Benny scrambled down the ladder in a flash and soon all four Alden children had the table set.
They ate hungrily. Soon they’d cleaned their plates and started on second helpings. The mountain air had made them all hungry.
“I like this cabin,” said Jessie. “It’s sort of like living in the boxcar.”
The Aldens told Maris the story of how they had become orphans and gone to live in an abandoned boxcar in the woods. They hadn’t known that their grandfather was looking for them and wanted them to come live with him.
“Then he found us and we live in Greenfield now,” Violet said. “Grandfather put the boxcar in the backyard and we can visit it whenever we want.”
“An amazing story,” said Maris. “And now I know what to do if I ever need more room in my cabin. I’ll just get a boxcar!”
Benny suddenly yawned. He covered his mouth. “Excuse me,” he said.
“We should all go to bed early tonight,” Grandfather said.
“I’m not sleepy,” Benny insisted. But his eyes drooped.
“Going to bed early is a good idea,” said Maris. “Because when you get up in the morning, I’m going to have a surprise for you.”
Benny sat up. His drooping eyelids opened wide. “What is it?” he asked. “Is it a mystery? We’re good at solving mysteries.”
“There are a few mysteries in these mountains, but that’s not the surprise,” said Maris.
“What kind of mysteries?” asked Henry. He and the others forgot about the surprise for a minute.
“Well, the most famous mystery is the mystery of Stagecoach George,” Maris said.
“Who is Stagecoach George?” asked Jessie.
“Once upon a time, about a hundred years ago, or maybe more, a very unlucky bandit named Stagecoach George robbed the local stagecoach. It was carrying a big strongbox full of gold to the bank. He got the loot, made his escape, and headed for what is now Blizzard Gap. He knew no one could catch him in these wild mountains.
“But Stagecoach George never had any luck that wasn’t bad,” Maris went on. “He got halfway up Blizzard Mountain—that’s the tallest and wildest of these mountains—and the snow started falling. His horse was getting tired, too. So George decided to bury the loot and come back for it later.
“He’d just finished hiding the loot when his horse went crazy on him. The horse snorted and reared and then it jerked the reins free from George’s hand and tore off down the mountain.”
“Oh, no,” breathed softhearted Violet. “Poor Stagecoach George!”
“That’s when he heard an awful roar up the mountain above him, like a thousand trains thundering down the track with a thousand tornadoes right behind them.”
“Uh-oh,” Benny said. “I bet I know what that was!”
“Right,” Maris said. “And George knew just what it was, too. It was an avalanche. He jumped just like his horse had done—for it had known something was wrong, the way animals do. Anyway, George jumped and tried to run, but it was too late.”
“And that was the end of Stagecoach George?” asked Henry.
“Yep,” Maris said. She leaned back. “Except some people claim they’ve seen his ghost. They say it’s guarding his treasure, trying to figure out a way to dig it up and take it off the mountain.”
“Wow,” said Jessie. “That’s a great story. Maybe we can find the treasure!”
“Or the ghost,” said Benny.
“No such thing as a ghost,” Grandfather reminded them. “But it is a good story.”
“And there might be such a thing as treasure buried by the avalanche,” Maris said. She shook her head. “At least, some people still think so.”
“Can we go look for the treasure on Blizzard Mountain?” Benny asked.
“Hmmm. We might be able to arrange a trip to the mountain,” Maris said. “Now who wants dessert?”
“Just a little,” said Benny.
Everyone laughed and Benny grinned. He never said no to dessert.
Benny went to bed with his head full of stagecoach robbers and surprises. He was sure he would never be able to fall asleep.
But the minute he closed his eyes, he fell into such a deep sleep that he didn’t even notice his brother climbing up into the loft or hear Henry say softly, “Night, Benny,” before he, too, got into bed and fell asleep. Jessie fell asleep right away, too. But Violet lay awake for a little while longer. She thought about stagecoach robbers and avalanches and ghosts. Once, she thought she heard a sound outside the cabin. She peered through the narrow window by her bed, but she couldn’t see anything except how very, very dark it was.
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