Before he could finish, another sound seemed to fill the woods — the hoof beats of a galloping horse. The boys paused. A horseman appeared riding hard through the trees to the right of the road. Something long flashed in his hand as he rode.

“Wha… what… ” Pete stammered.

“Look!” Jupiter cried.

The horseman angled past them towards the green VW. The wild-haired young man had already turned and run back to his car. As the boys watched he got into it, started up, and skidded away in a cloud of dust towards the highway below. The horseman pursued the car for a few yards, then wheeled his horse and galloped back to the boys.

The great horse reared to a stop and the rider glared down at them. He was a short, stocky man with a harsh red face and fiery blue eyes. He wore a tweed jacket and narrow, almost skin-tight plaid trousers. The thing that had flashed in his hand was a long, heavy, basket-hilted sword!

“So! I’ve got you rascals! You’ll make no move now!”

“But —!” Jupiter started to protest.

“Silence!” the horseman thundered. “I’m not knowing what you and that older ruffian are doing here, but I will!”

Pete blurted out hotly, “We weren’t with —!”

“You can tell your lies to the police! Now march!”

“But, sir,” Jupiter started to say again, “we —”

“March, I said!” the angry horseman commanded.

He waved the long sword menacingly and urged his horse at the boys. They shrank, back, and quietly began to march up the road deeper into the mountains.

“Ten minutes later the road topped a ridge and dipped down into a high wooded valley surrounded by dry, rocky mountains. At the bottom lay a narrow pond, about twice as long as a football field. There was a small, hilly island in the pond with pine trees on it, and what looked like some kind of beacon — a tall pole with a lantern on it. A series of stones led from the island across a narrow channel to the shore.

Pete gaped. “Is that supposed to be the lake?”

“Ye’ll no talk!” the horseman growled behind the boys. “On down with you now.”

The boys hurried on down the mountain road in the hot sun. After another moment, Pete whispered, “Some lake. It’s a puddle!” As the road curved down to the bottom, a house came into view. Set on high ground above the pond, it was a big old three-storied house of roughly plastered stone. A square tower with a battlement formed the middle section of the house and gave it a strange, alien air. Flanking the tower were two wings with dormer windows. The tangled old vines on the walls failed to soften the building’s harsh lines.

“Wow!” exclaimed Pete under his breath. “That house looks more like a fortress! You could stand on the tower and spot your enemies miles away!”

“It is an odd house,” Jupiter whispered back. “In fact, it doesn’t seem to belong here at all.”

The stocky horseman dismounted. “Inside wi’ ye!”

They went into a vast entry hall of panelled wood hung with tapestries, old weapons, and the heads of elk and deer. Faded Oriental rugs lay on the wooden floor. Everything was old and worn. The red-faced man herded them with his sword into a large living-room full of massive old furniture. A fire smouldered in an enormous stone fireplace but the room was still chilly.

A small woman was sitting in a chair in front of the fireplace. A redheaded boy about Bob’s size stood beside her. He wore the same tight plaid trousers as the horseman.

“You got him, Rory!” the boy cried.

“That I did not,” the horseman said. “The villain escaped in his car, but I’ve collared his confederates.”

“Why,” the woman said, “they’re only boys, Rory! Surely they can’t —?”

“Evil no has to come in full size, Flora Gunn,” Rory said. “They’re big enough for devils’ work.” He nodded to the red-headed boy. “You best call the police, Cluny, and we’ll get to the bottom of all this breaking in once and for all.”

Jupiter came alert. “The man in the Volkswagen broke in here, sir? What did he take?”

The man laughed. “Ay, as if you’re not knowing!”

“We don’t know!” Pete protested. “We never saw that man! We saw the car, though, because it’s been following us!”

Jupiter said quietly, “We were coming here to talk to you, Mrs. Gunn, when the man passed us on the road. He stopped and chased us. I’m Jupiter Jones from The Jones Salvage Yard in Rocky Beach, and these are my friends Bob Andrews and Pete Crenshaw. Our bikes are back on the road. They should prove that we didn’t come with the man in the Volkswagen.”

“Flora!” the horseman said. “It’s the police you should —”

“Be quiet, Rory,” Mrs. Gunn said, and nodded to the boys. “I’m Flora Gunn, boys, this is my son, Cluny, and that is our cousin, Mr. Rory McNab. May I ask why you were coming to see me?”

Bob blurted out, “Because of the chest, ma’am!”

“Our salvage yard bought an old Oriental sea chest, ma’am,” Jupiter explained. “It has the name Argyll Queen in it, and we think it belonged to your ancestor, Angus Gunn. Since we got the chest, some mysterious things have been happening. If you could tell me what the man in the Volkswagen took from your house, it might help explain what’s happened.”

Mrs. Gunn hesitated. “Well, he took nothing, boys. It’s the same every time. Someone breaks in, rummages all through what we have left of Great-grandfather Angus’s things, and never takes anything at all.”

“Nothing?” Pete said, disappointed.

But Jupiter said, “Every time, Mrs. Gunn? How many times has your house been broken into recently?”

“Five times in the last six months, I’m afraid.”

The red-headed boy, Cluny, burst out, “It’s always old Angus’s things they search! I think they’re trying to find —”

“The treasure!” Bob exclaimed.

“Mother,” Cluny cried eagerly, “they think it’s the treasure the burglar is after, too!”

Mrs. Gunn smiled. “That old legend of a treasure was proved groundless a long time ago, boys. Cluny has too much imagination.”

“Maybe not, Mrs. Gunn,” Jupiter said, and told them about Java Jim and his interest in the Oriental chest. He showed the ring they had found in the chest.

Mrs. Gunn examined the ring. “You found this?”

“Let me see,” Rory McNab said, taking the ring. “Bah, it’s red glass and brass! Old Angus had a box full of such trinkets for trading. You’re fools! People read old Angus’s journal and searched for a hundred years and nary a hint of a treasure!”

Mrs. Gunn sighed. “Rory is right, boys. Old Angus’s journal was the only possible source for a clue to any treasure, and no one ever found such a clue. I’m afraid it was all nonsense.”

“Unless,” Jupiter said, “everyone read the wrong journal!”

He took the thin second journal from his jacket and held it up in the silent room.

“Another journal?” Cluny cried.

“What kind o’ trick is this?” Rory growled.

Mrs. Gunn took the thin journal. She turned some pages slowly, and looked in the front. “It’s no trick, Rory. This is old Angus’s handwriting, sure enough, and the signature is his.” She looked at the boys. “Where did you get it?”

Jupiter told her how he had found the new journal between the walls of the chest. “Whoever repaired the inner wall of the chest didn’t notice the journal in the narrow space or know about the secret compartment. If the compartment had ever been opened, the pirate booby trap would have been sprung, and it hadn’t been.”

Mrs. Gunn nodded. “Yes, I remember that old Oriental chest now. I sold it years ago, after my husband passed away. I’ve had to sell many of old Angus’s things to make ends meet. We’re not well off, I’m afraid, and this house is expensive to keep up. Without Rory’s help and hard work we’d have lost the house long ago.”