Hunter Moran Digs Deep Read Free Page A

Here in Newfield?” I grab Steadman and throw myself to one side and we sprawl onto Johnny Peach Pit’s grave.
    Steadman looks a little embarrassed for me. “It’s just written in the stone,” he says.
    Not alive. I can breathe. I crawl across the weeds to take a look. It’s a picture of a snake, all right, ready to strike . . .
    Except that it’s coiled up at the end of the stone so the head and fangs are missing.
    But I have a terrific imagination: the real snake’s great-grandchildren are nested together, tongues darting in and out, guarding the treasure somewhere.
    â€œMaybe we should forget about it,” I begin.
    Sarah looks thrilled. “I’ll just have to collect the money alone,” she says.
    â€œNot on your life,” Zack says.
    â€œDon’t be a coward, Hunter,” Steadman whispers in a voice that would wake the buried bodies.
    Zack and Yulefski aren’t paying attention anyway. They’re focused on something else now: a faint curve over the curled-up snake. An
S
?
S
for
school
.
    In the darkness, the train station lights are coming on. And there’s Pop, swinging his computer case, just in on the 8:15 from the city. He looks a little slumped over, tired from his long day.
    Poor Pop, working on a Saturday. I have to feel sorry for him. I picture him bent over his birdhouse, whistling as he sands and paints.
    Still, it’s a relief. He’ll never get down to the man cavetonight. As soon as he eats, he’ll be dozing in the armchair, feet up on the hassock.
    â€œWe’ll dig up the whole school basement,” Zack whispers, looking around. Is he thinking of Bradley?
    And another thing. I’ll have to find a sharp knife and a bottle of anti-snake venom to pour into our wounds. (
Demons of the Jungle: What to Do in Case of Snakebite
. Wednesday night, six o’clock.)

Chapter 4
    Sunday morning, Zack and I are sitting on the back steps, swinging our feet, crunching Skittles.
    â€œSo Lester buried his fortune somewhere in the school,” Zack says.
    But he doesn’t get in another word.
    The back door swings open and Pop steps out, briefcase in hand. “Leaves.” He waves the briefcase around.
    We look up. Red, gold, and even a few green leaves drift down. “It’s Sunday,” I say.
    â€œYes, and I have to go to work anyway.” He walks around us and clatters down the rest of the steps.
    â€œBut what about William?” Zack asks.
    Pop frowns. “William . . .” he begins, and shakes his head. “He’s cleaning paint off his floor.” He swivels around on the bottom step. “The rakes are in the garage. Two of them. It works out just right.”
    Mom smiles at Pop from the window. He smiles back as he walks toward the train station.
    We don’t smile. We have more important things on ourminds. Besides, when we have big bucks, we’ll pay William a couple of cents an hour to rake. He’s cheap enough to go for it.
    We sit back, listening to the train whistle. Pop will have to run for it.
    â€œYou know how big that school is?” Zack says. “We could be searching around until we’re as old as Sister Appolonia.”
    â€œOr Lester himself,” I put in.
    â€œThere’s only one thing to do,” Zack says.
    I know what’s coming. Something we both dread.
    â€œWe’ll have to haul ourselves down to the library,” he says. “Lucky it’s open on Sunday afternoons. Maybe we can find something out in one of those old books.”
    I sigh. We have to pay Mrs. Wu, the librarian, ten cents each time. It’s because of last summer’s book. Zack tried to hit William over the head with it, and it landed in Yulefski’s pool and floated along, waterlogged, smelling of chlorine. It never did dry out, even though we kept it overdue, for a month.
    It’s a good thing Nana gave us that dollar when she was here last week.