On Track for Treasure Read Free

running, then crashing through the bushes near the top of the ravine and stumbling down into the woods.
    Alexander was already on his feet, holding out his hatchet for defense. “Who’s there?” he called.
    â€œIt’s me!” gasped the intruder. “Quentin!”
    Quentin was still struggling to catch his breath. Though Quentin’s crooked front lip always made him look like he was sneering, Jack could tell he’d had quite a scare. The others gathered around, full of questions.
    â€œWhere are the rest of the kids?” Alexander demanded. “Did they escape with you?”
    â€œN-no,” Quentin panted. “Just me . . .”
    â€œWhat?”
Alexander was furious. “You just left on your own?”
    â€œYou did the same thing when
you
escaped from the ranch,” Jack reminded him.
    â€œNo! Listen to me!” Quentin insisted. “I was just trying—”
    â€œTrying to put us all in danger?” Frances interrupted. “What about those dogs out there?”
    â€œI didn’t
know
there’d be guard dogs!” Quentin cried. “But, I mean, I think I outran ’em.”
    Jack shook his head. “Those dogs probably woke up half the town of Whitmore, Quentin! What if it’s not only the dogs that are chasing you? What if it’s the Pratcherds, or . . .”
    â€œOr the sheriff
,”
Alexander said, his voice suddenly a whisper. His face had gone pale at the sight of something at the top of the ravine. Jack and the others turned to follow his gaze.
    There, at the edge of the woods, was a man on horseback: Sheriff Routh. Jack could see the glint of his badge.
    â€œSo this is where you brats have been keeping yourselves,” the sheriff said, smirking as he looked all around.
    Nobody moved or spoke, but then Frances stepped in front of her little brother, Harold, as if to protect him. “It’s better than the bunker at that wretched ranch!” she called out. “Better than being forced to dig all day in those fields. Why don’t you let us be?”
    The sheriff’s eyes narrowed at Frances. “I don’t care anymore how rough you had it out there. You little worms tried to make a monkey of me the day you stole that wagon from the Pratcherds,” he said. “And they will be very interested to know where you are now.” He pointed at Alexander. “Especially
you
.”
    Alexander was still pale, but he squared his shoulders. He had been the first one to escape from the Pratcherds, and it had been his idea to start Wanderville.
    â€œIs that so?” Alexander said. Jack could hear a slight tremble in his words. But then Alexander took a breath and raised his voice. “I’d like to see you try to arrest all
ten
of us right now!”
    â€œYeah!” Frances called. “Just try it!”
    The boys joined in as well. “Go ahead!” Quentin jeered.
    But Jack held his tongue. The sheriff had a look about him that was different today: He glared at them all fiercely. The man seemed to be boiling inside, and suddenly Jack understood that this wasn’t about breaking the law anymore. This was about revenge. They’d made the sheriff look foolish in the town of Whitmore.
    â€œYou think you’re safe because there’s a whole crowd of you kids now? I’ll just come back with a few of my deputies,” Sheriff Routh declared. “And the Pratcherds, too. Don’t bother trying to hide.” The sheriff turned his horse around, kicking up dirt and scattering the pile of kindling that the little kids had been collecting. Suddenly, Jack wanted to yell something—anything—at the man, but the words wouldn’t come. He stood there, furious and silent, as the horse and rider dashed up the ravine and rode off.
    No one spoke for a moment after the sheriff left.
    â€œGood riddance,” Nicky said. “He can’t threaten