After an exhausting climb, we finally reached the summit of Boyle’s Mountain. Its top was a mass of rock—no grass, no trees, just rock. I thought the mountain looked like an old, bald man. Perhaps it passed the time by telling the other mountains how things had been, “back in my day.”
Erected upon the rocky top was the statue of Braddock, Lord Boyle. Ten feet tall, Ol’ Braddock gazed at the horizon, forever watching the cloud-drenched mountain range. A plaque at the base of his statue paid tribute to the life of that great man.
“Chick-a-dee,” sang a chickadee, introducing itself to us as it landed atop Braddock’s head. It gazed down at us and chirped, “Chick-a-dee” once again.
“Hello, little cutie,” I called out to the bird.
“Chick-a-dee” replied the bird.
Bard and Bumble ignored the chickadee. They had already thrown down their packs and were now wielding their shovels…
Oh, I forgot to mention earlier that Bumble had a shovel, too. How silly of me. Please forgive me, Buster. I did not intend to confuse you.
Anyway…
As they held their shovels, Bard and Bumble circled the statue and glared at one another.
“My clue says that the next clue is beneath the statue,” said Bard.
“Bumble’s clue says that, too,” replied Bumble.
“So start digging,” Bard ordered Bumble.
“Ha! You’d like for Bumble to do all the work,” replied Bumble. “But it’s not going to happen.”
Myth, paying no heed to the two fools, walked up to the statue and gazed at the plaque. I suppose she was reading the message written upon it. Then she took her towel out of her pack and used it to clean the plaque.
“Chick-a-dee,” sang the chickadee.
I closed my eyes and breathed deeply…
I do not know if you have ever been atop a mountain, Buster. But if you ever are, be sure to spare a moment just to breathe deeply. The air up there tastes so fresh; it’s not dirty like the air in a city…
Unfortunately, Bard and Bumble were present. Thus, I could not properly savor the moment.
“Somebody has to dig,” growled Bard.
I opened my eyes and looked at Bard and Bumble. They were inches apart now, practically nose to nose. Neither of them blinked as they continued to glare at one another. And each one was gripping his shovel, ready to bash it against the other’s head.
“Then get to work,” Bumble growled back.
Myth continued to ignore Bard and Bumble. Once the plaque was clean, she walked over to the edge of the mountain. Then she leaned her head and torso precariously over the side and looked down.
“Please be careful, Myth,” I begged her.
“There’s a ledge down there,” said Myth, “maybe fifteen feet below us. Reaching it wouldn’t be hard.” She looked at me and smiled. “Do you fancy climbing down to it, Izzy?”
“I’d much rather have you step away from the edge,” I replied.
Myth shrugged and said, “Alright, Iz.”
She walked over to me, allowing me to breathe easily for the first time since she had approached the edge. Nudging my arm with her elbow, Myth teasingly said, “Now who’s being fussy?”
“Chick-a-dee,” said the chickadee.
Meanwhile, the glaring contest between Bard and Bumble was still in progress.
“Well, if you’re not going to dig,” said Bard, “and I am not going to dig, then who is?”
Both he and Bumble looked at Myth and me.
“Nuh-uh,” said Myth. “It’s not going to happen.”
“Come on, Babe,” said Bumble, fluttering over to us. “Won’t you do this teensy-weensy favor for Bumble?”
Myth folded her arms across her tummy. “I’m tempted to throw you off this mountain. But you’d just fly away.”
“Okay,” said Bard. “We’ll take turns digging. That’s fair, right?”
“Nuh-uh,” said Myth. “Izzy and I aren’t digging.”
“You expect us to do all the digging,” said Bumble. “That’s harsh, Babe.”
I also thought that Myth was being unfair. So I rubbed her arm and said, “Now, Myth, be reasonable. Bard and Bumble are dolts, but we should help them dig. It’s only fair.”
Myth refused to relent. Shaking her head, she said, “Nope.”
Huffing, I asked her, “Why are you being so stubborn?”
“Izzy,” said Myth, “there are a couple of problems I’d like to point out. When you hear them, you’ll understand why I refuse to dig.” Myth held up a finger. “One, we’re standing on rock—using shovels to dig through rock is going to be difficult to say the least.” She held up a second finger. “Two, even if Black Bart somehow managed to dig a hole in solid rock—how did he fill in that hole?"
“Huh?” uttered Bard.
“Rock, once it’s been broken up—it stays broken up,” said Myth. “If Black Bart dug a hole here, he would’ve had to use the rock chippings to fill in the hole. But look around. I don’t see a big patch of gravel. All I see is solid rock. So explain to me how Black Bart managed to erase all evidence of this hole that he supposedly dug?”
“Um,” uttered both Bard and Bumble. Neither of them came up with a reasonable explanation.
“You don’t think the clue is here, do you?” I asked Myth.
“Actually,” replied Myth, “I do think that the clue is here. But—”
“Ho! Ho! Ho!” laughed Bumble. “Clever, Babe, very clever. But you’re not clever enough to fool Bumble.” He tapped Bard on the shoulder. “Can you believe it? She’s trying to trick us—make us give up so she can take the treasure for herself.”
“You devious little minx,” said Bard. “That was quite the cunning plot you hatched. But I—The Bard—am too smart to fall for such a ruse.”
Myth held her forehead with her hand and exclaimed, “Gah! These fools are giving me a headache.”
She lowered her hand and scowled at Bard and Bumble. “I’m just trying to keep you dolts from hurting yourselves. But you know what? Be my guest—dig away. Dig until both of you are lying on the ground, exhausted and your bodies broken. But Izzy and I won’t help you do something so utterly stupid.”
Bumble pointed at Myth. “I’m sorry, Babe. But if you won’t dig, then I’m not going to share the treasure with you.”
“Yeah,” added Bard. “We’ll just take the clue and leave.”
Myth shook her head and muttered, “You can give an idiot a loaf of bread, but you can’t make him eat it.”
“Beat it, Babe,” said Bumble. “And take the Frigid One with you. We’ve got some digging to do.”
Bard and Bumble took their shovels and attempted to dig into solid rock. The early results were pretty much what you would expect—a lot of metal scrapping against rock with no progress made. Bard even fell over once when he tried to drive his shovel into the rock by jumping up and down on his shovel’s shoulder.
Myth grabbed my hand and said, “Let’s leave them to it. We should find a quiet spot and relax.”
I frowned at her. Yes, she had convinced me that digging into solid rock was a silly plan. But I still wanted to search for Black Bart’s treasure.
“We were going to look for buried treasure together,” I said, pouting. “You promised. I can’t believe you’re giving up.”
Myth stroked the back of my head. “We’re still going to search for the treasure, Iz,” she said quietly. “In fact, I bet we’ll find the next clue before Bard and Bumble do.”
That comment perked me up. “Really,” I said, beaming at her. “Do you know where it is?”
“I’m not certain,” said Myth, “but I think I know where we’ll find it.”
I grabbed her hands and stood on my tippy-toes, preparing to bounce up and down excitedly. “Where is it?”
Myth shook her head. “Not yet. Let the boys have their fun first. In a couple days, when they’re too tired to move, we’ll find that clue.”
“But,” I replied, “what if they figure out where it is before then?”
“Iz, they’re trying to dig into rock,” said Myth. “Those two are so dense that they would have trouble locating their own feet. Trust me—they won’t find the clue.”
“Okay,” I said, satisfied that our treasure hunt was not over. “Let’s go have some fun.”
“Chick-a-dee,” sang the chickadee as we walked away.
I turned and waved to the bird. “Goodbye, little cutie. Have fun watching Bard and Bumble hurt themselves.”
Actually, that did sound like fun. But spending some time alone with Myth sounded even better.