The wrinkled wooden Indian from the candy shop walked into his room, clutching a tomahawk.
Nate screamed as he had never screamed before, an involuntary, desperate wail. The Indian reacted by running at him and hurling him onto his bed. The Indian sprang to the closet, tore open the door, crouched, and seized the Stargazer.
“No!” Nate yelled, diving off his bed, wrapping his arms around the painted buckskin jacket. The Indian fell against the wall, a couple of headdress feathers snapping off. Nate reached for the ship, and the Indian elbowed him in the face. The blow knocked him back, but it didn’t hurt, so he hugged the Indian’s legs as the chief tried to rise, and wrenched him to the ground.
The fallen Indian kicked Nate viciously, shoving him backwards, and scrambled across the floor toward the door. Unafraid to use his indestructible body as a projectile, Nate sprang onto his bed and leapt off, hitting the Indian with a flying tackle as he was rising.
The Indian released the Stargazer, picked up Nate, and rammed him into the bookcase, upsetting shelves and sending books and trophies cascading to the floor. Again Nate felt no pain and kept struggling, so the Indian clamped him in a headlock. The chokehold had no effect, and Nate managed to pick up the heavy Indian and thrust his head through the bedroom window. The Indian grabbed the windowsill and pushed off, falling to the floor beside Nate.
“Everything okay, champ?” Nate’s dad asked, standing in the doorway in his undershirt and boxers.
“A wooden Indian is trying to kill me!” Nate hollered.
“It’s just a dream, try to get some shut-eye.”
No longer holding back, the Indian punched Nate in the face. The blow did not hurt, but it had enough force behind it to send him reeling. Nate landed on his hands and knees.
The Indian ran toward the door, grabbed the ship, and knocked over Nate’s dad on the way out. Refusing to admit defeat, Nate gave chase.
“You guys need to settle down,” his dad said as Nate ran by. “Your mom and I are trying to sleep.”
The Indian was quick, but Nate had his chance on the stairs, diving from the top step and colliding with the wooden chief halfway down. They tumbled together, the Stargazer crunching beneath them, and landed in a tangle at the end of the staircase.
The Indian again abandoned the Stargazer to concentrate on Nate. The chief picked him up, carried him across the room, and flung him through the sliding glass door into the backyard. Nate got up and rushed back inside, chasing the Indian to the front door. When the Indian reached the door, the ship under one arm, Nate lunged, but the Indian turned and chopped him in the side of the head with the tomahawk.
As always, Nate felt no pain, but the fierce impact flung him brutally onto the living room carpeting. The Indian raced out the door. Nate got up and pursued him out onto the street, but soon found that in the open, the Indian ran considerably faster than he did. He gave up and watched the Indian dash to the bottom of the street and turn down the jogging path toward the candy shop.
Nate stared impotently at the empty street. He tried to devise a plan to fix things, but there was nothing he could do. The ship was gone.
He trudged back into his house, closing the front door. Cool air wafted in through the glassless sliding door. He pulled the curtain shut in front of it. A window in the family room was broken as well, presumably where the Indian had entered.
Nate climbed the stairs. He peeked into his parents’ room.
“No more friends over on school nights,” his dad stated in a harsh whisper.
“Okay,” Nate said.
He returned to his room. Nate wanted to cry, but no tears would come. He had no idea what he would tell Summer and Pigeon, what he would tell Mr. Stott, what he would tell Trevor. He had failed everyone. Now Mrs. White had the advantage. If she found the treasure first, they were all doomed.
Nate plopped down on his bed, taking in the disaster his room had become. He spit out the Ironhide.
The Stargazer was gone.
Chapter Sixteen
The Substitute
The train of cars rolled forward a little at a time. Nate clutched the cell phone Mr. Stott had given him. The power was off in order to avoid receiving a call. His mom pulled forward, finally getting her turn alongside the curb at the front of Mt. Diablo Elementary.
“Here we are,” she said. “Remember, come straight home after school.”
“I will,” Nate said.
He opened the door and got out, shouldering his backpack. His parents had concluded that the house was trashed because Nate had had friends over late. They had grounded him for a week. No television, no friends. In a way, he was glad they had at least noticed something, even if they had it all wrong.
Caught up in the flow of kids flooding into the school, Nate debated skipping his class. He wanted to hitchhike to San Francisco and stow away on a cargo ship bound for the Southern Hemisphere. Or maybe hop a train to a distant city and check himself into an orphanage. Or even just roam off into the wilderness, build a shack, and start a new life as a mysterious hermit. Anything to avoid admitting that the Stargazer had been stolen by Mrs. White.
In rebellion against his grandiose schemes, Nate’s treacherous feet carried him toward his classroom. He looked at the cell phone. Should he call Mr. Stott? The sooner he confessed, the sooner they could formulate new plans. He put the phone away. He would tell Summer and Pigeon first; then they could all go tell Mr. Stott in person after school.
Nate entered Miss Doulin’s classroom. He slouched into his seat, wondering how he was supposed to sit through another unprepared lesson, considering all the stress he was under. Only then did he notice that Miss Doulin was not sitting at the desk at the front of the class.
In her place sat a broad-shouldered man in an overcoat wearing a brown fedora with a black band. He had a strong jaw and heavy eyebrows. Nate instantly recognized him as the man who had chased him on the night they had stolen the pocket watch from the museum. Fear flooded through him. Somehow the man had tracked them down! Nate glanced over at Summer and Pigeon, already in their seats and looking as uncomfortable as he felt.
The bell rang.
Using a cane, the man stood up and limped to the chalkboard. Taking a piece of chalk from the tray, he wrote MR. DART in large capital letters before turning to regard the class.
“I’m Mr. Dart,” he said in a confident voice. “Today I’ll be standing in for Miss Doulin, who I am told was not feeling well. As long as you keep it to a low roar, I’ll basically leave you alone to read or study or do whatever floats your boat. But first I want to share a few thoughts on an important subject.”