You draw out the tightly coiled bundle. It's too light to go any distance out of the pit if you throw it. You need to tie something to the end of it--something that can act as a hook.

You don't have a hook, but you do have a backpack.

You scrabble in the pit's dirt floor and unearth some rocks. You stuff them into the backpack's side pockets to add weight.

You tie one end of the rope securely to the backpack's arm straps. Then, standing on the other end of the rope, you hurl the backpack out of the pit with all of your might. You tug on the rope--and the backpack comes hurtling at your face.

You catch it with a grunt and throw it again. After three more tries, you double over, sweating and clutching the backpack. Tears sting your eyes, but you blink them away.

With a cry of frustration, you fling the backpack out of the pit, watching the length of rope play out. You hear it hit the ground above, and you start to pull it back. Your stomach clenches as you feel it slide easily toward the pit's edge again.

But it stops.

You tug on the rope. It doesn't budge.

You pull harder. The backpack doesn't move.

Planting your feet on the wall of the pit, you use the rope to climb your way up. At the top, you gracelessly flop out and roll onto the forest floor. You've never been so glad to have a face full of leaves and dirt. You laugh in relief.

You follow the rope a couple of feet from the edge of the pit; your backpack is caught on a downed tree, one of the straps wrapped around the base of a thick branch.

After stowing your rope and getting rid of the rocks (well, most of the rocks; you keep one to remind you of this close call) you take a couple of deep breaths and start back toward the rise. There, you scan the area again. This time, you notice a huge pile of brush in the distance that looks out of place.

As you approach the brush pile, you see it take on a distinctly un-brush-pile shape. From a distance, you wouldn't have noticed. Closer, though, you see dirty white patches through the branches. Plus, the shape is too regular, like a giant rectangle.

When you reach the front of it, you see its four tires and a door. This brush pile is hiding a camper. The door is tiny, as if the camper is from the 1800s or something. Not that there were pull-behind campers in the 1800s, but everything was smaller--beds, chairs, doors--all made for smaller, trimmer people. You can fit through the doorway, but no one big and bulky could.

In order to get through, you'll need to get the door open. This old camper is equipped with a high-tech, digital locking mechanism that requires a three-digit code--and only one chance to enter it correctly.

If the owner of this camper is anything like you are with your gym locker, they'll have the code written down someplace handy. You just need to find it...

Which proves to be a mix of good news and bad news. The good news: This particular clue is a cinch to locate. The poacher spray-painted it in huge numbers on the back side of the camper. The bad news: You need to do math to solve it.

8 + 100 x 2

Math. Why did it have to be math?

You try to remember everything you've ever learned about math equations. Do you work the problem in order, from left to right? Or does multiplication always come before addition? That sounds familiar, but you're not quite sure.

What is the code?

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Excerpted from The Captured Eagle: A Choose Your Path Mystery by Deb Mercier
All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.