The breeze still blew from the north the next morning, but the waves were not high enough to forbid crossing the three or four miles of open water that separated the adventurers from the land to the southwest. Before starting out, Nangotook, to gain the good favor of the manito, threw into the lake another offering of tobacco, though he had little left. The two paddles, that had remained in the canoe when it sank, had evidently been washed out of the cove, so the trip had to be made with one blade, the Indian wielding it.
The boys’ minds were full of the land they were approaching, and they discussed its possibilities earnestly, but the Ojibwa was silent, apparently devoting his whole attention to his paddling. As they drew near the unknown island, the lads searched it eagerly with their eyes, but they could discover no indication of a sand beach. A rocky point, spotted with the white bodies of the gulls resting upon it, ran out into the water. Back from the point rose high ground covered with trees.
Clouds had begun to fleck the blue sky, and the breeze had gained in force. The rocks, exposed to the wind and dashed with spray, afforded no good landing place. So the three went on between the point and the small rock islands and reefs that lay out from it, the boys on the watch for the gleam of golden sands. Nangotook, heedful of hidden points and reefs, kept his eyes on the water most of the time.
No yellow sands came into view. There was one stretch of beach, but it showed no gleam of gold. Apparently it was just ordinary sand, and Nangotook did not think landing worth while, but paddled by. Beyond another stretch of broken and tumbled rocks, a small opening, cutting into the island between high portals, came into view. The Indian’s curiosity must have been aroused, for he headed the canoe into the narrow channel.
Then an unexpected and beautiful sight met the eyes of the wanderers. They found themselves in a peaceful harbor, almost round, and wooded with evergreens to the water line. Directly in front of them, as they entered, the ground was low, but to right and left it rose high, spruces and balsam firs standing in thick ranks to the summit. The gap through which they had come was a mere cut in a tree-clothed ridge, which stretched away on either side. Ronald confided to Jean that it looked as if some giant manito had taken a bite out of the ridge, but he was careful not to let Nangotook overhear the remark. There was no sand of any kind to be seen, but, in spite of their disappointment, the boys voiced their admiration of this beautiful, landlocked harbor. The Ojibwa’s usually impassive face wore a look in which relief seemed mingled with surprise, and he spoke a few words in his own language, and quickly cast a pinch of tobacco into the water. It was no wonder that he felt such an attractive place must be the dwelling of some spirit.
By that time the sky had become thickly overcast, and, as the gold-seekers circled the wooded shore, rain began to fall. They made a landing on the trunk of a cedar, that had tilted over until it lay almost flat on the water, and lifting out the canoe, hid it in the thick growth. In spite of the rain, the boys were eager to explore. They had seen nothing very encouraging so far, but they were by no means convinced that this was not the mysterious island they sought. How could they be sure the golden sands did not lie just over there beyond the forest?
Curiously enough it was the Indian who hung back and wanted to delay exploration until the weather cleared. He did not give any good reason for waiting, but his disinclination to begin the search was so plain, that the boys grew impatient and told him if he did not want to go he could stay behind. They were going to see what was on the other side of the woods. When he found they were determined, he joined them, but, contrary to his usual custom, he did not lead the way. It was the Scotch boy who took the lead.
Striking through the woods where they had landed, they went up the ridge. As they climbed, the way became steep and rocky. The spruces and balsams stood less thickly on the summit, and, if the weather had been clear, the adventurers might have obtained a good view of their surroundings, but the rain was falling so thick and fine, more like a dense mist than rain, that they could see only a few feet beyond where they stood. It was quite impossible to tell what sort of shore lay beyond and below the woods.
“It is scarcely worth while to seek for golden sands or anything else in this thick weather,” Jean remarked. “We must wait until it passes.”
“Go back to bay, make camp, catch some fish,” said Etienne, in his brief, abrupt way.
Ronald was reluctant to give up, but there seemed nothing else to do, and the mention of fish reminded him he was very hungry, so he yielded, not very good-naturedly. It was the Ojibwa that led the way this time, and a steep, dripping, slippery way it was, down through the woods to the bay.
Probably that bay had never been fished by any creature but the gulls that swooped down on the small fishes that swam too near the surface. The water abounded in little fish, but they were lake herring, which are really not herring at all, and will not take a hook. The lads had no net, and failing to catch anything in the bay, were obliged to go out through the channel. There, above a sunken reef, they secured three good sized lake trout.
In the meantime Etienne had found and made ready a camping place, and had built a small bark lodge. The rain continued steadily, and the three spent the rest of the day under shelter.
Rain was still coming down the next morning, and the weather had turned so cold that the boys would not have been surprised if snow had fallen, though it was still early in September. By the time another supply of fish had been caught and fire-wood cut, they were glad to seek the wigwam. There they remained most of the day, resting on couches of balsam and spruce, covered with blankets, and passing the time talking, mending their moccasins and dozing. In the center of the wigwam they kept a small fire going, the smoke finding its way out through a hole in the roof. The lads tried to persuade Nangotook to tell of his adventures and exploits, but he seemed disinclined to talk, and passed the day in morose and sullen silence. Jean could not imagine what had come over the usually good-natured Ojibwa.
Late in the afternoon the rain ceased, and Jean and Ronald climbed up over their trail of the day before. Nangotook only grunted when they proposed the trip, and did not accompany them. The sky was still overcast and the distance hazy, but from the top of the ridge, a hundred feet or more above the lake, the two lads could look down upon a rocky shore to their left and across a stretch of lower land to the right. What the shore was like beyond that low land they could not tell. There might be, indeed it seemed probable from the lay of the land that there was, a beach on that side of the island. Ahead of them the trees obstructed the view.
They made their way along the ridge, a rough way, over slippery rocks, along the verge of steep declivities, among spruce and balsam trees, until they came out from woods on almost bare rocks. They had reached the southern end of the island, where rock walls and slopes descended to the water, vertically in some places, more gently in others. Everywhere there was rock, no beaches, no sand.
The sun had set behind heavy clouds, and the gray sky shed little light. No land was visible across the water, in the growing darkness and haze of the gloomy, sullen evening. Depressed and silent, the two lads stumbled back along their trail, finding it with difficulty in the blackness of the woods. Their confidence was dwindling, though they tried to comfort themselves with the thought that they had not explored all of the island yet. The shore beyond the lower land to the west of the ridge was their only real hope.
That night Jean dreamed that he went to that shore by night, and found the golden sands gleaming in the moonlight. Then, just as he stooped to gather up a handful, there came a strange, rustling sound over his head. He looked up, and an enormous bird with open beak and fiery eyes was swooping down on him. He tried to run, to wave his arms, to shout, but not a muscle could he move, not a sound could he make. The bird’s great wing brushed his head. He made a tremendous effort and broke the spell that bound him. With a little cry he sprang out of his blanket and on to his feet, just as some heavy, furry, spitting object grazed his shoulder and landed in the bed he had left.
The animal was as badly frightened as the boy. It uttered a shrill screech, and sprang for the patch of dim light that marked the entrance to the shelter. Unfortunately Ronald was lying directly across its path. Aroused by the screech, he raised himself up. The heavy ball of fur struck him full in the body, knocking him flat again. The impact broke the beast’s leap, and it fell sprawling across the lad’s breast. Its vicious, cat-like snarl was close to his ear, he felt its hot breath on his face. Too terrified to cry out, he upheaved his body in an effort to throw off the creature. Its sharp claws tore through his blanket coat, and he tried to get a hold on its throat.
Just at that moment, Jean precipitated himself full upon both Ronald and the animal. The attack was too much for the fierce cat. It slipped out from between the two and sprang clear of the entrance, before Jean’s knife could find it.
The boys disentangled themselves from the blankets and balsam branches, each assuring the other that he was not seriously hurt. Although dawn had come, darkness still lingered in the heavily shaded shelter. The fire was out, but, with sparks from his flint and steel, Jean lighted a roll of dry birch bark. As it flared up, they could see the hole in the roof of branches where the animal had fallen through.
“It was attracted by the fish,” said Ronald. “A lynx——”
With a startled exclamation, Jean interrupted him. “Where is Nangotook?”
Nangotook had disappeared. His blanket lay on his balsam couch, his gun beside it, but he was gone. In the light of their flickering birch torch, the two lads stared at one another. The Ojibwa had not run away from the cat, of course. He had left his blanket before the beast came through the roof, and had stepped over Ronald without waking him. What could have moved him to steal away without arousing them?
“Do you think he has deserted us?” Ronald asked.
“That is impossible,” Jean replied emphatically. “Nangotook is loyal. He would not desert us, whatever might befall us.”
“I should have been saying the same two days ago,” agreed his companion, “but now I’m not so sure. He was acting strangely all day yesterday. I think he begins to regret this voyage and to dread what lies before us.”
“He has not been like himself since we landed in this place,” Jean admitted. “I know not what has come over him, unless it is fear of the manitos of the lake and the islands. He thinks perhaps that the spirits send storm and disaster to keep us from the golden sands. Either he loses faith in his charm, or fears it will protect him only, not you and me.”
“What is his charm? Do you know? Have you ever seen it?”
“I think I saw it yesterday. Once when I came into the lodge, he was sitting by the fire looking at something he held in his hand. In the firelight it looked like a nugget of copper. It was a queer shape, something like a fish, but one end was like a beaver’s tail, and it was rubbed bright. As I moved nearer for a better look, he heard me, closed his hand over the piece of copper, and glanced around. Then he slipped it into a little deerskin bag, his medicine bag, I suppose, without giving me another glimpse of it. You know the beaver is his totem. But even if he fears his charm will fail him, I am sure he would not desert us.”
“I scarcely believe myself that he would,” Ronald returned. “Where would he go? He would not be starting across the water on such a threatening night.”
“He will return before long. I am sure of it,” was Jean’s confident assertion.
The cat-like tracks of the animal that had attacked the lads were plainly marked in the rain-softened earth and leaf mould. They were the prints of a lynx of unusual size. It was lucky for Ronald that he had slept in his heavy coat, or the beast’s claws might have injured him seriously. As it was, they had torn through his clothes, and had inflicted a shallow but painful scratch on his breast.
The boys cut more fuel and broiled their fish for breakfast. They were just finishing the meal, when the bushes parted suddenly and Nangotook stood before them.
Jean rose to his feet. “Where have you been, Nangotook?” he exclaimed. “We were just about to follow your trail to see if any evil had overtaken you.”
“Little brother need have no fear,” Nangotook answered with more amiability than he had shown the night before. “The Ojibwa brave can take care of himself—with other men,” he added, after a moment’s pause. Perhaps he was not so sure of being able to hold his own with spirits or supernatural beings.
Knowing that he would tell them what he had been doing when he was ready to speak, and not before, the lads forbore to question him. Instead they told him of the beast that had fallen into the lodge. Nangotook examined the tracks with interest. “Big lynx,” he said. “We track him and find where he lives.”
“’Tis hardly worth while to be doing that,” objected Ronald. “His pelt is not at its best now, and anyway we’re not hunting for pelts. We must examine every yard of the shore of this island. I feel sure there’s a beach beyond the lower ground, and it may be the one we’re looking for.”
“Yes,” agreed Jean, “we must go over there at once.”
The Indian made no reply, but continued to eat his fish in silence. When he had finished, he rose to his feet. “Come,” he said briefly. “I show you tracks not made by lynx.”
He led the boys behind the wigwam and a little way through the thick woods. There he stopped and pointed to some marks in the soft ground under a spruce tree.
“A man,” Jean exclaimed, dropping on his knees to examine the prints.
“Two men,” corrected Nangotook.
“What are they? Did you follow them?” cried Ronald. “How did you come upon their trail?”
In the brief, abrupt manner in which he usually gave information when action impended, Nangotook explained that he had waked in the night with the feeling that some strange thing or person was near by. He had lain quiet, listening. From a big cedar that overhung the lodge, he had heard the faint rustle of foliage, the creaking of a limb. There was little wind, and that sixth sense, by which an Indian distinguishes sounds, told the Ojibwa that the noises were made by animal or man. Something warned him of danger. As he lay listening, his suspicions were confirmed. He heard a scraping as if some hard substance rubbed the bark of the tree. Then the branches creaked more loudly, and there came a thud as of something heavy striking the ground. But that was not all. Just as the heavy thing struck the earth, the Indian’s keen ears detected a whispered exclamation, an oath in French. That sound must have dispelled from his mind the fear, if he had felt it, that the thing in the tree might be some supernatural being. Indian manitos, spirits or fiends would not be apt to swear in French.
The full, slow breathing of the two boys indicated that they had not been disturbed. Lying perfectly still, Nangotook also breathed deeply and regularly, so that any one listening might think that all three slept soundly. He did not want the spy, whoever he was, to suspect that any one was awake and listening. The Indian heard no more rustlings or scrapings, however. There was nothing to suggest that the man approached nearer.
For a long time Nangotook lay perfectly still. Then, feeling sure that the spy had taken himself off, he rose noiselessly, cast away his blanket, and, knife in hand, stepped over Ronald and out of the lodge. It was useless to try to track the uninvited visitor in the darkness. It was the canoe the Ojibwa was anxious about. Making his way to the place where it was hidden, he found it safe and undisturbed.
On the bay, and along the edge of the woods that grew down to it, there was more light, for day was dawning. As Nangotook started to turn back towards camp, he caught sight of something floating on the water near by. He crawled out on the leaning tree trunk where he and his companions had landed two days before, reached for the thing and secured it. It was a small piece of deerskin, such as travelers usually carried for moccasin patches. It did not belong to him or to either of the boys, and it had not been in the water long, for it was scarcely wet. To the Indian it was sure proof that the night visitor had come by water. He looked for the place where the man’s canoe had come in, and soon found the spot, under a thick, overhanging tangle of trees and bushes, where he would not have noticed signs of landing had he not been searching for them.
Returning to his own hidden canoe, he put it in the water, shoved off, and paddled noiselessly along close to shore. He had not gone far, when he heard, from the direction of the camp, the sharp screech of a lynx, but he paid no heed. It was the cry of a real lynx, not a human imitation, and the thought that the two boys might be in any danger from that fierce, but, as far as man is concerned, cowardly animal, never occurred to him. He was seeking to discover whether the stranger’s canoe had come from somewhere on the bay or through the channel. The depth of the water enabled him to keep close in to the shore, which he eyed keenly in the half light of the gray, gloomy dawn. He skirted the higher land, then the low ground opposite the entrance, finding nothing to indicate that a boat had ever run in anywhere.
It was not until he had gone more than half-way around and had come to rising ground again, that he observed a suspicious looking spot. He paused to examine it, and found a landing place, with a distinct trail leading away from it. The tracks showed that two men had come and gone that way. Probably they had carried their canoe with them, for he did not find it hidden anywhere, though he sought for it. The tracks had been made since the rain, and there had been no attempt to obliterate them. Nangotook followed them across to the north shore of the island, where he had not been before.
There, among the rocks, the trail ended abruptly. He searched, but could find no more tracks. Finally he became convinced that the men must have lowered the canoe down a cleft in the rock wall to the water.
Where had they gone? He had no way of telling. The outlying rocks were wave washed, and afforded no shelter. There was no other land visible. A short distance out, the morning mists lay thick on the lake. There might be hidden land off there somewhere, or the canoe might have gone along shore, but which way or how far he could not guess. So he turned back the way he had come.
He paddled across the bay, and landed at the place near the camp where the two men had come ashore. From there they had proceeded very cautiously, and had left little trace of their passage through the woods. It was with considerable difficulty that the Ojibwa tracked them to the tall spruce. The spruce was at least a hundred and fifty feet from the hut, but the men must have climbed it and made their way, as squirrels might, from one tree to another until they reached the cedar that overhung the shelter. The thick growth made such a feat possible for active men. One of them, however, had missed his hold in the darkness, and had fallen from the cedar. A hollow in the soft leaf mould showed where he had struck the ground. It was then he had uttered the exclamation in French that had convinced Nangotook the spy was neither animal nor spirit. He had climbed the tree again, for there were no other tracks to be found, and had gone back in the same way. Perhaps only one man had made the trip from tree to tree, the other waiting for him at the tall spruce.
With intense interest and excitement the boys listened to the Ojibwa’s story. The spies might be wandering Indians who had come to the island in search of copper. It was said that many of the islands of the lake bore copper in loose pieces that could be picked up on the shores. One of the visitors, however, had uttered an oath in French.
“Can you make any guess who those men are?” Ronald asked, anxiously, when the Ojibwa had finished his tale.
Nangotook nodded gravely. “One Indian, Cree, I think,” he said, “the other Awishtoya.”
“Are you sure? How can you tell?” cried both boys.
Nangotook pointed to the tracks. “One man lame,” he said. “Walk heavier with right foot, and foot turn out. Some places, across the bay there, tracks show it plain. Following us for something. Bad man, Awishtoya.”
Le Forgeron Tordu, or Awishtoya, as the Indians called him, had surely been following the gold-seekers. Was it the smoke of his fire they had seen when they were leaving the Rock of the Beaver? He might have watched them start out and have noted their course, but they had seen no canoe in pursuit. How could he have followed in darkness, wind and rain? It seemed incredible that he had been able to do so, and had come safe through the storm to the island where they now were. Yet Nangotook was sure of the footprints, sure they had been made by the Blacksmith and his Indian companion. Ronald suggested that perhaps the evil Frenchman or the Cree knew how to reach the Island of Yellow Sands, knew the way better indeed than Nangotook knew it, and had not followed them, but had come direct.
“If that be true,” cried Jean. “If they know the way, and have come straight here, it means that we are even now on the Island of Yellow Sands.”
“We can find out only by exploring the place,” Ronald replied promptly. “That is the first thing for us to be doing. We must look for the beach of gold. We can be seeking for some signs of Le Forgeron at the same time.”
Nangotook made no objection that time, and seemed less inclined to hold back. Nevertheless, he allowed Ronald to take the lead. Going through the woods by a different route from the one they had followed before, they came to the level stretch of ground they had seen from the ridge. They were no longer in the forest, but were obliged to penetrate a thick and high growth of alders, high-bush cranberries, and other shrubs. Wherever the bushes left room for them to grow, the little bunchberry or dwarf cornel plants, with their clusters of red berries, covered the ground. Beyond the patch of bushes, which was not more than a quarter of a mile wide, the treasure-seekers hoped to find a sand beach,thesand beach for which they were searching.
They pushed their way through the growth as rapidly as they could and soon came out upon a rocky shore that descended straight to the water, bunchberries, bearberries and other plants growing to the verge. The disappointment was a bitter one. The lads had fully expected to find a sand beach there, and their hopes of yellow sands had been high. They were not ready to give up even then, but followed along the shore until they reached the high barren rocks at the southern extremity of the island, where they had been the day before. Not a grain of gold was to be found.
“No yellow sands on this island,” the Ojibwa said, with a shake of his head, as they turned back from the rocks of the southern end.
“But you said this was the place,” cried Jean with impatience. “You said so when we first saw it from that heap of rocks where we were stranded. You said it was the island your grandfather saw.”
Nangotook did not deign to reply, but Ronald was not yet willing to abandon the search.
“There is one stretch of shore remaining we know nothing of,” he said. “We must search every inch of it before we can be sure. It may be that the beach is only a short one, but even a hundred feet of sands of gold would mean a fortune for us.”
So the treasure-seekers returned to the bay, crossed it in the canoe, and explored the whole northern half of the island. The north end was quite as discouraging as the south. Everywhere the shore was of rock, rising in palisades or composed of tumbled heaps of boulders, around and among which the water washed. In one place the explorers came to a bay partly protected by a reef, but on its pebble beach there were no golden grains. The beach they had passed on the day of their arrival the two boys examined thoroughly, digging up the sand here and there in the hope of finding some bits of yellow metal, but not a trace could they discover. Even Ronald gave up at last, forced to admit that they had not yet reached the island they were seeking. In his disappointment he began to doubt that the Island of Yellow Sands existed anywhere but in the Indian’s imagination. He confided to Jean that he did not believe Nangotook’s grandfather had ever seen such a place. His discouragement was the more complete, because, with the exception of the small rocky islets near at hand, they could get no glimpse of any other land.
Jean, however, clung to the belief that the sought-for island might not be far off. It was not strange that they could not get sight of it, for the day remained thick and cloudy, fog on the water shutting off their view, and blotting out even the rock where they had been storm-bound.
All that day the three, especially the Indian, had kept a lookout for some trace of their visitors of the night before, but had found no sign. The boys concluded that Le Forgeron and his companion had not merely paddled along shore and landed at some other spot, but had left the island entirely. Where had they gone? Though some of the outlying islets bore a few trees and bushes, none seemed to afford a sufficient shelter for a camp. No one would choose such an exposed spot, with a good camping place close at hand. The disappearance of Le Forgeron further convinced Jean that there must be other land not far off.
Nangotook was not so sure that the Frenchman had left the island. Though they had found no further traces of the man, he might be concealed somewhere. It was evident that the Ojibwa himself had reason to fear Le Forgeron. Apparently he thought the Blacksmith might return to their camp again that night and do them some injury, for he proposed that they move to another spot not so deep in the woods, where they could keep a better lookout for danger. The lads were more than willing, and he selected a place at the southern end of the island, on open ground, a little distance from the woods. There, where they could not be approached under cover of the trees, the three built another lodge. While the boys cut balsam for their beds and fire-wood for cooking, Nangotook went back to the bay, launched the canoe, and paddled it through the entrance and around the outer shore to the end of the island. Then they hoisted it up the rocks and carried it to their camp, where they placed it, bottom side up, close to the wigwam.
Supper that night was a pleasant change from the fish diet of the past few days. The evening before, the Indian had set some snares, using fish-line for the nooses, and had caught a hare. To take the place of the missing kettle, he had made a birch-bark basket in two compartments between which the water could circulate. Having filled the basket about half full of water, he placed in one compartment the meat, cut into small pieces, and some little tubers he had dug. Meanwhile stones had been heating in the fire. When they were red hot, he lifted them, one at a time, with two sticks, and carefully immersed them in the water in the other compartment, setting it to boiling. The tubers he called waub-es-see-pin. They were a little like potatoes, and, stewed with the hare meat, the lads found them good.
All night the fire was kept going, and the Indian remained awake and alert until daylight, when he roused Jean to take his place. There were no signs that either man or beast had approached the camp.
The weather remained raw and threatening and the lake was hazy with cold mist. After noon, Ronald, growing restless, set off to hunt and explore. Etienne had gone to look at his snares, and Jean remained in camp. Ronald followed the ridge to the bay, then made his way around to the extreme inner end, where the waters of the bay were separated from the lake by a narrow strip of land. From there he struck along the lake shore to the place where the track Etienne had followed the morning before ended abruptly. The boy’s mind was busy with the problem of the appearance of Le Forgeron on the island and his departure from it. Why had he come there and where had he disappeared to? The lad went clear to the northern end. Gulls were everywhere, swimming in the lake, diving through the waves, flying overhead and resting on the rocks. The place seemed alive with them. Ronald paused for a few moments to look out over the water. The sun had broken through the clouds, and they were scudding before a strong wind. In the distance he could discern the rock that had sheltered his companions and himself. The clearing weather gave him hope that they would be able to leave the island soon, and it was in better spirits that he turned to go.
On the way back, he climbed about on the rocks to get a view down on the palisaded cliffs, which were not quite like anything he had seen before. In some places the columns were in two or three rows, one row rising above another, the lower one starting at water level and running up like a flight of steps. After he had passed this singular place, he noticed, as he looked down from the top of a vertical wall of rock, that the waves, instead of breaking into foam against it, seemed to be passing under it. “There must be a cave down there,” he thought. Balancing himself on the very edge of the cliff, he leaned forward in an attempt to see the hole where the water washed in.
Then something struck him suddenly, heavily, on the head and shoulders, and he toppled over. The blow had taken him wholly by surprise, and there was nothing to catch hold of. He went down into the lake. His head struck a rock, and he knew nothing more.
When Ronald regained consciousness, he found himself in semi-darkness, and it was several moments before he could make out his surroundings. He was lying with his body in the water, but his head and shoulders on shelving rock. Just as he opened his eyes, a wave swept over his breast, the cold spray striking his face. As the water receded, it seemed to pull at his legs, but his body was lodged in a shallow rift of the rock, and the drag of the water was not strong enough to dislodge him. A little way above his head he could discern in the gloom, a dark rock ceiling. As soon as he was able to connect his thoughts with what went before his plunge over the cliff, he realized that he was probably in one of the caves that he had guessed must penetrate the rock at the water line.
His head ached, and when he put his hand to his forehead, he felt that it was wet with something thicker and stickier than lake water. He had cut his head on a rock when he fell into the water. It was striking the rock, rather than plunging into the lake, that had made him lose consciousness. He wondered that he had not been drowned. It was not the first time in his rather adventurous life that he had come near to drowning. It was strange, he thought, that he was not strangling and gasping for breath, his throat, nose and lungs full of water. Surely his head could not have been under more than a moment. Yet he had been washed into the hole in the rock.
His limbs were so numb with cold he could scarcely use them, but he managed to roll over and crawl farther up the slanting shelf on which he lay. This rock incline was at the inner end of the cave, which, as he could see in the half light, was small and low. When he was close against the rear wall he was above the reach of the waves, but he could not rise to a sitting position without striking his head against the ceiling.
Then he remembered his gun. He slipped back down the slope and searched for it as best he could, but failed to find it. Probably it had fallen out of his hand when he tumbled over the cliff. He was almost out of ammunition anyway, so the loss was not very serious.
The really serious thing was his situation there in the cave. How was he to get out? Of course he could swim, breasting the waves that washed into the opening, but after he had passed the entrance, it would be no easy feat, with such a sea running, to swim along shore looking for a place where he could climb up. It would take strenuous exertion to keep from being dashed against the rocks. His limbs were stiff and numb from the cold water, his head aching and dizzy, and he felt himself in poor trim for such a struggle.
Perhaps there was some other opening from the hole. He could see that the sloping shelf extended part way along the sides. Crawling to the left, he found the wall continuous. There was no exit on that side. He rolled over and crawled back and around to the right of where he had been lying. In the dim light he could discern a black streak just where the shelf ended. The streak proved to be, as he had hoped, a rift in the rock. The rear and side walls, running almost at right angles, did not quite come together, leaving a narrow break he could just squeeze his body into. The rift was dark, the rock closing overhead, and, as there was not room for him to stand upright, he was obliged to crawl, but the bottom sloped sharply upward, and he could see dim light ahead. He hoped that he had found a way to reach the top of the cliff. He had not crawled more than fifty feet, however, when he came to the end of the passage. It did not lead to the top, but opened out on a narrow ledge about half-way up the side wall of another cave.
This cave was larger and higher than the one he had just left, and on its farther side there was a pebble beach fifteen or twenty feet wide. Ronald stared at that stretch of beach in amazement, for there on the pebbles glowed the live embers of a fire. The boy’s eyes searched every foot of the cavern. It was better lighted than the other hole, for the entrance, though narrow, was much higher, and even the nooks and corners were not dim enough to conceal from his keen eyes any one in hiding. Not a living thing, man, animal or bird, was to be seen. Men had been there only a short time before, but they had gone and taken their belongings with them.
To reach the beach Ronald had to let himself down into the water. The bottom was rock and he succeeded in wading around the cave without going in above his knees. For some reason the waves did not come into this cavern so strongly.
On the beach he found that the fire had been made between drift logs laid close enough together to allow a kettle or pan to rest on them. Near by was a bed of balsam branches and other traces of a camp. He remembered that the trail Etienne had followed had ended near this place. Surely this camp in the cave accounted for the disappearance of the Frenchman and the Cree. They had been here not later than a few hours before.
The boy’s mind reverted to his plunge over the cliff. He knew well that he had not merely slipped and fallen. Something had struck him a heavy blow from behind. He and his comrades had come upon no traces of large animals on the island. Moreover Ronald did not know of any animal, that, unprovoked, would be likely to attack a man in such a manner. The inference was plain. Either Le Forgeron or his Indian companion had stolen up on him from behind and had knocked him over the cliff. What reason could the Blacksmith have for such an assault? Revenge undoubtedly for Ronald’s attack on him when he was torturing the poor old squaw. But surely he had not come all this distance back from the Sault for a mere act of vengeance. It must be, the lad thought, that Le Forgeron was following the three adventurers with the intention of taking the golden sand for himself. If they were near the gold, and he knew it, he might wish to make away with them before they actually reached the spot. But if he wanted to get rid of them, why had he not attacked their camp two nights before, when he had the advantage and could have slain them all in their sleep? Perhaps he had had such an intention, but had given it up after falling from the tree, fearing that Nangotook at least might have heard him. There was also the possibility that Le Forgeron might not know just where the yellow sands lay, and that he did not want to destroy all of the party until they had guided him to the place. He had merely seized the opportunity to get even with a personal enemy, as he certainly considered Ronald, by making away with him in a manner that would seem wholly accidental. At any rate Ronald was convinced that the Frenchman had made a deliberate attempt upon his life. A glint came into the lad’s blue eyes, and his mouth set in a determined line. Instead of frightening him, the treacherous, cowardly assault had merely steeled his determination to outwit the Blacksmith and, in defiance and despite of him, to find and take possession of the golden sands.
All these thoughts flashed through the lad’s mind in the few moments that he spent in examining the camping place on the pebbles. Then he commenced to search for a way out of the cave. Except the rift by which he had come, there was no break anywhere in the rock walls. It was evident that there was no exit except by water. He must make his attempt that way.
Exercise had dried his clothes somewhat, but he felt chilled to the bone. He took off his heavy blanket tunic, and noticed as he did so that his knife was missing. It had not fallen from the sheath, for the sheath was gone too, the leather thong that held it to his belt cut cleanly. He whistled between his teeth at the discovery.
Vigorously he rubbed his limbs, then rolled up the tunic and fastened it around his neck by the sleeves, leaving his arms free for swimming, and stepped into the water again. Keeping as close to the wall as he could, he waded to the entrance of the cave, where he paused, waist deep in water, to look out. The sky was blue, the wind blowing strongly, and the waves rolling high, but rocks just outside protected the entrance somewhat. He could make his start in comparatively smooth water, but a few strokes either way would bring him out into the force of the waves. He did not hesitate long, for he must make the attempt sooner or later. He could not trust to his friends ever finding him in that well hidden cave. Even if they followed his trail to the place where he had fallen over, he was not sure that he would hear them, or that, calling from below, he could make them hear his voice above the noise of the surf.
He was standing at the threshold of the cave, on a ledge across the entrance. The outer side ran straight down, sheer with the wall above the opening, and one step would take him into unknown depths. He made the plunge, but had scarcely taken three strokes, when he saw that he was close to the rift where the Frenchman and the Cree, according to the Ojibwa’s reckoning, must have lowered their canoe and scrambled down to it. If they could go up and down there so could he, provided he could get in without being thrown in forcibly by the water and his brains dashed out against the walls. The waves were rolling straight into the rift. He must let himself be carried in, and trust to his strength to resist being battered against the rocks.
He had scarcely an instant of time to make the decision. He was borne in, almost grazing the wall, straight towards the place where the foam dashed to the top of the cliff. He would be thrown against the rock, battered, stunned. But, as he was carried in, he caught sight of a point of rock projecting from the wall just above where his head would pass. Instinctively he threw up his right arm and grasped that rock, his fingers gripping the tough stem of the stunted, trailing juniper that grew upon it. With the pull of the water below and the weight of his soaked garments, it seemed as if his arm would be torn out of the socket, but he held on, and, with a mighty effort, raised himself up until he could grasp the rock with his other hand also. Luckily the strong stem of the juniper and its tough roots, that had penetrated deep into the cracks and crannies, held fast, and the boy was able at last to pull himself clear of the water.
He was safe for the moment, but what was he to do next? How was he to reach the spot, near the head of the rift and beyond the foam-dashed wall where he could climb to the top? There was no possible way to reach it, unless he let himself down into the water again, and took the risk of being carried against the rock by the waves. He gave a little whistle between his teeth. Apparently he was worse off, much worse off, than he had been in the cave. He had better have stayed there, but it was of no use regretting that now.
He turned to examine the cliff behind him. The only possible place of ascent was just where the point of rock he was clinging to projected from the wall. There the wall was not quite perpendicular, there were a few crannies and holes, and from the top another trailing juniper sprawled part way over and hung down a few feet.It was a dangerous ascent,but a possible one. He could not remain where he was, inactive, the cold wind blowing on his soaked clothes, without chilling to the bone.
Crouched on the projecting rock, he wrung the water out of his clothes as well as he could without taking them off. There was no room to do that. Then he crawled along a little, put the fingers of his right hand into a hole in the cliff, and cautiously pulled himself up to a standing position, leaning against the wall. Clinging with his fingers and moccasined toes to every little cranny and hollow, his body sprawled flat against the rock, he made his way, slowly, carefully up, a few inches at a time, until he could grasp with his left hand the stout hanging stem of the juniper. After that it was easier, and he pulled himself safely over the edge not far from the place where he had fallen down.
As soon as he was safe again, Ronald became conscious that his head was throbbing painfully. He had hardly felt it since he came out of the crack into the larger cavern. He was shivering with cold too, and his one desire was to get back to camp as soon as possible.
The sun was setting when he came out of the woods at the southern end of the island. He shouted, and Jean appeared from the other side of the cabin, where, out of range of the wind, he was getting supper. He waved his hand in cheery greeting, then stopped and stared at the figure Ronald presented, his clothes only half dried, his cap gone, his hair and forehead stained with blood.
“Ciel!What has come to you?” he cried. His startled exclamation brought the Indian around the hut.
Crouched close to the fire, upon which Jean heaped fuel, Ronald told the story of his adventures. The others listened, each according to his nature, Jean with amazed expression and frequent exclamations and questions, Etienne silently, with grave, stern face.
When Ronald had finished, the Indian made but one comment. “Your guardian spirit must be very powerful,” he said, “or the manito of the waters favors you.” Then, as if remembering suddenly that he was a Christian, he hastened to add in a devout tone, “The good God above was indeed watching over you.”
“’Tis true I have been miraculously saved,” Ronald replied, “but why, think you, is Le Forgeron on this island? Are we near the Island of Yellow Sands then? I would that we could resume our search for it.”
“We will resume it as soon as this gale blows itself out,” replied Jean confidently. “We are near it I am sure, and now we know which way to go.”
“What do you mean?” cried Ronald. “Have you gained some new knowledge then?”
“Truly we have,” Jean answered springing to his feet. “Look, over there!” And he pointed across the water to the southwest.
Ronald rose and gazed. The wind had driven away cloud, mist and haze. Land, for days shut off by thick weather, was distinctly visible.
All that night the wind blew a gale, dashing the waves on the rocks, where they broke in showers of foam and spray that gleamed white in the moonlight, for the sky was cloudless and the air clear and cold.
When the gold-seekers looked off across the water next morning they met with a surprise. Far away to the west stretched a dim blue shape like the figure of a gigantic man lying on his back.
“The Cape of Nanabozho,” exclaimed the Indian in an awe-struck tone.
“The Sleeping Giant himself,” the lads cried, and Jean added, “Are we not then far west of our course? Surely we should not be able to see the Pointe au Tonnerre.”
Nangotook shook his head. “Who knows,” he said, “how far the Cape of Thunder may be seen? Is it not the home of Nanabozho himself? Who knows that it may not come and go in the sight of men at the will of the manito?”
“But,” objected Ronald, “you said that island on the east shore was the grave of Nanabozho. What has he to do with the Cape of Thunder?”
Nangotook looked puzzled. “It is true,” he said slowly, “my people say the manito makes his dwelling on that island to the east, but they say also that the Cape of Thunder is formed in his likeness, and they leave offerings to him there. It may be,” the Ojibwa added, his face clearing, “that part of the time he lives in one place, part of the time in the other. Why not? Spirits may be in many places. They do not travel slowly like men, who creep along with much labor. What do the manitos know of paddling and of portages? They cross high hills at a stride, and the land and water are alike to them. Do not the white fathers say that God is a spirit and that He is everywhere?”
“Hush, hush, Etienne!” cried Jean scandalized. “Would you speak of the good God and your heathen manitos in the same breath, and even compare them with Him? And you a Christian! It is sacrilege!”
The Ojibwa looked abashed. “Iama Christian, I worship the one great spirit as the fathers taught me,” he answered somewhat sullenly. He started to turn away, but Ronald spoke to him.
“Surely,” the boy insisted, “we’re out of our course. We’ve been driven too far to the west, and must seek our island towards the east. Is that not true?”
“It may be,” Nangotook grunted, “if that is the true cape.”
“Of course it is the cape. What else could it be?”
“A sign from the manito himself,” growled the Indian, and turned his back.
The lads were not unimpressed by Nangotook’s words and manner. The dim figure, like a great man outstretched in sleep, seemed mysterious and uncanny enough to their imaginations. Thunder Cape is the eastern boundary of Thunder Bay on the northwest shore of Superior, and it is only its highest part that is visible far across the lake, the lower land sinking entirely out of view and leaving the Giant lying solitary on the water.
“Etienne says it is a sign,” Jean remarked in a low voice. “Does he think the omen good or bad, I wonder?”
Ronald shook his head. “I doubt if he knows what he thinks, but what is that to us? If we ever find the gold, we will secure it in spite of all the Indian devils in the lake.” He spoke hotly, eager to prove to himself as well as to his companion that he had no faith in or respect for the power of such heathen spirits and demons.
Jean looked a little frightened at his friend’s bold tone. Nangotook turned on him with a stern face. “Speak not so of the manitos of these waters,” he said peremptorily, “lest you rouse their wrath and bring disaster on us all.” And with a glance of scorn at the offending lad, he walked away.
“Nangotook is but a weak kind of Christian,” Ronald remarked sneeringly. “He still puts his faith in these manitos of his and fears them.” The boy was smarting under the Indian’s rebuke.
Jean shook his head doubtfully. “He is a Christian,” he replied, “but, being an Indian, he has seen instances of the power of the spirits of the lake. I, too, am a Christian, as you very well know, and have no veneration for such savage gods and devils, but I have heard strange tales of their doings and of the power of their priests. Father René says the medicine men’s gifts are surely of the devil, but that good Christians who put their faith in a higher power need have no fear of them. Yet I can see no good in offending the spirits needlessly, and bringing their enmity upon us by foolish speeches.”
To this argument, which indicated that Jean upheld the Indian in his rebuke, Ronald found no ready answer. Indeed in his heart he was not so contemptuous of the manito’s powers as he appeared, and was just a bit uneasy over his own defiance. The feeling was not strong enough, however, to shake his determination to find the wonderful island and to carry off a goodly sample of its golden sands.
The wind was still blowing so strongly from the west as to make traveling impossible. Ronald had suffered no ill effects, except a little stiffness of the muscles, from his soaking and chilling of the day before, but the wound on his forehead and a lump on the back of his head pained him considerably, so he did not care to exert himself. He remained in camp, spending his time mending his clothes and making a hare skin cap to replace the toque he had lost when he fell over the cliff. The others fished on the lea side of the island, visited the snares, and searched for some signs of the man or beast that had attacked the boy. With the exception of some footprints at the edge of the cliff, prints made by a larger moccasin than Ronald wore, there was no trace of the mysterious enemy. The tracks were found in one place only, where a little earth had lodged on the rock. On the almost bare rocks round about, no marks were discernible. Jean and Etienne would have been glad to explore the caves under the cliff, but the high wind of that day and the following one made it impossible to use the canoe on that side of the island.
The second evening after Ronald’s fall from the cliff, a wonderful aurora borealis, more brightly colored than any the boys had ever seen, waved its streamers of green, yellow, orange and flame-red over the northern sky. Nangotook regarded it with awe, and muttered something in his own language that the boys could not understand.
The next night the wind went down with the sun, but when the lads crept into their blankets, the long roll of the waves had not subsided enough to make launching the canoe safe. Since they had learned of the presence of an enemy on the island, one or another of the three had kept awake and watchful all night. When Ronald took his turn before dawn, he left the wigwam and scrambled down the rocks to get a drink of water. He was pleased to find that the waves had smoothed out into long, gentle swells. “We can surely cross to that other land to-day,” he thought. He was too impatient to put off departure, however. Why wait till daylight? The sun would come up in another hour or two. If they started at once, they could make the trip before there was any danger of the wind rising again, and, moreover, their enemies, who might be on the watch somewhere, would be less likely to see them go.
The lad returned to the shelter, aroused the others and explained his plan. Jean was eager to go, and Nangotook grunted his assent. The idea of stealing a march on their enemies appealed to the Indian’s love of strategy. Dawn was just beginning to break, when everything was ready. But Nangotook suddenly became reluctant to start out. He pointed to the mist that lay on the water and dimmed the stars. “Fog come soon,” he said.
“’Tis only the morning haze,” replied Ronald. “’Tis not thick enough to hinder us, and it will disappear at sunrise.”
“We shall be there by sunrise if we start now,” Jean added confidently. “That land is not far away. An hour’s paddling will surely take us there.”
“Better wait and see,” said the Ojibwa.
But the boys insisted. They were impatient to be gone, and could not endure the thought of further delay. Ronald especially was stubbornly determined. He knew better than to accuse Nangotook openly of cowardice, but he hinted so plainly that the Indian might be influenced by fear, that the latter’s pride was touched. Suddenly breaking short the argument, he picked up the canoe, stalked into the water with it, and held it ready for the lads to step in.
They began their trip in silence. During the stay on the island Nangotook had whittled out two paddles to replace the ones they had lost, and now, as was his custom, he took the bow, with Jean in the stern. In the dim light and the haze they could not make out the land to which they were going, but they knew the direction, and had no fear of missing the place unless the mist grew denser.
It did grow denser. The light breeze was almost directly south now and it brought the fog. Gradually, and at first almost imperceptibly, the haze thickened. Nangotook and the boys paddled with all their strength and speed, the latter confident that they would soon reach their destination, the Indian so silent and stolid that it was impossible to guess at his thoughts. Then suddenly, all in a moment as it seemed, the fog folded them in its thick white blanket. Nangotook grunted as if to say “I told you so,” but did not lessen the speed of his stroke. To turn back was useless. There was better chance of keeping their direction true if they went ahead, for in turning they would almost inevitably lose their bearings.
The breeze was driving the fog, and as they went on, Jean and Ronald were sure, from the angle at which they took the waves and the way the breeze struck them, that they were keeping the course and would soon reach land. They strained their ears for the sound of water lapping on rocks or sand beach, and peered through the thickness for the shadowy, looming shape of cliffs or trees.
On and on they went. The fog whitened with the coming of dawn, but did not lessen or disperse. It blew and shifted from time to time, but never thinned enough to give them a clear view for more than a few feet in any direction. Either the land they had seen was much farther away than they had estimated, or they were out of their course. The Indian had nothing to say, and the lads could not tell whether he had really lost his bearings and knew it, or believed himself to be going in the right direction. When they questioned him, he answered only with grunts. They had scorned his advice, and had hurt his pride by implying that he was afraid to set out. Now he was letting them take their punishment.
They were certainly being well punished. As they paddled on through the fog, without a sound or glimpse of anything that suggested land, both boys grew very uneasy. After all, perhaps Nangotook had been right, perhaps the sleeping Nanabozho had actually shown himself to them as a warning to their rashness, or perhaps Ronald’s bold speech had really offended some manito. Neither boy would have admitted to the other that he had such thoughts, but they lived in a superstitious age, and there were many strange tales current among the voyageurs of the powers of the Indian spirits and of their priests or shamans.
The brightening of the fog showed the advance of day. Yet the adventurers went on and on and on. The thought occurred to both lads that the land they had seen might not be real at all, but only a mirage or a false appearance sent by the evil spirits to lure them to their deaths. There in that dense, chilling mist, cut off as it seemed from the world of men, and going perhaps into the very middle of the great lake, whose mysteries neither Indian nor white man had ever fully penetrated, such thoughts were far from pleasant.
Even fear could not still the pangs of hunger in healthy boys, however, or make them quite forget that they had had no breakfast. The birch basket still held the remains of the hare stew from their evening meal, so Ronald helped himself to a share of it, and then took the stern paddle while Jean breakfasted. Nangotook, however, refused to give up his paddle or to eat.
The day wore away, and still the blades dipped with regular rhythm. The stroke was slower and easier now, for there was no reason, lost as they were for haste or speed. They paddled merely to keep headway on the canoe and to strike the waves at the right angle. And still, hour after hour, they went on and on, Jean and Ronald taking turns at the stern paddle, the Indian never yielding up his place in the bow.
Ronald was plying his paddle mechanically, a dull apathy having settled down on his spirit, as the hour of silence and white mist passed, and Jean, stretched out on the bottom of the canoe, had fallen asleep when Nangotook, who had been sullenly silent all day, spoke suddenly. “Land,” he said and jerked his head towards the left.
Ronald woke from his stupor at once. The first thing he noticed was that the mist was a little less thick, for he could see Nangotook more distinctly, the next thing he observed was that the water was perfectly smooth, without even a ripple, and the third and most important was a dim, scarcely discernible something, a shadow of a shape, on the left hand. He called to Jean and the latter sat up and stared at the shadow.
At the Indian’s order Ronald swerved the canoe in that direction. There was no sound of surf, yet the approach must be made cautiously, for rock shores are far more common on Lake Superior than sand beaches. A careful stroke and paddles lifted, another stroke and paddles lifted again, and then the bow grated gently. Without hesitation Nangotook stepped over the side, while Ronald held the canoe stationary with his paddle.
It was not a sand beach the canoe had grated upon, but solid rock. The three adventurers stepped over the side, and, carrying the canoe, waded up a slope of rock until they were well above the water line. The fog was so thick they could see almost nothing of their surroundings. Scrambling over unfamiliar rocks slippery with moisture, when they could not see where they were going, was too perilous an undertaking to be worth attempting. There was nothing to do but wait until the fog cleared. So they unloaded the canoe, turned it over, propped it up, and settled themselves on their blankets in its shelter. Waiting was chilly, dreary work, but they were cheered by the knowledge that the mist was thinning. They did not have to wait long. Before the veiled sun sank to its setting, the fog, though it did not disappear, became so thin that climbing about was no longer dangerous.
The lads were eager to learn what sort of land they had reached. The place certainly abounded in gulls. The birds welcomed the lifting of the fog with such a chorus of shrill and whining cries, that the boys feared they had landed on another mere pile of rocks, one of those desolate and wind-swept spots where the gulls love to nest. There was always the chance, however, that the golden sands might lie close by.
Once more Etienne hung back and let Ronald take the lead. The Indian’s superstitious dread of what they might encounter had probably not been lessened by the Scotch boy’s defiance of the manitos or by the subsequent experience in the fog. No ravenous beast or hideous serpent appeared to threaten the treasure-seekers, however, no enormous shape towered out of the mist to warn them back. Only the gulls disputed their way as they climbed about the rocks. They soon discovered that the place was either a narrow point or an island. Where they had landed, it was only a few rods wide. Further exploration proved it to be an island, about two miles long, and nowhere more than a quarter of a mile broad. There was no golden sand, only sandstone rock in slanting, overlapping sheets and blocks with upturned edges. A narrow belt of small trees and shrubs ran along the highest part. Everywhere were gulls, young and old, and the remains of their nests. By the time the setting sun had gilded the mist with red and gold, the three had examined the island very thoroughly.
After sunset the fog thickened again, and before dark turned into cold rain. There was nothing on the island to eat, the attempt to fish was unsuccessful, and the castaways were reluctant to use the handful of crushed corn they had saved so carefully for an emergency. They would eat it next day if they could get nothing else, but for that night they decided to go supperless. Everything on the island was dripping wet, so they did not attempt to light a fire, but crept under the upturned canoe and wrapped themselves in their damp blankets. With the rain came wind, blowing in gusts and squalls.
In spite of hunger and discomfort, the lads went to sleep. They were awakened suddenly by a terrific blast of wind that blew directly into the propped up canoe, lifted the light birch craft as if it had been a dried leaf, and whirled it away in the darkness. In an instant the three were out of their blankets, up and scrambling over the slippery rocks. They could not find the canoe again, though they sought everywhere for it, endangering their necks again and again in the black darkness, wind and rain. At last, after Ronald had plunged down a steep slope into the water and narrowly missed drowning, and Jean had stumbled over the upturned edge of a broken block and wrenched his ankle, they gave up in despair. If the canoe had not been carried away across the water, they might find it, or the battered remains of it, in the morning, but to attempt further search that night would be useless and foolhardy.
The only thing they could do was to crouch down in such shelter as the belt of trees afforded, and wait for dawn. They could not even search out a good place, but were compelled to make the best of what was close at hand. The stunted trees and bushes protected them but little from the rain and the wind, that came in violent squalls, now from one quarter, now from another.
It seemed as if the night never would end, but towards morning the wind steadied and the rain ceased. Breaking through the clouds at the horizon, the sun rose red in a wind-torn sky. The waves were dashing their spray up to the very edge of the band of trees, and there was no sign of the canoe. There were other things to be seen, however. Rocks and reefs and islets, almost smothered in foam, were visible to east and south, while to west and north, at a distance of several miles, stretched what appeared to be continuous land, rising high.
The boys marveled at the sight, and at once questioned the Indian about the Island of Yellow Sands. “What was it your grandfather said about the island, Etienne?” Jean asked. “Did he not describe it? Was it large or small, high or low?”
Etienne shook his head. “That I cannot tell you, little brother,” he replied. “My grandfather told of nothing but the beach with the yellow sands and the waves rolling high upon it. Whether the island was large or small, high or low, wooded or barren, I do not remember that he said. In some of the tales, it is said that fierce beasts came out of the woods to attack the braves who tried to carry away the sand, but whether those tales are true or are only told to frighten the white man and keep him away from the gold, I do not know.”
While Etienne was speaking, Ronald had been gazing intently at the stretch of land hazy and blue in the distance. When the Indian had finished, the boy said slowly: “I do not believe that land can be the island we seek. If the Island of Yellow Sands were as large and high and plainly visible as that, some one would have found and explored it long ago. No, that is either part of the mainland, or one of the greater islands that men know. Surely to have escaped the white men’s eyes for so many years, the Island of Yellow Sands must be small and low and inconspicuous.”
“So it would seem indeed,” agreed Jean. “That land may be, as you say, a part of the main shore of the lake, or one of the great islands, Royale, Philippeau or Ponchartrain. Yet we can scarcely be sure that the island we seek is not a large one, just because men have not found it. Who, either white man or red, has ever traveled over all this great lake? The canoes go along the shores, and even the sailing vessels follow their regular courses. No man knows what may lie in the center of these waters. Is that not true, Nangotook?”
The Ojibwa nodded in assent. “Many tales are told,” he replied solemnly, “but they are only tales. No man knows.”
“There is one thing certain,” said Ronald the practical, “we can’t find out what that land is until we cross to it, and we can’t cross until we have a craft of some kind.”
“And even though we had the best of canoes,” Jean added, “we could not go through this sea.”
“Then ’tis something to eat we must be seeking first,” the younger boy responded. “I’m hungry indeed, but not quite ready to eat gull, until we see if we can find other food.”
All efforts to obtain anything else eatable failed Fishing from the rocks, even in those patches quiet water that were sheltered from wind and waves, brought no result. Nothing edible grew on the island but a few blueberries and bearberries, and the gulls had stripped the plants of their fruit. The castaways had to eat bark, leaves and roots, or try the flesh of the gulls.
They attempted to capture some of the young gulls by creeping up on them and seizing them or striking them with a canoe paddle, but all the young were full grown, able to swim and fly, and were so shy and wary that not even Nangotook succeeded in killing one. Snaring was equally unsuccessful, and some of the precious ammunition had to be sacrificed. Ronald was the best shot of the three, so the hunting was entrusted to him. Every time he fired, the birds rose from the rocks in a screaming cloud of gray and white, but he was fortunate enough to secure several. He shot young gulls, thinking they would be tenderer than the old.
The birds were plucked, cut up and boiled, and the two hungry boys and the Indian devoured every bit of the strong, fishy tasting meat. Their uninviting meal down, they set about constructing some kind of a craft to take them away from the island when the waves should go down. The trees were all small and unsuitable for canoe making. The best the three could do was to build a raft. They felled the straightest of the little trees, trimmed them of their branches, and bound them together with tough roots and strips of bark. So much of the growth on the exposed rock was stunted and twisted by the winds, that straight trunks were few. The harsh cries of the gulls seemed to mock at their efforts, but they finished their task at last, just as the sun was setting. Though the raft was small, rough and very imperfect, they believed it would hold them up and enable them to reach the distant shore in calm weather.
They had decided to make directly for that shore. The other islands and islets, visible from the one where they were stranded, appeared to be mere heaps of wind and wave-swept rock. It seemed unlikely that any sand whatever was to be found on the and the danger of trying to coast such rock piles in a clumsy raft was too great to be risked. If the gold-seekers could but reach a forested shore, where they could build another canoe, they might return and explore every island, but they must have a good boat first.