The Island of Yellow Sands: An Adventure and Mystery Story for Boys

by Ethel C. Brill

  XIII

  THE CAMP IN THE CAVE

  When Ronald regained consciousness, he found himself in semi-darkness,and it was several moments before he could make out his surroundings. Hewas lying with his body in the water, but his head and shoulders onshelving 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 topull 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. Alittle way above his head he could discern in the gloom, a dark rockceiling. As soon as he was able to connect his thoughts with what wentbefore his plunge over the cliff, he realized that he was probably inone of the caves that he had guessed must penetrate the rock at thewater line.

  His head ached, and when he put his hand to his forehead, he felt thatit was wet with something thicker and stickier than lake water. He hadcut his head on a rock when he fell into the water. It was striking therock, rather than plunging into the lake, that had made him loseconsciousness. He wondered that he had not been drowned. It was not thefirst time in his rather adventurous life that he had come near todrowning. It was strange, he thought, that he was not strangling andgasping for breath, his throat, nose and lungs full of water. Surelyhis head could not have been under more than a moment. Yet he had beenwashed into the hole in the rock.

  His limbs were so numb with cold he could scarcely use them, but hemanaged to roll over and crawl farther up the slanting shelf on which helay. This rock incline was at the inner end of the cave, which, as hecould see in the half light, was small and low. When he was closeagainst the rear wall he was above the reach of the waves, but he couldnot rise to a sitting position without striking his head against theceiling.

  Then he remembered his gun. He slipped back down the slope and searchedfor it as best he could, but failed to find it. Probably it had fallenout of his hand when he tumbled over the cliff. He was almost out ofammunition anyway, so the loss was not very serious.

  The really serious thing was his situation there in the cave. How was heto get out? Of course he could swim, breasting the waves that washedinto the opening, but after he had passed the entrance, it would be noeasy feat, with such a sea running, to swim along shore looking for aplace where he could climb up. It would take strenuous exertion to keepfrom being dashed against the rocks. His limbs were stiff and numb fromthe cold water, his head aching and dizzy, and he felt himself in poortrim for such a struggle.

  Perhaps there was some other opening from the hole. He could see thatthe sloping shelf extended part way along the sides. Crawling to theleft, he found the wall continuous. There was no exit on that side. Herolled over and crawled back and around to the right of where he hadbeen lying. In the dim light he could discern a black streak just wherethe shelf ended. The streak proved to be, as he had hoped, a rift in therock. The rear and side walls, running almost at right angles, did notquite come together, leaving a narrow break he could just squeeze hisbody into. The rift was dark, the rock closing overhead, and, as therewas not room for him to stand upright, he was obliged to crawl, but thebottom sloped sharply upward, and he could see dim light ahead. He hopedthat he had found a way to reach the top of the cliff. He had notcrawled more than fifty feet, however, when he came to the end of thepassage. It did not lead to the top, but opened out on a narrow ledgeabout half-way up the side wall of another cave.

  This cave was larger and higher than the one he had just left, and onits farther side there was a pebble beach fifteen or twenty feet wide.Ronald stared at that stretch of beach in amazement, for there on thepebbles glowed the live embers of a fire. The boy's eyes searched everyfoot of the cavern. It was better lighted than the other hole, for theentrance, though narrow, was much higher, and even the nooks and cornerswere not dim enough to conceal from his keen eyes any one in hiding. Nota living thing, man, animal or bird, was to be seen. Men had been thereonly a short time before, but they had gone and taken their belongingswith them.

  To reach the beach Ronald had to let himself down into the water. Thebottom was rock and he succeeded in wading around the cave without goingin above his knees. For some reason the waves did not come into thiscavern so strongly.

  On the beach he found that the fire had been made between drift logslaid 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. Heremembered that the trail Etienne had followed had ended near thisplace. Surely this camp in the cave accounted for the disappearance ofthe Frenchman and the Cree. They had been here not later than a fewhours before.

  The boy's mind reverted to his plunge over the cliff. He knew well thathe had not merely slipped and fallen. Something had struck him a heavyblow from behind. He and his comrades had come upon no traces of largeanimals on the island. Moreover Ronald did not know of any animal, that,unprovoked, would be likely to attack a man in such a manner. Theinference was plain. Either Le Forgeron or his Indian companion hadstolen up on him from behind and had knocked him over the cliff. Whatreason could the Blacksmith have for such an assault? Revengeundoubtedly for Ronald's attack on him when he was torturing the poorold squaw. But surely he had not come all this distance back from theSault for a mere act of vengeance. It must be, the lad thought, that LeForgeron was following the three adventurers with the intention oftaking the golden sand for himself. If they were near the gold, and heknew it, he might wish to make away with them before they actuallyreached the spot. But if he wanted to get rid of them, why had he notattacked their camp two nights before, when he had the advantage andcould have slain them all in their sleep? Perhaps he had had such anintention, but had given it up after falling from the tree, fearing thatNangotook at least might have heard him. There was also the possibilitythat Le Forgeron might not know just where the yellow sands lay, andthat he did not want to destroy all of the party until they had guidedhim to the place. He had merely seized the opportunity to get even witha personal enemy, as he certainly considered Ronald, by making away withhim in a manner that would seem wholly accidental. At any rate Ronaldwas convinced that the Frenchman had made a deliberate attempt upon hislife. A glint came into the lad's blue eyes, and his mouth set in adetermined line. Instead of frightening him, the treacherous, cowardlyassault had merely steeled his determination to outwit the Blacksmithand, in defiance and despite of him, to find and take possession of thegolden sands.

  All these thoughts flashed through the lad's mind in the few momentsthat he spent in examining the camping place on the pebbles. Then hecommenced to search for a way out of the cave. Except the rift by whichhe had come, there was no break anywhere in the rock walls. It wasevident that there was no exit except by water. He must make his attemptthat way.

  Exercise had dried his clothes somewhat, but he felt chilled to thebone. He took off his heavy blanket tunic, and noticed as he did so thathis knife was missing. It had not fallen from the sheath, for the sheathwas gone too, the leather thong that held it to his belt cut cleanly. Hewhistled between his teeth at the discovery.

  Vigorously he rubbed his limbs, then rolled up the tunic and fastened itaround his neck by the sleeves, leaving his arms free for swimming, andstepped 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 inwater, to look out. The sky was blue, the wind blowing strongly, and thewaves rolling high, but rocks just outside protected the entrancesomewhat. He could make his start in comparatively smooth water, but afew 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 hiddencave. Even if they followed his trail to the place where he had fallenover, he was not sure that he would hear them, or that, calling frombelow, 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 theentrance. The outer side ran straight down, sheer wit
h the wall abovethe opening, and one step would take him into unknown depths. He madethe plunge, but had scarcely taken three strokes, when he saw that hewas close to the rift where the Frenchman and the Cree, according tothe Ojibwa's reckoning, must have lowered their canoe and scrambled downto it. If they could go up and down there so could he, provided he couldget in without being thrown in forcibly by the water and his brainsdashed out against the walls. The waves were rolling straight into therift. He must let himself be carried in, and trust to his strength toresist being battered against the rocks.

  He had scarcely an instant of time to make the decision. He was bornein, almost grazing the wall, straight towards the place where the foamdashed 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 pointof rock projecting from the wall just above where his head would pass.Instinctively he threw up his right arm and grasped that rock, hisfingers gripping the tough stem of the stunted, trailing juniper thatgrew upon it. With the pull of the water below and the weight of hissoaked garments, it seemed as if his arm would be torn out of thesocket, but he held on, and, with a mighty effort, raised himself upuntil he could grasp the rock with his other hand also. Luckily thestrong stem of the juniper and its tough roots, that had penetrated deepinto the cracks and crannies, held fast, and the boy was able at last topull himself clear of the water.

  He was safe for the moment, but what was he to do next? How was he toreach the spot, near the head of the rift and beyond the foam-dashedwall where he could climb to the top? There was no possible way toreach it, unless he let himself down into the water again, and took therisk of being carried against the rock by the waves. He gave a littlewhistle 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 itwas of no use regretting that now.

  He turned to examine the cliff behind him. The only possible place ofascent was just where the point of rock he was clinging to projectedfrom the wall. There the wall was not quite perpendicular, there were afew crannies and holes, and from the top another trailing junipersprawled part way over and hung down a few feet. It was a dangerousascent, but a possible one. He could not remain where he was, inactive,the cold wind blowing on his soaked clothes, without chilling to thebone.

  Crouched on the projecting rock, he wrung the water out of his clothesas well as he could without taking them off. There was no room to dothat. Then he crawled along a little, put the fingers of his right handinto a hole in the cliff, and cautiously pulled himself up to a standingposition, leaning against the wall. Clinging with his fingers andmoccasined toes to every little cranny and hollow, his body sprawledflat against the rock, he made his way, slowly, carefully up, a fewinches at a time, until he could grasp with his left hand the stouthanging stem of the juniper. After that it was easier, and he pulledhimself safely over the edge not far from the place where he had fallendown.

  As soon as he was safe again, Ronald became conscious that his head wasthrobbing painfully. He had hardly felt it since he came out of thecrack into the larger cavern. He was shivering with cold too, and hisone 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 ofthe island. He shouted, and Jean appeared from the other side of thecabin, where, out of range of the wind, he was getting supper. He wavedhis hand in cheery greeting, then stopped and stared at the figureRonald presented, his clothes only half dried, his cap gone, his hairand forehead stained with blood.

  "_Ciel!_ What has come to you?" he cried. His startled exclamationbrought the Indian around the hut.

  Crouched close to the fire, upon which Jean heaped fuel, Ronald told thestory of his adventures. The others listened, each according to hisnature, Jean with amazed expression and frequent exclamations andquestions, Etienne silently, with grave, stern face.

  When Ronald had finished, the Indian made but one comment. "Yourguardian spirit must be very powerful," he said, "or the manito of thewaters favors you." Then, as if remembering suddenly that he was aChristian, he hastened to add in a devout tone, "The good God above wasindeed 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 ofYellow 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 Jeanconfidently. "We are near it I am sure, and now we know which way togo."

  "What do you mean?" cried Ronald. "Have you gained some new knowledgethen?"

  "Truly we have," Jean answered springing to his feet. "Look, overthere!" 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.