The Secret Cache: An Adventure and Mystery Story for Boys

The wind continued strong, the waves were higher than ever, but the brothers had gained more confidence in the sailing qualities of the boat and in their own ability to handle it. Less water was being shipped, and by bailing when they had a chance, they managed to keep it from rising too high. Now that the sky was clearing and there was more light on the lake, they could see farther across it. As the boat rose to the top of a wave, Blaise said suddenly, “L’isle du Paté.”

Hugh looked quickly and, before the bateau pitched down between the waves, he caught a glimpse of a compact, abrupt, black mass towering from the water not many miles to his right. There seemed to be no chance of reaching the mouth of the Kaministikwia though. To turn and run in past the south side of Pie Island was out of the question. The square sail would be worse than useless, and the laden bateau would inevitably be swamped in the trough of the waves.

The stars were waning in the paling sky. The short summer night was drawing to a close and dawn was approaching. South and west of Pie Island and nearer at hand, lower lines of shore appeared, the chain of islands from one of which the adventurers had set out for the Isle Royale. Those islands, across several miles of heaving water, were still too far away to be reached. Wind and waves were carrying the bateau by. The sun, coming up in an almost clear sky, found the boat still running southwest on a course almost parallel with the unattainable chain of islands.

As the hours passed, the boys were encouraged to discover that they were drawing gradually nearer and nearer to the islands on the right. What was still better, they were bearing straight towards land ahead, continuous, high land they knew must be the main shore. It seemed that they must reach the mainland not many miles to the southwest of the place where the chain of islands diverged from it. Hugh had long since ceased to be particular where he landed, if it was only in some spot where food might be obtained. Rations the day before had been very scanty, and he was exceedingly hungry.

The wind was strong but steady, the waves long and high. The bateau, as it plunged down into the trough, continued to ship a little water, but the boys kept it down by bailing when a hand and arm could be spared. They were borne nearer and nearer to the land. As they ran past a group of small islets not more than a half mile distant, with a larger and higher island showing beyond them, Hugh glanced that way and considered trying to turn.

Blaise guessed his brother’s thought. “The mainland is not far now,” he said, “and we go straight towards it. Let us go on until we can land without danger to the furs. There will be more chance to find food on the mainland also.”

Both of the younger boy’s arguments had weight with Hugh. He gave up the idea of attempting to turn, and they went on with wind and waves. At the end of another hour they were bearing down upon an irregular, rocky point.

“Is that island or mainland, do you think?” Hugh inquired.

“Mainland,” was the unhesitating reply. “I remember the place. Have I not passed it three times in the last two moons?”

Hugh made no answer. He himself must have passed that spot twice within two months, but there were so many rocky points along the shore. Hugh was observing enough in the white man’s way, but he did not see how Blaise could remember all those places and tell them apart.

The bateau ran close to the point. When a bay came into view, Hugh expected Blaise to steer in, but the latter made no move to do so.

“It is steep and rocky there,” he explained, with a nod towards the abrupt-shored cove. “Beyond yet a little way is a better place, shallow and well protected.”

Past another point and along a steep rock shore they sailed. Here they were in much calmer water, for the points broke the force of wind and waves. As they approached a group of small islands, Blaise remarked, “It is best to take down the sail. We can paddle in.”

Accordingly Hugh lowered the sail and took up his paddle, while Blaise steered the bateau in among the islets. In a few moments the haven lay revealed, an almost round bay, its entrance nearly closed by islets. The islands and the points on either side were rocky, but the shores of the bay were low and densely wooded with tamarack, cedar and black spruce. The water was almost calm, and the boys made a landing on a bit of beach on the inner side and under the high land of the right hand point.

Hugh had not realized that he was particularly tired. The strain of the dangerous voyage had kept him alert, but he had had no sleep for two nights. Now, suddenly, an overpowering weariness and weakness came over him. His legs almost collapsed under him. He dropped down on the beach, too utterly exhausted to move. He was on solid land again, but he could scarcely realize it. His head was dizzy, and the moment his eyes closed he seemed to be heaving up and down again.

XXXII

THE FIRE AT THE END OF THE TRAIL

When Hugh woke, the dizziness and sense of swaying up and down were gone. He sat up, feeling strangely weak and hollow, and looked about him. The bateau was drawn up on the beach, but Blaise was nowhere in sight. From the shadows Hugh could tell that the sun was on its downward journey. He had slept several hours. He was just gathering up his courage to get up, when he heard a stone rattling down the rock hill behind him. Turning his head, he saw Blaise descending. The boy was carrying several fish strung on a withe. Hugh eyed those fish with hungry eyes. He could almost eat them raw, he thought. He got to his feet and looked around for fuel. Not until he had a fire kindled, and, – too impatient to let it burn down to coals or to wait for water to heat, – was holding a piece of fish on a crotched stick before the blaze, did he ask his younger brother where he had been.

“I slept for a while,” Blaise admitted, “but not for long. My hunger was too great. I took my gun and my line and climbed to the top of the point. I went along the steep cliff, but I found no game and no tracks. Then I came to that rocky bay. The shores are steep there and the water clear. I climbed out upon a rock and caught these fish. They are not big, but they are better than no food.”

“They certainly are,” Hugh agreed whole-heartedly.

The elder brother’s pride in his own strength and endurance was humbled. He had slept, exhausted, for hours, while the half-breed boy, nearly three years younger than himself, had walked two or three miles in search of food.

When no eatable morsel of the fish remained, the brothers’ thoughts turned to their next move.

“We are far nearer the Grand Portage than the Kaministikwia,” Hugh said thoughtfully. “We had better follow my first plan and go down the shore instead of up. We can surely find others at the Portage willing to go with us against Ohrante.”

“It is all we can do,” Blaise assented, “unless we wait here for the wind to change. It is almost from the north now. We must go against it if we go up the Bay of Thunder. The other way, the shore will shelter us. But we cannot start yet. We must wait a little for the waves to go down.”

“And in the meantime we will seek more food,” Hugh added. “Why not try fishing among those little islands?”

The channels among the islets proved good fishing ground. By sunset the lads had plenty of trout to insure against any danger of starvation for another day at least. The waves had gone down enough to permit travel in the shelter of the shore. Sailing was out of the question, and paddling the laden bateau would be slow work, but Hugh was too impatient to delay longer, and Blaise more than willing to go on.

After half an hour of slow progress, the younger brother made a suggestion. “We are not far from the Rivière aux Tourtres now.” He used the French name for the Pigeon River, a name which seems to mean “river of turtles.” The word tourtres doubtless referred to turtle doves or pigeons. “To paddle this bateau,” Blaise went on, “is very slow, and to reach Wauswaugoning by water we must go far out into the waves around that long point below the river mouth. But along the south bank of the river is an Ojibwa trail. At a bend the trail leaves the river and goes on across the point to Wauswaugoning. We shall save time if we go that way, by land.”

“What about the boat and the furs?”

“We will leave them behind. There is a little cove near the river mouth where the bateau will be safe. The furs we can hide among the rocks. We shall not be gone many days if all goes well. No white man I think and few Ojibwas go that way. An Ojibwa will not disturb a cache,” Blaise added confidently.

“Yet I don’t like the idea of leaving the furs,” Hugh protested.

“They will be safer there than at the Grand Portage, where the men of the Old Company might find them.”

“Why not turn them over to the X Y clerk at the Portage?” Hugh questioned.

“No, no. If our father had wanted them taken there he would have said so. Again and again he said to take them to the New Company at the Kaministikwia. He had a debt there, a small one, and he did not like the man in charge at the Grand Portage. There was some trouble between them, I know not what.”

Blaise was usually willing to yield to his elder brother’s judgment, but this time he proved obstinate. Jean Beaupré’s commands must be carried out to the letter. His younger son would not consent to the slightest modification.

Darkness had come when the two reached the mouth of the Pigeon River, but the moon was bright and Blaise had no difficulty steering into the little cove. Alders growing down to the water concealed the boat when it was pulled up among them. Blaise assured Hugh that, even in daylight, it could not be seen from the narrow entrance to the cove. The mast was taken down and the sail spread over the bottom of a hollow in the rocks. On the canvas the bales of furs were piled, and a blanket was thrown over the heap. The boys cut several poles, laid them across the hole, the ends resting on the rock rim, and covered them with sheets of birch bark, stripped from an old, half-dead tree. The crude roof, weighted down with stones, would serve to keep out small animals as well as to shed rain. All this work was done rapidly by the light of the moon.

The cache completed, Blaise led Hugh to the opening of the trail at the river mouth. The trail, the boy said, had been used by the Ojibwas for many years. A narrow, rough, but distinct path had been trodden by the many moccasined feet that had travelled over it. The moonlight filtered through the trees, and Blaise, who had been that way before, followed the track readily. With them the brothers carried the remaining blanket, the gun, ammunition, kettle and the rest of their fish. As Blaise had said, the trail ran along the south bank until a bend was reached, then, leaving the river, went on in the same westerly direction across the point of land between the mouth of the Pigeon River and Wauswaugoning Bay. The whole distance was not more than three miles, and the boys made good time.

Hugh thought they must be nearing the end of the path, when Blaise stopped suddenly with a low exclamation. The elder brother looked over the younger’s shoulder. Among the trees ahead glowed the yellow light of a small fire.

“Wait here a moment,” Blaise whispered. And he slipped forward among the trees.

In a few minutes he was back again. “There are three men,” he said, “sleeping by a fire, a white man and two Ojibwas. One of the Ojibwas I know and he knew our father. We need not fear, but because of the white man, we will say nothing of the furs.”

The two went forward almost noiselessly, but, in spite of their quiet approach, when they came out of the woods by the fire, one of the Indians woke and sat up.

“Bo-jou,” remarked Blaise.

The second Indian was awake now. “Bo-jou, bo-jou,” both replied, gazing at the newcomers.

The white man rolled over, but before he could speak, Hugh sprang towards him with a cry of pleasure. “Baptiste, it is good to see you! How come you here?”

“Eh lá, Hugh Beaupré, and I might ask that of you yourself,” returned the astonished Frenchman. “I inquired for you at the Grand Portage, but the men at the fort knew nothing of you. When I said you were with your brother Attekonse, one man remembered seeing him with a white man. That was all I could learn. I was sore afraid some evil had befallen you. You are long in returning to the Sault.”

“Yes,” Hugh replied with some hesitation. “I have stayed longer than I intended. Is the Otter at the Grand Portage, Baptiste?”

“No, she has returned to the New Fort. I came on her to the Grand Portage. We brought supplies for the post and for the northmen going inland to winter. There was a man at the Portage, a Canadian like myself, who wanted sorely to go to the Kaministikwia. He has wife and child there, and the mate of the sloop brought him word that the child was very sick. So as I have neither wife nor child and am in no haste, I let him have my place. Now I am returning by canoe, with Manihik and Keneu here.”

At the mention of their names, the two Indians nodded gravely towards Hugh and repeated their “Bo-jou, bo-jou.”

“We camp here until the wind goes down,” Baptiste concluded.

During the Frenchman’s explanation, Hugh had been doing some rapid thinking and had come to a decision. He knew Baptiste for a simple, honest, true-hearted fellow. In one of his Indian companions Blaise had already expressed confidence.

“Baptiste,” Hugh asked abruptly, “have you ever heard of Ohrante, the Iroquois hunter?”

There was a fierce grunt from one of the Indians. The black eyes of both were fixed on Hugh.

“Truly I have,” Baptiste replied promptly. “As great a villain as ever went unhanged.”

“Would you like to help get him hanged?”

Keneu sprang to his feet. It was evident he had understood something of what Hugh had said. “I go,” he cried fiercely in bad French. “Where is the Iroquois wolf?”

“There is an island down the shore,” Hugh went on, “the Island of Torture, Ohrante calls it, where he and his band take their prisoners and torture them to death. Sometime soon he is to hold a sort of council there.”

“How know you that?” Baptiste interrupted.

“I shall have to tell you the whole story.” Hugh turned to his half-brother. “Blaise, shall we tell them all? Baptiste I can trust, I know.”

“As you think best, my brother.”

Sitting on a log by the fire at the edge of the woods, while the moonlight flooded the bay beyond, Hugh related his strange tale to the amazed and excited Canadian and the intent, fierce-eyed Keneu, the “War Eagle.” The other Indian also watched and listened, but it was evident from his face that he understood little or nothing of what was said. Hugh made few concealments. Frankly he told the story of the search for the hidden furs, the encounters with Ohrante and his band, the capture and escape, and what Blaise had learned from overhearing the conversations between Monga and the Indian with the red head band. Hugh did not mention, however, the packet he carried under his shirt, nor did he say definitely where he and Blaise had left the bateau and the furs. Those details were not essential to the story, and might as well be omitted.

“We know now it was through Ohrante father was killed,” the boy concluded, “and we, Blaise and I, intend that the Iroquois shall pay the penalty for his crime. He has other evil deeds to pay for as well, and that isn’t all. As long as he is at liberty, he is a menace to white man and peaceable Indian alike. He calls himself Chief of Minong, and he has an ambition to be a sort of savage king. He is swollen with vanity and belief in his own greatness, and he seems to be a natural leader of men, with a sort of uncanny influence over those he draws about him. One moment you think him ridiculous, but the next you are not sure he is not a great man. If he succeeds in gathering a really strong band he can do serious harm.”

Keneu gave a grunt of assent, and Baptiste nodded emphatically. “He must be taken,” the latter said.

“Taken or destroyed, like the wolf he is,” Hugh replied grimly. “We have a plan, Blaise and I.”

For nearly an hour longer, the five sat by the fire discussing, in English, French and Ojibwa, Hugh’s plan. Then, a decision reached, each rolled himself in his blanket for a few hours’ sleep.

XXXIII

THE CAPTURE OF MONGA

Baptiste’s canoe was large enough to accommodate Hugh and Blaise, and the party were up and away early. The lake was no longer rough, so they made good time through Wauswaugoning Bay and around the point to the Grand Portage. Though Baptiste had been employed, in one capacity or another, by the Old Northwest Company, he was under no contract. An independent spirited fellow, who came and went much as he pleased, he did not feel under any obligation to the Old Company and was not an ardent partisan of that organization, so he made no objection when Hugh proposed that they try the X Y post for help in their undertaking. The men of either company would be glad no doubt to lay hands on the rascally Iroquois but the X Y men’s grievance was the stronger, since Ohrante had been in the employ of the Old Company when he committed his first crime. The white man he had slain was an independent trapper, affiliated with neither company, but Jean Beaupré had been under contract, for the one season at least, to the New Company. To learn that he too had come to his death through the Giant Mohawk would add fuel to the flame of the X Y men’s anger.

Shunning the Old Company’s dock, the party crossed the bay to the X Y landing. At the post Hugh and Blaise told as much of their story as was essential to prove that they had really encountered Ohrante, had learned his plans and knew where to lay hands on him. The time for the annual meeting of the New Northwest Company, still held at the Grand Portage post, was approaching. None of the partners or leading men had yet arrived, but most of the northmen, as the men who wintered inland west of the lake, were called, had come with their furs, and a considerable number of Indians were gathered at the post. The agent in charge could not leave, but in a very few minutes the boys had recruited a dozen men, half-breeds and Indians, with one white man, a Scotchman, to lead them.

It would not do to approach the Island of Torture in too great force. Hugh and Blaise, with Baptiste and the two Indians, were to go first, find out whether Ohrante’s recruits had assembled and watch for the coming of the chief himself. The men from the Grand Portage, in two canoes, would start later. Hugh had a very simple plan, which promised to be effective, to prevent Ohrante from leaving his council island before the Grand Portage party arrived.

The plan of campaign arranged, the scouts got under way at once. As they rounded the high point to the south and west of the Grand Portage Bay, they noticed, coming from the open lake, a large canoe with only two men. It was headed straight for the land, but suddenly swung about and turned down shore. Blaise, who was second from the bow, raised his paddle for a moment, while he gazed intently at the other canoe.

Turning his head, he called back to Hugh and Baptiste, “Red Band! We must catch them. It is Red Band and I think Monga.”

“Vite! Make speed!” ordered Baptiste. “We will separate those two from the rest of Ohrante’s rascals.”

He scarcely needed to give the command. Keneu, in the bow, had already quickened his powerful stroke. The others followed his lead and the five blades dipped and rose with vigorous, rapid rhythm. The Indians ahead did their best, bending to their paddles with desperate energy, but their canoe was fully as large as Baptiste’s and they were two paddles to five. The pursuers gained steadily. They must certainly overtake the fugitives.

Suddenly the fleeing canoe swerved towards the land. Keneu saw in an instant what the two men were trying to do. They intended to beach their boat and take to the woods, trusting to lose their pursuers in the thick growth. The Indian bow-man gave a sharp order. Baptiste’s canoe swung in towards shore. It must cut off the fugitives, get between them and the land. The shore was steep and rocky, and there was no good place to beach a boat. Yet so great was the panic of Monga and Red Band that they kept straight on. Despairing of escape by water, they were ready to smash their canoe on the rocks and take a chance of reaching land.

They did not even get near to the shore. In their panic haste, they failed to notice a warning ripple and eddy ahead. Their canoe struck full on the jagged edge of a rock just below the surface. The pursuers were close enough to hear the ripping sound, as the sharp rock tore a great gash in the thin bark. The water rushed in. Red Band sprang from the bow, but Monga remained where he was in the stern, the canoe settling under him.

The pursuers bent to their paddles and shot towards the wrecked boat. They reached the spot just as Monga was going down, but they did not intend to let him escape them by drowning. Keneu reached out a sinewy arm and seized the sinking man by the neck of his deerskin shirt, while the others threw their bodies the other way and backed water to hold the canoe steady and keep it off the sharp rock.

The sensation of going down in that cold water must have instilled in Monga a dread greater than his fear of capture, for he made no struggle to free himself. As if the fellow had been a fish too large to be landed, his captors passed him back from hand to hand until he came into the keeping of the other Indian in the stern. The captive could not be pulled aboard, so Manihik ordered him to hold to the rim. Kneeling face towards the stern, he held Monga by the shoulders, and towed him behind the canoe till Keneu found a landing place.

Red Band had disappeared. Blaise, who had watched, felt sure Monga’s companion had not reached shore. He had gone down and had not come up. Either he was unable to swim or had struck his head on a rock. Whatever had happened, there was no sign of him.

When shallow water was reached, Manihik took good care that his dripping prisoner should not escape. Monga was towed ashore and his wrists and ankles bound with rawhide rope. He said not a word, his broad face sullen and set.

Not until Blaise had asked him several questions in Ojibwa, did the captive deign to speak. Even then he answered with reluctance, a word or two at a time in sullen grunts. Then a question suddenly loosed his tongue, and he poured out a torrent of guttural speech. The other two Indians and Baptiste, who understood a little Ojibwa, listened intently, but Hugh could make out no word, except the names Ohrante and Minong.

When Monga paused, Blaise, his hazel eyes shining, turned to his brother. “We have not so many enemies to oppose us as we thought. Ohrante has only five of his old men left. The young Iroquois who captured you is dead.”

“That fellow dead?” Hugh exclaimed. “Are you sure Monga isn’t lying?”

“He speaks the truth, I am certain,” Blaise replied confidently. “When Ohrante found you had escaped, he was in a great rage. He held the young Iroquois, Monga and Red Band to blame, and threatened all three with death, unless they found you and brought you back. Because the small canoe was gone, they believed you had escaped by water. We hoped the empty canoe might drift up the bay, but they found it not. The Iroquois thought you might have gone into the Bay of Manitos. Monga had no wish to go there. He was afraid of the giant manitos, he says, but he was desperate and at last agreed. They found our fire on the stones at the end of that island. Monga believed you had crossed the mouth of the bay and had gone on the other side of Minong, but the Iroquois wished to go up the narrow channel. They went up the channel, as we know, to what they believed to be the end. The shallow water and the fallen cedar deceived them. So they turned back and went on across the mouth of the Bay of Manitos.”

“What were Ohrante and the others doing all that time?”

“They searched the western side of Minong. Monga says Ohrante would not go into the Bay of Manitos himself.”

“Then he evidently didn’t suspect our trick.”

“No, but I think perhaps the young Iroquois suspected, and that was why he wished to search the bay.” Blaise went on with his tale. “Monga and Red Band were in despair when they could not find you. They proposed that the three of them should run away to the mainland, but the Iroquois was too proud to be a coward. He wished to go on with the search or go back to take the punishment. So Monga pretended he could see the end of a canoe among the trees on an island. They landed, and Monga and Red Band murdered the Iroquois and left him there. Then they started for the mainland.”