The Secret Cache: An Adventure and Mystery Story for Boys

“They were the ones we saw when we were going out of the bay.”

“Yes, they went around the long point, past that bay, and along the northwest side of Minong, but the wind came up and they could not cross. This morning they have crossed over.”

“We should have nothing further to fear from Monga then, even if we had not captured him.”

Blaise shrugged contemptuously. “Monga is a coward and a fool. He says he was angry because the traders sold him a bad musket. It exploded when he tried to fire it and blew off his little finger. So he joined the Mohawk wolf who boasted that he would drive the white men away. Monga thought Ohrante was a great chief and a powerful medicine man, but when he proposed to go to Minong, Monga was afraid. Then Ohrante told him that Minong was a wonderful place where they would grow rich and mighty and have everything they wished. He said he was such a great medicine man that the spirits of the island would do his bidding.”

“And they didn’t,” put in Hugh with a grin.

The swift, flashing smile like his father’s crossed the younger boy’s face. “Monga was disappointed to find Minong little different from the mainland. When he heard the spirits threatening Ohrante and saw the chief frightened, he began to lose faith in him. You escaped, and Ohrante’s medicine was not strong enough to find you and bring you back. He would not even go to the Bay of Manitos to seek you. So Monga knew the Chief of Minong was just a man like other men. He has run away and wants no more of Ohrante.”

“Just the same I think we had better keep an eye on him,” Hugh decided. “We’ll take him with us.”

Blaise nodded. “There is still much Monga has not told us,” he replied.

It was finally settled that Baptiste and the two Indians should take the prisoner with them, while Hugh and Blaise went on ahead in the captured canoe. It was their plan to approach the Island of Torture under cover of darkness. Conditions being good, the two boys paddled steadily. Late in the afternoon they paused for a meal. They had not many more miles to go, and would wait until nightfall. Before they had finished their supper, Baptiste’s canoe came in sight. Monga had expressed willingness to wield a paddle, but Baptiste did not trust him. The “Loon” rode as a compulsory passenger, wrists and ankles still bound. At Hugh’s signal, Baptiste ran in to shore to wait with the others for darkness.

XXXIV

MONGA’S STORY

During the enforced wait for nightfall, Blaise put more questions to the Indian prisoner. Monga, anxious to ingratiate himself with his captors, talked freely.

Ohrante, the captive said, after his first crime, capture and escape, had fled with Monga and the other Ojibwa who had helped him to get away. At the lake shore they had come across two Iroquois hunters, the tall fellow with the malicious grin and another. When Ohrante proposed to take refuge on Minong, the Ojibwas held back. The Mohawk, however, told them a long story about how his mother, a captive among the Iroquois, had been a direct descendant of the ancient tribe or clan who had once lived on Minong and had mined copper there. Her ancestors had been chieftains of that powerful people, Ohrante asserted, and he himself was hereditary Chief of Minong. From his mother’s people and also from his father, who was a Mohawk medicine man, the giant claimed to have inherited marvellous magic powers. He had further increased those powers by going through various mysterious experiences and ordeals. The manitos of Minong, he said, awaited his coming. He had had a dream, several moons before, in which the spirits, in the forms of birds and beasts, had appeared to him and begged him to come and rule over them. They would do his bidding and aid him to destroy his enemies and to become chief of all the tribes about the Upper Lakes. He would unite those tribes into a powerful nation and drive the white men from the country.

Persuaded by Ohrante’s arguments, the four Indians accompanied him to Minong. Their first camp was made on the southwestern end of the island. There Ohrante and the two Ojibwas, secure from pursuit, remained while the others crossed again to the mainland and brought back more recruits, an Ojibwa, a Cree and another Iroquois hunter. The band of eight roamed about the western side of the island by land and water. Most of the winter they spent in a long, narrow bay, where, according to Monga, they found many pieces of copper. In the spring, in search of the wonders their chief had promised them, they reached the northeastern end of the island. Then came a hard storm of wind, rain and snow, accompanied by fog. Three days after the storm, when the waves had gone down, the band entered, for the first time, the bay west of the long point. There they found and captured Jean Beaupré and Black Thunder. It was evident from Monga’s tale that he knew nothing of the hidden furs. Ohrante had accepted the story Jean Beaupré had told of having lost everything in the storm, when his bateau, driven out of its course, had been dashed into a rift in the rocks of the long point. Undoubtedly Beaupré must have had some warning of the approach of the Indians, for he had had time, as the boys knew, to secrete the furs. The fact that Black Thunder had suffered an injury to one leg, when the boat was wrecked, might account for the failure of the two to dodge the giant and his band.

When Monga finished this part of his story, Blaise turned from him to translate to Hugh.

“Ask him,” the elder brother suggested, “if father knew he was on the Isle Royale.”

Blaise put the question and translated the reply. “Monga says our father knew not where he was. The weather was thick and cloudy, there was no sun and it was not possible to see far. Our father thought he was somewhere on the mainland. Ohrante did not tell him where he was. The chief wished no man to know the hiding place. The prisoners were kept bound. They were given something cooked from leaves that made them sleep sound. Then they were put in the canoes and taken to the other end of the island. By night they were brought across to the Isle of Torture.”

“That explains father’s not telling you where he was wrecked. He had no idea he had been driven to Minong. But why did Ohrante bring his captives away over here? What was his motive? Can you find out?”

Again Blaise asked a question, listening gravely to the answer. “Monga says that he and Ohrante and the other Ojibwa camped on that little island they now call the Isle of Torture, when they first escaped from our father, and Ohrante dreamed that night that he had many white captives and put them to the torture one after another. Monga thinks it was because of that dream that the chief brought his captives over to that island.”

“How did father escape?” Hugh questioned eagerly.

Again Blaise turned to Monga, and soon had the rest of the story. At the Torture Island, Ohrante had met with several recruits, who brought with them a supply of liquor stolen from some trading post. The torture of the two captives, Ohrante’s part of the entertainment, was postponed until night. During the day the party feasted and drank. They consumed all of the liquor, which was full strength, not diluted with water as it usually was before being sold to the Indians. By night the whole band were lying about the island in a heavy stupor. Even the lookout, who had been stationed in a tree to give warning of the approach of danger, had come down to get his share.

When the band came to their senses next morning, they found the prisoners gone. The thongs with which they had been tied lay on the ground, one piece of rawhide having been worn through by being pulled across a sharp-edged bit of rock. A canoe was gone and another had a great hole in it, but a third boat, on the other side of the island, the prisoners had not found. Monga’s Ojibwa comrade, the one who had helped Ohrante to escape justice, had been set to guard the captives. In a rage, Ohrante threatened the fellow with torture in their stead. The guard begged to be allowed to track the escaped prisoners, and the chief consented. A high wind had blown all night and the lake was rough, too rough for the fugitives to have travelled far by water. The channel between shore and island was protected from the wind, however, and some of the band crossed and found the canoe the escaped prisoners had used. Black Thunder’s lame leg prevented rapid travelling, and at the Devil Track River, the negligent guard and one of the Iroquois overtook the fugitives. Stealing quietly upon them, the Ojibwa attacked Jean Beaupré, the Iroquois, Black Thunder. Black Thunder struggled desperately, and the Iroquois was obliged to fight for his life. He slew Black Thunder, only to find his Ojibwa companion lying dead a little farther on. Jean Beaupré was gone.

The Iroquois tried to follow Beaupré, but, being himself wounded, fell fainting from loss of blood. Monga and another of the band, sent after the two by Ohrante, found the Iroquois unable to travel without help. It was Monga who had kindled the cooking fire, the remains of which Hugh had found. Blaise spoke of finding the blood-stained tunic and Monga said that the Iroquois had stripped it from Black Thunder, but Monga and the other Indian would not let him carry the shirt away for fear of the vengeance of the thunder bird pictured upon it. The three returned to the Island of Torture without attempting to follow Beaupré farther. When the lake calmed, two of the band took the winter catch of furs to the Grand Portage and exchanged them for supplies. Then the whole party returned to Minong, living for some time at the southern end. In a later raid they captured the unfortunate Indian, Ohrante’s personal enemy, whom the boys had seen being tortured. One of the chief’s men was killed in the encounter, another deserted and several were left on the mainland to obtain recruits.

The rest went back to Minong and travelled to the northern end again. In the bay west of the long, high point, they found the spot the crew of the Otter had cleared, and built their wigwams there. The discovery that someone else had visited the place made Ohrante a bit uneasy, and he kept a lookout stationed on the high ridge. When the Beaupré brothers reached the point, all of the band except two happened to be away on a hunting trip. The two guards, neglectful of lookout duty, had failed to see the lads approach. It must have been one of them who had fired the shot that aroused the boys at dawn. Ohrante and one canoe of the hunting party returned that very day. The call that had so startled Hugh, when he was about to open the packet, was a signal from one of the camp guards to the returning chief. Luckily for the brothers they were well hidden in the pit, and Ohrante and his men were back at their camp long before the two lads reached theirs. The other canoe of hunters did not return until the following day. Luck had been poor, and Monga proposed to his companions that they round the long, high point and look for game on the other side. They were headed towards the rocky tip, when, suddenly, before their astonished eyes, a giant form appeared on the open rocks. The giant turned, looked straight at the canoe, then seemed to sink into the ground. Just as he vanished, however, a second giant, even taller than the first, loomed up. Monga and his comrades turned and fled. Monga looked back once, just in time to see one of the giants spring up out of the rocks, he said. The frightened Indians took refuge beyond the low point on the other side of the bay, and stayed there until the fog came in, before daring to venture to camp. They told Ohrante of seeing Nanibozho and Kepoochikan on the end of the long point, but he, to strengthen his followers’ belief in his magical powers, insisted next day on rounding the point. In the Bay of Manitos, the Chief of Minong had the scare of his life.

Darkness had come by the time Blaise had learned all this from the prisoner and had translated it to Hugh and Baptiste. It was time to make a start. Monga was left behind, and to prevent his crying out or attracting attention in any way, he was gagged and tied to a tree. Then the others embarked in Baptiste’s canoe. The weather favored them. The night was dark, not a ray of moonlight penetrating the thick clouds. Only a light breeze rippled the water and the air was unusually warm.

Noiselessly, through the deepest shadows, the canoe approached the Island of Torture. From the upper end, the black mass appeared to be quite deserted. No gleam of fire shone through the trees. As the canoe slipped along close to the mainland, however, the flickering light of a small fire appeared ahead. That fire was not on the island, but on the mainland opposite. Swerving in to shore, the canoe was brought to a stop, its prow just touching a bit of beach. Without speaking a word, and making scarcely a sound, the five stepped out, deposited the boat upon the pebbles and gathered around it in a knot.

Keneu, his mouth close to the half-breed boy’s ear, whispered a word or two. Blaise nodded, and in an instant the Indian was gone into the darkness. Blaise turned to Hugh and explained in the softest of whispers: “Keneu goes to learn who they are.”

Silent, almost motionless, the rest of the party remained standing on the bit of beach in the thick darkness of the sheltering bushes. Hugh’s eyes were fastened on the black, silent island across the narrow channel. Had Ohrante changed his plans? He felt his younger brother’s hand on his arm, and turned about. He could just distinguish a low, hissing sound, which he realized was the Indian making his report to Blaise.

The sound ceased and the boy’s lips were at Hugh’s ear. “There are four men camping there. One is an Iroquois. They wait for Ohrante to come. Then they go to the island.”

“He hasn’t come yet, then?” Hugh whispered back.

“No, these are new men except the Iroquois. They come to join Ohrante. They have liquor, but the Iroquois will not let them drink until the chief comes.”

“Then the only thing we can do is wait.”

“That is all. We can watch the island from here. When Ohrante comes we shall know it.”

XXXV

THE FALL OF THE GIANT

As the wait might be long, the party decided to snatch a few minutes’ sleep, one of them remaining on the lookout for the arrival of the Chief of Minong. It was some time after midnight, when Keneu, who was doing guard duty, discerned something moving on the lake, coming down shore. He laid his hand on the half-breed boy’s forehead, and Blaise woke at once.

“A canoe,” the Indian whispered.

Blaise raised his head to look. “The men from the Grand Portage. What idiots! Why not keep closer in?”

The Indian’s hand pressed the lad’s shoulder warningly. “Wait,” he breathed. “Let them go by.”

Secure in the black shelter of the alders that overhung the bit of beach, Blaise watched the approaching canoe. It came on rapidly, confidently. As it drew close in the darkness of the channel between mainland and island, the boy’s eyes could make out no details. But his ears caught something that made him heartily glad he had not signalled that canoe as had been his first thought. What he heard was an order spoken in Ojibwa, in the unmistakable, high-pitched, nasal voice of Ohrante. In obedience to the command, the canoe swung away from the mainland towards the Island of Torture, and disappeared in the blackness of its margin.

Blaise drew a long breath and whispered in Keneu’s ear, “Go watch the camp and see what they do.”

Keneu made no reply, but Blaise knew he was gone, though he heard no sound as the Indian slipped through the bushes. In the same quiet way that Keneu had waked him, by laying his hand on the forehead of each, Blaise aroused his companions. In a few minutes all were sitting up, wide awake, staring at the dark water and the impenetrable blackness of the island. There were no stars or moon. The air was unusually warm and sultry. A pale flash lit up the dark sky for an instant. Some moments later a low rumbling came to their ears. A storm now might spoil all their plans, thought Hugh anxiously.

A gleam of light shone through the trees at the farther end of the island. A fire had been kindled as a signal that the Chief of Minong had arrived. Again the sky was lit by a white flash. Again the thunder rolled and rumbled. From down the channel came a sound of splashing water. No canoe, paddled by Indians, ever made such a splashing as that. “Have they all jumped in? Are they swimming across?” thought Hugh.

Rolling over, he crawled down the beach. His head almost in the water, he gazed down the channel. Another flash of lightning swept the sky. Hugh crouched low, but in the instant of the illumination, he saw, crossing from mainland to island, a canoe with several men, and in its wake something black rising above the water. Hugh could not believe that the swimming thing was really what, in the instant’s flash of light, it appeared to be.

He turned to slip up the beach again, and found Blaise at his side. In silence the two went back to their place beside the canoe. A few minutes later, Blaise felt a hand on his shoulder, and Keneu’s voice spoke in his ear, in a low, hissing whisper.

“They have left their camp. They have crossed to the island, where a fire now burns.”

“How many canoes?”

“Only one.”

“Are other men coming?”

“I think not. I think they are the only ones.”

Hugh was growing impatient. It had been his intention to wait to put his plan into operation until the party on the island had feasted and drunk and were sleeping. The coming storm, however, threatened to thwart his strategy. Bad weather might drive Ohrante and his band to the mainland in search of better shelter. Even if they remained on the island, a violent storm would delay action. In daylight he could not carry out his scheme, and dawn was not far off. There was grave risk in acting now, but to delay might mean to lose all chance of success. Again the lightning flashed more brightly, the thunder rolled louder and at a shorter interval. He must act now if at all. He put his mouth to his younger brother’s ear.

“We must get those canoes. A storm may spoil our chance. We dare not wait.”

“Yes,” agreed Blaise. He understood the situation quite as well as Hugh. There was no need for more than the one word.

“You and I and Keneu will go,” Hugh went on. “When we get across, Keneu must remain with our canoe. The others must stay here to stop the men from the Grand Portage when they come.”

“Yes,” Blaise replied again, and rose to his feet. “Come,” he said briefly to the Indian.

In a few whispered words, Hugh explained to Baptiste that he and Manihik must remain where they were. The Frenchman was inclined to grumble. He did not like the idea of the boys’ going into action without his support. Hugh was firm, however, and as the whole plan was his, he was by right the leader, so Baptiste was forced to submit. By the time Hugh had finished his explanation, Blaise and Keneu had the canoe in the water.

Just as Hugh, as leader, took his place in the bow, a flash of lightning lit up the sky. The moment the flash was over, the canoe was off, Blaise in the center and Keneu in the stern. The paddling was left to the Indian, Hugh dipping his blade only now and then on one side or the other, as a signal to the steersman.

The natural clearing, where the fire now blazed bright, was at the other end of the little island. If the Indians were all gathered around the fire, they could not see the canoe crossing from the mainland. Someone might be down at the shore, but the attacking party had to take a chance of that. Luckily the short passage was accomplished before the next flash.

On the inner side of the little island, the trees and bushes grew down to the water. In absolute silence, the canoe slipped along, close in. Another bright flash of lightning, quickly followed by a peal of thunder, caused Keneu to hold his blade motionless. The boat was well screened by the trees, however, and there was no sign that it had been observed.

That flash of lightning had revealed something to Hugh. Just ahead was a little curve in the margin of the island, and beyond it, a short, blunt projection, a bit of beach with alders growing well down upon it. On the beach were two canoes. To reach the spot, however, it would be necessary to pass an open gap, a sort of lane leading up from the shore to the place where the fire burned. Through the gap the firelight shone out upon the water. It would never do to try to pass in the canoe.

Hugh dipped his paddle and gave it a twist. The Indian understood. He too saw the firelight on the water. The canoe swerved towards shore and slowed down. Before it could touch and make a noise, Hugh was overside, stepping quickly but carefully, to avoid the slightest splash. Blaise followed. Keneu remained in the boat. He allowed his end to swing in far enough so he could grasp an overhanging branch and hold the craft steady.

Now came the most difficult part of the undertaking, to creep in the darkness through the dense growth, which came clear to the water line, around to the beach where the canoe lay. Hugh, as leader, intended to go first, but he did not get the chance. Before he realized what the younger boy was about, Blaise had slipped past him and taken the lead. It was well he did so for Blaise, slender and agile, was an adept at wriggling his way snake-like, and he seemed to have a sixth sense in the darkness that Hugh did not possess. So Hugh was constrained to let his younger brother pick the route. He had all he could do to follow without rustling or crackling the thick growth. Progress was necessarily very slow, only a few feet or even inches at a time. Whenever there came a lightning flash, both lay flat. The flashes were less revealing in the dense growth, and luckily the trees stood thick between the two lads and the fire.

Blaise had reached the edge of the gap through which the yellow-red firelight shone. He could see the fire itself, a big, roaring pile, and the figures moving around it. The sound of voices speaking Ojibwa and Iroquois came to his ears. Reaching back with one foot, he gave Hugh a little warning kick, then looked for some way to cross the open space.

The Island of Torture, like most of the islands off the northwest shore of the lake, consisted of a low, flat-topped, rock ridge descending gradually to the water on one side and more abruptly on the other. The lane was a natural opening down a steep slope from the ridge top to the water. Just at the base of the open rock lane, at the very edge of the water, grew a row of low shrubs, so low that they did not shut off the light of the fire, but cast only a narrow line of shadow. The one way to cross that gap without being seen was to crawl along in the shadow of those bushes. The water might be shallow there or it might be deep. Lying flat, Blaise put one hand into the shadowed water. His fingers touched bottom. He felt around a little, then crawled forward. The water proved to be only a few inches deep. Prostrate, he wriggled along the rock bottom in the narrow band of shadow. When Blaise had reached the shelter of the woods beyond, Hugh followed, taking extreme care to slip along like an eel, without a splash.

The brothers were now but a short distance from the canoes. The thick growing alders fringing the pebbles shut off the firelight. The chief peril was that someone might be guarding the boats. Eyes and ears strained for the slightest sign of danger, the two crawled forward on hands and knees. They reached the first canoe without alarm and went on to the second. Still hidden from the Indians around the fire, the boys lifted the canoe and turned it bottom side up. Blaise drew his knife from the sheath and carefully, without a sound of ripping, cut a great hole in the bark, removing a section between the ribs. Then the two carried the boat out a few feet and deposited it upon the water. It began to fill immediately, the water entering the big hole with only a slight gurgling noise. Even that sound alarmed the lads. They beat a hasty retreat and lay close under the alders. The Indians around the fire, however, were too engrossed in their own affairs to heed the sound, if indeed it carried that far.

A man with a full, deep voice was speaking at length, his tones reaching the boys where they lay hidden. Every now and then his listeners broke in with little grunts and ejaculations of approval or assent. A crash of thunder, following close upon a bright flash, drowned his voice. When the rumbling ceased, he was no longer speaking. Something else was happening now. Little cries and grunts, accompanied by the beating together of wood and metal and the click of rattles in rude rhythm, came to the boys’ ears.