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.”

XII
OVER THE CLIFFS

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, the sand 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.

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. 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.