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

by Ethel C. Brill

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.