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

by Ethel C. Brill

For nearly two hours the explorers paddled along the rock shore, then, on rounding a slight projection, came suddenly to an inlet. The place looked as if it might be the mouth of a river, and curiosity led them to turn in. Up the inlet they paddled for about a mile, to a spot where a stream discharged. Beyond the mouth of the stream the cove made a turn to the left, extending at least another mile in that direction. The place was a beautiful one, with thickly wooded shores and points, but the three did not delay longer to investigate it.

As they went on along the rock coast, the wind became more easterly, and clouds began to fleck the deep blue. Paddling was not so easy, although they were still fairly well protected. Four or five miles beyond the inlet, the shore made a sudden turn, and they found themselves going directly north, with the northwest wind striking them at an angle. As they proceeded, the water grew rougher and navigation more difficult. Just as the sun was setting, they were glad to put into another cove that cut into the land in a westerly direction.

As they were paddling slowly along, undecided whether to make a landing or turn back and attempt to go on along shore, Jean uttered a sudden low but surprised exclamation, and pointed to the summit of the high ridge that stretched along the north side of the cove. There, in an open space, beyond a twisted jack pine tree and plainly outlined against the sky, stood an animal with spreading antlers.

“Addick!” whispered the Indian, while Ronald exclaimed, “A caribou!”

There was now no further question of going on. The opportunity to obtain a store of meat was too good. The wind was blowing from the animal to the hunters, and it had not caught their scent or heard them, but while they looked for a landing place, it saw them and moved away to cover. It went deliberately. Possibly it had never seen a man before, and did not know enough to be badly frightened. The travelers were too far away for a shot anyway.

They landed near the head of the bay on a sandy beach, and organized their hunt. Only one gun remained, for Jean’s had been lost when he and Ronald rescued Etienne from drowning. There was enough ammunition for four or five shots. It would not do to miss even once, so Ronald was entrusted with the gun. He was to climb the ridge and make his way towards the place where they had seen the animal, while the others went around to head it off and drive it back towards Ronald, if that should be necessary.

The ridge proved to be about a hundred feet high, steep and rocky on its south side and scatteringly clothed with aspen and jack pines. When he reached the top, near the place where the caribou had appeared, Ronald had some difficulty in finding the animal’s tracks on the almost bare rock. Presently, however, he came across a half eaten clump of reindeer moss, and the mark of a spreading hoof in a patch of earth in a hollow. Once on the caribou’s trail, he tracked it along the ridge for a little way, noticing, as he went, a hare runway and some lynx tracks. The trail led him down into a gully, and through the aspens and birches that grew there, to the north side of the ridge and into a bog. There in the thick sphagnum moss, the spreading hoof prints were plain.

With the idea that the bog might be the caribou’s refuge when disturbed, Ronald made his way very cautiously. It was well that he went so quietly, for suddenly, as he rounded a clump of tamaracks, he came in plain view of his game, head down, contentedly browsing a bog plant. The animal was only a few yards away and a perfect mark, but Ronald, experienced hunter though he was, felt his arm tremble as he raised his gun. He had never hunted before when so much depended on his aim, or when his ammunition was so precious. Luckily the caribou had caught neither sound nor scent of him, and he had time to steady himself before firing. He did not waste his powder. The animal sprang into the air, plunged forward a few steps and fell in its tracks.

Ronald set up a shout and sprang forward. His call was not needed, for the report of his gun was enough to summon his companions. The Ojibwa, who had been skirting the north side of the ridge, was not far away and soon made his appearance. Jean was going along the summit and had more difficulty in locating the sound of the shot, but arrived at the edge of the gully in time to catch sight of the others making their way through it with their game.

They had no intention of paddling farther that night. The next thing to do was make camp, cook themselves a good meal of meat and dry the rest for future use. With such a supply, they were equipped to start out into the open lake as soon as they could decide which way to go. Much encouraged, they selected a place on the flat topped ridge, and set about their task.