Large 12 mo. Cloth. Illustrated.
THE SECRET CACHE
SOUTH FROM HUDSON BAY
THE ISLAND OF YELLOW SANDS
Copyright, 1932, by
Cupples & Leon Company
PRINTED IN U. S. A.
CONTENTS
[I. The Birch Bark Letter] 7 [II. The Sloop “Otter”] 14 [III. Driven Before the Gale] 22 [IV. The Isle Royale] 29 [V. The Half-Breed Brother] 37 [VI. Down the Northwest Shore] 46 [VII. At Wauswaugoning] 55 [VIII. The Blood-Stained Tunic] 62 [IX. The Giant Iroquois] 70 [X. The Looming Sailboat] 77 [XI. The Fire-Lit Orgy] 85 [XII. The Hungry Porcupine] 92 [XIII. The Painted Thwart] 100 [XIV. Sailing Towards the Sunrise] 110 [XV. The Rift in the Rock] 117 [XVI. The Cache] 127 [XVII. The Sealed Packet] 137 [XVIII. The Fleeing Canoe] 147 [XIX. The Bay of Manitos] 156 [XX. Hugh Climbs the Ridge] 164 [XXI. The Grinning Indian] 172 [XXII. Blaise Follows Hugh’s Trail] 178 [XXIII. A Captive] 185 [XXIV. In the Hands of the Giant] 193 [XXV. The Chief of Minong] 201 [XXVI. Escape] 209 [XXVII. What Blaise Overheard] 217 [XXVIII. Confusing the Trail] 223 [XXIX. The Cedar Barrier] 234 [XXX. The Flight From Minong] 242 [XXXI. With Wind and Waves] 249 [XXXII. The Fire at the End of the Trail] 256 [XXXIII. The Capture of Monga] 264 [XXXIV. Monga’s Story] 272 [XXXV. The Fall of the Giant] 280 [XXXVI. How Blaise Missed His Revenge] 290 [XXXVII. The Packet is Opened] 297
THE SECRET CACHE
I
THE BIRCH BARK LETTER
On the river bank a boy sat watching the slender birch canoes bobbing about in the swift current. The fresh wind reddened his cheeks and the roaring of the rapids filled his ears. Eagerly his eyes followed the movements of the canoes daringly poised in the stream just below the tossing, foaming, white water. It was the first day of the spring fishing, and more exciting sport than this Indian white-fishing Hugh Beaupré had never seen. Three canoes were engaged in the fascinating game, two Indians in each. One knelt in the stern with his paddle. The other stood erect in the bow, a slender pole fully ten feet long in his hands, balancing with extraordinary skill as the frail craft pitched about in the racing current.
The standing Indian in the nearest canoe was a fine figure of a young man, in close-fitting buckskin leggings, his slender, muscular, bronze body stripped to the waist. Above his black head, bent a little as he gazed intently down into the clear water, gulls wheeled and screamed in anger at the invasion of their fishing ground. Suddenly the fisherman pointed, with a swift movement of his left hand, to the spot where his keen eyes had caught the gleam of a fin. Instantly his companion responded to the signal. With a quick dig and twist of the paddle blade, he shot the canoe forward at an angle. Down went the scoop net on the end of the long pole and up in one movement. A dexterous flirt of the net, and the fish, its wet, silvery sides gleaming in the sun, landed in the bottom of the boat.
The lad on the bank had been holding his breath. Now his tense watchfulness relaxed, and he glanced farther up-stream at the white water boiling over and around the black rocks. A gleam of bright red among the bushes along the shore caught his eye. The tip of a scarlet cap, then a head, appeared above the budding alders, as a man came, with swift, swinging strides, along the shore path.