by Roy J. Snell
CHAPTER XX SOME CONSIDERABLE TREASURE
June Travis felt her hand tremble as she took down the receiver to callFlorence. "Whose hand would not tremble?" she asked herself. And indeedthe events of the past few days had been exciting. Now Florence had leftword to call her. "Something very important to talk about!" That was hermessage.
"Hello! Hello!" she heard. "Yes, this is Florence.
"Oh, June, the strangest things do happen!" she exclaimed. "You rememberthat little story I wrote about your lost father?"
"Yes. I--"
"Well, today while I was out, a little lady in gray called at the office.Frances Ward talked to her. And was she mysterious! Wanted to talk to me,no one else. After that, she said she would talk to you, or to both of usat once. Had something tremendously important to tell you. It--it's aboutyour father."
"Oh!" June gasped.
"Of course--" the voice at the other end of the line dropped. "Of course,you must not expect too much. She said something about mind-reading,mental telepathy and all that. She may be just one more fortune teller.But somehow I can't help but feel that she isn't. She lives in quite anexclusive section of the city. Mrs. Ward says she wouldn't be allowed toput out a sign in that section. And what's a fortune teller without asign? So--"
"Oh, I'm all excited!" June thrilled.
"Well, you mustn't be--at least not too much. Tomorrow I've got to goafter something else. Remember that gypsy fortune teller who stole fourhundred dollars? I've got to find her."
"But won't that be terribly dangerous?" June's voice wavered.
"Danger? What is danger?" Florence laughed. "Anyway, it's part of my job.I really haven't accomplished much yet. Been drawing my pay all the time.Perhaps this will be a scoop."
As you shall see, it was a "scoop" in more ways than one.
If Florence was anticipating trouble, Jeanne, on far-away Isle Royale,was in the midst of it at that very moment.
Who can describe Jeanne's fright as she turned about on the wintry trailto look into the gleaming eyes of a giant moose? She expected nothingless than a wild snorting charge from the monster.
And where should she go? To swing about and dash back over the trail wasimpossible. The way was too narrow. To go forward meant that she wouldcome at last to the brink of a rocky precipice. At the foot of thisprecipice, piled up by an early winter storm, were great jagged masses ofice.
"Go back!" she screamed at the top of her voice. "Go back!"
But the moose did not go back. Instead he lowered his great antlers, tookthree steps forward, then after opening his great mouth and, allowing anapparently endless tongue to roll about, he let forth a most terrificroar.
To say that Jeanne was frightened would be not to express her feelings atall. She was fairly paralyzed with fear.
As if this were not enough, her startled eyes caught some furthermovement in the brush that grew to the right of the trail. As hertrembling fingers directed the light of her torch there, a second smallerpair of eyes gleamed at her, then another and yet another.
"Wolves--bush wolves!" Her heart sank to the depths of despair.
She raced forward in a mad hope of finding foothold for descending thecliff that led down to the lake's shore. She caught the magnificentpicture of dark waters white with racing foam, a path of gold that wasmoonlight, and beyond that, limitless night. Then a strange thinghappened. The giant moose, having given vent to a second roar, took onemore step forward; then stumbling, fell upon his knees.
Strangest of all, he did not rise at once. Instead, as if the greatweight of his towering antlers were too much for him to bear, he allowedhis head to drop forward until his broad nose rested on the ground. Forone full moment he remained thus.
As for Jeanne, she raced on to the edge of the precipice. Instantly sheshrank back. Surely here was no way of escape. A sheer drop of fiftyfeet, and beneath that, up-ended fragments of ice standing like bayonetswaiting for one who might drop. This was what met her gaze.
Strangely enough, in the midst of all this terror, the gloriousscene--limitless water, golden moon and night, so gripped her that forthe instant her mind was filled with it.
"The heavens declare the glory of God," she murmured.
Perhaps it was just this consciousness of the nearness of God and theglory of His world that quieted her soul and gave her the power to seethings as they truly were.
As she turned back from the precipice, she saw the moose struggling toregain his feet. "Until he is up again, he is harmless," she assuredherself. Having thrown her light full upon him, she cried out insurprise.
"Why! The poor fellow! He is like a walking skeleton! He must bestarving!"
Like a flash all was changed. Fear gave way to pity and desire to aid.She recalled the moose-trapper's words: "We think they areunderfed--perhaps starving." Here was one who had failed to find food.How could she help him?
For a moment she could not think. Then it came to her that the food inthe moose-trap was branches of white birch, mountain-ash and balsam.Close to the moose, who still struggled vainly to rise, was a clump ofbirch trees.
"They are small, but the branches are too high for him," she toldherself. "If I cut down the one that leans toward him, it will almosttouch him. If I do--"
She hesitated. At her belt hung a small axe in a sheath. Dared she useit? Could she take the dozen steps toward that moose and wield her axeupon that tree with a steady hand? Her heart pounded painfully. Then, asif whispered in her ear, there came to her, "He notes the sparrow'sfall."
There was no further hesitation. Gripping her axe, she advanced boldly.As she did so, the moose gave vent to one more terrifying roar. ButJeanne scarcely heard. She had formed a purpose. It should be carriedout.
Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! Her axe sounded out in the silent night. Came acracking sound. The small tree swayed, then went down. The top branchesswitched the great beast's nose. He did not appear to mind, but, reachingout, began eating greedily.
"There!" Jeanne breathed. "Now we'll do one more for good measure."
A second tree tottered to a fall; then, still gripping her axe, Jeannesped on the wings of the wind toward the cabin where the lamp still sentout its inviting gleam.
One sound gave speed to her swift feet. The blood-curdling howl of a bushwolf was answered by another and yet another.
"I'll fix those wolves!" Mr. Carlson exclaimed as Jeanne, five minuteslater, in excited words told her story. Taking down his rifle, hedisappeared into the dark outside. Shortly after there came the shortquick crack-crack-crack of a rifle. After that the night was silent.
"That moose," said Violet, the quiet, studious sister of Vivian, who tookan especial pleasure in watching all manner of wild creatures, "must havebeen Old Black Joe. We called him that," she laughed, "because he wasalmost black, and because he was so old.
"How he does love apples!" She laughed again.
"Yes, and you fed him almost half a bushel!" said Vivian reprovingly. "Asif there were apple trees on Isle Royale.
"We had to buy them," she explained to Jeanne. "Brought them all the wayfrom Houghton."
"But think what I got out of it in the end!" Violet reminded her sister.
"Yes," Vivian agreed.
"You see," Violet explained enthusiastically, "Old Black Joe got so tameafter I had fed him a peck of apples, one at a time, that he'd follow meabout like a pet lamb. And oh, the noises he'd make way down in histhroat asking for more apples!
"Then one day a man came here to get pictures of wild life. Old Black Joeand I put on a real show for him. I didn't quite ride the old fellow'sback, but I did almost. The picture came out fine. When the man left hegave me a whole twenty dollar bill for our boat. Wasn't that grand?"
"Depends on how good a boat it was," said Jeanne.
"We haven't the boat yet. We're saving for it," said Violet.
Jeanne looked puzzled. "I thought you sold him a boat for twentydollars."
"Oh, no!" Violet laughed merrily. "He gave that money to us so we couldapply it on the boat we are going to buy. But of course," Violet paused."You wouldn't understand. For quite a long time Vivian and I have beensaving up to buy a boat, a smart little motor boat we can use for takingpeople on picnics, fishing trips and cruising parties. You saw the cabinsat the foot of the hill. Tourists come to the island and rent them insummer. Vivian and I could help father out with the family expenses if wehad a boat."
"And next year we want to go to high school on the mainland," Vivian putin.
"We've got nearly sixty dollars," Violet concluded, "but of course that'snot nearly enough."
For a moment there was silence in the room. Then Violet said, "If thatreally is Old Black Joe, we must manage to get him into the corral. Thereare a few apples left. I'll just lead him right in."
"Y-yes," drawled the moose-trapper, "and after he's in, you'll have tofeed him. He's so old he's almost sure to die on our hands. What we'reafter is good live young moose that will stand shipping."
"All right! All right, sir! We'll feed him!" the girls agreed as with onevoice. "And you'll see. He'll be the prize picture of the big show in thespring."
Jeanne did not go over Greenstone Ridge and down to her Lost Lake nextmorning. It was a day of wild storm. The wind whistled and sang about thecabin. The spruce trees swayed and sighed. The wind, like a white sheet,rose and fell as it swept across the frozen surface of the harbor.
Despite all this, the three girls hunted up Old Black Joe. He had fallenasleep beneath a cluster of cedars. Had the girls not found him, thissleep might well have been his last. As it was, only by eager coaxing andreluctant flogging were they able at last to usher him into the trap thatwas in truth a haven.
"There!" Vivian exclaimed. "Now we have let ourselves in for a winter'swork. That moose-trapper does not like bringing in boughs any too well.He'll surely hold us to our bargain."
"But I'm sure poor Old Black Joe needs a friend," said Jeanne.
"And he'll pay us back, you'll see!" said the sentimental Violet. "Don'tforget that line about casting your bread on the waters."
"We'll cast our brush on the snow," Vivian laughed, "but it's really allthe same."
When they were back at the cabin and well thawed out, Jeanne foundherself thinking once more of the mysterious airplane, D.X.123, that hadvanished, and the strange coincidence of her seeing those signs at thebottom of Lost Lake. Soon she found herself brooding over the possiblediscoveries she might make in the very near future.
"This won't do!" she told herself stoutly. "Surely dread has spoiled manya fine life, and more often than not there is really nothing to befeared."
To clear her mind of this dark shadow, she began searching about for somebright dream when, with a mental "I have it!" she sprang to her feet. Shehad thought of the ancient churn. "Another mystery," she told herself,"and this will be a joyous one, I feel sure."
She went in search of Vivian and, to her vast astonishment, found hercooped up in a tiny room heated by an oil stove. Over the girl's head apair of ear-phones were tightly clamped. By the expression on her face,Jeanne knew her to be so absorbed as to be completely lost to the world.
For a full five minutes Jeanne stood patiently waiting. Then, with astart, Vivian looked her way. "Oh!" she exclaimed, "I didn't know youwere there."
"But what are you doing?" Jeanne asked. "There is a radio in the livingroom. Surely you don't have to--"
"Coop myself up in here to listen?" Vivian put in. "No. But this is notjust a receiving radio. It is a radio station; short wave. We arelicensed to send messages free of charge. And we _do_ send them." Hereyes shone with pride. "We are the only station on the island. We saved aboy's life by calling a doctor from the mainland. We called for the coastguard when a hydroplane crashed on Rock Harbor. Oh, yes, and we've donemuch more. But now, I was about to get off a message telling of the moosetrap. You see, we're the radio news reporter for this corner of theworld."
"I'm sorry I disturbed you," Jeanne apologized. "It must be fascinating."
"But Vivian," she changed the subject, "do you mind if I look at thethings in your museum?"
"No. Here's the key."
"And Vivian--I--" Jeanne hesitated, "I'd like to try opening that oldchurn."
"Whatever for?" Vivian exclaimed.
"Just a feeling about it."
"All right. But you won't break anything?"
"Not a thing." Jeanne took the key and hurried away, little dreaming thatthe short wave station she had just seen was to have a large part in themystery drama that was to be played by the inhabitants of Chippewa Harboron Isle Royale, in the days that were to come.
Armed with a bottle of kerosene and a small knife, Jeanne slipped intothe "museum" and closed the door. It was a wintry spot, that small room,but warmed by her enthusiasm, she began her task without one shiver. Soonshe was scraping away at the corroded metal clasps, applying kerosene,scraping again.
For a long time there was not the least sign of success. She was all butready to give up when, as her stout young hands turned at one screw itgave forth the faintest sort of squeak.
"Oh, you will!" she breathed exultantly. Then she redoubled her efforts.
At the end of another half hour that one clamp was entirely loose. Threeothers remained. Another half hour and, quite suddenly, as if resistancewere no longer possible, two clamps loosened at once. "Oh!" she breathed."Now I have you!"
This was true, for once three clamps were loosed, the cover could beremoved. Here she paused. Though an only child, Jeanne had never beenselfish. She had always shared her joys, whenever possible. She was aboutto open a thing that had been closed for half a century or more. Whatwould she find? "A whiff of sour buttermilk," as Vivian had prophesied?If more than this, what then?
"A laugh or a secret is always better when shared," she told herself.
Opening the door, she called softly, "Girls! Come here!"
When Vivian and Violet had entered she closed the door. "See!" she saidin the most mysterious of tones. "It's done like this. You turn thisscrew, then that one. Now this one, now that one, and, presto! It'sopen."
It was true the churn smelled of sour buttermilk, and such a sourness asit was! This was not all, however. Wedged into the churn so it could notpossibly be shaken about was some heavy object.
"It's copper!" Vivian exclaimed. "A lump of pure native copper taken fromthe rocks here on the island. How strange!"
"Look!" Jeanne whispered. "Here, tucked away in a crevice of the copper,is a bit of paper."
"A note! It's written on!" Violet cried.
As Jeanne's trembling fingers unfolded it, at the very center of a smallpage filled with writing, her eyes caught three words that stood out likemountain peaks. The words were: Some considerable treasure.
