The Secret of Robber's Cave (Cabin Creek Mysteries Book 1)

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The Secret of Robber's Cave (Cabin Creek Mysteries Book 1) Page 2

by Kristiana Gregory


  “Happy birthday, David,” she said. “These are for your dessert since you won’t get cake until your party. Guess what? We had a flat tire on Cabin Creek Bridge so we never made it to the rodeo.”

  “Sorry to hear that,” said Jeff.

  David opened the soggy box. “Hey, thanks for these. You know how I love Pop-Tarts.”

  “Yep, sure do.” Claire’s sparkly blue head­band matched Yum-Yum’s collar. Her T-shirt was green, her shorts yellow, and the laces in her hiking boots purple.

  Jeff and David exchanged glances, but not because of her outfit.

  Their cousin also wore a pair of ­binoculars around her neck. The official, long-range kind that rangers use to spot forest fires. Knowing Claire, she probably had been keep­ing track of the boys all afternoon.

  She put her hand on her hip. “Our parents talked,” she said.

  “Don’t worry, you’re not in trouble for going to the island without telling anyone. But here’s the deal: They agreed that as long as the three of us stick together, we can go every day if we want. How ’bout tomorrow, first thing?”

  Jeff took a deep breath. “Well, actually, David and I’ve decided—”

  “Also,” she continued. “I’ve already orga­nized some of your favorite treats for tomorrow. But next time, turn up the volume on your walkie-talkies. I tried to reach you for hours and was getting worried. Really worried.”

  The brothers looked at each other. The idea of Claire coming to the island with them ­suddenly seemed like a good one. She was brave and dependable and she always brought snacks. They smiled at their cousin.

  “It’s awesome out there,” Jeff said with fresh courage.

  “Yeah,” said David, also revived. “You’ll love it, Claire.”

  When Yum-Yum finished inspecting the dogs’ bowls, she trotted back to the den and jumped onto a couch. With her paws, she arranged a cushion so that she could rest her chin on it. Then she stared at the TV, which was off. After a moment, she looked over at Claire and barked.

  “Okay, I’m coming.” Claire went in and picked up the remote.

  “What’re you doing?” David asked.

  “Yum-Yum always watches the evening news with us,” Claire replied.

  As the poodle made herself at home, the brothers kept quiet. They knew Claire loved the outdoors, but they guessed Yum-Yum was not going to like roughing it on Lost Island.

  5

  The Mission

  The next morning, the brothers waited on the dock for Claire, their hooded sweatshirts warm against the early chill. They wore ­sneakers with socks, brown from yesterday’s dirt, and their T-shirts were wrinkled from having slept in them. Neither boy was fussy about his wardrobe.

  As they looked across the lake to the island, they felt hopeful. The treetops were awash in sunlight. The sky was clear and their favorite cousin was coming with them. Their jitters from yesterday’s storm had vanished.

  “I bet Claire can help us find more clues,” Jeff said.

  “Me, too,” said David.

  After breakfast, the boys had made a caboose for their canoe. Actually, it was just an old rowboat that had been stored in their shed. Their plan was to put the three dogs in it, and all their supplies, then tow it with a rope. After hunting around their yard and garden, they found a lot of interesting junk.

  Along with camping gear, they loaded the boat with a bucket of golf balls, a shower cur­tain, a chair, and a stool. Their toolkit had an ax for chopping wood, a hammer and nails, and a saw for trimming dangerous branches.

  The largest object came from a log fence that David dragged out from behind the ­garage. It was just a few feet long, but attached to it was a little gate on hinges.

  “This might come in handy,” he told Claire when she arrived with Yum-Yum in her arms. Yum-Yum’s nails were pink today, matching Claire’s fresh nail polish.

  “Are we building a clubhouse?” she asked.

  “A fort,” the boys answered. They didn’t want to hurt her feelings, but a fort was more rugged than a clubhouse. “Claire, we’ll let you pick the name, but first you have to promise us something.”

  “That depends,” she said.

  “Claire.” Jeff’s voice was serious. As the eldest and tallest of the three, he wanted to be a good leader. “Dad told us he had a ­personal mystery to solve, but we don’t know what he meant. So if we keep our mission secret, just the three of us, then we can get to the bottom of the legend. There might be treasure.”

  “And bloodcurdling details,” David added. He and his brother weren’t ready to mention the buried foot. Not yet.

  “Okay,” she said.

  David put his hand on Claire’s shoulder. “So that means not telling any of your friends. Not one. Because they’ll tell their friends; then our island will be swarming with kids, like at the mall. Get it?”

  Claire raised her chin, giving each boy a queenly look. She kneeled on the dock to put Yum-Yum into the rowboat, then her pink backpack.

  “Claire?” It was Jeff. “This is really important.”

  “I won’t breathe a word,” she said. “I heard you the first time.”

  It was almost noon by the time the kids unloaded their equipment onshore. They sat on the beach to eat their sandwiches and make plans.

  David took out his pad and pencil to draw a map of the island. “See? This is where Jeff and I were yesterday.” He marked an X with tiny arrows to show where they had hiked. “I say we look around right here.” Another X. Then, just for fun, David made a quick sketch of their dogs—a terrier, a Lab, and a poodle—­­wearing party hats.

  Jeff liked his brother’s artwork. “Excellent idea,” he said. “I’m ready.”

  “Then let’s go,” said Claire.

  David folded his map into his pocket. “Onward!” he cried.

  6

  Another Discovery

  The cousins agreed to spread out. For half an hour, they crunched through the woods ­searching for clues.

  A crackle came through Jeff’s walkie-talkie. “Guys, I found something. Over.”

  “Where are you, Claire? Over.”

  “Here. To your left. Over.”

  Jeff and David looked up. Claire was wav­ing to them through the trees. When she pointed to an old log cabin up ahead, the boys ran to see. It was square, with one wall crum­bled down and the door missing. The wood was gray from age. Most curious of all was the pine tree growing up through part of the slanted roof. Its branches supported the beams, giving the appearance of a tree house.

  “Wow!” cried David. “Can you believe it? The place looks ancient.”

  “Well, guys, here’s our fort,” said Jeff. He had to duck under a branch to enter.

  As they cleared away piles of leaves and pinecones, they found what was left of a stone fireplace. A cast-iron kettle lay in the rubble. Jeff looked up through the crumbling chimney.

  “Let’s get some mud and fix this,” he said. “Then we can cook.”

  Even though a wall was miss­ing, the cabin was cozy. The tree filled part of the gap, cre­ating a natural break from the wind. And there were knotholes in its trunk where small ­ani­mals had once nested.

  After Claire brushed out the twigs and feathers from these holes, they made perfect little shelves. They were tiny, but she could fit her flashlight in one, and her compass in another. She squished a ziplock bag of Band-Aids into the smallest knothole.

  “There,” she said. “Home, sweet home. Who do you think lived here?”

  Jeff held up a rusty trap. Its steel jaws were locked shut. “Maybe a mountain man,” he answered. He handed the trap to his younger brother, who examined it carefully.

  “Definitely,” David said. “But Mr. Wellback would know for sure.”

  “Who?”

  “The old man who lives up the canyon from us,” said Jeff. “Everyone in town calls him Grumpy Gus, but we call him Mr. Wellback.”

  “Why is that?”

  “It’s the way he starts hi
s stories,” Jeff replied. “He always says, ‘Well, back in the olden days.’ Anyway, you’ll see. Hey, we should ask him to tell us more about this place. Let’s visit him as soon as we get home.”

  David said, “Okay. I just hope he’s not in a bad mood again.”

  The cousins carried their gear to the cabin from shore, making many trips. Jeff remained watchful. So far, it seemed they were the only ones on the island.

  When Tessie grew tired, Claire spread a blanket in the shade where the old dog had settled down to rest.

  Soon everything was stored along the walls of their fort. Jeff and David used the chair to climb onto the roof. They nailed down the plastic shower curtain around where the pine tree had grown through the shingles. Now if it rained, the cabin would be less likely to leak.

  “What did Uncle Russell mean by blood­curdling?” Claire asked the boys about their father’s mystery. “Is there really treasure and a robber’s cave?”

  “I think so,” replied Jeff. "Dad said that in the olden days there was a horrible crime out here, but no one knew exactly what had hap­pened. He wanted to find out the truth. For personal reasons, he told us.”

  “What did he mean by ‘personal’?” she asked.

  Jeff shrugged. “That’s what we want to find out.”

  The last item brought from the rowboat was David’s fence. It fit in the empty wall, wedged against the tree. And the gate now served as their front door. Tessie, Rascal, and Yum-Yum went up to sniff it. They put their noses between the slats to look out.

  David stood back to admire his work.

  So did Claire. Then she offered her opinion. “I think it looks like an ice-cream stand.”

  “Well, I like it,” David said. “And so do the dogs.”

  7

  Mr. Wellback

  It was still afternoon when the cousins canoed back to their dock, towing the rowboat. Claire went home to finish her chores. The boys found a note on the fridge.

  Dear sons, please clean up your considerable mess from breakfast before leaving the house again. I love you! See you tonight. Mom

  “Your turn to load the dishwasher,” Jeff told his brother while putting away the cereal boxes.

  “No, it’s your turn.”

  “No way,” said Jeff. “I helped Mom last night while you were drawing. Remember?”

  “That doesn’t count. There were two of you. I’m just one.”

  “But there’s hardly anything here.”

  David glared at his older brother. This was a regular debate.

  “Okay, whatever,” David finally said. He carried their plates to the kitchen then set them on the floor. Tessie and Rascal wait­ed for him as usual. Their tails wagged. In just a few slurps they finished the toast and jelly.

  When Jeff came through the doorway, he saw David putting these plates in the cup­board.

  “Mom’s going to find out the dogs did the dishes,” said Jeff. “She always does.”

  “No, she won’t.”

  “Will, too.”

  “Nuh-uh.”

  “Well, if she does we’ll get grounded again and what if we can’t go to the island? Besides, David, it’s gross.”

  Just then Claire and Yum-Yum made their jingly entrance. Claire saw her cousins’ faces. She could tell they were arguing about chores again.

  “Our parents said we have to be home by dark, remember?” she said. “And I want to meet Mr. Wellback.” Without waiting for a response, she went to the mudroom for the broom and dustpan. She started sweeping the kitchen floor.

  Jeff came alongside his brother and opened the dishwasher. “Here, buddy,” he said, “I’ll help you load. Then we can get out of here.”

  The cabin of Grumpy Gus was up a twisty road into the woods, a thirty-minute walk from the boys’ dock. He lived by himself with several hounds and a few sneaky cats. Since he didn’t have a telephone, the boys took a chance he would be there.

  Howling from the hounds announced the kids’ arrival as they hiked up the hill with their own dogs. The aroma of wood smoke came from Mr. Wellback’s chimney. He sat on his porch doing a crossword puzzle. His hair and beard were white.

  “What do you kids want?” he hollered as they approached.

  Claire glanced at the boys and stepped ­forward to introduce herself. But instead of shaking her outstretched hand, Mr. Wellback pointed to Yum-Yum’s painted nails. “Since when did dogs start going to beauty parlors?”

  After an awkward silence, Jeff decided to get down to business.

  “Mr. Gus, sir, can you tell us more about the legend of Lost Island?” he asked.

  “Sonny, that island keeps its secrets so tight, no one will ever learn the truth.”

  “But our dad made it sound like we could figure it out, if we tried hard enough. Did you know our father?”

  “Know him? Ha!” The old man set aside his puzzle and took off his spectacles. He had the bushiest white eyebrows they had ever seen. He gazed toward the lake, his eyes serious. He drew a deep breath, but didn’t speak.

  The children were still standing. They looked uncomfortably at one another. After some moments Claire whispered, “Mr. Gus, are you all right?”

  He turned to them. “Where was I?”

  “Our father. And the legend.”

  “Hmph. Well, back in the olden days,” he began—here, the kids smiled to hear his nickname—“there was a stagecoach rob­bery in Cabin Creek. Folks say the thief wore silver spurs on his boots. He made his getaway on a fast horse, but not before he was wounded in a bloody gun battle. Sit down there, you’re making me nervous.”

  The cousins scrambled onto a small bench along the railing and squeezed together. They gave him their full attention, not wanting him to stop.

  “Now,” continued Mr. Wellback, “my great-great-grandpa was the famous gunslinger Gus Penny. Yes, I’m called Gus, too. He also was sheriff, an honorable one. Anyhow, he and his posse searched all over these parts. Do you scallywag kids know what a posse is?”

  They shook their heads.

  “It’s a band of good guys with guns, who help enforce the law. Lots of small mountain towns still have posses these days, and they still carry rifles. Now back to the story. So, the Silver Spur Bandit disappeared. Some folks said he escaped to Canada. Others say he bur­ied the gold on Lost Island then probably rotted to death in a cave out there.”

  The cousins were spellbound. Things were getting interesting. “Do you know where the cave is?” Jeff asked.

  “Well, back when I was a boy, I searched and searched for it. Yessir. Found an old ­hunter’s cabin, but no sign of the cave or any of the loot.” He fell silent. Once again, his eyes seemed serious—and sad.

  The children were quiet. Finally David unfolded his map and handed it to Mr. Wellback. “Sir, could you please show us where you explored?”

  The old man gave the drawing a good look. Then without a word, he stood up and limped into his cabin. Through the window, the cous­ins saw him at his potbellied stove where he opened a little iron door. He looked over his shoulder at the kids, then tore up David’s map. He threw it into the flames. When Mr. Wellback returned to the porch, he wagged his finger at them.

  “If I were you,” he said, “I’d stay away from that island. It’s been nothing but trouble around here. Understand?”

  Jeff and David nodded. Claire scooped up Yum-Yum and held her to her chest.

  Mr. Wellback leaned so close, they could see his yellow teeth. In a low voice he said, “They don’t call it Lost Island for nothing.”

  8

  A New Worry

  The next day, the cousins rode their bikes to town. It was several miles away, so they took a shortcut through the woods. They left old Tessie at home with Rascal to keep her com­pany, but Yum-Yum got to ride in the basket on Claire’s handlebars. The poodle’s frizzy white ears flapped in the breeze, and her bell jingled over every bump. When they arrived at the Western Café, Yum-Yum curled up in the basket to nap.

  A
unt Lilly greeted them. She was plump and pretty, with red hair like her daughter. Uncle Wyatt wore cowboy boots and a cow­boy hat, even when he was cooking.

  “Glad to see you darlings,” said Aunt Lilly with a warm smile. “Have you eaten lunch?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Well, then, you better sit yourselves down,” said Uncle Wyatt. He led them to a booth in the corner where a window looked out on Main Street. It was the perfect place to talk. “The usual?” he asked.

  “Yes, please!”

  After he left for the kitchen, the cousins leaned close to one another.

  “I say we go to the island anyway,” Jeff said in a whisper. His brown eyes were determined as he glanced around the diner. He didn’t want the teenagers at the nearby table to hear their conversation.

  “Me, too,” said David, also whispering. He unfolded a new map that he had drawn, point­ing out the fort and where they had already hiked. “What if Mr. Wellback’s just trying to scare us? Maybe he really knows where the cave is and where the gold is buried. That’s why he wants us to stay away.”

  “That doesn’t make sense,” Claire said. Her voice was quiet, too. “Why wouldn’t he just dig up the treasure? I don’t think he knows. Even if—” She stopped talking when she ­recognized two boys from school staring at her. They stood at the counter ordering takeout.

  The cousins were quiet until the boys left with bags of french fries. As they left, one of the boys turned around and glared at Claire. It was the school bully, Ronald McCoy. As always, Claire ignored him.

  “But Mr. Wellback made it sound dan­gerous. What kind of trouble was he talking about?” asked David, still whispering.

  “Probably a murder,” said Jeff, “or a terri­ble accident. Hey, why do you think Mr. Wellback acted annoyed when we men­tioned Dad?”

 

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