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

by Kristiana Gregory

  “I wondered that, too,” David said.

  “Same here,” said Claire. “Well, whatever happened at the island, we can find out at the library. My teacher said they have old news­papers from pioneer days. But first, why don’t we get some supplies and fix up the fort more? The dogs can protect us. And even if it takes all summer to find the cave, we’ll at least have a secret hideout.”

  Jeff and David smiled at their cousin. She had the hang of things.

  After lunch, they pedaled their bikes to the end of Main Street. They turned down a dirt road and stopped in front of their favorite store, Cabin Creek Army Surplus. They had come here often with Dad, to buy goose-down sleeping bags and other camping gear. The place had a rich aroma of canvas and leather.

  They searched the aisles, Yum-Yum in Claire’s arms. Soon they found what they needed—large pulleys and nylon rope—then went to the cash register. From their pockets, they counted out the money they had earned doing odd jobs.

  “Thank you,” they said to the teenage clerk. As he put their items in a large plastic bag, he eyed them with suspicion. His name was Rex McCoy and his father owned the store. His brother had been one of the kids at the diner’s take-out counter. The cousins tried to hurry away, but Rex held on to the bag.

  “You’re up to something,” the teenager said. “I can tell.” With his free hand, he took a chocolate bar from the candy rack, opened it with his teeth, and spit its wrapper on the floor.

  “We’re just loyal customers,” said David. “Out for some fresh air.” He had heard this on a TV commercial and liked the sound of it.

  “Out for fresh air, huh? Sure. And I’m Santa Claus.” Rex bit into the chocolate and chewed with his mouth open, smacking his lips. “My little brother said he saw you guys at the café, reading a map and whispering. Act­ing sneaky and stuff. Said he heard something about a cave. That it’s on one of the islands out on the lake.”

  Claire looked Rex in the eye. “Your brother Ronald was in my class. He knows I like maps and that I like to hang out with my cousins.” Claire paused as she shifted Yum-Yum under her arm. “Now, if you’re done bothering us, we’ll be on our way.” She stood on her tiptoes to reach over the counter, pulling on the bag until Rex let go.

  “I’ll figure out what you shrimps are doing,” Rex called after them. “You and your stupid dog.”

  Before riding home, the kids parked their bikes in front of the small grocery store by the marina. Tourists and fishermen bought supplies here before going camp­ing or out on the lake. The boys liked the noise and gasoline smell of motorboats because it reminded them of being with Dad. They also liked watching the docks as people came and went, most of them happy to be in the moun­tains on a sunny day.

  The boys made their own fishing poles out of sticks they found on the ground. Claire sat on the dock reading. After two hours, they remembered their grocery list.

  “I’ll stay here with the bikes,” Claire volunteered.

  Jeff took a scrap of paper from his pocket. “Mom wants us to get a cake mix for David’s birthday party tonight and some hotdogs. Be right back.”

  While the brothers were in the store, Claire noticed two familiar figures approach the marina. They wore daypacks and looked at a map together. She stood up to see better.

  Rex and Ronald McCoy! What were they doing? she wondered. She watched them get into a dinghy, which was a rubber boat with an outboard engine.

  Rex pulled the string to start the motor then revved it good and loud, churning the water. Just as they sped away, Jeff and David came out of the market with their purchases.

  Claire pointed at the lake. “The McCoy brothers,” she said. “I don’t trust those two. Ronald always caused trouble in class and once he even made our teacher cry.”

  The cousins stared at the departing boat. A silvery piece of paper flew into the air then down to the water. “Looks like Rex is eating another candy bar,” David said.

  “Yeah,” said Jeff. “And I bet they’re going searching for our treasure. Come on!”

  They pedaled home along a woodsy path that skirted the lake. They could see the McCoys’ boat slowing down around the inlets and other islands.

  “I’m glad Lost Island is so far from town,” Claire said. “Maybe they’ll get bored before they make it there.”

  9

  Fixing Up the Fort

  David’s birthday party was a barbeque on the beach in front of their cabin. The cousins kept glancing across the lake and listening for the sound of a motorboat. So far, there was no sign of the McCoy brothers.

  Dr. Daisy Bridger was blond like David, and tall. She wore blue jeans with a western shirt, and her hair hung in a long braid over her shoulder. “Happy birthday, sweetheart,” she said, handing David his gift. It was wrapped in newspaper and tied with string. She was practical as well as thrifty.

  “Thanks, Mom!” David hugged her after ripping away the paper. Inside was a new sketchbook. It was zipped into a waterproof case with colored pencils, perfect for canoe travel and mapping Lost Island.

  He couldn’t wait to get over there. But the next morning, chores kept the cousins in town. Their job was to arrange bricks at the Western Café, for its new outdoor patio. It was hard work and took three days. Uncle Wyatt and Aunt Lilly paid them each twenty dollars.

  Finally, they were able to return to the island’s quiet cove.

  “I just hope the McCoys never made it,” Jeff said after they beached their canoe.

  The cousins hurried to the fort. The picket gate stood open, but otherwise nothing seemed amiss. When they noticed a cluster of footprints below their lookout tower, then a candy wrapper trapped in the brush, Claire stomped her foot.

  “I knew it,” she cried. “Rex and Ronald have been here. It’s just like them, not to pick up their trash. Now those boys are going to bother us all summer, searching for the cave.”

  David put the litter in his backpack. “Well, let’s hope they didn’t see our fort. Then they won’t know this is the right island.”

  “Yeah,” Jeff added. “If they don’t find the treasure right away, I bet they’ll give up.”

  The cousins made a table by rolling in an old log they found in the clearing. They could tell it had been used long ago as a chopping block because there were all kinds of cuts from an ax on the top. Set upright, it was large enough for them to spread out their ­sandwiches and bag of chips. For seating they used a smaller log, the chair, and the stool. Then they hung their sweatshirts, canteens, and other gear on the little branches of their pine tree. With all the dangling gadgets, it was as colorful as a Christmas tree.

  By the fireplace, they stacked kindling in case they should want a fire. Even in the sum­mer, the mountains could turn cold.

  Finally Jeff and David decided it was time to build a platform in their lookout tower, which was near the cabin.

  “We’ll be up high enough to survey the island,” they told their cousin. “And search for other clues.”

  “I’ll stay here with the dogs.” Claire wanted to organize things and ponder a proper name for their fort.

  The oak was one of the tallest trees on the island, its branches thick and easy to climb. In their backpacks, the brothers carried ham­mers and nails and some small boards. The higher they went up the trunk, the more sway they felt from the wind. They hung on tight.

  “What a view!” Jeff cried.

  “Totally! I didn’t know the lake was so big,” said David. His blond hair blew around his face.

  The water was turquoise, reflecting the sky, and most of the shoreline was forest. The other islands were also dark with pine. From their perch, the boys could see the Blue Mountain Lodge and its ski hill in the distance. Streams looked like silver ribbons curling through ranches and farmland. The town of Cabin Creek resembled a miniature train set with tiny stores and tiny cars. Their mom’s animal hospital was a tiny box near the park. And nearby was the Western Café.

  Jeff and David set to work. They ha
mmered boards around the upper trunk, but not into the bark itself. Their father had taught them how to do this without nailing into the bark, which would hurt the tree. Soon they had seats, safely wedged onto the sturdy limbs. There was room for David to draw on his sketchpad. And they could sit comfortably with their binoculars.

  Next, they looped a long section of rope around a branch. To this they attached a ­pulley, which they nailed onto their plat­form. Jeff climbed down to the ground then went to the fort. Onto the cabin’s roof he nailed another pulley. Now the rope looked like a telephone wire stretching up to the tower.

  Jeff climbed back up to the platform. He called Claire on his walkie-talkie even though they were close enough to hear each other shout. Pushing a button, he said, “Delivery system ready. Over.”

  Her voice came through the crackling noise. “Be right there. Over.”

  A few minutes later the boys saw the rope moving, inch by inch. The pulley creaked and squeaked. Soon a bucket appeared. Inside was a small jug of lemonade. Missing its cap, much of it had sloshed out. David set it beside him then returned the pail. More creaking and up came a bag of potato chips. They were crum­bly, but the boys didn’t mind. There was nothing like a snack after hard work.

  “Mission accomplished,” Jeff said to Claire. “You and the dogs okay down there? Over.”

  “Of course,” she answered. “I finally have a name for our fort. But there’s something you have to see. The sooner you guys get down here, the better. Over.”

  10

  New Clues

  Jeff and David climbed down the tree in a hurry. Claire paced in front of the fort with the folding shovel. Her red hair shone in the sunlight.

  “Claire, what’s wrong?” they asked, throw­ing their packs to the ground.

  “I think I found a clue! Sorry to worry you but ... well ... you’ll see. Hurry!”

  Inside the cabin by the fireplace, she poked the shovel into some soft dirt. “I was digging where we found that old kettle and saw this.” With the spade, she lifted what appeared to be the lid to a box. The wood was rotten.

  “Wow!” cried David. “Is there more?”

  “Yes. That’s why I wanted you guys here. Something else is buried. Maybe together we can dig it up without things falling apart.”

  “It’s the treasure,” said David. “I knew it.”

  “Then let’s be careful.” Jeff wasn’t as quick to jump to conclusions.

  With two shovels and a tin cup, the cous­ins carefully scraped away dirt and began digging. At last they were able to lift out the remains of a small wooden chest the size of a shoebox. They set it on their table and stared.

  “What is it?” they asked one another.

  Claire unzipped her pack and took out her hairbrush. “First, let’s wipe away the dust.”

  Using her brush as a little broom, she uncov­ered a small metal wheel. It had sharp edges and was attached to what looked like an iron horseshoe. There were two of these objects inside the chest.

  The cousins took turns examining them. They felt heavy.

  “Spurs!” cried David.

  Jeff laughed out loud. “All right! Silver spurs. Just like Mr. Wellback said. Boy, are they tarnished.” While the brothers gave each other high fives, Claire felt inside the box. She pulled out part of a newspaper, the Cabin Creek Gazette. It was ­brittle, and tore when she unfolded it.

  “Look, guys. This is from 1882.” She started reading:

  “Wow,” said David. “Twelve thousand bucks. So this was the robber’s secret chest! His spurs are here, but where’s the treasure?”

  “Maybe it’s buried in this cabin,” Claire replied. “Or Robber’s Cave, if we ever find it.”

  But Jeff had noticed something odd. “Read that again, Claire. About the gun battle.”

  “Mm, let’s see. It says the bandit’s hand was shot off.”

  Jeff and David fell silent.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  Jeff looked at his brother. “We were getting ready to tell you—”

  “Tell me what?”

  The boys talked at once. “We already found a clue ... the first day we got here ... a human foot, totally gross ... we buried it so no one else would steal it ... ”

  Claire seated herself on the stool and smiled. “Wow,” she said. “So you really found a per­son’s foot? Do you think it belonged to the Silver Spur Bandit?”

  “Definitely,” said David. “I’m sure of it now.”

  “Wait a sec.” Jeff took a long drink from his canteen then screwed on the cap. “The article says it was a hand, not a foot.”

  “Then it’s a mistake,” David said, sure of himself. “Mom’s always showing us typos and bad grammar in the newspaper.”

  “So the bandit lost his foot?” asked Claire. “Not his hand? You think the Gazette was wrong?”

  David nodded. “Absolutely.”

  Jeff was more cautious. “Maybe,” he said.

  While eating their sandwiches, Claire suddenly jumped off her stool. “Oh! I almost forgot your surprise! The name of our fort.”

  Both boys took a breath. They had promised Claire she could choose the name.

  “Ta-da!” announced Claire. “It’s Fort Grizzly Paw. In honor of the club your dad started. And also because Grizzly Paw Wilderness is across the lake. I think it’s a good name for this place, don’t you?”

  Jeff looked at her with a smile. “You really thought about this,” he said. “I like it.”

  “Me, too,” said David. “I’m glad it’s not Fort Rosy Sunshine Face or something splashy like that.”

  “David.” Claire put her hand on her hip and rolled her eyes. “You’re silly. How did you know that was my second choice?”

  To keep their discoveries a secret, the cous­ins hid the old chest at home. They buried it and the spurs in David’s closet, under a pile of shoes and comic books. Claire placed the news­paper article inside of a book to keep it flat.

  “Maybe we should give this stuff to the museum,” Jeff said.

  “Can’t we wait a while?” asked David. “If other people know, they’ll all come to Lost Island looking for treasure.”

  “I know. Let’s go to the library first,” Claire suggested. “If we can find an old prospector’s map, then—”

  “Then we can get to the cave first,” said David. “Before the McCoy brothers and ­everyone else.”

  11

  A Suspicious Customer

  The library was in the center of town, next to the park and baseball field. The cousins left their bikes and Yum-Yum under a shady tree then went inside. Claire led Jeff and David to the map section upstairs.

  “My teacher took our class here,” she said. “There’re atlases from all over the place. The ones for Cabin Creek are on this shelf. Let’s start here.”

  They carried several of the oversize books to a table by a window. From their seats they could look out at the town. While Claire turned the large pages, searching for a chart of Lost Island, the brothers kept gazing out at the blue sky. On this sunny day, they would rather be on the island, look­ing for the cave in person. But Claire had insisted they come to the library first. She liked to do research before jumping into things.

  A deep voice startled them. “What’re you kids doing?” It was Mr. Wellback with an ­armful of books. One of them was a dictionary for crossword puzzles. He wore a plaid shirt, blue jeans, and sneakers. Scowling, he limped over to their table. When he looked down at Claire’s atlas, his bushy white eye­brows seemed alive.

  “Hmmgh,” he grunted. “Still hunting for a cave, I see. I thought I told you rabble-rousers to stay off that island.”

  “But we just want to know what Dad was going to tell us,” said Jeff. He tried to sound older than his twelve years.

  “You are not going to find a map of it here, that’s for ding-dong sure.” Mr. Wellback turned away, mumbling under his breath. “And I’m glad you won’t.”

  He started down the stairs, ho
lding on to the rail to steady himself. But he turned around to glare at the boys. “Does your mom know where you are?” His voice was loud for being in a library. He turned to Claire. “And your parents?”

  “Yes, Mr. Gus,” said Claire.

  “We always leave a note,” the brothers answered.

  The old man waved his hand as if shooing flies, then he hobbled away.

  The cousins stayed at the table. Claire con­tinued to examine the colorful pages of maps. But Jeff and David had discovered a book on fighter jets. The photographs were more thrilling than the atlases. David took out his sketchpad and started drawing an air battle with rockets and parachutes.

  “Cool,” said Jeff. “Now do one with a Russian MiG.”

  David filled up eight pages, making a car­toon strip.

  “Keep going,” said Jeff.

  “Guys,” Claire interrupted. She pointed out the window to the street below. Parked cars lined the front of the hardware store.

  They could see Mr. Wellback’s white hair and white beard as he carried some ­lumber over his shoulder to his blue pickup truck. Coils of rope draped around his chest, like a cowboy’s lariat. He walked briskly.

  “He sure seems strong,” said Claire.

  “Well, that makes sense. He’s from a long line of mountain men,” Jeff said. “So?”

  “But look! He’s not limping anymore,” she answered. “When he was here fifteen min­utes ago, he was stooped over and grouchy. Remember?” David was sharpening his pencil with his thumbnail.

  “Yeah,” he said. “That’s weird. Now it looks like he’s smiling.”

  The cousins watched Mr. Wellback make two more trips from the hardware store to his truck. Then he drove away.

  Now Jeff and David were curious about something. They went to the periodical sec­tion and located the newspapers from the 1800s. They found copies of the Cabin Creek Gazette bound inside large black books. The pages were photocopies, not the delicate origi­nals. Still, they looked old enough. Jeff and David studied issues from the year 1882.