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

by Kristiana Gregory

  Signs at the end of each row had pic­tures of vegetables, such as corn, peppers, carrots, and cucumbers.

  The cousins got off their bikes and leaned them against a tree. A small ice chest was there in the shade.

  “Hello, Mr. Gus,” they called. They did not plan to ignore him, as the waitress had advised.

  The old man hobbled toward them to cool off under the tree.

  “My bones get all cricky if I sit too long,” he told them. “But once I get going, why, I can outwalk a dog and probably you rascals. Well, I sure could’ve used your help yesterday. Took hours to build these.”

  Mr. Wellback pointed to several large flower boxes. Inside these boxes were tall sticks with rope stretched between them like spider webs. They formed a type of trellis, where vines from beans and squash could grow.

  When the cousins saw the rope and freshly cut lumber, they glanced at one another with sorry looks. They already had realized Mr. Wellback didn’t make the door in the cave to trap the boys. But it hadn’t occurred to them he might be building something nice for the town. They felt ashamed.

  “All right,” he said, “since we’re standing around twiddling our thumbs, we may as well celebrate.”

  “Celebrate?” they asked.

  Without answering, Mr. Wellback bent down to open the ice chest. Out came a pack­age of graham crackers, a carton of cold orange juice, and some paper cups. He passed these around. Then he looked up at the sky.

  “Well, back when I was a boy,” he said, “I had a terrible sadness. So every day from then on, I would find something interesting to look at. Something to make me feel better. Today it’s that fluffy white cloud over the mountain. See it sitting there? Pretty, isn’t it? Well, five minutes from now, it’ll drift into a new shape. Then its shadow will float over the forest.”

  He sat on the ice chest. “To me, that’s worth celebrating.”

  The cousins and old man sat in the shade, watching the sky. They drank orange juice and ate graham crackers. After a while, he put his hands on his knees and said, “Okay. Time to get back to work. My cricky bones need to move. You scallywag kids run along now.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Gus,” Claire replied.

  “Yes, thank you,” said the boys.

  “Well, off you go,” he said. “And don’t for­get what I told you about Lost Island. You steer clear of that place. The last time your dad and I went hiking together, I promised him I’d always watch over you.”

  At the mention of their father, Jeff and David turned around. “You went hiking with our dad?” Jeff asked.

  “All the time,” the man answered. “Went backpacking in the wilderness every summer before you tadpoles were born. Friends can really listen to each other out there. Didn’t he tell you about our adventures?”

  David squinted as he thought. “He told us about hiking with his friend Mr. Penny, but we never met him. There are lots of families around here with that name.”

  Mr. Wellback coughed as if he were trying not to laugh. “In school do you rascally kids do your math homework?”

  They hesitated. “Sort of,” they said.

  “Can you add?”

  “That’s the easiest,” said David.

  Now it was Mr. Wellback’s turn to squint, looking them each in the eye. “All right, then,” he said. “Add Mr. Penny to Mr. Gus and what do you have?”

  Claire opened her mouth in surprise. “Your name is Gus Penny? Of course, like the old gunslinger sheriff.”

  He laughed again. “Well, I’m not Pope Peter, that’s for ding-dong sure.”

  Jeff and David were stunned. Suddenly the loss of their father had been softened. They were looking into the eyes of his old friend.

  “We saw you on our dock yesterday,” Jeff said. “With binoculars.”

  “Well, how else can I keep an eye on you mischief-makers? Was on my way out of town to visit my sister. When I came back this ­morning, first thing I did was look for your red canoe. That’s how I know you got home safe. Any more questions? You’re wearing me out.”

  “No, sir.”

  21

  The Missing Clue

  Wednesday morning, the cousins canoed to Lost Island to meet the investigators. They had dressed up for the occasion. The brothers were in their favorite T-shirts, even though David’s happened to be inside out again with the tag in front. Claire’s shorts and shirt were purple, and her blue sneakers had yellow laces. Yum-Yum matched in a little purple jacket with blue bows on her ears.

  Even Tessie and Rascal were fancy. They wore matching red bandannas around their necks and had been freshly brushed.

  While they waited on shore for the officials, the cousins discussed Mr. Wellback.

  “I feel awful,” said Jeff. “Dad always talked about his hiking buddy, Mr. Penny, but we didn’t know he and Mr. Wellback were the same person. And all this time, we thought he was a bad guy.”

  “I feel bad for suspecting him,” David said. “He’s kind of like a mystery, all by himself. I wonder what Mr. Wellback meant when he said he had sadness as a boy.”

  “Yeah. Terrible sadness,” Claire corrected.

  The investigators arrived two hours late. Their boats had gotten lost among the forested inlets, and they had circled the wrong islands. When they arrived, a history professor from the university announced that she was in charge. She wore hiking boots and a ranger hat.

  “Shall we?” the professor said to the chil­dren. She didn’t apologize for being late, but motioned for them to lead the way.

  A dozen adults with flashlights and head­lamps followed the kids into the cave. Claire’s golf balls were still there. The cousins had secured them with mud and glue a few days earlier.

  The professor held a lantern over the skele­ton to examine it. She groaned. “Oh, for cry­ing out loud! It’s missing a foot, not a hand. I thought you said this was the Silver Spur Bandit.”

  “We did,” began Jeff. He wanted to explain about mistakes in newspapers, but she interrupted him.

  “And what is this doing here?” She picked up a candy wrapper and waved it in front of their flashlight. “It’s called litter, that’s what. Don’t you kids know anything about being responsible?”

  The cousins were too surprised to answer—­­and too disappointed. This wrapper proved the McCoys had found their way into this part of the cave. Lost Island would never be the same with Rex and Ronald hanging around.

  Then two interesting things happened:

  First, the woman looked in the valise. She pulled out the pencil and, in frustration, turned the bag upside down. “What? Noth­ing but a rotten old pencil?”

  In the bumpy shadows of the cave, the chil­dren could see the professor glaring at them. But Claire was thinking, Did the McCoys take that little black book?

  The second interesting thing was this: When the men gathered the bones, they didn’t notice that something rolled from the skeleton’s rag­ged shirt onto the ground. It landed with a quiet plop. Only the cousins saw. Quick as a wink, Jeff stepped on it. After he hid it in his pocket, they followed the adults out into the sunlight.

  Claire and David were bursting to know what Jeff had picked up, but they stayed silent.

  Outside, the woman slapped her notebook closed. "If this had been the Silver Spur Bandit," she said, looking down at the children, "I could have written a book and you would've been famous. But there's no story here. This was probably some old fool who went off the deep end and locked himself in the cave." The professor sighed with impatience.

  "A complete waste of my time." She put on her sunglasses and marched down to the beach. A man in a dinghy motored her out to a speedboat that was anchored offshore. She was the last of her team and equipment to board.

  The boat sped away, its engine loud and splashy. Soon it was a dot on the vast lake.

  Immediately, the cousins took off their shoes to wade in the cool water. They splashed one another and jabbered.

  "What did you find, Jeff? Show us!"
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  From his pocket, Jeff pulled out a brownish-yellow coin. "I wasn't sure what it was," he said, "but I thought I better get it. I wonder if it's--"

  "Is it gold?" Claire and David cried.

  The older boy brushed off the coin, then bit down on it as he'd seen cowboys do in the movies. "Hard as rock," he said with a smile.

  "Yes!" The kids jumped in the air with high fives, such was their excitement. "There's probably more somewhere!"

  "But not if the McCoys found it," Jeff said.

  David shook his head and kicked at the water. "I can't believe they found the cave."

  "And that they left such trash, as usual!" Claire said.

  "And not to mention they stole the little black book!"

  At this, David stopped splashing. "Guys," he said, "I have something to tell you."

  22

  The Ledger

  David went up to the dry sand for his pack. He pulled out the waterproof case with his sketchbook and colored pencils. He opened it and held up the little black book.

  “I didn’t mean to keep it a secret,” he said. “That night in the cave, I was still holding it when we had to hurry out. I just forgot.”

  “No big deal,” said Jeff.

  Claire agreed. “At least you kept it safe, David. We can give it to the police later. Better than the McCoys or that snooty professor getting it.”

  After they cleaned up their orange peels and baggies from lunch, the boys played with the dogs. They threw sticks for them while Claire sat on the beach. She wanted to look at the book again before they gave it to the police. Now that they knew the skeleton wasn’t the Silver Spur Bandit, they had no idea whose book it was.

  The first pages were columns of numbers, dated 1882. An old ledger, she thought. It was similar to one her parents used to keep track of money in the café. However, something caught her eye. As Claire turned the brittle pages, she noticed words scrawled between the rows of numbers. Some were faded, some smudged. But soon she realized it was a letter:

  To Whom It May Concern:

  I, Augustus Penny, Sheriff of Cabin Creek & environs, do write these final words. To recount the past five days: Posse & I tracked the Wells Fargo thief to Lost Island. Despite his wounded hand, his good aim with his six-shooter caused my foot to be blown off. Now crippled and losing blood fast, I made a torch from the bandit’s campfire. Thus on hands & knees, I followed his bloody trail into this cave.

  "Alas, the dire news is not that I shall nevermore see the light of day—for I am ready to meet my Maker—but that my deputies are traitors. One sight of all that gold & they circled like starving wolves. At this moment they—and their new friend the bandit—are hammering a crude door to ensure I don’t come after them. They have left me here with one candle & this bank ledger. ’Tis a feeble joke on their part, however, because I have the last laugh. They don’t know that despite the loss of my foot, I was able to recover some & hid them near [smudged]. To my three brothers, I hope you catch those foulest of foul men & find the rest of the [smudged].

  "To my three brothers, I hope you catch those foulest of foul men & find the rest of the [smudged]. To my beloved wife and children, know that my last breath will whisper your names. Alas, candle is

  Claire closed the little book. She sighed. She was only nine years old, but her heart ached for the good sheriff alone in the cave. And for his wife and children who never learned the noble truth. We have to give this to Mr. Wellback, she thought.

  Claire couldn’t wait to tell her cousins the true identity of the skeleton. But when she returned the leger to David’s bag, she noticed something else.

  “David,” she called. He and Jeff were still splashing in the lake with the dogs.

  “Yeah?” he said.

  “David, where do you put your lunch wrappers?”

  “Side pocket in my pack,” he called. “Then I take them home to throw them away.” He threw a stick in shallow water so old Tessie wouldn’t have to swim too far.

  “David?” she again called.

  “What??”

  Claire held up his backpack. Her hand was in the side pouch with her fingers sticking out the bottom.

  “There’s a gigantic hole, David Bridger. You’re the litterbug of Lost Island!”

  23

  Two Gifts

  Mr. Wellback closed the ledger and removed his spectacles. He rubbed his eyes and looked off toward the lake. The cousins were sitting with him on his shaded porch, the dogs asleep at their feet. A pitcher of water and paper cups were on a bench beside them.

  Rubbing his eyes again he said, “My good friend Russell—that’s your dad, boys—he always believed the sheriff, my grandfather Penny, was innocent. Said he’d prove it one day, so my family could rest in peace. Lord knows, I had given up on trying. But you three did it for him.” He cleared his throat, again looking away. His white hair was fluffed up like a dandelion.

  Jeff realized Mr. Wellback felt emotional so it didn’t surprise him when his father’s friend changed the subject. “Well, what d’you know!” the man exclaimed. “It’s hot as blazes out here! Be sure you drink enough water in this high altitude, or else you’ll get a headache.” He paused and looked again at his guests. “Sonny, there’s a question on your face.”

  “Yes, sir,” answered David. “How did you know we wouldn’t find those maps to Lost Island in the library?”

  “Hooligans!” was his quick reply.

  “Back when I was your age, a band of kids stole ’em. No respect for books. They played hooky to go treasure hunting with those maps. They accused my ancestor of running away with the loot, but I never believed that part of the legend. So one afternoon, I went to Lost Island with my good dog, Bunny, to search on my own. Didn’t tell my folks or anyone.”

  Mr. Wellback took a long drink of water. He wiped his moustache, then his beard. “Where was I?”

  “Your dog, Bunny.”

  “Oh, yes. In those days, a spit of land connected the island to Grizzly Paw Wilderness, so moose, bears, and mountain lions went back and forth. Was a dangerous place."

  The old man looked down at his rough hands. “Well, back then I was a foolish lad. I was tired from searching the island and went to sleep in my tent with a bag of ham sandwiches. A grizzly came in the night, hungry, and tore through the tent like it was paper. His claws slashed my leg and he would’ve finished me off except for Bunny jumping at his throat.”

  Mr. Wellback set his cup down. “Saved my life, she did. But the griz carried her off. I was alone and bleeding, couldn’t walk. At last I was able to get a campfire going. My big brother saw the smoke two days later and found me. Leg still aches ... ” His voice trailed off.

  Claire looked at him thoughtfully. “Is that your terrible sadness?” she asked. “Because of your dog, Bunny?”

  The man closed his eyes.

  The cousins were quiet, thinking of their own beloved pets.

  “Sir?” It was Claire again. “Why do you tell us to stay away from Lost Island?”

  Mr. Wellback took a deep breath and leaned forward. “I don’t want the same thing to happen to you children or your dogs.”

  The cousins nodded with understanding.

  “Another thing,” he continued, “this lake is dangerous when a wind comes up. You ought to be more careful. Any more questions?”

  “No, sir.”

  Jeff reached into his pocket and handed Mr. Wellback the coin. “We think your long-ago grandpa would be glad for you to have this. It fell out of his shirt.”

  “It should be yours,” Claire and David agreed.

  The old man put on his glasses. He read the coin’s bumpy surface. “Why, this is a twenty-dollar gold piece. You sure about this?”

  “We’re sure.”

  A minute passed.

  “All right, then,” said Mr. Wellback. “I might need to contact Wells Fargo, to see if it’s legal for me to keep it. After all, it was their stagecoach the bandit robbed. But first, let’s celebrate.”<
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  He poured water for the children, then a cup for himself. They sat on his porch listening to the creek that flowed nearby and the wind high up in the trees. They waited for Mr. Wellback to say something else.

  Finally the old man stood up. “Guess I need some thinking time. You scallywags run along now.” He waved his arm as if shooing chickens off his porch.

  “Bye, Mr. Penny. Thanks for everything.”

  When they reached the dirt road, he called from his porch. “Listen to your folks now and don’t scare them with any foolishness.”

  The cousins and their dogs followed the stream down from Mr. Wellback’s cabin. They felt good to have helped him learn the truth about his ancestor.

  Jeff picked up a flat little rock. He leaned low and flicked it toward the stream, where it skipped several times across the water.

  “Hey, guys,” said Jeff, picking up another stone. “Remember what the old sheriff said in his letter? That he had fooled the bandit and his deputies? And that he hid something somewhere?”

  “Yeah,” agreed David. “I bet there’s more treasure to be found.”

  “Well, what are we waiting for?” Claire asked. “Summer’s just begun!”

  THE END

  GET A SNEAK PEEK AT JEFF, DAVID, AND CLAIRE'S NEXT EXCITING ADVENTURE:

  THE CLUE AT THE BOTTOM OF THE LAKE

  1

  A Mysterious Splash

  The Scottish terrier growled low in his throat. His front paws were on the windowsill as he looked out at the darkness. It was the middle of the night.

  Twelve-year-old Jeff Bridger bolted awake, immediately concerned.

  “What is it, Rascal?” he whispered.

  Through the open bedroom window came the sputtering of a motorboat on the lake. Jeff squinted at the digital clock. What was anyone doing out there at two-thirty in the morning?