X THE ISLAND TO THE SOUTHWEST

The breeze still blew from the north the next morning, but the waves were not high enough to forbid crossing the three or four miles of open water that separated the adventurers from the land to the southwest. Before starting out, Nangotook, to gain the good favor of the manito, threw into the lake another offering of tobacco, though he had little left. The two paddles, that had remained in the canoe when it sank, had evidently been washed out of the cove, so the trip had to be made with one blade, the Indian wielding it.

The boys’ minds were full of the land they were approaching, and they discussed its possibilities earnestly, but the Ojibwa was silent, apparently devoting his whole attention to his paddling. As they drew near the unknown island, the lads searched it eagerly with their eyes, but they could discover no indication of a sand beach. A rocky point, spotted with the white bodies of the gulls resting upon it, ran out into the water. Back from the point rose high ground covered with trees.

Clouds had begun to fleck the blue sky, and the breeze had gained in force. The rocks, exposed to the wind and dashed with spray, afforded no good landing place. So the three went on between the point and the small rock islands and reefs that lay out from it, the boys on the watch for the gleam of golden sands. Nangotook, heedful of hidden points and reefs, kept his eyes on the water most of the time.

No yellow sands came into view. There was one stretch of beach, but it showed no gleam of gold. Apparently it was just ordinary sand, and Nangotook did not think landing worth while, but paddled by. Beyond another stretch of broken and tumbled rocks, a small opening, cutting into the island between high portals, came into view. The Indian’s curiosity must have been aroused, for he headed the canoe into the narrow channel.

Then an unexpected and beautiful sight met the eyes of the wanderers. They found themselves in a peaceful harbor, almost round, and wooded with evergreens to the water line. Directly in front of them, as they entered, the ground was low, but to right and left it rose high, spruces and balsam firs standing in thick ranks to the summit. The gap through which they had come was a mere cut in a tree-clothed ridge, which stretched away on either side. Ronald confided to Jean that it looked as if some giant manito had taken a bite out of the ridge, but he was careful not to let Nangotook overhear the remark. There was no sand of any kind to be seen, but, in spite of their disappointment, the boys voiced their admiration of this beautiful, landlocked harbor. The Ojibwa’s usually impassive face wore a look in which relief seemed mingled with surprise, and he spoke a few words in his own language, and quickly cast a pinch of tobacco into the water. It was no wonder that he felt such an attractive place must be the dwelling of some spirit.

By that time the sky had become thickly overcast, and, as the gold-seekers circled the wooded shore, rain began to fall. They made a landing on the trunk of a cedar, that had tilted over until it lay almost flat on the water, and lifting out the canoe, hid it in the thick growth. In spite of the rain, the boys were eager to explore. They had seen nothing very encouraging so far, but they were by no means convinced that this was not the mysterious island they sought. How could they be sure the golden sands did not lie just over there beyond the forest?

Curiously enough it was the Indian who hung back and wanted to delay exploration until the weather cleared. He did not give any good reason for waiting, but his disinclination to begin the search was so plain, that the boys grew impatient and told him if he did not want to go he could stay behind. They were going to see what was on the other side of the woods. When he found they were determined, he joined them, but, contrary to his usual custom, he did not lead the way. It was the Scotch boy who took the lead.

Striking through the woods where they had landed, they went up the ridge. As they climbed, the way became steep and rocky. The spruces and balsams stood less thickly on the summit, and, if the weather had been clear, the adventurers might have obtained a good view of their surroundings, but the rain was falling so thick and fine, more like a dense mist than rain, that they could see only a few feet beyond where they stood. It was quite impossible to tell what sort of shore lay beyond and below the woods.

“It is scarcely worth while to seek for golden sands or anything else in this thick weather,” Jean remarked. “We must wait until it passes.”

“Go back to bay, make camp, catch some fish,” said Etienne, in his brief, abrupt way.

Ronald was reluctant to give up, but there seemed nothing else to do, and the mention of fish reminded him he was very hungry, so he yielded, not very good-naturedly. It was the Ojibwa that led the way this time, and a steep, dripping, slippery way it was, down through the woods to the bay.

Probably that bay had never been fished by any creature but the gulls that swooped down on the small fishes that swam too near the surface. The water abounded in little fish, but they were lake herring, which are really not herring at all, and will not take a hook. The lads had no net, and failing to catch anything in the bay, were obliged to go out through the channel. There, above a sunken reef, they secured three good sized lake trout.

In the meantime Etienne had found and made ready a camping place, and had built a small bark lodge. The rain continued steadily, and the three spent the rest of the day under shelter.

Rain was still coming down the next morning, and the weather had turned so cold that the boys would not have been surprised if snow had fallen, though it was still early in September. By the time another supply of fish had been caught and fire-wood cut, they were glad to seek the wigwam. There they remained most of the day, resting on couches of balsam and spruce, covered with blankets, and passing the time talking, mending their moccasins and dozing. In the center of the wigwam they kept a small fire going, the smoke finding its way out through a hole in the roof. The lads tried to persuade Nangotook to tell of his adventures and exploits, but he seemed disinclined to talk, and passed the day in morose and sullen silence. Jean could not imagine what had come over the usually good-natured Ojibwa.

Late in the afternoon the rain ceased, and Jean and Ronald climbed up over their trail of the day before. Nangotook only grunted when they proposed the trip, and did not accompany them. The sky was still overcast and the distance hazy, but from the top of the ridge, a hundred feet or more above the lake, the two lads could look down upon a rocky shore to their left and across a stretch of lower land to the right. What the shore was like beyond that low land they could not tell. There might be, indeed it seemed probable from the lay of the land that there was, a beach on that side of the island. Ahead of them the trees obstructed the view.

They made their way along the ridge, a rough way, over slippery rocks, along the verge of steep declivities, among spruce and balsam trees, until they came out from woods on almost bare rocks. They had reached the southern end of the island, where rock walls and slopes descended to the water, vertically in some places, more gently in others. Everywhere there was rock, no beaches, no sand.

The sun had set behind heavy clouds, and the gray sky shed little light. No land was visible across the water, in the growing darkness and haze of the gloomy, sullen evening. Depressed and silent, the two lads stumbled back along their trail, finding it with difficulty in the blackness of the woods. Their confidence was dwindling, though they tried to comfort themselves with the thought that they had not explored all of the island yet. The shore beyond the lower land to the west of the ridge was their only real hope.

That night Jean dreamed that he went to that shore by night, and found the golden sands gleaming in the moonlight. Then, just as he stooped to gather up a handful, there came a strange, rustling sound over his head. He looked up, and an enormous bird with open beak and fiery eyes was swooping down on him. He tried to run, to wave his arms, to shout, but not a muscle could he move, not a sound could he make. The bird’s great wing brushed his head. He made a tremendous effort and broke the spell that bound him. With a little cry he sprang out of his blanket and on to his feet, just as some heavy, furry, spitting object grazed his shoulder and landed in the bed he had left.

The animal was as badly frightened as the boy. It uttered a shrill screech, and sprang for the patch of dim light that marked the entrance to the shelter. Unfortunately Ronald was lying directly across its path. Aroused by the screech, he raised himself up. The heavy ball of fur struck him full in the body, knocking him flat again. The impact broke the beast’s leap, and it fell sprawling across the lad’s breast. Its vicious, cat-like snarl was close to his ear, he felt its hot breath on his face. Too terrified to cry out, he upheaved his body in an effort to throw off the creature. Its sharp claws tore through his blanket coat, and he tried to get a hold on its throat.

Just at that moment, Jean precipitated himself full upon both Ronald and the animal. The attack was too much for the fierce cat. It slipped out from between the two and sprang clear of the entrance, before Jean’s knife could find it.

The boys disentangled themselves from the blankets and balsam branches, each assuring the other that he was not seriously hurt. Although dawn had come, darkness still lingered in the heavily shaded shelter. The fire was out, but, with sparks from his flint and steel, Jean lighted a roll of dry birch bark. As it flared up, they could see the hole in the roof of branches where the animal had fallen through.

“It was attracted by the fish,” said Ronald. “A lynx——”

With a startled exclamation, Jean interrupted him. “Where is Nangotook?”

Nangotook had disappeared. His blanket lay on his balsam couch, his gun beside it, but he was gone. In the light of their flickering birch torch, the two lads stared at one another. The Ojibwa had not run away from the cat, of course. He had left his blanket before the beast came through the roof, and had stepped over Ronald without waking him. What could have moved him to steal away without arousing them?

“Do you think he has deserted us?” Ronald asked.

“That is impossible,” Jean replied emphatically. “Nangotook is loyal. He would not desert us, whatever might befall us.”

“I should have been saying the same two days ago,” agreed his companion, “but now I’m not so sure. He was acting strangely all day yesterday. I think he begins to regret this voyage and to dread what lies before us.”

“He has not been like himself since we landed in this place,” Jean admitted. “I know not what has come over him, unless it is fear of the manitos of the lake and the islands. He thinks perhaps that the spirits send storm and disaster to keep us from the golden sands. Either he loses faith in his charm, or fears it will protect him only, not you and me.”

“What is his charm? Do you know? Have you ever seen it?”

“I think I saw it yesterday. Once when I came into the lodge, he was sitting by the fire looking at something he held in his hand. In the firelight it looked like a nugget of copper. It was a queer shape, something like a fish, but one end was like a beaver’s tail, and it was rubbed bright. As I moved nearer for a better look, he heard me, closed his hand over the piece of copper, and glanced around. Then he slipped it into a little deerskin bag, his medicine bag, I suppose, without giving me another glimpse of it. You know the beaver is his totem. But even if he fears his charm will fail him, I am sure he would not desert us.”

“I scarcely believe myself that he would,” Ronald returned. “Where would he go? He would not be starting across the water on such a threatening night.”

“He will return before long. I am sure of it,” was Jean’s confident assertion.