Ghost Cave Read online

  “Howdy, boys,” Mr. Daniels greeted them from the door when he saw them lean their bikes on the fence. “Howdy, Bluedog,” he said, coming out and leaning on a porch post while they walked past the boxes of mineral rocks that lined the walk leading to the wooden building. “You boys in the market for a peace pipe or some fine little bird points? I did some good trading this morning.” He leaned over and scratched Bluedog.

  “Howdy, Mr. Daniels,” Marc said. “I’d sure like to see what you got.”

  “Hi, Mr. Daniels,” echoed Hermie and Eddie. “So would we.”

  Mr. Daniels was a tall, heavy man. In fact, he looked like an older version of Hermie without the glasses. His eyes were as blue as the big turquoise ring he wore, and they sparkled when he talked to the boys. Marc always had a hard time deciding whether he was teasing or telling the truth.

  They spent the next forty-five minutes unwrapping musty old newspapers from around pieces in the box on Mr. Daniels’s counter. Marc shook his head, still surprised at how the old man traded. Why, he hadn’t even looked at all the relics before making a deal. The box had probably come from a farmer who needed money. All the farmers in the county had relics stacked around that they’d dug up in their fields over the years. And they knew Mr. Daniels was a sucker for local people in need.

  “How much did you pay for this box, Mr. Daniels?” Marc asked. “None of these pieces are very good.” He’d be willing to bet that the farmer showed Mr. Daniels the bird points and hinted that the rest of the stuff was as good.

  “I didn’t pay much. But I’ll sell them all. Most tourists don’t know the difference between valuable stuff and ordinary pieces.” Mr. Daniels laughed, knowing Marc thought he’d been cheated.

  “Tell Hermie and Eddie about selling the bean jar, Mr. Daniels.” Marc wanted to get the old man talking. He knew Mr. Daniels loved to talk even better than he liked to trade.

  Mr. Daniels rolled his own cigarettes. Before he told one of his stories, he’d dig into his pocket and pull out his cigarette papers and a little pouch of tobacco. Marc liked to watch him shake just the right amount of golden-brown flakes into the paper and pull the string to close the bag with his teeth. Then he’d run his tongue along one side of the thin paper and seal the cigarette shut with his finger.

  Once, Eddie had found a half pack of Camel cigarettes that Pops had lost, and he and Marc and Hermie smoked every one. All night Marc felt as if a mule had kicked him in the stomach. He wanted to die and get it over with.

  So he didn’t plan on smoking again, but if he ever did take up the habit, he knew he’d roll his own cigarettes. He’d already spent half a day learning to pop the head off a stick match with his thumbnail to light it. That was another of Mr. Daniels’s skills. Marc had carried a box of stick matches in his pocket ever since, in case he wanted to impress someone. He wasn’t much into impressing girls, but he could get a giggle out of Marcy Lee Wallace by pulling out a match and flaming it up for her. ’Course, some girls will giggle at just about anything. His mother hadn’t laughed, though. She liked putting candles on the table at dinnertime. But when Marc showed her his new trick for lighting them, she scolded, worrying he’d set the house on fire.

  Marc looked at Mr. Daniels, who’d gotten comfortable in his rocking chair. Bluedog curled up beside him to snooze during story time. Holding the crumpled cigarette carefully, Mr. Daniels took a long drag. He blew the smoke out slowly and began.

  “Well, after I’d had my lunch one day, I took and washed the brown glass jar my baked beans came in. I brought it out into the store and blew a little dust on it so it matched the rest of the merchandise. Not ten minutes later, a woman, dressed in real fancy clothes, mind you, came in and browsed around. I saw her looking at the jar.

  “‘Is this old?’ she asked, bringing it over to me. ‘I don’t know that much about antique glass, lady,’ I said. Sometimes it pays to act dumb.” Mr. Daniels took a puff of his cigarette, and his blue eyes sparkled. “Customers love to think they know more than you do about your stuff. ‘I think I’ll take it,’ she said. ‘It just might be old.’ ”

  “How much did you charge her?” Hermie asked. Mr. Daniels had paused, leaving off that part, knowing that either Hermie or Eddie would ask. Marc already knew, of course.

  “A dollar.” Mr. Daniels said. “And I’d only paid seventy-five cents for it when it was full of beans.”

  They all laughed. Bluedog woke up and barked to get in on the conversation. Marc wanted to tell Mr. Daniels he was full of beans. His mother used to say that to him, meaning he was pulling her leg. She was always easy to fool; she’d believe anything. His dad always called her a city girl. He loved to tease her, too.

  “We’ve got to go, Mr. Daniels.” Suddenly Marc needed to ride his bike really fast. Why couldn’t he stop thinking about his mother?

  Hermie raised his eyebrows up and down, up and down, to remind Marc he hadn’t asked about the reward poster. Eddie poked his finger halfway through Marc’s back.

  “You boys see the sign out front?” Mr. Daniels asked, before Marc had a chance to question him about where to look for relics. He took one last drag on the cigarette and ground out the stub on his concrete floor. “You three might as well try for the reward.”

  Marc looked at Hermie and Eddie in surprise and then looked up at the porch post. Sure enough, they’d passed right by a sign identical to the one hanging in the park. Then Marc remembered that Mr. Daniels had been leaning on that post when they came up to the store. He thought he’d saved a surprise for the boys until they got ready to leave.

  “If we found a grave, who would it belong to?” Marc asked as the four of them read the sign again.

  “Whoever owned the property, silly,” said Eddie. “Isn’t that right, Mr. Daniels?”

  “Yes, unless it was in the state park. Then I figure it’d go to a museum or the university so they could study it. I don’t reckon there’s much left to find these days, but it’d be fun to look.”

  Mr. Daniels had been digging Indian relics since he was a boy. That’s how he got started in the business. Marc liked to listen to him tell about those days. The farmers would call him when they plowed up stuff, and he’d go over and dig.

  “I figure it’d be easy to find some good stuff if we took time to look,” Eddie said, when Mr. Daniels went back inside.

  “You heard Mr. Daniels, Eddie,” Marc said. “He’s an expert, and he doesn’t think it’d be easy. You think you’ll be good at everything before you try it. Remember the pool table that Mr. Ellis put in the back of the drugstore? He said we could play when it wasn’t busy. Well, you said you’d get it in no time.”

  “Aw, horse pucky. I’ll get the hang of it soon. Mr. Daniels has just gotten too old to get out and look for relics himself, so he says there’s not any more good stuff.”

  Eddie might have had a point, but Marc wasn’t going to waste time arguing with him. Sometimes Marc thought Eddie liked to argue better than anything else—the same way Mr. Daniels liked to tell stories. But Marc got tired of Eddie’s bragging.

  “I hope we aren’t going to spend all summer digging around in the woods,” said Hermie.

  “You just want to spend it digging in the library, in a bunch of dusty old books,” Eddie accused Hermie.

  “Hey, it sounds as if we’re going to spend all summer fighting,” Marc said. “What else have we got to do except look for relics? Think how exciting it’ll be if we find something.”

  “Let’s make it a contest. We’ll see which one of us can collect the reward,” suggested Eddie.

  “I think we should work together and share the reward.” Marc figured splitting up would take the fun out of it. Being realistic, he knew all they’d probably find would be some arrowheads or some pottery shards. A big find these days was rare. But that’s why the reward was so high. “Whatever one of us finds, we’ll share and split the reward three ways. Deal?” Marc put out his hand.

  Hermie reached out immediately.

&
nbsp; Eddie frowned and hesitated. “Only if we’re together when we find it. If I stumble over a grave when I’m alone, I’m not going to share it.”

  Eddie and Hermie looked at Marc. “That’s fair enough,” Marc agreed. He was certain that wouldn’t happen.

  Eddie took Marc’s hand and Hermie laid his on top of theirs. Under the reward poster, the three of them shook. Then they crossed their hearts and pulled a finger across their throats, swearing they’d never tell about the pact.

  4

  BLUEDOG’S RABBIT

  Bluedog barked, saying she wanted in on their deal. Marc hugged her. “Yes, you too, Blue,” he said, laughing. “You can help dig.”

  “And we’ll buy you the biggest bone you ever saw if you find anything,” Hermie said in agreement.

  “Let’s begin looking this afternoon,” Marc suggested as they jumped on their bikes and started back toward town. “It could rain again tomorrow.”

  “I’m hungry.” Hermie puffed as he pumped to keep up with Marc and Eddie. “I don’t want to go exploring until after lunch.”

  Marc was hungry, too, but he didn’t want to go back home for lunch. He hesitated. Hermie knew what he was thinking. Marc didn’t tell Hermie too many of his feelings, but Hermie was good at figuring out what was going on in people’s minds—especially Marc’s. Marc guessed that was why they’d been friends for so long. They didn’t always have to talk about how they felt.

  “Come eat at my house, both of you,” Hermie invited, after looking at his watch. “Mom will be gone again now. She’s working afternoons at the beauty shop this summer.”

  “Thanks, Herm. If you’re sure your mom won’t mind.” Marc knew that even if Mrs. Harrington wasn’t home, she would know three boys and a dog had eaten there.

  “She will, but I don’t care.” Hermie led the way.

  Bluedog followed them inside at Hermie’s, but Marc made her sit on the sleeping porch. She scooted forward until she could see the boys in the kitchen. Then she put her head on her paws and took on her sad look.

  “She never gives up, does she?” Hermie took peanut butter and a loaf of Wonder Bread out of the cupboard. From the fridge he got his mom’s homemade muscadine jam.

  Marc’s mouth watered at the thought of the sweetly tart taste of muscadines. He smeared his bread generously and washed down two sandwiches with ice-cold milk.

  “Let’s take a snack with us.” Hermie found his day pack, khaki-colored and crumpled like an old paper bag.

  “That looks like a pack Pops might have carried in World War I,” Eddie teased, as Hermie tossed in apples, cookies, and a Hershey bar each.

  Hermie laughed. “Maybe it is. My dad got it at the Army Surplus.”

  Marc was glad Mrs. Harrington kept plenty of food in the house. At his place he either had to remind his dad to go grocery shopping or else do it himself, adding it to their bill at the City Market. Marc’s mother had always kept the pantry overflowing. He’d found out a lot of things that she did for them after she left. Things he liked—things he’d always taken for granted.

  They crossed the south side of the square again to get to the old highway that led to the bluffs. Marc soon wished they’d taken the back streets when Howard Moon appeared and skidded his bike right in front of them, forcing them to stop.

  “Where are you all going? Hunting for Indian relics, by any chance?” Mooney grinned.

  Eddie could never keep his mouth shut. “None of your beeswax, Mooney.” Marc kept telling Eddie that ignoring Mooney worked best, but Eddie had a short fuse and a big mouth.

  “What if I make it my business, Greasehead?” Mooney dodged in front of Marc. Marc had already started to go around him.

  “We’re going out to the bluffs to look for arrowheads, Mooney,” Marc said. “Want to come along?” Sometimes the truth worked best.

  “Naw. You think a handful of arrowheads is going to win that reward, Schaller? You’ve got to think bigger than that. Let me know when you’re going for the big find. Then I’ll tag along with the kiddies here.” Mooney nodded toward Hermie and Eddie.

  Eddie was eleven in November, but he was so small people sometimes mistook him for ten. He’d come to Arkansas from a California school. The teachers found he’d had all the fourth grade books before, so they let him try fifth. He’d made it through, just barely. Hermie and Marc had to help him a lot with math. Marc never worried about running around with two guys younger than he was. Hermie and Eddie were certainly better company than Mooney.

  “That guy’s a pile of horse pucky. He makes me want to punch him out.” Eddie ran his hands down both sides of his head, smoothing his hair. Then he stood on his pedals and pumped to get going fast.

  “Why don’t you ignore him? I keep telling you that works best.” The chain on Marc’s bike slipped, and he had to pedal a lot to make it catch. I’m the one who needs that money for a new bike, he thought.

  “I can’t ignore him. What if he’d come with us? Why’d you invite him, Marc?” Eddie circled back to where Marc was trying to get some traction.

  “He’d never want to tag along with us,” explained Hermie, who understood Marc’s tactics. “Unless we didn’t want him to, or he thought we’d found something good.”

  “Hey!” Mooney yelled. He was following them. Had he changed his mind? “If you ever want to get rid of that funny-looking dog, Schaller, I have a friend who runs a freak show.” Mooney cackled with laughter, zipped in front of them, then took off back to town, singing, “How much is that doggie in the window?” as he disappeared.

  “Very funny,” Eddie shouted after him.

  Mooney knew how attached Marc was to Bluedog—how she went every place he went, except to school. He figured if he couldn’t get to Marc any other way, he’d try making fun of his dog. And it almost worked.

  Marc knew Bluedog was funny-looking, but she was the smartest dog he’d ever known. His dad had said so, too, when they got her. A man who’d needed some insurance had traded Bluedog for the first premium. She had funny markings even as a puppy, but she learned every trick Marc could think of in record time.

  Then Marc nearly lost her. She got sick, and the vet didn’t know what it was. Marc sat up with her day and night, making her eat one bite at a time out of his hand. He talked to her, begged her not to die. The vet said Marc saved her life. Then he told Marc the Chinese people believe that when you save someone’s life, you’re responsible for them forever. Marc had been especially close to Bluedog ever since. Sometimes he knew how she was feeling, and she always knew how Marc was feeling. His mother called them twins—said twins sometimes didn’t even have to talk to each other, they understood without words or just talked with their minds. “Twin to a dog,” she’d teased Marc.

  The man had called her an Australian Blue, a type of sheepdog found in Australia. There was a layer of dark hair under Blue’s short white coat, causing her to have a bluish tint all over. She had black spots, and her eyes were a funny light brown. Bluedog’s extra-long legs added to her odd look, but that made her the jumper she was. Marc loved to see her sail out and over a low fence, chasing her ball.

  Bluedog had one fault, as far as Marc was concerned. She had a passion for rabbits.

  Now she ran ahead of their bikes for a time, anticipating the fun she was going to have in the woods. As soon as they stopped riding, though, she was off and running through the woods. First one way, then another, nose to the ground, hunting fresh rabbit scent.

  “Look at that fool dog, Marc.” Eddie laughed. “She’d never be any good herding sheep now. She wouldn’t have time.”

  “Not that we’d trade her, but maybe there’s a job for a dog who herds rabbits.” Hermie laughed at Bluedog, too, but Marc knew both he and Eddie really loved her.

  “Let’s hide our bikes,” Marc suggested, picking his up and setting it down in a small thicket of shrub oak that was thick with new leaves and full of water droplets.

  Marc’s action frightened a rabbit who’d taken up hi
ding in the thicket. The cottontail flashed across the clearing ahead of Bluedog. She tore after it.

  “You could say thanks,” Marc yelled after the streak of blue and gray. He laughed. She was funny.

  “What would she do if she caught one?” Eddie asked, setting his bike alongside Marc’s.

  “I think it would scare her to death,” Marc answered. “Let’s go down to the river. Something may have washed up in the rains.”

  “Come back, Blue. We’re going this way,” Hermie called to Bluedog as he swung his knapsack onto his back, pushed up his glasses, and took the trail that led down to the bluffs and the river.

  Eddie and Marc followed Hermie, but Marc held back a little, calling to Bluedog. She seemed obsessed with this particular rabbit.

  They walked along in silence, their sneakers pad, pad, padding on the soft earth, still soggy from the rain. The oaks and hickories overhead were green and lush, creating a shady tunnel as they headed downhill through deep forest. Verbenas were covered with pink blossoms that perfumed the damp air. Slender dogwoods had finished their spring blooming. Now their green leaves blended into the approaching summer. Here it was, all around them, at last—the freedom Marc had craved all through May while they were stuck in school. Best yet, the sun kept peeking out, promising dryer days.

  Watching for poison ivy, they ignored the other bushes that slapped against their jeans, splattering water on their legs.

  Soon Marc realized that Bluedog wasn’t catching up to them. There was no muffled thump-thump-thump behind them. No huffing and puffing. No Bluedog crashing crosscountry taking canine shortcuts.

  Marc stopped. Listened. “Bluedog! Bluedog—come on, now. Bluedog! Wait up, guys.”

  “Dumb dog.” Eddie shuffled back to where Marc waited.

  “We’d better go back.” Hermie sounded worried.

  “She knows these woods better than we do.” Marc felt frustrated. He didn’t want to go back. It’d been three weeks since he’d been in the woods. He had sat in the classroom imagining the feel of the river’s lazy, warm water on his bare feet. He wanted to wander around at the foot of the bluffs. He’d found arrowheads there before, especially after a lot of rain, and they’d had high water all spring. Anything could have washed up. Excitement filled Marc’s stomach, and he felt as wiggly as Bluedog when she knew they were going someplace.