Ghost Cave Read Free

Hermie, honking his goose horn. “Whoooeee, could I use fifty dollars!”
    â€œJumpin” Jehoshaphat!” Hermie grinned. “But my parents will make me put it in the bank.”
    â€œWhere’ll we find any relics like that?” Eddie said, calming down.
    â€œLet’s ride out to Mr. Daniels’s place and ask him what he thinks about the reward,” Marc suggested. “He might even have some suggestions for us. He used to tell my dad and me about places he thought we should look.”
    â€œSuits me.” Hermie was almost always agreeable to Marc’s ideas.
    â€œMe, too.” Eddie didn’t argue. He pulled out a comb and smoothed back his hair on either side. “I could get a new catcher’s mitt with fifty dollars.”
    Eddie often talked about stuff he was going to buy, as if things would make up for losing his mother. Pops and Gramma had gotten him into that habit, Marc figured. They bought him everything he wanted. Eddie hadn’t mentioned his mother in a long time. And he had stopped asking Marc about his. At least Marc could hope his own mother was coming back.
    He’d rather think about the fifty dollars. But he didn’t want to spend the money before they got it. He did feel, though, that he and Hermie and Eddie had as good a chance of collecting the reward as anyone else in town.

3
    T HREE -W AY P ACT
    The new highway had skirted Pine Creek, taking most of the business on past and into Fort Smith, but not too many people cared. They settled for local business and the few tourists who wandered into town.
    People who wanted to trade with Mr. Daniels looked him up. Everyone for miles around knew him. He ran a combination junk shop, Indian store, and pawnshop. As far as Marc, Hermie, and Eddie were concerned, Mr. Daniels had the most interesting store they’d ever seen. Marc, his dad, and Hermie had traded Indian relics with Mr. Daniels as long as Marc could remember. In fact, Mr. Daniels had given him the first tomahawk he had in his collection.
    It was a large, double-bladed tomahawk, and probably worth five dollars, Marc’s dad had said. Marc couldn’t believe Mr. Daniels had given it to him, but now Marc knew he was just like that. If someone, especially a kid, wanted something and really didn’t have the money, Mr. Daniels would usually give it to him. Sometimes he cut the price for Marc or let him pay things out over time. He’d paid out some of his best pieces over several months. Mr. Daniels had gained a steady customer by giving Marc that good tomahawk.
    One time Marc asked him how he ever made any money, giving stuff away like he did. “I make it up on the tourists, Marc,” he answered. “Tourists will buy anything and usually will pay too much for it. You don’t need to worry about my going broke.” He laughed when he said that, and Marc decided he was right.
    â€œHowdy, 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.
    â€œHowdy, Mr. Daniels,” Marc said. “I’d sure like to see what you got.”
    â€œHi, 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