THE SUGAR CREEK GANG
DIGS FOR TREASURE
THE SUGAR CREEK GANG
DIGS FOR TREASURE
by
PAUL HUTCHENS
Van Kampen Press
WHEATON, ILLINOIS
The Sugar Creek Gang Digs for Treasure
Copyright, 1948, by
Paul Hutchens
All rights in this book are reserved. No part may be reproduced in anymanner without the permission in writing from the author, except briefquotations used in connection with a review in a magazine or newspaper.
Printed in the United States of America
1
I WAS sitting right that minute in a big white rowboat thatwas docked at the end of the pier which ran far out into thewater of the lake. From where I was sitting, in the stern ofthe boat, I could see the two brown tents where the rest of theSugar Creek Gang was supposed to be taking a short afternoonnap—which was one of the rules about camp life none ofus liked very well, but which was good for us on account ofwe always had more pep for the rest of the day and didn’t gettoo tired before night.
I’d already had my afternoon nap, and had sneaked out ofthe tent and come to the dock where I was right that minute,to just sit there and imagine things such as whether therewould be anything very exciting to see if some of the gangcould explore that great big tree-covered island away out acrossthe water, about a mile away.
Whew! it certainly was hot out here close to the waterwith the sunlight pouring itself on me from above and alsoshining up at me from below, on account of the lake was likea great big blue mirror that caught sunlight and reflected itright up under my straw hat, making my hot freckled faceeven hotter than it was. Because it was the style for the peopleto get tanned almost all over, I didn’t mind the heat as much asI might have.
It seemed to be getting hotter every minute though—thekind of day we sometimes had back home at Sugar Creek justbefore some big thunderheads came sneaking up and surprisedus with a fierce storm. It was also a perfect day for a sunbath.What on earth made people want to get brown all over foranyway? I thought. Then I looked down at my freckled brownisharm, and was disgusted at myself, on account of instead of gettinga nice tan like Circus, the acrobatic member of our gang, I4always got sunburned and freckled and my upper arm lookedlike a piece of raw steak instead of a nice piece of brown friedchicken.... Thinking that, reminded me that I was hungryand I wished it was suppertime.
It certainly was a quiet camp, I thought, as I looked at thetwo tents, where the rest of the gang was supposed to be sleeping.I just couldn’t imagine anybody sleeping that long—anyway,not any boy—unless he was at home and it wasmorning and time to get up and do the chores.
Just that second I heard a sound of footst