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Authors: Gary Paulsen
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and searched the narrow strip of beach. “I don’t see anybody.”
Cowboy, whose real name was Kevin Trace, whipped the tattered straw hat that had earned him his nickname off his head in exasperation. “I didn’t bring them with me, mate. They asked where was a good place to get fishing equipment and bait. I gave directions to your shack here on the beach and then hurried up here to tell you. Besides, I figure you don’t want to be caught sleeping by a couple of rich tourists.”
Tag stretched and ran his hand through his sandy brown hair. “What makes you think they’re rich?”
Cowboy grinned. “I been following them for a while. They’re handing out money right and left.”
Tag’s face brightened. He fingered the worn Spanish coin that hung on a chain around his neck. “Maybe we’ll get enough to get my reserve tank fixed and we can go down again.”
“Shooo. Is that all you think about? Diving by those reefs? There ain’t nothing down there. Every treasure hunter on these islands done been all over them reefs. Nobody ever come up with nothing.”
“Then where did this come from?” Tag held out the gold coin.
“Your daddy was one of the best divers around here. He gave that piece to you before he died. And I know all about his diary telling how he thinks there’s more where that come from. But if he were here right now, he’d tell you he didn’t know for sure.”
“He knew.” Tag pulled a T-shirt over his deeply tanned upper body.
The sound of two approaching mopeds interrupted their conversation. Cowboy wisely stepped around the corner of the small thatched building, out of sight. He didn’t want the potential customers to think he had been scamming them.
The men were tourists. That was easy to spot. But there was something about them that made Tag uneasy.
The taller man wore his blond hair pulledstraight back in a tight, greasy ponytail. His eyes looked over a sharp nose in an icy blue stare. The other man had a shiny bald head. He was shorter and heavier and did most of the talking.
“My friend and I are interested in renting some equipment to go fishing.”
Tag nodded. “Sure thing. What are you going after?”
The man hesitated. “Does it matter? We just want to fish. You set us up and we’ll pay you and be on our way.”
Tag scratched his head. “Are you going to be close to shore or out in deep sea?”
“Why do you want to know?” the tall man growled.
The bald man put up his hand. “It’s all right, Spear, the kid asked a perfectly logical question.” He turned to Tag. “We thought we’d go out in the bay a ways. Maybe fish around the reefs some. You have any suggestions?”
Normally Tag would have given them some advice, but the way the blond man spoke made him uncomfortable. “I hear they’re havingsome luck out in the harbor.” Tag gathered up two long, thin poles and bagged some bait. Then he set a rental agreement on the counter. “Sign here, mister. Oh, and you need to have the poles back by this time tomorrow.”
The heavyset man signed the slip, paid him, and gave him a generous twenty-dollar tip. “Thanks a lot, kid. We’ll see you tomorrow afternoon.”
Cowboy stepped back into the shack and the two boys watched the men drive away. “You made a killing, mate. And on top of that, they’re coming back tomorrow.”
Tag split the tip with his friend. “There’s something wrong with those guys. They didn’t know the first thing about fishing.”
“Who cares? They’re probably just tourists who want to brag to their friends back home. Besides, they pay good.”
Tag shrugged. “You have a point there. What do you say we close up shop and go into town and get that tank of mine fixed?”
“Now you’re talking.”
C HAPTER 2
The road into town was crowded with slow-moving taxi-cabs, mopeds, bicycles, and colorfully dressed pedestrians. The native Bermudians were either related to or knew everyone in the village. They waved and smiled at
Cowboy, whose real name was Kevin Trace, whipped the tattered straw hat that had earned him his nickname off his head in exasperation. “I didn’t bring them with me, mate. They asked where was a good place to get fishing equipment and bait. I gave directions to your shack here on the beach and then hurried up here to tell you. Besides, I figure you don’t want to be caught sleeping by a couple of rich tourists.”
Tag stretched and ran his hand through his sandy brown hair. “What makes you think they’re rich?”
Cowboy grinned. “I been following them for a while. They’re handing out money right and left.”
Tag’s face brightened. He fingered the worn Spanish coin that hung on a chain around his neck. “Maybe we’ll get enough to get my reserve tank fixed and we can go down again.”
“Shooo. Is that all you think about? Diving by those reefs? There ain’t nothing down there. Every treasure hunter on these islands done been all over them reefs. Nobody ever come up with nothing.”
“Then where did this come from?” Tag held out the gold coin.
“Your daddy was one of the best divers around here. He gave that piece to you before he died. And I know all about his diary telling how he thinks there’s more where that come from. But if he were here right now, he’d tell you he didn’t know for sure.”
“He knew.” Tag pulled a T-shirt over his deeply tanned upper body.
The sound of two approaching mopeds interrupted their conversation. Cowboy wisely stepped around the corner of the small thatched building, out of sight. He didn’t want the potential customers to think he had been scamming them.
The men were tourists. That was easy to spot. But there was something about them that made Tag uneasy.
The taller man wore his blond hair pulledstraight back in a tight, greasy ponytail. His eyes looked over a sharp nose in an icy blue stare. The other man had a shiny bald head. He was shorter and heavier and did most of the talking.
“My friend and I are interested in renting some equipment to go fishing.”
Tag nodded. “Sure thing. What are you going after?”
The man hesitated. “Does it matter? We just want to fish. You set us up and we’ll pay you and be on our way.”
Tag scratched his head. “Are you going to be close to shore or out in deep sea?”
“Why do you want to know?” the tall man growled.
The bald man put up his hand. “It’s all right, Spear, the kid asked a perfectly logical question.” He turned to Tag. “We thought we’d go out in the bay a ways. Maybe fish around the reefs some. You have any suggestions?”
Normally Tag would have given them some advice, but the way the blond man spoke made him uncomfortable. “I hear they’re havingsome luck out in the harbor.” Tag gathered up two long, thin poles and bagged some bait. Then he set a rental agreement on the counter. “Sign here, mister. Oh, and you need to have the poles back by this time tomorrow.”
The heavyset man signed the slip, paid him, and gave him a generous twenty-dollar tip. “Thanks a lot, kid. We’ll see you tomorrow afternoon.”
Cowboy stepped back into the shack and the two boys watched the men drive away. “You made a killing, mate. And on top of that, they’re coming back tomorrow.”
Tag split the tip with his friend. “There’s something wrong with those guys. They didn’t know the first thing about fishing.”
“Who cares? They’re probably just tourists who want to brag to their friends back home. Besides, they pay good.”
Tag shrugged. “You have a point there. What do you say we close up shop and go into town and get that tank of mine fixed?”
“Now you’re talking.”
C HAPTER 2
The road into town was crowded with slow-moving taxi-cabs, mopeds, bicycles, and colorfully dressed pedestrians. The native Bermudians were either related to or knew everyone in the village. They waved and smiled at
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