Produced by Stephen Hutcheson and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net _THE SUGAR CREEK GANG DIGS FOR TREASURE_ by PAUL HUTCHENS [Illustration] _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 any manner without the permission in writing from the author, except brief quotations 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 that was docked at the end of the pier which ran far out into the water of the lake. From where I was sitting, in the stern of the boat, I could see the two brown tents where the rest of the Sugar Creek Gang was supposed to be taking a short afternoon nap--which was one of the rules about camp life none of us liked very well, but which was good for us on account of we always had more pep for the rest of the day and didn’t get too tired before night. I’d already had my afternoon nap, and had sneaked out of the tent and come to the dock where I was right that minute, to just sit there and imagine things such as whether there would be anything very exciting to see if some of the gang could explore that great big tree-covered island away out across the water, about a mile away. Whew! it certainly was hot out here close to the water with the sunlight pouring itself on me from above and also shining up at me from below, on account of the lake was like a great big blue mirror that caught sunlight and reflected it right up under my straw hat, making my hot freckled face even hotter than it was. Because it was the style for the people to get tanned almost all over, I didn’t mind the heat as much as I might have. It seemed to be getting hotter every minute though--the kind of day we sometimes had back home at Sugar Creek just before some big thunderheads came sneaking up and surprised us with a fierce storm. It was also a perfect day for a sunbath. What on earth made people want to get brown all over for anyway? I thought. Then I looked down at my freckled brownish arm, and was disgusted at myself, on account of instead of getting a nice tan like Circus, the acrobatic member of our gang, I always got sunburned and freckled and my upper arm looked like a piece of raw steak instead of a nice piece of brown fried chicken.... Thinking that, reminded me that I was hungry and I wished it was suppertime. It certainly was a quiet camp, I thought, as I looked at the two 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 was morning and time to get up and do the chores.