SHIFTING FOR THEMSELVES.
This was voted a good idea. As they drew closer to the shore the
aspect of the little bay became more inviting.
Tom pointed to a strip of beach which bordered a rather deeper
indentation on the edge of the inlet.
"I guess that's the place for us to land," he said. "Looks like there
is water there and a good beach."
Wearily--for now that the strain of their wild ride on the tide-rip
was over, they felt exhausted--wearily they pulled on the oars, moving
the heavy dory slowly over the placid waters of the inlet. The sea,
its force broken by an outcropping reef across the mouth of the
miniature bay, broke gently on the shore, and it was an easy matter
to make a landing. The dory was pulled as far up the beach as they in
their tired state could manage, and its painter made fast to a stunted
willow tree.
The beach, bordered with trees and stunted shrubs, rose upward. They
mounted it and found themselves on a yielding, marshy carpet of moss.
It was the tundra of Alaska. It would have made hard walking to cross
it, but while they were pondering the advisability of doing so, Tom
made a discovery.
"Look! a path!" he exclaimed. "It runs right along here."
He pointed to a beaten path, plainly enough made by human beings,
leading along the top of the "sea-wall" between the tundra marsh and
the beach.
"There must be people here. Somebody must have made it."
"Evidently, and look over there, that's the answer."
Tom had followed the path slightly in advance of the others. Now he
had come to a halt, pointing toward a singular structure at some
little distance, toward which it was clear that the path led. The hut
was shaped like a low beehive and appeared to be built of drift-wood
and peat.
"It's a native hut of some sort," declared Jack, rather an alarmed
look coming into his eyes.
The boys' experience with Aleuts had not inclined them to place much
confidence in the natives, for it will be recalled that our heroes
thought that their two boatmen had deliberately left them on the
beach.
"There's no smoke coming from it," said Tom.
"In that case, maybe it is deserted."
"Perhaps so. But we had better be careful."
"That's right, after what we experienced from those two rascals of the
pilot's, I'm taking no chances with these people."
Tom did not confide to his chums another bit of information that he
had acquired concerning this part of Alaska from the captain of the
_Northerner_. This was that in a part of the country in which they
were cast away, the native tribes are ugly and vicious, never visiting
a white settlement except when they must, and refusing to have any
intercourse with Caucasians.
He had heard many tales of the bloodshed and theft attributed to these
renegade natives, and as may be imagined, the thought that perhaps
they had stumbled on a camp of them was not a pleasant one. However,
Tom said nothing for fear of unnecessarily scaring his companions. The
landscape looked wild enough to form the dwelling place of any
desperate natives who, for any reason, wished to evade the United
States revenue cutters and missionary ships.
But the need of water was imperative, and judging by the greater
luxuriance of the trees and grass near the hut, there was water there.
In fact, the presence of the hut in that site argued the existence of
water near by. They watched the solitary structure for some minutes.
But no sign of life appeared about it. Seemingly, they were the only
human beings for many miles in that wild country.
"Well, come on," said Tom at length; "anything is better than enduring
this thirst any longer, and I'm pretty sure there must be water
yonder."
They followed the path and soon found themselves on the threshold of
the hut. Its door, a clumsy contrivance, was ajar, and littered all
about were fish bones, scales, and bones and remnants of animals. A
rank odor assailed their nostrils, the true smell of an Aleut
settlement.
Tom strode boldly forward and was about to cross the threshold when
something dashed out of the hut, making him jump back with an
involuntary shout of alarm. For a minute he was sure they had been
attacked by whoever dwelt within. His companions, too, echoed his cry,
but the next instant they all burst out laughing. What had alarmed
them so was a small red fox that had darted off like a flash.
"That shows us no one is inside," chuckled Tom, turning to his
comrades. "I guess we've dispossessed the sole inhabitant."
They crossed the threshold and found themselves in a low,
smoke-begrimed structure with a dome-shaped roof. In the middle of the
roof was a hole presumably for the smoke to escape, although soot hung
thick on the rafters that supported the grass-sods, peat and earth
that formed the covering of the rude dwelling.
Tom bent and examined a heap of ashes in the middle of the dirt floor
under the hole.
"Nobody has been here for a long time," he declared, "except wild
beasts."
"I wonder who put it up?" inquired Sandy.
"Trappers, maybe; but most likely Aleuts," replied Tom. "I've seen
pictures of their huts and they are very like this one. I never
thought we'd have to take up quarters in one, though."
"Hoot! d'ye think we'll have to stay here lang?" asked Sandy.
"Impossible to tell," rejoined Tom. "Of course, as soon as they find
we're gone they will start on a search for us; but unless they find
those rascally Aleuts they'll never know what became of us, unless
they stumble on us accidentally."
There was a brief but eloquent silence, which Tom dispelled cheerily.
"The first job is to look for water," said he. "Let's explore a
little."
They left the hut, but before they went Tom picked up an old tin pail
that lay on the floor in a corner. He did not explain what he wanted
this for. As he had expected, where the luxuriant growth flourished,
was a stream which ran down crystal clear and cold as ice from the
snow mountains to the sea.
The sight of this made the boys forget all their troubles temporarily.
They lay flat on their stomachs and drank to repletion. Never had
anything tasted half so good as the waters of that mountain stream.
Their thirst quenched, Tom methodically filled his pail with water and
then started back.
"What are you going to do?" demanded Jack in some astonishment.
"Clean out the hut and get ready for supper while you fellows catch
some fish."
"Fish for supper? Where?" demanded Jack.
"Right in this creek. I saw them dart off when we came down, but they
will soon be back."
"How about hooks?"
"I saw some in the bottom of the boat. And by turning over some of
those stones, I guess you'll find some sort of things that will do for
bait. Hurry up now, boys, and while you're getting the tackle, bring
the rest of the grub and the oars out of the boat."
Glad to be busy, the boys all hurried off on their tasks. When Jack
and Sandy had brought the oars and tackle from the boat, they set off
on their fishing expedition. Long alder limbs broken off from the
bushes that overhung the creek, served them for poles. Under the
rocks, as Tom had surmised, they found fat, white grubs in abundance.
The fish bit hungrily, for it was still early in the year. Soon they
each had a fine string. With lighter hearts, for now they had at least
the essentials of existence, they set out on the return journey to the
hut.
When they got back, they found that Tom had made a fire, using matches
from his water-proof box, which none of the boys would have gone
without. It crackled up cheerily. When he had a good bed of red coals,
Tom split the fish which the others had scaled and cleaned, and held
them on sharpened sticks above the blaze till they were cooked. With
crackers and the broiled fish they made a rough but sufficient meal.
There was plenty of firewood in the hut and they made a roaring blaze,
so that, lacking blankets as they did, they would not get cold. In a
corner was a pile of sweet-scented dried grass, evidently used as beds
by whoever had occupied the hut before them. On this they threw
themselves down while the fire glowed cheerily, warming the hut
comfortably since the door had been closed.
Despite the strangeness of their position on this wild, unknown coast,
they were too weary to remain awake long. Outside came occasionally
the cry of a bird or the booming of the sea, but it all acted as a
lullaby to the three tired boys.
One by one their eyes closed and they dropped off into the deep,
dreamless slumber of exhaustion. Never, in fact, had they slept more
profoundly and peaceably than they did in the smoky native hut on the
wild shores upon which they had been so strangely cast away.