THE "YUKON ROVER."
Some weeks later there steamed away from the wharf side at St.
Michaels, a small, stern-wheeled craft of light draught. So light was
it, in fact, that the loungers on the dock who watched its departure
declared that it would be possible to navigate it on a heavy dew.
It bore the name _Yukon Rover_, and was painted white with a single
black smoke-stack. As it drew away from the dock, it blew a salute of
three whistles which was answered by a fair-sized steamer lying in the
roads.
As our readers will have guessed, the _Yukon Rover_ was the portable
steam craft which had been shipped north to the Yukon on the deck of
the _Northerner_, which latter was the vessel that replied to the
small craft's farewell. The _Northerner_ was to return to Seattle,
carrying down what cargo she could pick up, and come back late in the
year with a cargo for the needs of the country during the rigid
Alaskan winter, when little can be shipped. In this way Mr. Dacre and
Mr. Chillingworth hoped to make their venture additionally profitable.
On the bow of the small light-draught craft was a strange ornament.
This figure-head, if such it can be called, was nothing more nor less
than the figure of a buck-toothed man roughly carved out of wood and
daubed with faded paint. In a word, it was Sandy MacTavish's mascot,
now assigned to duty on the small craft which was to carry the
adventurers up the turbulent currents of the mighty Yukon.
As to the _Yukon Rover's_ mission, there was much speculation in St.
Michaels concerning it. But the consensus of opinion was that the two
gentlemen and the boys were going on a scientific expedition of some
sort. The "Bug Hunters" was the name bestowed upon them in the far
northern town from whence embarkation for the mouth of the Yukon was
made.
This suited Mr. Dacre and his partner well enough, as they had no wish
for the real object of their expedition to become known. The hunters
and trappers of the Far North are a jealous, vindictive lot when they
imagine that what they consider their inalienable rights to the fur
and feather of the land are being invaded by outsiders.
Both gentlemen knew that if any suspicion of the real object of their
voyage leaked out, much trouble might be made for them, although it
was still rather early in the year for any trappers to be going
"inside," as penetrating into the interior of Alaska is called.
A shed near the waterfront had been rented and ways constructed, and
here the _Yukon Rover_ had been rapidly put together by the engineers
from the _Northerner_. But on her trip up the river the boys were to
act as machinists and stokers, and as the _Yukon Rover's_ machinery
was simple enough, this was a delightful and interesting task to them.
Like most healthy, normal boys, our young friends liked to tinker with
machinery, and they had had plenty of instruction in their new duties
on the trial trips of the stern-wheeler.
Tom, who had been relieved at the engines by Jack, while Sandy
attended to stoking the small boiler, adapted to either wood or coal
burning, came on deck and surveyed the scene they were leaving behind
them.
Astern was St. Michael, lying on the island which bears its name and
which is separated from the mainland by a shallow strip of water known
as St. Michael's Slough. The town was uninteresting and he was not
sorry to leave it, a feeling that his two chums fully shared.
The white houses, the spire of the old Russian Church and the
odd-looking fort, half ruinous, which stood near the Alaska Trading
Company's hotel, were the most conspicuous features of the dull, drab
town. There was hardly a tree on the island, and fuel was in the main
supplied by the timber which in flood time drifted down the Yukon from
the interior in great quantities and was washed up on the beach or
secured in boats.
"Good-by, St. Michael, and ho, for the Yukon!" thought Tom, as turning
his face in the other direction, he gazed forward.
The _Yukon Rover_ was ploughing along at about eight knots an hour.
Black smoke pouring from her stack showed that Sandy was keeping up
his furnace faithfully. Forward of the bow-like structure which
contained sleeping and eating accommodations, was a miniature pilot
house. In this was Mr. Dacre at the wheel, while beside him Mr.
Chillingworth was poring over charts of the treacherous sandy delta
that marks the junction of the Yukon and the sea. The course was
southwest, along a flat, dreary-looking coast that afforded nothing
much worthy of notice.
Since their memorable adventures at Kadiak, life had moved dully for
the excitement-loving Bungalow Boys. Tom found himself hoping that now
that their voyage for the Yukon had fairly begun, they would find some
lively times. How near at hand these were and how lively they were to
be, he did not dream as the _Yukon Rover_, rolling slightly in the
swell, made her way toward the "Golden River."
Jack joined his brother on deck.
"Everything running smoothly?" asked Tom.
"Smooth as silk," declared Jack. "Say, isn't it fine to be under way
again after sticking around St. Michael like bumps on a log?"
"I should say so. I have a notion that we are going to have some fun,
too, before we get through."
"Same here. Well, I'm ready for whatever happens, short of another
tidal bore. One was quite enough for me."
That afternoon they came in sight of the northern mouth of the Yukon,
by which they were to enter the stream. It required skillful steering
to guide the _Yukon Rover_ through the maze of sand bars and shoals
that encompassed her, and they had not gone far between the low,
marshy shores when Mr. Dacre gave a hail from the pilot house through
the speaking tube that connected the steering compartment with the
engine-room.
"Leave your engines a while to Sandy's care," he ordered Jack, who
answered the hail, "and come on deck."
Tom and Jack lost no time in obeying the summons, and found that they
were required to manipulate the big poles, with which it was necessary
to help guide the small steamer against the stiff current. It was hard
work, even with the aid of Mr. Chillingworth, to keep the _Yukon
Rover_ on her course, but from time to time the stream widened out and
became deeper and they got a short respite.
Toward dusk they passed a native canoe or bidarka, a narrow-beamed,
cranky craft of walrus skins stretched over frames. In it sat two
high-cheek-boned natives with slanting eyes, bearing remarkable
resemblances to the inhabitants of Japan. The small, cranky craft shot
swiftly past and was followed, round a bend in the river, by three
more. The natives appeared not to pay much attention to the steamer,
although the boys shouted and hulloed in salute as they passed.
A short time after passing the natives, Jack announced that the
engine, a new one, was heating up badly and that it would be necessary
to stop and make a thorough inspection of the machinery. Accordingly,
the _Yukon Rover_ was tied to the bank and preparations made for a
somewhat lengthy stop.
Flocks of wild geese and other birds could be seen settling down above
the flat country surrounding them, and the boys begged permission to
go out with their guns. That is, Tom and Sandy did. Jack was too busy
on his engines to spare the time. The notion of a hunting trip to kill
time till supper was voted a good one, and Mr. Dacre and Mr.
Chillingworth decided to accompany the boys.
Full of high spirits, the party struck off across the tundra, leaving
Jack hard at work on the machinery. They had been gone perhaps an hour
when the boy was surprised to hear a step in the engine-room. He
looked up quickly, thinking that possibly it was his friends
returning, but instead, facing him, he saw the yellow face and
skin-clad figure of one of the natives who had passed them in the
canoes. Jack possessed a mind that worked quickly. A notion shot into
his head that the fellow was there on mischief bent, and certainly
the startled way in which he regarded the boy supported that
suspicion.
It was plain that the native had not expected to find anyone on board
the _Yukon Rover_, and that he and his companions, some of whom now
swarmed into the engine-room, had imagined, from the fact that they
had seen the hunting party, that the craft was deserted by all hands.
This being the case, they had returned to see what they could find in
the way of small plunder. Jack recalled having heard at St. Michaels
that the natives of the Yukon are notorious small thieves and he at
once decided that knavery was the purpose of their visit.
He stood up, monkey-wrench in hand, and facing the first arrival, who
seemed to be the leader, he demanded of him what he wanted. The man
appeared not to understand him. It was at this instant that Jack
noticed that under the arms of the other natives were cans of
provisions and other small articles plainly pilfered from the
store-room of the steamer.
The boy was in a quandary for a moment. There were six of the natives
and he was alone on the boat. Doubtless, too, the hunting party was
out of ear-shot. It was an anxious moment for the boy as he stood
there facing the pilfering natives and undecided how to act.
But the next moment there came to him that indignation which everyone
feels when marauders intrude upon his possessions.
"Hey, you! What do you mean by stealing those things?" demanded Jack,
indicating the cans and other articles which the natives had tucked
under their arms.
The chief broke silence with what was meant for a friendly grin.
"Me good mans! All good mans!" he said.
"Humph! Well, that being the case, it's funny you should come aboard
here when you thought no one was about and steal our food."
"You give us. We good mens," said the chief, with unruffled
amiability.
"We might have been willing to do that if you hadn't helped
yourselves," said Jack indignantly, "but under the circumstances
you'll have to put those things back and get off this boat."
Unquestionably the chief did not understand all of this speech, but
part of it was within his comprehension for he said:
"No, no; you give us."
"Not on your life," declared Jack, coming forward wrench in hand.
Now, whether the chief interpreted this move into a hostile signal or
not cannot be decided, but it is certain that he uttered some quick,
guttural words to his followers and instantly all sorts of weapons
appeared as if by magic--rifles, harpoons and nogocks, or
whale-killing weapons. Things began to look grave. But Jack held his
ground.
He looked the chief right between the eyes and then spoke slowly,
giving every word due emphasis.
"You give back all you take. We, Uncle Sam's men. Understand?"
This remark appeared to give the chief ground for reflection, for he
hesitated an instant before replying. But when he did, it was in an
irritated voice.
"You no give 'um,--we take."
So saying, the natives backed slowly out of the engine-room, which was
flush with the deck. Jack, completely taken aback, hesitated for a
moment, which gave the men time to clamber over the low sides of the
_Yukon Rover_ and into their bidarkas. As Jack emerged on deck, they
started paddling swiftly off.
Jack bounded into his cabin and came back with a rifle. He had no
intention of shooting the men, but he wanted to give them a good
scare. He had hardly raised the weapon to his shoulder before he saw
the chief rise up in his wabbly skin boat and whirl his nogock. From
the weapon there flew, much as a stone is projected from a sling, a
sharp-barbed dart of steel.
The boy by some instinct dodged swiftly, and the barbed dart whistled
by his ear and sank into the woodwork of the deck-house.
In his indignation, he discharged the rifle. The bullet must have gone
uncomfortably close to the natives, although he did not aim it at
them, for they fell to their paddles with feverish energy and vanished
around a bend in the stream, working furiously to get out of range.
"Well," remarked Jack to himself, "our adventures are surely beginning
without losing any time over it."