Jordan nodded. "What have you got?"

"Three holluschackie," said the sealer. "I guess we'll get the boat

cleaned up and the hides off them."

Jordan said nothing but paced up and down again, and while a few dark

objects moved about the boat the men floundered back into the partial

shelter of the house. They did not express their fears in speech, but

all of them knew the chances were against Montreal and his crew finding

the schooner. If he failed the prospect of his boat living through the

gale that was evidently rising appeared very small. To leeward lay St.

Paul and St. George, but the sea foams and seethes about them, and any

sealer who might make a landing in the dark, which very few men could

do, would in all probability find himself a prisoner. Still the men of

the _Champlain_ faced such risks almost daily in the misty seas, and

when the boat was stripped they and the Indians quietly set about

flaying the seals. The fog whirled past them, their knives twinkled in

the flickering lantern light, and now and then a brighter beam fell on

their impassive brown faces and blubber-smeared hands. Then it would

swing away as the schooner rolled, and the lads who stood about with

swab and bucket could only see them dimly until it blinked into

brilliancy again. The rigging screamed, the bell jangled on, and now

and then through the confused sounds rose the thud of the gun.

How long they worked Appleby did not know, but he forgot the smell of

the blubber and the horrible sliminess of the swab as he pictured the

worn-out men grimly swinging the oars in the fog. Each time the

schooner swung her bows aloft the black shape of a man crouching forward

in the spray became visible, and now and then Jordan tramped along the

deck to speak to him. The lads could guess what his question was, but

there was no answer to either bell or gun, until at last the skipper

stood still suddenly, and every man who saw him turned and stared across

the rail. For a minute nobody moved or spoke, and there was nothing to

hear but the wail of the wind in the rigging.

Then Jordan swung himself into the shrouds, and the men went forward

with a rush. Clinging to the rail Appleby looked down, and as the

flicker of the light fell upon the sea something went by, and he had a

glimpse of part of a dripping boat with two men whose faces showed white

and set straining at the oars. One of the others had apparently fallen

forward, and a fourth was standing erect astern. The attitude of all of

them expressed exhaustion. Then as the boat swung round a trifle a sea

that rolled up caught her on the bow and the men at the oars made a last

effort as she swept astern. Next moment she had passed out of the

light, and there was only foam beneath him.

"We've lost them. They'll never pull her up," he gasped.

Jordan sprang down from the shrouds, and his voice rang out, "Down

trysail. Sheet your staysail to weather and run it up."

He said nothing to Stickine, who now held the wheel, but Appleby saw him

bending over it, and there was a banging and thrashing of canvas as the

staysail went up and the trysail came down. Then the schooner slowly

swung round, until a shout rose again, "Let draw, and sing out forward

if we're running over them!"

The _Champlain_ had her stern to the wind now, and was running before it

after the boat which had blown away to lee, while the men stood silent

here and there along her rail, until one of them forward shouted, and as

Stickine swung with the wheel something half-seen went by. It was lost

in a moment as the schooner drove ahead, and Appleby recognized the

horror he felt in Niven's voice.

"He can't be going to leave them!" he said.

Donegal, who was standing close by, dropped a heavy hand on his shoulder

and held it in a painful grip. "Is it a head or a shroud deadeye ye

have that ye do not know Ned Jordan yet?" he said. "Away with ye to the

trysail halliards. They'll be wanted presently."

For about a minute the _Champlain_ lurched on before the seas, and then

from where Jordan stood in the shrouds a great blue blaze flared out and

Stickine pulled round the wheel. Men whose faces showed intent in the

streaming radiance floundered towards the mast, and as the _Champlain_

came round the trysail went up. In another moment or two Appleby and

Niven were hauling at its sheet among the rest, and presently the

schooner lay rolling almost head to the sea. Then there was a brief

space of breathless waiting while every man stared over the rail, and

Appleby knew that the schooner would lie there scarcely moving through

the water until the boat came up with her. He could feel his heart

beating as he strained his ears and eyes.

"Here they come!" shouted somebody, and while the blue radiance streamed

out across the waters the boat swung into sight.

It was evident that the worn-out men knew they could take no chance of

driving down to lee this time, and the lads held their breath as they

saw the boat whirl towards them on the top of a sea. One could almost

have fancied she would be flung on board over the rail.

"Down helm!" said Jordan. "Luff, if you can. Handy with the tackles

there. Make sure of them."

The schooner swung round a trifle, the boat slewed, there was a crash,

and she was lost in the shadow below the rail, while black darkness

followed as the light went out. Hoarse shouts came out of it, men

scurried here and there, and fell from the rail, then there was a rattle

of blocks, and Appleby found himself floundering along the deck with

panting men behind him and a rope in his hand. The boat they hove up

was dropped into her nest, a seal or two flung out, and Jordan, who came

forward with a lantern, shook his head as he glanced at her.

"Coming alongside that way is kind of expensive, but I guess you hadn't

much choice just then," he said.

"No," said a man who stood, gasping still, with half-closed eyes in the

lantern light. "We just had to fetch you the best way we could, and

we'd have missed you sure while we tried to round her up to lee. She

was 'bout half-swamped and all of us used up considerable."

In another few minutes the lads and most of the others went back into

the hold and sat watching the last comers, who wasted no time in talking

as they attacked the meal Brulee set before them. One of them, however,

sat somewhat limply, and his face, which was tinged with grey, seemed

drawn together. He ate nothing and only drank a little tea. Then as

the others stretched out their long limbs towards the stove Donegal

looked at Montreal.

"And what was it kept ye so long?" he said.

Montreal laughed softly, though the stamp of exhaustion was on his face.

"Just the wind!" he said. "We was well away to leeward, and when we'd

pulled 'bout a mile Tom there got a kind of kink inside him and had to

let up. Then Siwash Bob sprung his oar, and we lost all we'd made the

last hour while Tom got his wind again and I was fixing it. After that

the boat began to take it in heavy and we had to stop to bale. There

wasn't much left in us, and Tom was groaning awful when we heard the

gun."

Niven stared at the speaker with a little wonder, and Appleby smiled,

for the story was a singularly unimpressive narration of what they knew

had been a grim struggle for life. Then Niven saw that Donegal was

watching him, and became sensible of a faint embarrassment, for the

sealer had an unpleasant habit of guessing what he was thinking.

"You and me could have told it better, Mainsail Haul," said he.

Niven flushed a trifle. He knew he could have made the story a good

deal more effective, for there had been times when he had held the

dormitory silent and expectant as he narrated some small feat of his at

Sandycombe, but he had an unpleasant suspicion that this gift was apt to

win its possessor derision rather than respect at sea, where the men who

did things that would have formed a theme for an epic poem seemed

reluctant to talk about them. Montreal, the sealer who under Providence

owed his life to his splendid strength and valour, said nothing about

the effort and almost superhuman strain, but only mentioned that they

had sprung an oar and his comrade suffered from what he termed a kink

inside him.

"Well," said Niven awkwardly, "it's a good while now since I told you

anything at all."

"Sure," said Donegal, grinning. "'Tis since I've had the teaching av

ye. But ye do not seem quite easy, Tom. Sit up while me and Mainsail

Haul pull the clothes off ye."

The man grumbled and protested that there was nothing wrong with him,

but Donegal worked on unheeding and shoved him by main force into his

bunk.

"Now, you lie right there till I get something from Jordan that will fix

you," said Stickine. "If he tries to get up, boys, one of you will sit

on him!"

He came back presently with something in a can, and the man, who gulped

down the contents, grinned.

"I guess it would take a kink with considerable grit in it to face

another dose of that," he said, and turned his face, which was beaded

with the damp of pain, from the light.

The others, however, seemed to know what he was suffering from and went

on with their talk, while presently Appleby asked a question.

"What would have happened if we'd been blown ashore?" he said.

Stickine laughed a little. "Well," he said, "I don't quite know, but

it's kind of likely the Indians would have taken their clubs to us.

Anyway, it would have been a long while before we did any more sealing."

It took Appleby several more questions before he elicited much

information, and what he got was not very plain to him. It, however,

appeared that the seals which bred on the lonely beaches of the misty

seas had been growing scarcer, and that one or two of the commanders of

the gunboats sent to watch them had now and then exceeded their rights.

Three miles to sea is the limit placed to a nation's authority, but it

seemed from stories told in the _Champlain's_ hold, boats had been

chased when farther than that from land. The men were not very explicit,

but Appleby surmised that reprisals were made now and then when a

schooner's crew landed on forbidden beaches.

"Still," he said, "if you lose a day or two's sealing when a gunboat's

about it means a good many dollars."

A little twinkle crept into Montreal's eyes. "It don't always," said

he. "Here you are with the boats all out raking in the holluschackie,

and a gunboat comes along. 'Clear out of this or I'll make you,' says

her skipper. 'All right,' says you. It's so many seals he's doing me

out of now, when he has no right to, and I'm going in to get them where

it's easiest when he steams away."

Niven seemed a trifle astonished. "That's here," he said. "Do they do

things the same way everywhere?"

There was a little grim laughter, and Montreal pointed towards the west.

"No, sir," he said. "When you go where the Russian seals live there's

no use for talking of any kind, because you can't understand each other,

and you use the clubs. There's men I know have seen other things come

in quite handy too. Now old man Harper of the Golden Horn----"

Donegal stopped him. "'Tis talking too much ye are, and, as everybody

knows, Ned Jordan is a quiet man," he said. "'Tis curious tales

Mainsail Haul will be telling the earl about us when he goes home."

"Let up!" said Niven. "I'm a sealer now, and I only want to know if any

one tried to arrest the skipper wrongfully, what would he do?"

Donegal's eyes twinkled. "He would run away like a sensible man, or

hide in the fog," he said.

"But if he couldn't, or there wasn't any fog?"

Donegal shook his head. "'Tis persistent ye are," he said. "Peace is a

thing Ned Jordan's fond of, but if folks will not let him have it his

fist is as big as most."

Nobody said anything further, but there was a curious little smile in

the men's bronzed faces, and while Appleby endeavoured to kick his

comrade in warning that it would not be desirable to ask any more

questions there was a crash above.

"There," said Donegal, grabbing Brulee's shoulder. "'Tis your galley

tore up by the roots."

"No," said Stickine. "I figure it's the water tank got adrift. We want

a lashing on her before she goes right out through the bulwarks, boys."

They were out of the scuttle in another minute, and when he got on deck

Appleby saw a big, black object drive against the mast. Before any one

could seize it it had rolled aside again, and in another few moments

struck the bulwarks with a heavy thud, for the _Champlain_ was still

lying hove to and lurching wildly. How they at last secured it the lads

could not quite make out, for the big tank would have crushed the man

who got between it and anything, but it was done, and as they were

relashing it Jordan came up with a lantern.

"Heave her over, boys. She has started the rivets, and that's going to

make trouble for us," he said.

They hove the tank the other side up, and Appleby saw that the skipper's

face was grave as he lifted the cover off, but there was apparently no

more to be done, and he went below with the other men.

"What did Jordan mean?" he said to one of them. "Of course it would be

awkward to run short of water if we were far from land, but there is

plenty within a few miles of us."

"Oh, yes," said the man dryly. "But it wouldn't be much use telling the

folks ashore you'd only come for water and didn't want no seals. They'd

be quite glad to get their hands on us, whatever brought us there!"

"But we can't do without it," said Niven.

"No," said the sealer. "Still, I wouldn't worry. When Ned Jordan's

short of water it's quite likely he'll get it if there's any handy."

*CHAPTER XIII*

*ON THE BEACH*

It blew hard that night, and seeing there was no hope of sealing next

day Jordan beat the _Champlain_ slowly out to sea. He said nothing to

any one until when noon came he called the men together.

"We want water, and there's plenty yonder," he said, pointing vaguely

across the sea-tops that swung up under the rain. "Still, I don't know

that we mightn't have some trouble getting it."

"When you tell us you're ready for it we'll bring that water off," said

somebody.

Jordan nodded. "There'll be a big surf on the beaches, but you might do

it unless somebody stopped you," he said. "They have a crowd of Aleuts

on St. George, and I figure there's a gunboat hanging round somewhere

handy. Well, now, if we went east to the Aleutians we could get all the

water we wanted with less worry, but it would take us a while getting

there, and every day means dollars."

"We'll take our chances at St. George," said Montreal.

"So long as you're willing!" said the skipper. "You've all got a stake

in this deal, and I don't know that I'd like to help Mrs. Jordan keep

house on nothing if I bring the schooner home without the skins. Still,

if the Aleuts got you it's very few dollars you'd make sealing the next

year or two."

He spoke slowly, and there was nothing to show that he was asking the

men to do a perilous thing. Nor was there anything unusual in their

answer returned by Montreal. "We're not sailing around here for

pleasure. As soon as it's dusk you can run her in."

The rest of the day passed slowly with Appleby and Niven, but it came to

an end at last, and when dusk was closing in the _Champlain_, under

trysail and jib only, crept in towards the land. The sea ran behind her

heaving, white-topped out of the gloom, for though there is no actual

darkness up there at that season the haze that slid by before a nipping

wind was thickened by the rain.

There was nothing now to be seen but the filmy vapours that whirled

about them or heard but the splash of the sea, and Appleby wondered at

the skipper's daring in running in for the land. At last, however, when

the obscurity had grown almost impenetrable the lads heard a deep

rumbling sound that came off to them faintly in long reverberations.

They surmised it was the roar of surf on a rocky shore, but it was to

windward instead of under their lee.

"We were to weather of the island, Stickine," said Appleby.

"Oh, yes," said the Canadian. "But there wouldn't be much left of the

man who tried to land on that side of it, and Jordan's running under the

lee of it now."

"But it's beastly thick, and we've scarcely seen the land since

morning," said Niven.

Stickine laughed. "It's about six hours since I had a glimpse of it

myself, but that don't count for much," he said. "Ned Jordan got a

bearing, and he'd tell you right off what the schooner had made every

tack. Tie him up with a sack round his head, and she'd be just where he

wanted her when he brought her up. I guess we've 'bout got there now."

Almost as he spoke Jordan's voice rose up. "Jib to windward, and get

the boats over soon as she loses way. Don't hang around a minute after

you're through with the water."

"Will we take the rifles?" asked Stickine.

"One," said Jordan dryly. "If you fire quick twice I'll send off

another boat to you, but you've got to remember I don't want to. We've

nothing against the Americans just now, and I'm not going round looking

for trouble with anybody."

They swung two boats over, and Appleby managed to slip on board one

before he was noticed by anybody except Niven, who sprang into the last

one as the men got the oars out.

The skipper's dark figure showed up for a moment as he looked down from

the bulwarks of the rolling schooner.

"You're going for water, boys, and if you bring one holluschack along

you'll take it right back ashore," he said. "That's quite plain?"

There was a murmur which did not suggest altogether willing obedience,

but no one could mistake the little ring in Jordan's voice, and Stickine

signed to the men.

"You heard him, boys? Now, stretch your backs," he said.

They had pulled a few strokes, and the schooner was melting into the

haze astern when one of the men looked round.

"Who've we got there in the bows?" he asked.

Appleby, who had hoped to escape their notice for a while, told him. "I

fancied my place was in this boat," he said.

"Well," said Stickine dryly, "if I'd seen you before you'd have gone

right back with a run. Hello! have you got the other lad, Montreal?"

"Sure!" came back the answer, and Donegal laughed.

"There was no keeping them out," he said. "It would not take a minute

to pitch them over."

"We'll try it next time," said Stickine. "Pull in along our wake,

Montreal. It's not a nice beach to land on."

After that nobody said anything for a while, and only the splash of oars

marked the passage of the boats. Appleby crouched aft on the floorings

where he could see the men sway through the dimness above him, while

another sound grew louder than the hoarse growl of the seas that seethed

about the reefs. It was scarcely like anything he had heard before,

though once it faintly resembled the whistling of scores of engines and

then swelled into a roar. He surmised it was made by the seals.

"The rookery's just thick with the bulls," said somebody.

"Hold on," said Stickine. "I guess you're here to row, and any talking

that's wanted will be done by me."

They lurched on, seeing nothing, into the haze, but Stickine appeared to

know where he was heading for, and by the easier rise and fall Appleby

guessed they were pulling closer in under the sheltered side of the

island.

Still, it was evident by the dull booming sound which grew louder that

the swell lapped round to leeward too, and there would be a difficulty

in making a landing.

Suddenly, however, the men stopped rowing, and the splash and thud

ceased astern, while Stickine sharply turned his head as another sound

that none of them had expected to hear came out of the haze. It was a

dull grind and a rattle that jarred through the roar of the surf, and

then stopped again. Appleby recognized it, and surmised that it meant

peril to all of them.

"A gunboat," said Stickine half-aloud. "They're giving her more chain."

They lay on their oars a minute, staring about them and breathing hard,

but could only see the sliding haze, and no sound that suggested man's

presence in those misty waters reached them now.

"She's to windward. They wouldn't have heard us, boys," said Stickine

quietly.

They went on, the oars splashing softly, while they strained their eyes,

knowing that it was quite possible the gunboat's officers had gone

ashore, and they might blunder upon her cutter. Still, there was no

sound but that the seals made and the swelling roar of surf, until a

wavy strip of whiteness heaved against the mist in front of them. Then

Stickine laughed curiously as he turned his head and stared at the haze.

"I don't know if we'll find a cutter on the beach, but we have got to

get the water, and we are going in," he said.

He gave no instructions, and they were apparently not needed, for the

men knew their work, and while they bent to their oars a sea that

frothed a little swung them high and carried them inshore. When they

sank down on the back of it the one behind grew steeper and the boat

seemed driven forward by an unseen force as she swept up on its crest.

This happened several times, and then a great rattling of pebbles came

out of the spray ahead and the last rush was almost bewildering. Then

there was a crash, and the foam that seethed about her lapped into the

boat, but the men sprang over knee-deep in water, and whipped her out,

while almost before they realized that they had got there the lads found

themselves standing on dry land. The men who had pulled the boats up

were, however, already shouldering little wooden kegs.

"You'll stop right here with the lads," said Stickine, turning to two of

them. "Get the boats down as far as you can if you hear us coming back

in a hurry. Now, boys, we'll get a move on."

In another minute the men had started, and the lads watched them

flounder over the shingle and up a misty slope, until they faded into

the dim background and the patter of their footsteps was lost in the

growling of the seas. Then they sat down beside Donegal in the shelter

of the boat, though the other man stood upright at her bows. There was

a chilly wind, and now and then the uproar the seals made, rolled about

them. It was also very lonely, and Niven shivered as he crawled closer

beneath the boat and wished he was back in the snug hold of the

schooner.

"How will they know where to find the water?" he asked at last.

Charley, the man who stood up, laughed. "That," he said, "is quite

easy. You see, Stickine has been here before."

"But you don't always damage your water tank, and Jordan wouldn't let

them kill the seals," said Appleby.

Donegal nodded. "'Tis as inquisitive as Mainsail Haul ye are," he said.

"Now, Ned Jordan never took a dollar that didn't belong to him from any

one, and he's carrying no score against the Americans just now."

"Still, you or Montreal told me they'd tried to stop him sealing," said

Niven.

"Oh, yes," said Charley. "That's just what they did, but you've heard

Donegal. Ned Jordan don't let his debts run on, and he don't like

anybody else to owe him anything."

"But from his way of looking at it the Americans owed him a good deal,"

persisted Appleby.

Donegal laughed. "They don't now, and when Ned Jordan has got what was

owing him he don't want any more," he said. "'Tis the man that's never

contented who gets into throuble."

This was not very clear, but Appleby fancied he understood, because

there was only one way in which Jordan could have paid himself. Appleby

was, however, by no means sure that what Jordan had done was altogether

warranted, but that was for him to decide, and the lad had already

surmised that a man must relinquish his rights or enforce them by the

means that came handiest in the misty seas. In the meanwhile, the

skipper had been kind to him, and the excitement of the life they led

appealed to him. Turning to Niven he laughed a little.

"I wonder what your father would think if he heard we were taken to

Alaska in handcuffs for seal poaching, Chriss," he said.

"Well," said Niven dryly, "I hope we're not going to be, and I don't

quite think he'd find it so amusing as you seem to fancy. There's not

much use in talking that kind of rot!"

They said no more for a little, and Appleby felt inclined to regret his

speech. It called up unpleasant reflections, for he had more than a

suspicion that the thing he had mentioned might very readily come about.

There were, he had been told, well-armed Aleut Indians on the island,

and not far away a gunboat lay hidden in the haze. If Jordan grew

impatient and fired his gun the prospect of escape seemed very small for

any of them. By and by he turned to Donegal as the din the seals made

vibrated about them.

"Do they make that uproar always, and what do they do it for?" he said.

"They'll go on another month, and this is the way av it," said Donegal.

"The seals are lying as thick as herrings in the rookery, and 'tis more

room every bull is wanting to bring up his family in, while the place

that seems nicest to him is just the one his neighbour is lying in.

Sure, they're just like men, and when ye hear one roaring he's looking

savage at the big fellow that's crowding too near and wondering if he's

able to tear the hide off him."

Niven laughed a little. "I never heard of a man wondering if he could

do that," he said.

"Then," said Donegal dryly, "'tis a curiosity that is not unknown in

Ireland. Is it lambs ye are at the English schools, my son?--Ye do not

see them, Charley?"

"No," said the other man, and while they waited the roar of the sea

seemed to grow louder and the wind colder, and unpleasant misgivings

began to creep upon the lads as they wondered what was happening behind

them in the mist. It seemed quite possible that Stickine had blundered

into the Aleuts' clutches or that a body of the gunboat's bluejackets

had been sent ashore. Charley, however, laughed when Appleby mentioned

it.

"It kind of strikes me we'd have heard them," he said. "There would be

a circus before they corralled Stickine."

At last the sound of footsteps became faintly audible, and a line of men

came out of the haze. They were panting as they floundered down hill

under their burdens, and a few moments later Stickine gasped as he laid

the breaker he carried into the boat.

"It's 'bout time we were out of this, boys. Heave her off," he said.

They went down the beach at a floundering run as a sea seethed in,

splashed knee-deep with the pebbles ringing and rattling under them, and

sprang on board just in time to get the oars out before another

white-topped slope of water came hissing out of the mist.

"Shove her through!" roared Stickine. "Pull the buttons off you, boys!"

The oars bent as the men swung backwards, there was a plunge and a thud,

and seething froth swept about the boat. It splashed into her to their

ankles, and then, while Appleby plied the baler, swept away behind, and

the boat flung her bows high to meet another comber. They went over

this one more dryly, and drawing out from the surf pulled as noiselessly

as possible, straining eyes and ears for any sign of the gunboat. There

was none, however, and at last, tired with the long pull over the steep

heave of sea, they came up with the schooner. It appeared astonishing

to Appleby that they had found her, and while he watched the dark hull

reel on the long slopes of water he wondered how they would ever get the

breakers on board her. The sealers, however, were used to doing even

more difficult things, and it was accomplished while the boats swung in

towards the schooner, and then off into the fog again. As soon as they

were on board Stickine drew the skipper aside.

"There was a gunboat lying 'bout abreast of the head when we were

pulling in," he said.

"Then do you figure she isn't there now?" said Jordan.

"I don't know," said Stickine. "Any way, we couldn't see her, and it

wasn't quite thick all the time."

Jordan nodded as he said, "We'll have the mainsail on her and the boom

foresail, boys."

In five minutes the trysail was below, and though it was blowing

tolerably fresh the _Champlain_ was thrashing out to windward under all

her lower sail. Two men stood forward in the whirling spray, and Jordan

staring to windward through his glasses on the house, but for at least

half-an-hour there was nothing visible but the whirling fog and long

tumbling seas. Then a man swung up his arm, and Appleby gasped as

something blacker than the vapours slid out of the fog. It was not far

away to windward and coming on swiftly, for as he watched it the white

froth about the shadowy hull grew into visibility, and he held his

breath a minute as he made out a funnel and two slanted spars. Black and

dark, with no light about her and ominous in her silence, the gunboat

lay across their course.

There was, however, no sign of either confusion or consternation, and

Jordan's voice was quieter than usual.

"Up helm. Off with the mainboom, boys," he said.

Stickine pulled over the wheel, the long mainboom swung out amidst a

rattle of blocks, and the _Champlain_ came round, until instead of

sailing close hauled to it she was running before the wind.

"Topsails," said Jordan. "Yard-headers. He hasn't got us yet."

There was no controverting that, but while Appleby knew the pace the

_Champlain_ could make when hard pressed it seemed almost impossible

that she could out-sail a steamer. Still, the skipper's quiet voice was

curiously reassuring, and he remembered that Stickine had told him there

were two ways of winning a race. In the meanwhile the gaff topsails

went up banging, and the foam was flying white when they were sheeted

home. Then the men stood still about the rail, each busy with the

unasked question--Had the commander of the gunboat seen them? The

_Champlain's_ stern was towards him now, and her mainsail alone would be

visible with her masts in line.

They had not, however, long to wait for an answer, for suddenly a blaze

of light drove through the haze and smote the straining canvas. Then it

sank a little, forcing up the men's set faces and lighting all the deck.

For a moment or two the lads could see every one of them sharp and clear

in the dazzling brilliancy, and then there was a bewildering darkness

again, for the light went out. The gunboat had also gone with it, and

they were once more alone in the fog.

"Seen us sure!" said Stickine.

Jordan laughed softly. "Running!" he said. "She'll not come round with

him as we did. Let her come up. Boys, we'll have all sheets in."

In came the mainboom, the foresail and jibs were hauled in too, and the

schooner's lee rail was swept by the frothing brine when she came up

once more close-hauled to the wind. Still, Appleby wondered, for the

gunboat was to windward of them, and Niven, who stood close by him,

turned to one of the men to ask a question.

"We're going back straight towards the American?" he said.

The sailor seemed to chuckle. "We're going where she was, but she'll be

somewhere else just now," he said. "When they've brought her round

they'll steam after us the way they saw us going before the wind, and

we're pinched right up within 'bout three and a half points of it. It

would take a very smart man to get in ahead of Ned Jordan."

Niven laughed excitedly, for, remembering Lawson's lesson on board the

_Aldebaran_ and what he had been taught since, the manoeuvre was now

plain to him. If the gunboat steamed away before the wind it was

evident that as they were heading at a very small angle to it the

vessels would be sailing in almost opposite directions, and there only

remained the unpleasant uncertainty whether the pursuer would find them

with her light again. Still, the _Champlain_ was driving to windward

very fast and the haze was thick.

"What did he switch his light off for?" asked Appleby.

"Well," said the sealer, "I don't figure he did. Seems more likely that

something went wrong with it."

Others were doubtless wondering over the same point, for the men were

still looking astern, and at last a faint silvery beam moved athwart the

fog and then swept back again. Appleby fancied Jordan laughed as he

came down from the house and stood by the wheel.

"That fellow's easily fooled. He's going right away to leeward as fast

as they can shove her along, and the only thing that's worrying me is

the mainmast head," he said. "'Pears to me we wrung it a little in the

race with the _Belle_."

Almost as he spoke the _Champlain_ put her bows in, and the deck was

flooded ankle-deep with icy brine, while the lads could understand the

skipper's misgivings as they glanced up at the big topsail and long gaff

that stretched out the great mainsail's head. It was not difficult to

see that the strain they put upon the mast must be considerable.

Stickine nodded from the wheel. "We've got to carry on and take our

chances now," he said.

"Oh, yes," said Jordan. "Anyway, for another hour or so."

The time, however, had not passed when as the _Champlain_ swung her bows

out of a sea there was a sharp crack overhead, and almost simultaneously

Jordan's voice followed it.

"Drop your gaff topsail and get the mainsail off her quick," he said.

Nobody lost any time, and there were many willing hands. In a few

minutes the long boom was lying on the quarter and the _Champlain_

jogging slowly to windward with the trysail only on her mainmast.

Jordan did not appear by any means disturbed.

"I don't figure that fellow will find us again to-night, and we'll see

what's wrong up there when daylight comes," he said. "You'll find me

below, Stickine, if you're wanting me."

Then, except those who were needed for the watch, the men crawled below,

and the _Champlain_ rolled on into a thicker wisp of fog.

*CHAPTER XIV*

*GOOD WORK*

Next morning Montreal, who had been a carpenter, went aloft, and

remained a while sitting on a little board the others hoisted up the

mast. When he came down he followed Jordan and Stickine into the cabin,

and all hands were curious when one of the Indians was sent for, too.

Still, nothing transpired beyond that Brulee, who made an excuse for

visiting the cabin, informed the rest that they were doing a deal of

talking, until when breakfast was brought in Stickine and Montreal

joined their comrades. Donegal quietly placed the can of coffee between

his feet and signed to Niven to remove the eatables.

"Ye will have something to tell us, and breakfast will come on just as

soon as ye have done it," he said.

Stickine laughed. "I don't talk when I'm hungry, and I want that can,"

he said. "When I've got a holt of it Montreal will start in."

"Well," said the carpenter, "my lot's just this. She's wrung her

masthead, and I could splice a new one in with the lump of redwood

forward and the irons Jordan found me, but it's a contract one could

only put through in smooth water."

"What does he mean by wrung?" asked Niven.

"'Tis a complete 'cyclopedia with pictorial illusthrations ye will be

when ye go home," said Donegal. "Just wrung, same as ye would twist a

towel, by the strain on the halliard bolts! Ye will feed him on

mustard, Brulee, if he talks again. Well now, Stickine?"

"We're making for a snug berth under one of the Aleutians," said

Stickine. "Montreal figures he'll want three days there, but the Indian

has a kind of notion we might find a sea otter."

"We wouldn't be very much better off if we did," said Niven. "Will

anybody give me twenty-five cents for my share in one sea otter?"

Charley fumbled in his pockets, and apparently finding nothing there

gravely laid a beautifully-made knife upon his knees. "If you'll take

that for it we'll make the deal," he said.

Niven looked at the speaker in astonishment, and was about to take the

knife when Donegal laid his hand upon it.

"'Twould serve ye right if I let ye. Is it shaming me with the

ignorance av ye will be doing always?" he said. "What's a sea otter?

Sure, 'tis the same thing as pearls and rubies, and what Mandarins and

Emperors wear. Sorrow on the beast that would get himself exthinct."

Niven chuckled. "That's his usual rot, and I'll take the knife," he

said. "What's the use of hunting any beast when it's extinct?"

"Give it him," said Donegal. "Thim as can't take telling ye must teach

wid a stick."

Charley's eyes twinkled as he held out the knife, but Appleby broke in,

"I fancy you had better wait a little," he said. "There are sea otters,

Stickine?"

Stickine laughed a little. "They're getting scarce, and it takes a rich

man to buy one now. If I had a few of them and silver foxes I would not

go to sea. No, sir, I'd sit still ashore telling yarns in luxury.

You're still open to make the deal?"

Niven saw that the eyes of all of them were upon him. "Of course!" he

said. "I've made the offer, and I've been an ass again. Give me the

knife, Charley."

Then somewhat to his astonishment the sealer slipped the knife back into

its sheath, and Donegal thumped him on the back. "'Tis the makings av a

man ye have in ye," he said. "A little sense is all ye need, but 'tis

very hard to teach it ye."

Niven was not sorry that one of the others asked a question about the

mast, and he was allowed to finish his breakfast in silence. Before it

was over he heard a rattle of blocks, and when he went up on deck the

_Champlain_ was heading towards the east. Some time had passed,

however, before she reached an anchorage under a rocky island hemmed in

by smoking reefs. It was not an inspiriting place, and when they crept

slowly in under shortened sail with the long swell heaving after them

and the Indian standing impassive as a bronze statue at the wheel, the

lads felt its desolation. There was no sign of life on the low shore

that showed up dimly through the mist and rain. The grey rocks ran

water, and the whiteness of the surf that seethed upon the beaches of

rattling pebbles was the only brightness in all the sombre colouring.

Here and there to seaward a stony barrier hove its black fangs out of

the spouting foam and the growl of the sea rose from every side.

Still, they had little time to contemplate the dreary picture, for the

cable had scarcely rattled out when the work commenced. The swell

worked into the anchorage, and the schooner rolled with it lazily, but

one of the big masts that swayed above her must be lifted out, and that

was an operation usually accomplished in smooth water by the help of two

great poles raised on end and lashed so that with the mast they formed a

tripod. Jordan, however, had only his mainboom, and a few other very

small spars to make them with, and while the others helped him Montreal

spent the rest of the day lashing them together and wedging the

fastenings before he fancied he could trust them to lift the heavy mast.

It rained all the time.

Even then he appeared to have misgivings, and the light was growing dim

before they had jammed one end of them fast and hove the other up with

the end of the mainboom lashed to it. Then he and Jordan talked for

some time together, and the men went below to rest and wait for morning.

They were all of them tired, for the rolling of the vessel had rendered

the task of getting the big spars on end and fastening them a very

arduous one, and the two lads, who had done what they could among the

rest, were aching in every limb. When they had stripped off their wet

clothes they were glad to crawl into their bunks and lie there almost

too tired and drowsy to ask any questions of the men who sat smoking

below. Still, it took a good deal to overcome Niven's curiosity, and

presently he reached out and tapped Montreal on the shoulder.

"Once or twice I fancied the whole affair was coming down on us," he

said. "Can you lift the mast with it to-morrow?"

Montreal grinned. "Well," he said dryly, "I don't quite know, but I

guess I can. Isn't that the kind of thing you could leave to me and

Jordan?"

"Oh, yes, but I am a little curious. You see, I might be under it,"

said Niven. "What's going to happen if you make a mess of it?"

"A funeral if you don't get out from under handy," said the sealer.

"What's more important to the rest of us, it might tear out half the

decks. When she gets loose and swinging you can't fool with that size

of mast."

"Then why can't you let it stay where it is?" asked Niven. "It would

set the trysail, and that's about all the sail we seem to carry on the

mainmast."

"And how fast will she go under trysail?" asked Charley.

"That depends upon how much wind there is," said Niven.

Donegal looked at him a moment and solemnly shook his head. "'Tis no

credit ye are to me, and I've tried to do my duty by ye," he said. "The

question is how fast ye would want to go when there were two cutters

stuffed wid men and cutlasses pulling after ye. Then 'twould be sailing

nice and quiet under trysail would content ye?"

"We haven't seen any of those cutters yet," said Niven.

Donegal laughed softly, and a little grim smile crept into the faces of

the rest. "There's a good many things ye have not seen, but ye may have

the opportunity of observing one or two av them yet, and I don't know

that it would please ye then," he said.

Niven was about to answer when Stickine, who crawled into his bunk,

flung a wet fur cap at him. "It's about time you were sleeping, sonny,

and you'll want all the breath you've got to-morrow," he said.

When morning came Niven found this was correct enough, for as soon as it

was light the work commenced, and when Brulee called them for breakfast

the mainmast was ready for lifting, while the men were unusually quiet

as they went back on deck. The mast looked very big and heavy, and the

_Champlain_ was rolling more than she had done as yet. It was also

raining hard, and a cold wind blew the drizzle into their eyes, while

the tackles were stiff and swollen, but when Jordan raised his hand they

bent their backs, and for five minutes the mast rose inch by inch. Then

it stuck, and Appleby fancied he could feel the deck quiver beneath him

under the strain as one of the beams it was fastened to took part of the

weight.

The men, finding they could not move it, stood still a moment, their

faces showing set and drawn with the fierceness of their effort, some

with hands clenched above their heads upon the rigid ropes and one or

two with bent backs, while their eyes were fixed on Jordan who stood

impassive and motionless on the house.

"Hold on to it," he said quietly. "Montreal, see what's jamming her."

Montreal was, however, below already, and presently his voice rose

muffled from the hatch. "Heave," he said, and then more hoarsely,

"Heave!"

Appleby was gasping, while the veins swelled on his forehead as he

clutched a rope, and he wondered whether the men who had borne that

intense strain could make another effort, for already the faces of some

were purple.

"Now. Up she comes!" said somebody.

Then the sinewy bodies rose and sank again, the blocks rattled, and the

mast rose slowly, stopped a moment, and rose again.

"You've got to do it this time, boys," said Jordan very quietly.

Their foreheads were drawn together, their breath was spent in an

intensity of effort, but they succeeded, and there was a half-articulate

yell when the foot of the mast rose out of the hole. Then a man sprang

wildly across the deck, and in another moment mast and shears were

tottering as the former swung towards the rail when the schooner rolled.

"Check her. Give him a hand, Charley," said Jordan, and Appleby

wondered that his voice was even. Then there was a bang as something

yielded under the strain, and the mast swayed out-board while the frayed

ends of a rope whistled past the lad who for several seconds held the

little breath that was left in him. The great spar swung up and down

above the vessel, and the shears it hung from were rocking with it,

while it was not difficult to see that unless something were done at

once they would come down together, smashing the men beneath. Still, it

also appeared that Jordan had provided for similar accidents and not

trusted to any single rope.

"Catch her with the preventer, Charley, when she comes in," he said.

Charley nodded, for he was bent double hauling at a rope, and for a

horrible moment or two, while everything that held it groaned, the mast

swayed above their heads. Appleby could feel his heart thumping and a

curious coldness under his belt as he watched it. Then the strain

slackened a moment when the _Champlain's_ foremast swung upright, and

Jordan's voice broke harshly through the silence--"Down with her!"

Blocks rattled, men panted, the end of the mast hung lower over them,

there was a great clatter and a thud, and Appleby stood up gasping and

drenched with perspiration. The mast was down on the deck, the men

apparently blinking at it, and there was a horrible tingling in one of

his hands. Still, it was a little while before he glanced at it and saw

that the rope had chafed the skin away and left his fingers raw and

bleeding. That, however, scarcely troubled him just then, for he felt

the keen and wholesome joy which comes to those who by the strenuous

toil of their bodies have done an arduous and perilous thing.

Rude as it might have seemed to those who knew no better it was a man's

work he had done, and the pride of accomplishment stirred him. It was a

significant victory they had won, not by brute strength alone, for that

would have been useless unless guided by the nerve and intelligence

which gives man dominion over all the beasts as well as inanimate

matter. The sealers also seemed to feel it, for there was something in

their eyes which had not been there a few minutes earlier, and Jordan

laughed softly as he turned to them.

"You fixed it quite handy, boys, though she was very near getting away

from you," he said.

They laid the mast where Montreal wanted it, and that finished their

task, but in the afternoon two boats went out to look for a sea otter.

It was, however, blowing fresh, and when they met the long seas outside

the reefs they were driven back again, and the water was ankle-deep in

them when they returned to the _Champlain_. Jordan laughed when he

looked down at the dripping men from the rail of the rolling schooner.

"I figured you'd find it too much for you," he said. "We'll try again

to-morrow, and you can lazy round any way that pleases you till then."

Nobody seemed to want to go ashore, and even the lads did not find the

appearance of the foam-fringed beaches and desolate grey rocks that

showed through the haze and rain inviting. So while the chunk, chunk of

Montreal's axe rose muffled through the doleful wail of wind they sat

snug about the stove listening to stories of the sea and bush. Some of

them were astonishing, for the sealer sees more than the merchant seaman

does, and at one time or other most of the crew of the _Champlain_ had

marched with survey expeditions through, or wandered alone prospecting

far up in, the great shadowy forests of British Columbia. Now and then

the lads' eyes grew wide with wonder, but the faces of the men showed

gravely intent through the drifting tobacco smoke, and it was evident

they believed the tales they listened to. They were simple men, but

they had seen many things beyond the knowledge of those who dwell in the

cities, and even Niven sat silent, lost in the glamour of the real

romance as he wandered with them in fancy over misty seas and amidst the

awful desolation of ice-ribbed ranges.

At last when one of them lighted the lamp Montreal came down, and

flinging off his dripping jacket stretched himself wearily.

"Can't see any more, but I'll have the contract through before I let up

next time," he said. "If you want that sea otter, boys, you've got to

get him to-morrow."

It may have been because of what he had helped to do that morning, but

Appleby, glancing at the wet face of the tired man, realized there was a

greatness in all craftsmanship which had never occurred to him before.

There was, of course, very much that Montreal did not know, but if one

gave him the top of a redwood tree it would under his sinewy hands

become a spar that would transmit the stress and strain of the

_Champlain's_ canvas into useful effort that would drive her safely

through screaming gale and over icy seas. He could also build a boat or

bridge, and Appleby had realized already that among all the things man

has ever made nothing more nearly approaches the simplicity of

perfection than the former, a frail shell evolved very slowly before the

knowledge of them came in wonderful compliance with the great laws that

uphold the universe. It was, of course, but dimly the lad grasped this,

but he understood in part that now, as it was when the world was young,

it was after all the toil of the craftsmen that human progress was built

upon. The world, it seemed, could dispense with the artist and orator

and a good many more, but it could not well get on without the smith and

carpenter.

Still, reflections of this kind did not usually occupy Appleby very

long, and he might have brushed them aside but that he presently heard

something which gave him an insight into the responsibility that is

attached to all skilled labour.

"'Tis you that's the fine carpenter, Montreal," said Donegal. "But I've

been wondering what was after bringing a man who could earn his three

dollars every day ashore to sea."

Montreal sat down steaming by the stove, and laughed as he took out his

pipe. Then he seemed to remember something and his face grew grave

again.

"That's quite simple," he said. "I was working on a big railroad

trestle back there in the ranges when one morning the contractor's

foreman comes along. The bridge wasn't quite ready for the metals, and

I was sitting on the girder with the river a hundred feet under me,

anyway. They'd lost a man or two on that trestle already, and I was

getting my five dollars a day.

"'You can drop those stringer ends into the notches without the tenon,

and you'll do 'bout twice as many in the time,' says he.

"'I'm not doing them that way. It's not a good joint under a big load,'

says I.

"'And what has that got to do with you?' says he.

"It wasn't quite easy explaining, but I knew just a little about what

bridge ties can do, and the river was a hundred feet under the trestle.

"'Well, so long as I'm notching these things in I'll do them so they'll

stand,' says I.

"The foreman he didn't say any more, but I knew what he would do, and

when we were through with the trestle he comes to me. 'Here's your pay

ticket and you can light out of this right now,' says he.

"I went, and trade was bad everywhere in the province that year. Nobody

was taking on carpenters, and when I'd 'bout half-a-dollar left I went

up on a steamboat that wanted patching up to Alaska. It was there I

fell in with the sealers."

Montreal slowly lighted his pipe and looked at the stove, while Donegal

smiled. "Ye do not tell a story well, and 'tis after leaving the point

av it out ye are," he said. "There would be no big freight locomotive

going through that trestle into the river, which is a disthressful

accident that is not quite uncommon in the country ye and Stickine come

from. But bad thrade mends again, and ye have not told us what is

keeping ye at sea."

Montreal sighed a little and did not turn his head. "My brother was

raised a sealer, and he's up here or in Siberia still," he said. "I

don't know that he's living, but I seem to feel it in me that if I can

wait long enough I shall find him."

Donegal slowly closed one big hand, and Appleby saw the glint which

showed in his eyes creep into those of the other men.

"Dead or living he's not alone," he said with a hoarseness that

expressed more than sympathy. "May them that watch above send him back

to ye!"

Then he turned to the others and his laugh had a little ominous ring as

he pointed towards the west. "He's finding the time long, but wan day

you and me or better men than us will call on them folks down there with

clubs and rifles, and ask them what they've done with the men who sailed

with us."

Nobody spoke, but Niven, glancing round at the stern brown faces, felt

that whether they were right or wrong he would not care to be the man of

whom the sealers asked that grim question.

*CHAPTER XV*

*IN PERIL*

Early next morning the lads took their places in Stickine's boat, and

the chunk of Montreal's axe followed them as they pulled towards the

opening in the reef. He had not spoken to any one since he finished his

story the previous night, and when they last saw him he was chipping

grimly at the mast. The lads, however, forgot him as they watched the

long, grey seas crumble on the reef, and once they reeled out and met

the swell the rowing occupied all their attention, for it was needful to

watch every stroke and check the boat now and then when the top of the

heave frothed a little.

There was no wind, but the sea still rolled rumbling on the reefs, and

the grey shadow which apparently never lifted there lay heavily upon the

waters. Appleby did not remember how long they had rowed, but the

schooner had faded into the haze, when the Indian pointed to a blurred

line of rocks that showed here and there amidst a white upheaval. The

lads fancied there was land behind them, but the smoky vapours were

rolled in thicker belts in that direction, and they could see nothing

but dim seas and foam as they pulled slowly under the lee of the reef.

Now and then they crept close in with a rock, where long streamers of

weed swayed about them as the sea that poured in frothy cataracts down

the stone rolled in and out. It did not, however, only float off from

the rock, but swung up with the heave from what appeared to be deep

water, and Appleby had never seen any seaweed that would compare with

this. The stems of it were apparently as thick as a man's arm, and the

leaves a good deal longer than the boat. It gave him a curious,

unpleasant sensation while he watched it writhe and twist as if alive,

as far as he could see down into the icy brine.

"Is it growing loose on the top?" he asked.

"No," said Stickine. "It comes right up from the bottom forty or fifty

feet, and if there's a sea otter anywhere around you're likely to find

him crawling in and out among it. Seen anything yet, Charley?"

A man in a boat astern of them shook his head. "I guess the Aleuts have

them all corralled now, though there's no sign of any Indians here," he

said. "Anyway, if there is one left this is the kind of place we should

find him in."

Besting now and then upon their oars while the boat swung up and clown

on the heave that lapped frothing about the reef, they pulled on, until

at last the Indian in the bows raised his hand, and for five long

minutes after that crouched motionless. No man moved or asked a

question, and there was nothing visible but swaying weed and foam, or to

be heard but the growling of the sea. Then the Indian signed again, and

with oars dipping softly they crept nearer in, the man with the brown

face crouching still and impassive with his hands clenched on the rifle

barrel, though Appleby, glancing over his shoulder, could see nothing on

the face of the froth-swept stone. He, however, knew that no one born

in the cities could hope to equal the Indian's powers of vision, for it

is the artificial life of an incomplete civilization that dulls the

white man's physical faculties, and there were few things in which

Donovitch, who lived in close touch with nature, was not a match for the

beasts.

Suddenly the rifle went up, moved as the boat swung, and grew still

again, while the crouching object in the bows stiffened rigidly. Nobody

was rowing now, and the lads, glancing over their shoulders, could see

the side of the Indian's face pressed down on the butt, and it and the

brown fingers on the barrel were still and lifeless as copper. Then

there was a flash, the muzzle jerked upwards, and the smoke was in their

eyes, but so intent were they that the report scarcely reached them, and

what they heard most plainly was a soft splash in the sea. As Appleby

looked down something that left a train of bubbles behind it seemed to

flash beneath the boat, and passed beyond his vision into the waving

weed.

"Did you get him?" a voice rose from the other boat.

"No. Pull in between him and the second rock," said Stickine, and there

was a splash of oars as Charley's boat slid away.

Then the Indian stood upright in the bows staring at the sea, and for a

time the boats swung with the lift of swell, while the water trickled

from the oars. Every eye was fixed on the long heave, but no more

bubbles rose up, and there was nothing to be seen save when a great

streamer of weed whirled and swayed beneath them as though it were an

animate thing. How long this lasted the lads did not know, but the

intent bronzed faces, smears of froth, grey sea, and drifting haze had

all grown hazy before their straining eyes, when a rifle flashed in

Charley's boat, and there was a shout, "Heading your way, played out!"

"Pull," said Stickine. "In towards the rock a stroke or two."

The boat slid forward and stopped. Once more the Indian's rifle

flashed, and a hazy shape showed for a moment beneath them in the water.

Then there was a shout from Charley, "Stop right where you are. One of

us will get out on the rock."

His boat slid in towards the froth-swept stone, and when she swung up

with the swell two men sprang out of her and floundered along a perilous

ledge over the slimy weed. Then the boats pulled out, and for what

seemed a very long time moved one way and another, while every now and

then a rifle flashed. The lads, however, could see nothing but the weed

streaming in the water, and surmised by Stickine's face that he saw

little more, for it was the Indians who took command now.

At last a grey patch showed for a moment amidst the froth that swirled

about the rock, and sank from sight as suddenly when a man floundered

towards it swinging up a club. Then as they dipped the oars the Indian

stood up and with a hoarse shout launched himself from the boat.

Appleby saw his tense figure for a second, and then held his breath as

he plunged down, a dim shadow, into the waving weed. He felt a little

shivery, for it seemed scarcely possible that the swimmer could evade

the horrible embrace of those whirling sterns. Then a head rose from

the surface, there was a muffled shout, and when the man went down again

Stickine stood up on a thwart.

"A white man's as good as an Indian, anyway," he said. "We'll head him

in to you on the rock, boys."

The boat rocked as he plunged down with hollowed back and stiffened

arms, and Appleby shivered again. He could swim, but he felt that only

the direst necessity would have sent him down amidst that clinging weed.

Now they pulled in to the rock, and now back again, while between times

the men beat the water with their oars and for a moment or two an arm or

face rose up. Twice the boats drove together, and there was a shouting

while a man thrust down a long-shafted weapon which resembled both a

hook and a spear. Still, the lads could see no sign of the otter, until

at last, when they were quivering with excitement, there was a shout

from the rock, and a man clinging to it swung up his club, and then

dropped it into the water. Next moment both boats had driven against the

stone, and Appleby grabbed Stickine, who clung panting to the stern,

while when somebody had helped him to drag him in, the Indian flung a

limp object into the boat. Its head was flattened in apparently by a

club, and the lads found it somewhat difficult to believe that it would

reward them for their exertions in capturing it. There was, however, no

mistaking the content in the faces of the men, and presently Stickine,

who spoke to the Indian, pulled off his jacket.

"I guess we'll head for the schooner, boys. It's quite likely it would

take us a week to find another otter, if we did it then, and that

water's kind of cold," he said.

They turned back towards the _Champlain_ while Charley's boat went on,

and when Stickine had shaken off the chill by pulling and they had

rested a few moments on their oars, Appleby said to him, "I fancied

these Indians could shoot well, but it took them a long while to hit the

otter."

Stickine laughed. "They didn't want to unless they could get him in the

head. Nobody wants to drill big holes in a skin that's worth a bagful

of dollars," he said.

Niven nodded, and turning round grinned at his comrade. "Of course, if

you hadn't been so thick you'd have seen that, Tom," he said.

"Well," said Appleby dryly. "No doubt this is different, but I once

went shooting with a friend at Sandycombe who gave a farmer's lad

half-a-crown to meet him with a gun, and he would creep up so close to

the first thing he fired at that all he could find afterwards was a few

pieces."

Stickine's eyes twinkled. "Now, I knew a man down in British Columbia

who found a fur seal on a reef, and got out his axe to catch him with,"

he said. "He'd never been sealing, and he wanted to make quite sure of

him. I guess he did it, for when we went into that place for water the

skipper laughed when he asked him to buy the skin.

"'One dollar for a seal?' says the man.

"'Yes,' says the skipper, solemn. 'You've chopped the rest of them

right out of him. Nobody has much use for a pelt that's made of holes

instead of skin.'"

It was noon when they reached the _Champlain_, and they spent the rest

of the day helping Montreal to drive the iron bands Brulee whipped out

of the galley fire on to the patched mast, so that they would shrink and

bind the joint together, and refitting the rigging, while it was dusk

when Charley came back without having seen another otter. Jordan,

however, did not appear surprised at this.

"I've heard of the Indians prowling round for three months and getting

nothing," he said.

The next day was spent in arduous and anxious toil replacing the mast,

but worn out as everybody was, Jordan slipped out to sea when they hove

the last shroud taut in the dusk, and they were busy afterwards reeving

halliards and bending on the mainsail half the night.

"Every hour means dollars, boys," he said.

It was, however, fortunate they finished the work, for on the next

evening the _Champlain_ had need of all her speed. They had crept along

slowly through the drizzle all day, but towards sundown the breeze

suddenly freshened, and a dull red glare flickered for a few minutes on

the horizon. It smote a coppery track across the heaving waters as they

sailed westwards into it, but the smoky vapours came rolling up astern,

and a low island along which the surf beat white showed up blurred and

grey to the south of them. The sea rolled out of the north foam-flecked

here and there, and the _Champlain_ swung with the heave of it, hurling

the spray from her bows as she drove along with a fresh beam wind.

The ominous red glare was, however, fading rapidly, and the lads, who

sought shelter from the cold wind under the lee of the galley, knew that

in half-an-hour or so the dimness that was creeping up from the east and

south would close about them. There is no night in the north at that

season, but for a few hours the light almost dies away, and times, when

the skies are veiled by haze and rain, there is very little day.

It was very cold and clammy, and the lads' faces smarted from the

stinging of the spray, while as the coppery streaks grew dimmer, the

seas turned grey, and the wet rocks to the south of them became dim and

shadowy. The surf was to leeward so they could not hear it, and the

splashing at the bows and shrill moan of wind seemed to intensify the

silence that descended on the sea. Then just before the last paling

rays flickered out in the north, something showed up black and sharp

against it. In another moment the _Champlain_ had slid down a sea and

the thing had gone, but Niven stared at Appleby because the form of it

had been curiously familiar.

Appleby nodded. "Yes," he said. "I believe it was the gunboat, but

wait until she lifts again."

In another minute the _Champlain_ was hove up with the brine frothing

about her, and there was no mistaking the object that moved out into the

dying light from the contracting horizon. A smear of smoke hung about

it, and for a second or two the dim slanted shape was outlined against a

flicker of saffron. Then it and the radiance faded out together, and

the lads stared at the empty waters wondering if they had been a prey to

a disordered fancy. Others had seen it, however, for already a man hung

out from the hoops half-way up the mainmast.

"The American, sure!" he said.

Jordan, who signed to him to go higher, sat down on the house, and his

face was anxious as he glanced at the men who gathered about him.

"I don't know quite whether he's on his way to St. Michael's or looking

for us, but I figure he can't have seen us yet," he said. "She was

steaming fast?"

"'Bout as hard as they could shove her along, by the drift of her

smoke," said the man, who now stood on the jaws of the gaff.

"Well," said Jordan, "we'll see what he's after when she heaves in sight

again. Let her fall off a point or two. Slack up your sheets."

The _Champlain_ swung off a little towards the land, and Appleby fancied

he understood the manoeuvre because it is one thing to see a vessel

against the horizon, and quite another to make her out when grey rocks,

round which vapours crawl, lie close behind her. Still, that reef-girt

shore swept by the filmy whiteness of the surf did not look inviting.

For ten minutes or thereabouts they waited in silence, Stickine looking

straight before him with his hands upon the wheel, Jordan sitting

apparently quite unconcerned upon the house, while the men hung about

the rail. Then the low, black shape of the gunboat crept out of the haze

again, and the smoke cloud at her funnel showed she was steaming her

fastest. Jordan turned his head and watched her in silence for several

minutes.

"She's coming up with us fast, and we're going along," he said. "I

guess we'll have the topsails on her as soon as you can get them. Tell

Donovitch I want him. Stickine, you can give Charley the wheel."

In a minute or two the topsails were aloft and the _Champlain_ sailing

very fast, swinging her lee-rail down into the swirling froth when she

rolled. The steamer, however, was closing with her rapidly, while there

was only a desolation of reefs and foam under their lee. It seemed

there was no escape for them, but Jordan was still sitting quietly on

the house tracing something upon it with his finger, while the Indian

nodded as he watched him, and now and then a grim smile crept into the

face of Stickine. Appleby, however, found the silence was growing

almost insupportable and walked up to Montreal.

"She's evidently coming after us, but they couldn't stop us when we're

doing nothing wrong," he said.

Montreal laughed a little. "I don't quite know 'bout the sea otter, but

we were right in abreast of the seal beaches when he last saw us," he

said. "That with the pelts on board, would be quite enough for him."

"But we didn't get the skins there," said Appleby.

"Well," said Montreal dryly, "you'd find it hard to make any one believe

it. When you catch a dog with a mutton chop in a butchery store

nobody's going to ask him where he found it."

"Still, with the land to leeward, the skipper can't get away unless he

runs her on the reefs," said Appleby.

"He'd do that before he let those fellows have her, but that land's an

island. They've most of them more than one shore," said Montreal.

Appleby asked no more questions. He was by this time quivering with

suppressed excitement, and fancied the others were quite as anxious too,

though there was little in their appearance to show it. They were

quietly watching the gunboat rise higher out of the dimness, though they

knew that a good many unpleasant things would follow their capture. One

or two of them, however, glanced towards the land, which was very

blurred and hazy now, and then turned to watch the skipper, who was

still talking half-aloud with Stickine. At last he moved a little.

"We've got to take our chances, but I wish I knew just what water he

draws in cruising trim," he said. "We're 'bout level with the passage.

Donovitch will take her in."

Stickine said something, the mainboom swung further outboard, and as the

schooner fell off towards the land, the lads, looking forward anxiously,

could only see the dim face of a crag, and the whiteness of tumbling

foam. Then they saw the man on the main-gaff nod as the skipper glanced

up at him.

"Coming right in after us," he said.

Jordan laughed softly. "Well," he said, "I guess he'll feel kind of

sorry he did before very long."

As he spoke there was a flash astern of them, and while yellow vapour

whirled about the steamer the lads heard the roar of a gun.

*CHAPTER XVI*

*STICKINE MAKES A DEAL*

Nobody on board the _Champlain_ showed that they had heard the gunboat's

warning shot, and the sound was lost in the roar of the surf which was

now spouting white close in front of her. The shadowy crags were,

however, falling away, and Jordan still sat on the house unconcernedly,

though there were apparently only foam-swept reefs before him, and the

war-vessel was coming up rapidly behind.

"I've been worrying about her draught when I've got it all the time," he

said. "Bring me the handy book up, Stickine."

Stickine disappeared, and when he returned with a battered volume in

which Appleby had once or twice seen the skipper writing, the two men's

faces showed up sharp against the dimness as they bent over it in the

faint radiance that came up through the skylights of the house.

Jordan's was quietly contemplative as he turned over the pages.

"Here she is," he said at last. "Four-expansion engines; still that's

not what we want. Now we're coming to it. Small displacement vessel

for coast-wise service. Depth moulded. Here it is. Draught in

seagoing trim!"

Stickine followed the skipper's pointing finger, and then laughed softly

as he looked up. "Two feet more than the _Champlain_, and he's coming

in," he said. "Well, he's not going to find it so easy to take her out

again. We'll have the haze down thick as a blanket before we're

through."

Appleby who heard them understood but little of this, though its meaning

became apparent later, and his attention was too occupied for him to

wonder much about it just then. The reefs were unpleasantly close to

them, and the gunboat coming on, though the vapours that drove past the

schooner left very little of her visible. The men were silent, and

Donovitch held the wheel, while another Indian stood forward calling out

to him.

Ahead the sea frothed horribly, and several times the schooner swung

round a trifle as a cloud of spray rushed up from a big, white upheaval.

Then a grey rock buried almost in the wash of a sea slid past, and the

combers' tops subsided. Only a confused swell heaved behind them, but

the stream seemed to be running with them, and the lads surmised that

one of the reefs they had passed behind partly sheltered them from the

sea. They were sailing through a tortuous strait apparently. The vapours

were, however, closing in, and presently they could make out nothing

ahead, though they could still occasionally see the masts of the gunboat

or her smoke rolling blackly through the fog, while the wind seemed to

be freshening, for the deck slanted further as the _Champlain_ tore

along. Twice again a rock that rose suddenly out of the grey heave went

by, and once a beam of brightness flickered past the schooner and faded

in the fog. Jordan laughed as he glanced astern.

"He's not going to see much of anything in about two minutes," he said.

"Down topsails, and get the mainsail off her, boys."

It was done, though the lads who helped wondered, for the gunboat was

coming on, until it occurred to them that with the little sail she still

carried it would be very difficult to distinguish the _Champlain_ in the

haze. Once again the blaze that whirled up dimly behind them went past,

and then grey and clammy the fog rolled down.

Jordan nodded with evident content. "We've shown that fellow the way

in, and that's about all we'll do for nothing, boys," he said. "You'll

be handy with your sheets because it's going to take a little contriving

to wriggle out of this."

The men stood about with the ropes in their hands, and swung the boom

foresail over when Donovitch spoke to them. They did it more than once,

hauled the sheets in and let them run again while the schooner

apparently twisted like an eel, and here and there a dim line of foam

crept by. Once or twice the lads held their breath as they watched it,

and they could see that their strained anxiety was shared by the men,

for the roar of the surf rose from every side, and it was evident that

all the helmsman's nerve was needed to thread that labyrinth of reefs.

Indeed, Appleby fancied that nobody but a sealer would ever have

attempted that perilous passage. There was no sign of the gunboat now,

and he could picture the consternation of her Commander who had, he

surmised, no Indian to take him through.

That, however, was the Commander's affair, and did not lessen the lads'

anxiety, while now the thrill of the chase had gone they stood expectant

and silent among the rest, listening to the clamour of the surf and

staring at the sliding fog. At last there was a slackening of the

strain, and Niven laughed excitedly while Appleby drew his breath in

when Jordan's voice rose up.

"We've clear water before us now, and we'll have the trysail on her," he

said. "Then we'll let her come up with staysail to weather. The

Commander will be wanting us by and by."

They went about the decks at a floundering run, and the _Champlain_ soon

lay almost stationary with her head to the wind. Then they stood still

to listen. No unusual sound the lads could catch came out of the

vapours, but one of the men fancied he heard the American's cable. The

roar of running chain carries a long distance, and Jordan seemed

inclined to agree with him.

"That fellow's had 'bout enough, and he'll be feeling kind of sick when

he sees his anchor coming home," he said. "We'll give him an hour to

find out the fix he's in, and then some of you will go off and talk to

him. Boys, there's dollars in the thing."

Most of the men went below, and the lads with them. There was nothing

to be done on deck, and it was considerably warmer in the hold, while it

was plain that the gunboat had given up the chase. When they sat down

under the swinging lamp there was a little bewilderment in some of the

faces, and Stickine watched them with a quiet chuckle.

"Ye will be permitted to reshume the intherrogation, Mainsail Haul.

There's things one or two av us would like to know," said Donegal.

Niven was not unwilling to avail himself of the opportunity. "Then," he

said, "what sort of a place was it we were running through, and what is

keeping the American?"

Stickine laughed softly. "The fog and his nerves; but I wouldn't blame

the man," he said, placing a can or two upon the floor, and pointing to

them.

"Now, you'll see the island's there, and this can is one reef and that

one another. More of them yonder. Says you, 'It's a nasty place to

crawl through even in clear weather,' but the Indian knows it just as he

knows the back of his hand. He was round here for most a year once,

before they killed off the sea otter. Still, there's no charts that show

these places quite complete, and the American came in because he'd have

a man aloft to watch us and another taking bearings each time we swung

round. He done it very well. Says he, 'Where that schooner goes there's

water enough for me.'"

There was a murmur of somewhat impatient comprehension, for the men at

least understood most of this already, and Stickine proceeded, "When we

got the mainsail off her he lost us, and I'm figuring he felt kind of

sorry for himself. Still, like a sensible man he brings up with his

anchor."

"What will he do now?" asked Appleby.

Stickine looked at the rest, and grinned. "First thing, he'll find that

anchor's not going to hold him. There's a big stream going through, and

it's not the kind of bottom you can get a grip in. Then he'll get his

boats out to look for the passage, and when they come back to tell him

they've only been finding reefs he'll feel sicker than ever."

"Still, he could stop where he is with his engines just turning to take

the weight off the chain until the fog lifted," said Niven.

There was a general chuckle, and Montreal said, "It mightn't lift for a

week, and I've known it last a month, while the breeze that shifts it

will bring the sea right in."

"Then," said Appleby, "what are we going to do?"

Stickine laughed again. "Wait till the Commander's shaking in his

boots, and then get a boat over and go in and assist him. I'm figuring

it will pay us better than sealing."

There was grim humour in the faces of the men, and Charley grinned.

"It's a head Ned Jordan has," he said.

The lads joined in the laughter, for they could realize that the skipper

had with no small ability turned what had looked very like disaster into

victory. He had also done no wrong, and was, so far as they could see,

justified in exacting some compensation from the men who would in all

probability at least have seized all the skins and prevented him sealing

any more that season. They had not, however, long to consider the

question, for presently Jordan sent for Stickine, and a few minutes

later Appleby, to his great delight, was told to help to swing out a

boat. He did not ask for any further instructions, and but once she was

over the rail sprang down into her, and in a few more minutes the fog

was blowing into his face as they drove her lurching over the long

swell. It was not, however, very thick, which was possibly fortunate,

because they could see the foam upon the reefs before they came too

close to them.

Still, the lad found the shadowy dimness that was not night curiously

impressive, as he did the reverberations of the seas that swung in

smooth, black slopes out of the haze and crumbled into smoke upon the

unseen barriers. Now and then the blurred outline of a crag upon the

island loomed up and was lost again, while the wind moaned dolefully,

though at times it sank awhile and the vapours rolled down upon the sea

like a great, grey curtain. At last, however, they made out a light,

and the men pulled a trifle faster. More lights blinked at them

presently through the haze, and when a hoarse shout came down they

stopped pulling close under the side of the gunboat. She swung up and

down above them looking very big and black, while now and then when her

bows went up there was a horrible grind of cable.

"Boat ahoy!" said somebody. "What are you wanting?"

"A talk with your Commander," said Stickine. "We're sealers from the

schooner."

"Pull her in," said the unseen man. "We'll give you a rope."

"That's not going to do for me," said Stickine, with his soft, almost

silent laugh. "I want the ladder."

Appleby chuckled, for he could understand how this demand from one of

the men he had almost made prisoners of would exasperate the Commander,

while he also knew that it takes some time to get a steamer's

accommodation ladder over. So far as he could make out by the voices

above him, some of the officers were conferring together, and he managed

to catch the words, "Concerned insolence!"

"We don't feel like waiting here all night," said Stickine; "unless you

get a move on we'll pull away."

"You wouldn't pull far," said somebody. "We've got a quick-firer

trained on to you. Now then, up with you!"

"No, sir," said Stickine, grinning. "I'm expecting some show of

civility as an officer of the sealer, and if you turned that gun loose

on us there'd be nobody to take you out of here."

There was a growl on the deck above them, and somebody said, "Oh, give

it him! We want to get through with the thing."

It was probably ten minutes before the ladder was hung over, and leaving

one man in the boat the others went up, while Appleby stared about him

with interest when he reached the deck. The gunboat looked very big

after the _Champlain_, and even in the haze he could see that she was

very trim. Lights blinked about him, there was a simmering of steam,

and the long wet deck, tall spars, swaying funnel, spotless paint, and

the neatness of everything gave him a sense of security and comfort

which he had not been used to on board the schooner. He had, however,

little time to look round, for as the sealers stepped in through the

gangway a cluster of bluejackets closed in about them, and one of them

laid his hand on Stickine's shoulder. The sealer shook his grasp off,

and swung round, doubling up a great fist.

"Hello! Are you wanting anything?" he said.

An officer stepped out into the light. "You're under arrest! The

Commander is waiting aft," he said.

Appleby was almost surprised into a little gasp of consternation, but he

saw that Stickine was smiling dryly and checked it. Then they tramped

aft along the deck, and finally stopped outside a cabin in the poop.

"I'll bring the leader in first, sir?" said their conductor.

"That's what I am wanting," said Stickine. "Still, as somebody has got

to hear what he has to tell me, this lad's coming along."

He grasped Appleby's arm and shoved him into the cabin, and for a moment

or two the lad stood blinking about him. At first, being still a trifle

dazzled by the light, he only noticed that the little cabin with its

snowy paint, varnished panelling, and curtains on the brass-ringed

ports, seemed very luxurious after the hold of the _Champlain_. Then he

saw that a young officer sat at a table, while another stood behind him.

His face was not unpleasant, though just then he looked angry, and in

his trim uniform he formed a striking contrast to Stickine, who stood,

bronzed and lean, in curiously fashioned garments of fur and canvas,

smiling at him.

"It's a kind of thick night," said the latter with a little nod. "Now,

as I'm going to talk to you neighbourly, I've no use for the boys

outside there. Because it wouldn't have been quite square to you as

Commander I didn't object to them before."

There was something very like a grin in the face of the officer who

still stood in the doorway, and the Commander's cheeks flushed a trifle.

Stickine, however, met his gaze with complete unconcern, and finally he

raised his hand and a patter of feet on deck showed that the guard was

retiring.

"You don't seem to understand that unless you give me a very good reason

for not doing it I'm going to take you prisoners to Alaska," he said.

Stickine laughed a little. "Well," he said dryly, "I don't figure you

will. In the first place, you can't take us anywhere until you get out

of here, and unless you and me agree it's when you try to the trouble

will begin. She's not holding with you now, and we'll have it thicker

still until the wind piles the sea in to-morrow. When you've got a holt

on that we'll go on."

The other officer leaned over the Commander's shoulder, and said

something Appleby did not hear. Then the Commander sat silent a while as

he watched Stickine. "Well?" he said at last.

Stickine's eyes twinkled a little. "First time you've been up here

after the sealers? You don't know us yet. Now, I was wondering when

you were going to offer us something to eat and drink."

The Commander stared at him, while the other man, who appeared divided

between anger and laughter, turned away his head. Then, as if it were

in spite of him, a little smile crept into the former's face.

"Sit down. You deserve anything we can give you for your assurance," he

said. "Well, have you any especial fancy?"

Stickine appeared to reflect, "Champagne would be good enough for me,"

he said. "The last time I had any a Russian officer I did something for

gave it me. The lad will have coffee. That is, if the cook has any fire

in his galley."

The Commander touched a bell, and the other officer flung himself,

laughing, into the chair. "I guess you'll get on with him better that

way, sir," he said. "I've had a good deal to do with these fellows, and

generally found them difficult to bluff."

In a few minutes a man brought in a big cup of very good coffee, and set

some glasses and a box of biscuits upon the table, but while Appleby

fell to when the Commander nodded to him, Stickine did not touch his

glass.

"Now I'm going to talk," he said. "In the first place, I've shown you

where you are. Next, the schooner's waiting outside the reefs, and

unless the boat's back inside an hour with a note from me to the skipper

he'll get sail on her, and you can take us and your ship to Alaska, if

you can get her out of here. To put it quite plain, we've got the best

end of the stick, and we know enough to keep a holt on it."

Somewhat, to Appleby's surprise, the Commander laughed. "I almost

believe you have," he said.

Stickine nodded, and once more Appleby wondered. A few months earlier it

would have appeared incomprehensible to him that a rough schooner sailor

should so quietly enforce his right to be treated as an equal by a naval

officer, and prove a match for him. The Commander now appeared quite

willing to recognize it.

"Well," said Stickine, "we'll take you out to-morrow for----" and he

asked a sum that astonished Appleby.

"No, sir," said the Commander. "I'll have the boats over at sun up and

find my own way out."

"I guess not," said the sealer. "You've been looking round and coming

right upon a fresh reef at every turn already, while there's a sunk

ledge in one of the openings, and before you're through you'd have the

gale in on you."

The two officers conferred together half-aloud, and finally the

Commander said, "I couldn't pay more than half what you're asking."

"Well," said Stickine dryly, "it strikes me it would be a long way

cheaper than losing your ship. The dollars would come in quite handy to

us but they wouldn't count for very much with the U.S. Treasury."

The Commander drummed on the table with his fingers. "The trouble is I

don't know I could send a bill of that kind to the Treasury," he said.

"I'm not a rich man, and the dollars would take a good deal of raising

if I had to find them myself."

Stickine nodded sympathetically. "Then I'll come down a hundred, but we

can't take less. I've got to do the square thing by the boys."

The Commander sat still again, and Appleby could not quite understand

the expression of his face. Then he said, "I should be taking a risk.

You're not fond of us, anyway, and even you mightn't know all the

reefs."

Stickine stood up very straight and grim. "You've just got to trust me,

as we'll trust you for the pay. We wouldn't have made that deal with

you unless we knew we could put it through."

"Sit down," said the Commander with a little smile. "We'll make it a

deal. Take us out, and you'll get your dollars. Put us ashore and

we'll shoot you. It's quite plain you're taking a few risks too. And

now if you will join me in a glass of wine."

Stickine nodded, and laughed silently as he held up his glass. "I'm

taking those dollars from you, as you'd have taken the pelts or the

schooner from us, if you had the chance, and that makes us square," he

said. "Every man to his own business, but that's no reason he should

hate the folks who are now and then too much for him."

Ten minutes later and Appleby and the rest were in the boat pulling for

the _Champlain_ with a note asking Jordan to send the Indian across to

the steamer.

*CHAPTER XVII*

*THE PLEDGE REDEEMED*

The light was slowly creeping through the mist when Appleby, who had

returned with two of the Indians, sat with Stickine in the gunboat's

cabin. It was very early in the morning, and though there is no actual

darkness in those seas at that season, the haze provided a very good

substitute, and now it was sliding past as thickly as ever. Appleby

also felt clammy all through, for they had had a hard pull from the

schooner against a freshening wind, and nobody is very vigorous at four

o'clock on a very cold morning. He shivered a little as he sat with a

steaming cup of coffee before him watching his companions. Their faces

showed curiously pallid in the dim light, and Stickine's was grave,

while the two Americans appeared more than a little anxious. Outside

the wind was wailing through the rigging, and every now and then there

was a jarring grind of cable as the gunboat swung up her bows.

"You believe we had better make a start right now, and you can pick up

the passage?" asked the Commander.

Stickine nodded. "The haze is not going to lift to-day, and you'd find

it hard work to hold her here when the sea rolls in. There's a nasty

reef close astern of you too. Now, before we start we'll go over the

deal again and see if you've got it straight. Our skipper has your

cheque, and I'm to take you out. You're to take our word we've killed

no seals in American waters, and leave us to go just where we're wanting

once you're free of the reefs."

"Yes," said the Commander. "I pledge myself to that, but you've

overlooked one thing, and that's the one that's going to happen to you

if you make a blunder."

There was a moment's silence, and during it the naval officer pulled his

belt round a trifle and rubbed a speck of dust off his pistol-holster.

The hint was plain enough, but the sealer only smiled.

"That's all right, but I want the lad up on your bridge with me," he

said. "If there was any trouble he could tell folks I did the square

thing by you!"

The Commander signified agreement. "Who is the lad, anyway?" he said.

"He hasn't the hard look of the rest of you."

Stickine glanced at Appleby. "I don't quite know. We picked him up, and

his partner told a kind of curious story. Allowed his father was a big

man back there in the old country."

A little smile crept into the Commander's eyes. "Well, I shouldn't

wonder if it was the right one, but that don't concern us now. Would

you like more coffee before you begin?"

"No," said Stickine. "You can tell them to start the windlass when

you're ready."

The windlass was rattling and the chain grinding in when they crossed

the sloppy deck and climbed to the bridge. A jet of steam roared away

into the haze from beside the funnel, and the tinkle of iron came up

from the gratings, while Appleby noticed that every boat was swung out

ready for lowering at a moment's notice. Except for one or two men

forward the bluejackets were drawn up in little groups about the deck

and stood motionless, apparently watching the sealers' boat that heaved

in the haze ahead. Then the windlass stopped rattling and there was for

a moment or two a curious silence while the steamer rolling lazily slid

sideways with the stream.

"Keep your anchor at the bows," said Stickine. "Back her until she comes

round under a starboard helm."

The Commander touched a handle, there was a tinkle below, the bridge

commenced to tremble, and with a thud-thud of engines the steamer

crawled astern. Then when her bows had swung round Stickine raised his

hand.

"Ahead slow!" he said. "Just keep her going."

The engines thudded once more, and then commenced a monotonous rumbling

as they crept on into the haze, while with every man pulling hard the

sealers' boat slid towards them. Donovitch the Indian was standing in

the bows, and Appleby, glancing round a moment, saw that the faces of

the two officers on the bridge were grim and set. Neither of them or

the men below, however, moved an inch, and the stillness and the silence

through which he seemed to hear his heart thumping affected Appleby

curiously. He felt cold beneath the old fur waistcoat Jordan had given

him, for he had more than a suspicion that Stickine would only have the

one chance of blundering now, and that if he did it a good many of the

gunboat's company would never get ashore. A long swell heaved through

the passage, roaring ominously as it seethed upon the reefs.

Then the Indian in the bows swung up an arm, and while Stickine signed

to the helmsman who stood rigidly still gripping his wheel the sea was

rent ahead and there rushed upwards a great cloud of spray and foam. It

whirled high and a deep rumbling followed it, while another hoarse roar

rang through the haze in front of them, and Appleby saw the officers

glance at one another. He knew, as they did, what would happen if

lifted by the swell they struck that froth-swept stone, and he felt that

swift death was very near them all just then.

Still, Stickine only nodded to the helmsman, and the bows swung slowly

round, while when the long swell foamed again the reef lay a score of

yards away from them, and the growl of another grew louder. Appleby

could faintly see the filmy cloud that whirled about it, and held his

breath as he realized that the stream was carrying them towards it, and

wondered if the helmsman could swing the ship clear in time. Then he

gathered a little comfort from a glance at Stickine, whose face was

unconcerned.

"Give her steam," he said.

For a moment the Commander stood quite still with his fingers motionless

on the handle that would quicken the engines, and Appleby could guess

his thoughts. If they drove the steamer faster now, and she would not

swing, in less than another minute her bows would be crumpled in.

"You're taking your chances with us," he said.

"Oh, yes," said Stickine. "Unless you're quick with that telegraph I'm

not going to have any. Give her steam."

The Commander thrust down the handle, there was a tinkle below, and

while the engines beat faster Stickine turned his hand round as he

glanced at the helmsman. Then Appleby saw nothing but the spray ahead,

and heard a hollow rumbling sound that sent a shiver through him as once

more a white cloud whirled up. His eyes grew dazed as he watched it

blow away until the foam about the reef beneath it was blotted out by

the steamer's bows. Next he became dimly conscious that the helmsman

was spinning his wheel, and noticed nothing further until the horrible

white confusion was sliding away behind them. There was only the haze

before them now, and it seemed to be growing thinner.

"Slow!" said Stickine signing with his hand, and while the rumble of

engines slackened a faint cry came out of the dimness.

Then the sealer turned to the officer, and his bronzed face was as

unconcerned as ever, though his hands seemed to tremble a little. The

Commander was standing very rigid, but there were beads of moisture on

his forehead.

"We've left your boat astern," he said.

"Well," said Stickine gravely, "we're not going to want her. I guess

I've put this contract through, and you can whistle for the schooner."

Then the tension suddenly slackened, and there was a half-audible murmur

from the men below when the scream of the whistle was flung into the

fog. It screamed twice before the thin tinkle of a bell rose up in

answer.

"That will be your schooner. She's not far away," said the Commander.

Five minutes later the steamer stopped her engines, and while the boat

crept up again the _Champlain_, rolling under her jibs and trysail, grew

out of the haze. Stickine touched Appleby's shoulder, and turning

towards the Commander held out his hand.

"It's about time we were going now. A deal's a deal, and I've kept my

part of it," he said.

There was a little grim smile in the Commander's eyes, but he shook

hands gravely with the sealer. "And I'll do mine," he said to Stickine

as he went down the ladder. "Still, you can tell your skipper that if I

ever find his schooner inside our limits again, I'll have much pleasure

in sinking her."

Stickine made no answer, but he grinned.

In another minute they were pulling towards the _Champlain_, and when

with the froth streaming away across the sea behind her the steamer

forged ahead, a red flag with a beaver and maple-leaf in a corner

fluttered aloft to the _Champlain's_ masthead. Appleby smiled as he

watched it stream out and sink again, for there was, it seemed to him,

something almost ludicrous in this assertion of equality between the

little rolling schooner and the big war-vessel, and he waited to see if

the Commander would return the salutation or steam past in contemptuous

silence. As he watched, a figure on the gunboat's bridge raised a hand,

and the scream of her whistle vibrated across the waters. Again it

hurled out its greeting while the schooner's flag rose and fell, and

then with a last great volume of sound ringing above the clamour of the

surf the gunboat steaming at full speed swept into the haze.

Next minute the boat was under the _Champlain's_ rail, and Jordan

looking down on them with a little, dry smile.

"I've no use for riling folks when it can be helped, and that fellow

took his licking well," he said.

They climbed on board and hove the boat in, and Stickine followed Jordan

into the cabin while Appleby sat down to tell the story to every

unoccupied man of the _Champlain's_ company. There was a broad grin on

the listener's faces when he had finished, and one of them said,

"There's not many men who could come out to windward of Ned Jordan."

Montreal nodded solemnly. "No," he said. "I guess you'd get tired

considerably before you found one of them."

By and by Stickine came out of the cabin. "We'll have the reefed

mainsail on her, boys," he said. "Now we're here and the wind's hauling

westerly so we can't get back, we're going to run a little further east

to a place where we might pick up a few pelts cheap from the Indians."

It blew hard presently, but the haze still followed them, and towards

the close of the afternoon they hove the _Champlain_ to, and lay with

the stinging drift whirling about her plunging to a sea that frothed

white as snow. Most of the men were sleeping or sitting snug in the hold

when Stickine came below, and shook his head at Niven and Appleby. "The

skipper's wanting you," he said.

Both lads felt a trifle uneasy as they went out on deck. They could not

recollect any offences they had committed, but there was an unfortunate

resemblance between Stickine's intimation and others they had received

at Sandycombe when unpleasant things had followed the headmaster's

request to see them in his study.

"I wonder if he means to put us ashore when we get to the place we're

going to," said Niven.

"Wouldn't that please you?" asked Appleby with a little smile.

Niven appeared thoughtful. "No," he said, "it wouldn't, or you either.

That is, if it meant we had to go back to the _Aldebaran_. Still, by

this time she should be half-way to China, or somewhere else as far."

They had, however, reached the house now, and when they went in Jordan

was sitting by the little stove, with a big lead-bottomed ink-pot

standing on some papers on the table beside him. The lads stood still a

moment, and waited somewhat anxiously for him to speak.

"You've folks in the old country who would worry about what had become

of you?" he said.

"Yes, sir," said Niven. "It has troubled me a good deal now and then."

Jordan nodded. "You can write and tell them where you are," he said.

"Sit down right here and do it now. If we've better weather we'll run

for the harbour I'm making for to-morrow, and now and then a boat from

St. Michael's looks in there. She would take any letters I left to

Vancouver."

Niven sat down at the table, and Appleby felt very lonely as he watched

the smile creep into his face, and the rusty pen scratch across the

paper. He knew that other eyes would brighten when they read that

letter, but there was nobody to grieve or rejoice over him, and once he

coughed for no reason that was apparent to Jordan, who was watching him.

"And you. Haven't you got anybody? There's another pen," said the

latter.

Appleby was never quite sure what prompted him, but the skipper's tone

was kindly, and fumbling in an inner pocket he pulled out a little

leather case and took from it a picture of a sandy mound with palm

fronds drooping over the wooden cross at one end of it.

"That is all I have, sir," he said.

Jordan took the photograph, and his eyes grew softer as he returned it

with a little nod of sympathy. "It's rough when you're young, but a

lonely man's not always the worst off, my lad," he said.

Niven, however, looked round with a flush on his face. "That's not

straight talk, Tom," he said. "You know my mother would do almost

anything for you, and there's the rest of them. Even Nettie, and she

has the faddiest notions, took to you."

"Hadn't you better get on with your writing, sonny?" said Jordan dryly.

"She's your mother, and not his, anyway."

Niven made another dab at the inkpot, and though it was difficult to

keep his feet at the table as the schooner rose and fell he finished his

letter. He was about to fold it up when Jordan glanced at him. "You've

put something 'bout me and the _Champlain_ in?" he said.

"Yes, sir," said Niven.

"Well," said Jordan, "I'd like to hear that part of it."

Niven flushed a trifle, and sat still a moment twisting round his pen

before he said, "It isn't worth listening to."

"Still," said Jordan grimly, "I'm waiting to hear it. Start in."

Niven looked round at Appleby, but Appleby only grinned, and then with

the colour showing plainer in his face read a line or two. "The skipper

has, taking it all round, been very good to us. He's----" The lad

stopped for a moment. "This piece isn't of any moment. I'll leave it

out, sir."

"I can tell better when you've read it," said Jordan.

Niven made a little half-conscious gesture of dismay, but he had reasons

for remembering that when Jordan asked for anything it was wise to give

it him, and he continued hastily, "He's quite a clever man in his own

way, though nobody would fancy it from his appearance."

Appleby could not quite restrain a chuckle, and saw a twinkle in

Jordan's eyes. He nodded as he said, "I can't find fault with that,

anyway. Go on with the rest of it."

"If you saw him in his usual rig you would take him for something

between a stuffed sealskin and a navvy on the tramp," said Niven.

"Now, I don't know what a navvy is," said Jordan.

Niven looked at his comrade again, and Appleby tried not to laugh.

"He's a man who digs drains and makes railways in our country, sir," he

said.

"Well," said Jordan dryly. "It can't be tougher work than sealing. Go

on."

"Still," said Niven, turning again to the letter, "he has been quite

decent, and treated us a good deal better than they did on board the

_Aldebaran_, and I fancy it would be a nice thing if----"

He stopped again. "I can't read any more of it, sir," he said, growing

very flushed in the face.

"Then," said Jordan, "I figure your partner can, and one of you is going

to."

Niven set his lips a moment, and then went on with a little groan, "It

would be a nice thing if you wrote one of your Canadian friends to give

him a cheque. There can't be much profit in sealing and----"

"I guess that will do," said Jordan, whose face grew suddenly grim.

"Get hold of your pen, and knock the last piece out of it. You've done

it? Then you can put this in. 'Don't worry 'bout me. Skipper Jordan

will see I earn every dollar's worth of anything I get from him, and

before I get home he and Donegal have hopes of licking a little sense

into me.' Got that down--all of it?"

"Yes, sir," said Niven, who was apparently almost suffocated, hoarsely.

"Well," said Jordan with a little, dry smile, "that will set your folks'

minds at rest, and I guess your father will be grateful to me. Now you

can tell the rest of them to get any letters they want sent home ready."

They went out together, and Niven kicked at the first thing that lay in

his way savagely. As it happened, it was one of the iron pump

fastenings, and it hurt his toe, while as he hopped about the deck

Appleby laughed uproariously. Then almost before he knew it Niven was

laughing, too, and when they climbed down into the hold there was water

in both their eyes.

[Illustration: "AS HE HOPPED ABOUT THE DECK APPLEBY LAUGHED

UPROARIOUSLY."]

"Have ye been after hearing anything funny in the cabin?" asked Donegal.

"Well," said Niven with a little chuckle, "I can't help fancying the

skipper did, since you want to know. Sure, now, Donegal, 'tis a

testhimonial he's been after giving you."

"Tell me," said Donegal, seizing him by the neck and nipping it while

the lad struggled fruitlessly.

"It's no use. I wouldn't tell any one a word of it if you strangled

me," he said.

They made sail again early nest morning, but in the forenoon the wind

fell away, and it was late on the following day when they crept into

sight of a grey blurr that lifted itself out of the misty horizon. They

could just make out that it was land, but Jordan, who went up the mast

hoops with his glasses, saw something more.

"No chance of a deal now we've got here, boys," he said. "There's a

steamer coming in. She'll be heading south at this season, and it's not

going to take them long to heave a few bundles of furs on board her, so

if you've any letters to go along with mine you'd better be handy

getting the boat over."

They had her out in about two minutes, and as it was Stickine's boat the

lads who sprang down refused to come out of her. She was also the

biggest boat they had, and had in all probability seldom travelled

faster than she did for the first mile or so. There was scarcely a

breath of wind now, and the long swell ran with them, while Niven

remembered what the letter he had written would mean to those who had

long waited for news of him at home as he put all his strength into the

oar. Appleby also recollected the tenderness he had now and then seen

in Mrs. Niven's eyes as she looked at her son, and her kindness to him,

and strained every muscle, for now at least it seemed he could do a

little to repay her.

So they sent the boat foaming over the long swell, but each time she

rose the land seemed very little nearer, and when at last a smear of

smoke rose out of the greyness that hung about it, Stickine spoke.

"The steamer's firing up! You've got to stretch out, boys."

Panting and gasping they swayed up and down, the oars thudding, and the

grey sea frothing under them when the boat surged forward quivering at

every stroke. Still, when the veins on Appleby's forehead felt swollen

to the bursting and Appleby's eyes were dim the land was at least a mile

from them, and a jarring rattle came off across the water.

"Windlass going! She'll be off soon as they heave her anchor. Stiffen

up," said Stickine.

The lads did what they could, for they knew it was a good deal they were

rowing for. The letter they carried would bring relief from torturing

anxiety to those who loved them, and tranquillity to a mother's mind,

while Niven, half-choked as he was, nerved his aching arms as he

remembered how in all his follies his father had borne with him.

Appleby was aiding him loyally, his lips set, his face almost purple,

and still, though Stickine and Donegal made the oars creak and groan,

the land was only crawling towards them.

"You've got to do it, boys! There's folks back south worrying 'bout

most of us," said Stickine when the scream of a whistle came off to

them.

Neither of the lads had more than a hazy recollection of the last ten

minutes. They had no breath left, every joint was aching, but their

arms still moved almost without their will, and they were dimly sensible

of the thud of oars, gurgle of water, and lurch of the quivering boat

beneath them. They felt they could not be beaten now. At last while

the whistle screamed again something big and black bore down on them,

and they heard the thudding of engines and the flap-flap of a

slowly-turning propeller.

"Stop pulling. Hang on to her," gasped Stickine, and then while the

oars rested in their palms the lads could see that the bows of a steamer

hung almost over them. Next moment there was a crash, and they were

being hauled along with the froth splashing about them and Donegal

holding on to something desperately. A man was shouting above them, and

while the foam that was piled about her bows sluiced into the boat

Stickine roared out hoarsely, "Letters!"

"Give us a grip of them. Let go before she goes over with you," shouted

somebody, and a man swinging himself over the rail clutched at the

packet held out to him. Then Donegal loosed his grasp, and they were

rocking on the white wake as the steamer went on.

"Just 'bout did it," said Stickine. "I guess it was worth a pull."

Neither of the lads said anything, for they were dazed and dripping, and

had no breath to waste, but they forgot their pains in a supreme

content. It had been a good race, perhaps the best they would ever

make, for they knew as they watched her roll away into the mist that the

letters the steamer was bearing south would lift a dark cloud from an

English home.

*CHAPTER XVIII*

*TREACHERY*

Here and there a streak of ripples crept across the water as they

returned to the schooner, and when they stopped rowing, Jordan called to

them.

"You can pull her head round before you come on board."

They pulled hard before they swung the schooner round, and when they had

hoisted the boat in Stickine glanced at the skipper.

"We're going back west?" he said.

Jordan nodded. "Right now," he said. "We've lost two weeks already and

the season's getting through."

They close hauled the schooner, and the lads went below when she slowly

crawled away. They had questions to ask, and it was Donegal who

answered them.

"And what would be the use av going on when Jordan knew the steamer had

got all the skins there was?" he said. "'Tis a week this journey will

be costing him, and ye will observe 'tis not sitting still and

complaining that 'tis hard on him the skipper would be doing. ''Tis the

best av it, we've got to make and get back at wance, or sooner,' sez he,

and there's folks as don't know better call him a--fortunit--man."

Niven made a little grimace, and swung himself out of reach of the

sealer's hand. "Sure 'tis a priest or a schoolmaster ye should have

been," said he.

It was some time before they worked their way back to the sealing

ground, and then, although the boats were out all day, they got very few

skins. The holluschackie had, it seemed, all crawled out on the

beaches, and the men grew gloomy as they saw the prospect of returning

home with dollars to draw growing rapidly smaller, until at last one

morning Stickine came forward after a talk with Jordan.

"There's just 'bout nothing to be done here, boys, and we're going west

to see what we can find," he said.

There was a murmur of approval, and Appleby fancied he understood the

curious expression in the men's bronzed faces, for it was Russian waters

they were making for. It was, however, some time before they reached

them, and then they found few seals, while the men were growing anxious

again, when at last one wild evening they beat in to an anchorage under

an island. Like the others the lads had seen in those misty seas it was

a desolation of wet rocks and foam-licked beaches; but worn out by a

week's bitter gale, they were glad when the _Champlain_ ceased her wild

plunging at last and swung to her anchor on the long, smooth heave.

Nobody wasted much time in stowing the canvas, and when they sat

listening to the swish of the rain and the growling of the surf in the

stuffy hold, Appleby turned to Stickine.

"What have we come in here for?" he asked.

"You can't always catch seals, but you can buy them now and then when

you know where to go," said Stickine. "The further it is from the

market the more likely you are to get a bargain."

"Then there is somebody living here?" asked Niven.

"Sure!" said Donegal. "There's no place that forlorn a man can't

somehow raise a living out av it, but the one Ned Jordan's after

visiting is not what ye would considher a favourable specimen."

Charley looked up and laughed. "Meaner than a shark. There's nothing

too low down for that man to do."

Donegal evidently saw the curiosity in Niven's eyes and nodded gravely.

"'Tis Charley that's speaking thrue. Now, some men are bad on occasion,

and ye will now and then find sailors and sealers doing things that are

no credit to them by way av diversion, but they work, and that and the

lashing of the bitther seas is the saving av them. Still, there's

things no man may do continual."

Stickine smiled dryly. "That's quite right," he said. "The sea, and

just the sea--that sets Donegal talking like one of those patent

medicine books--and if we had a thousand dollars which of us wouldn't be

glad to leave it? Still, I've no use for a man who goes back on his own

country, and if it's solid meanness and wickedness you're wanting,

you'll find them and Motter quite close together."

"He must work if he catches seals," said Niven.

Charley grinned ironically. "I guess you've found that out, but when

Motter has any pelts to sell it's tolerably plain figuring he stole

them. Tricked the Indians out of them--though they're not Indians on

this side either--and they didn't belong to them, anyway."

"Then why don't the Russians run him out?" asked Appleby.

Stickine laughed softly. "I guess the ones who would do don't know," he

said. "This is a kind of curious country."

Just then Jordan flung back the scuttle. "Get your boat over, Stickine.

I'm going ashore," he said.

Stickine rose, and Montreal, who had been sitting gloomily silent,

looked up. "If you've any use for me I'd like to come along," he said.

Jordan shook his head. "It 'pears to me you're better where you are,"

he said.

Montreal sighed, but said nothing, and in a few minutes Niven and

Appleby were pulling the skipper ashore. It was raining when they

stepped out on the beach, and saw for the first time a ramshackle wooden

house that seemed falling to pieces beneath a dripping crag. Two great

dogs growled at them as they picked their way towards it amidst a litter

of fish-bones and offal that had been apparently flung out of the

windows. Then somebody beat off the dogs, and when they went in a man

who lay in a skin chair by the stove nodded to them. A smoky lamp hung

above him, and the lads felt a curious disgust as they glanced at him.

His eyes were red and bleary, though there was a blink of evil cunning

in them, and his puffy cheeks overhung his chin. He seemed horribly

flabby, and wore greasy canvas garments which looked as though nobody

had ever washed them. Appleby realized as he watched him that

loneliness is not good for a white man unless he has work to do.

"How are you, Motter?" said Jordan. "This place hasn't made you tired

yet? It's kind of forlorn for a Britisher."

Appleby fancied there was a little half-scornful inflection in the

skipper's voice, which was not altogether astonishing, for the building

had a horrible smell, and here and there the rain dripped in, but Motter

laughed.

"Well," he said, "I was an American too, and I guess I'm a Russian now.

Up here it pays one better--but it's business you came after?"

Jordan nodded, and the contrast between his lean, bronzed face and

steady eyes and that of the other man did not escape the lads'

attention. "Got anything to sell?" he asked.

"I might have," said Motter. "Still, I'm in no way anxious, because by

and by there's a steamer coming along, and I've no great use for dry

talking."

He thrust a bottle towards the skipper, but Jordan shook his head.

"That's a stuff I'm not used to, and I don't like the smell," he said.

"Well, now, let me hear what you've got and I'll make you a bid. This

place is a little too open to leave the schooner long."

Appleby fancied Motter was not pleased at this, but he helped himself

freely to the liquor, and for half-an-hour he and the skipper were busy

bargaining. Neither of the lads quite understood all they said, and

they sat vacantly listening to the rumble of the surf, until at last

Motter raised his hand.

"Well," he said with a curious little laugh that jarred upon the lads

unpleasantly, "you're too keen for me, and it will save worry if I let

you have the skins. I want one hundred dollars down for the bundle I've

got here, and you can take them with you or leave them until you come

back again. The rest are lying at Peter's Bay, but I'll be there to

hand them over or send one of my people along the beach, and across by

the skin boat. It's going to take you some time to get there with the

wind ahead."

"It's a deal," said Jordan, counting out the dollar bills. "We should

fetch the beach by to-morrow evening. You haven't seen any gunboat

round here lately?"

"No, sir," said Motter. "There's none nearer than Peter Paul, and I'm

going to be a richer man if they'll keep away. By the way, I heard they

had a Canadian at the sealing post."

"Are you sure of that?" asked Jordan. "What would he be doing there?"

Motter fumbled at his glass. "Well, I don't quite know," he said.

"Still, I scarcely figure he was there because he liked it. Anyway, the

folks could tell you more about him at Peter's Bay."

Somebody was waving a lantern on the schooner and the roar of the surf

had grown louder when they returned to the beach, while it was with

difficulty the lads got the boat afloat. Jordan did not seem pleased at

something, and bade them pull their hardest, for the wind had gone round

and the sea was working in.

"It's kind of unfortunate Motter didn't remember he'd lost his store key

before he got my dollars," he said reflectively. "Still, it's no great

risk, because he knows we could pull the place down for him when we come

back."

The schooner was plunging viciously when they reached her, and while

they swung the boat in Jordan said, "Get the trysail and foresail on

her, and we'll let her lie to when we're round the head." Then he

signed to Appleby. "You'll not tell them anything about that Canadian."

They beat out of the bay they had only a few hours earlier beaten into,

and, for the sun was going back to the south now, it was quite dark when

on the next night they crept into an inlet hemmed in by smoking reefs.

The wind was fresh and astern of them, but when they brought the

schooner to off the first of the reefs Jordan stopped Stickine who was

about to lower her forward sails.

"It's not going to take us long to bring off a boatload of skins, and

you'll keep the canvas on her," he said. "I've no use for taking chances

with a man like Motter."

Appleby, of course, understood that as there was evidently a seal

rookery not far away it would be perilous for Jordan to be discovered

within Russian limits, but he could not see how he would run any risk

since there was no gun-boat in the vicinity. He had seen that Jordan

could be daring, but he fancied he was almost needlessly cautious when,

although only one was wanted for the skins, he had two boats swung out.

He also sent back Montreal, who would have gone in one of them, and bade

the men bring their sealing-clubs with them, which seemed curious, since

if they fell in with any Russians, it would be a proof that they were

prepared to kill seals ashore.

It was dark save for the light of a half-moon when they started, and

when they landed with difficulty through the smoking surf the beach was

wrapped in shadow. Here and there a boat of some kind was drawn up, but

nobody could see them clearly, and the only light was the blink from the

windows of a tottering wooden house.

"You lads will come with me," said Jordan. "Donegal and Charley too.

The rest of you will stand by the boats and keep your eyes open."

Then they turned towards the house, and when Appleby afterwards recalled

that night he could remember the pungent smell of the weed, and the

curious shrinking he felt when he set his foot on a fish head or some of

the slimy offal that lay everywhere around. He could just see the

schooner, flitting a dim shape across the long heave that rolled into

the bay and frothed upon the roaring beaches. It was some minutes

before they reached the house, which seemed horribly damp and foul, and

found Motter sitting at a table. His eyes had, Appleby fancied, a little

cunning gleam, and his hand seemed to tremble slightly.

"Excuse me coming down to meet you. This place is rough on one's legs,"

he said. "Well, you have come to put the deal through and brought the

dollars?"

"Yes," said Jordan. "As I'm anxious to be off I want it done right

now."

"That will suit me," said Motter. "If you don't want to be sociable you

can come along and count the skins."

He limped before them into an adjoining room, which was littered with

bundled furs, and Appleby noticed that while these were no doubt of

value, and there was a shutter to the window, it was not closed. Motter

also turned the lamp up a little, though it was apparently burning well,

when he set it on a table. Then Jordan opened several bundles of the

furs, and when the two other men took up a load Motter laughed a little

as he said, "Haven't you forgot the dollars?"

Jordan looked at him steadily. "You'll get them all right when we're

through. This lot 'bout squares up the others I didn't get from you."

Motter smiled again. "Well," he said dryly, "a man would have to get up

tolerably early if he wanted to come in ahead of you."

Then Donegal and Charley went back to the boat with their bundles, and

Motter sat down watching Jordan sort out and count the furs.

"Quite sure you've got them all?" he said ironically when the skipper

stopped at last. "Then we'll go back to the stove. It's kind of

shivery here."

"Shall I bring the lamp along?" asked Jordan.

"Leave it there. We've another in the room," said Motter, and fumbled

about some time striking a good many matches before he lighted it, while

Appleby became sensible of a curious uneasiness as he watched him.

There was no apparent reason for this, but he fancied the man could have

been quicker had he wanted. At last the lamp was lighted, and Motter sat

down at the table with his face towards the door.

"You've seen the furs are there?" he said.

Jordan took out his wallet, and laid a roll of dollar bills on the

table. He had another in his hand when Donegal stood in the doorway

signing to him.

"You're wanted out here," he said.

Jordan asked no questions but rose at once, and Appleby, fancying there

had been a change of wind, followed him. When they stood outside

Donegal laid his hand on the skipper's arm, and Appleby saw that he and

Charley both carried their clubs.

"'Tis a trap the beast has laid for us. Will I tell them to shove off?"

he said.

"Go on," said Jordan quietly.

"'Tis like this," said Donegal. "When he went in with the light he

opened the shutter, and what was he after doing that for? Then he would

leave it so any wan could see there was two lights where there was wan

before."