"Well," said Charley dryly, "there was somebody running a boat down way
back along the beach. They did it kind of quietly, but we could hear
them. 'Pears to me it's 'bout time we were getting out of this."
"Somebody coming down the gully," shouted a man below, and there was a
faint patter of running feet in a dusky hollow that wound amidst the
rocks behind the house.
Jordan swung round. "Motter has sold us to the Russians, boys," he
said. "Still, if there's time yet we'll take him along."
They were back in the room the next moment, but Motter had gone, and
when another shout came from outside Jordan swung round again with his
face showing very grim.
"He'd have had all my dollars in another minute," he said. "Well, we'll
be going."
Charley, however, stopped a moment, and taking down the big lamp swung
it round his head, while a great blaze sprang up when he hurled it on
the floor.
"I guess it will take them all they know to put that out," he said.
Then they blundered down the stairway, and in another moment were
floundering across the beach. It was rough and strewn with boulders,
while the boats lay some little distance away, and as they tripped and
stumbled a hoarse shout rose out of the darkness. Nobody stopped to
answer, and a rifle flashed, while a patter of feet became audible
behind them.
"They're tolerably close," said Jordan. "We've got to run, boys."
There was for some reason no more firing, but the men behind were
evidently used to the boulders and gaining on them. Once Appleby fell
heavily, but he lost no time in picking himself up again, and went on
with a horrible pain in his side, gasping as he watched the white wash
of the surf that seemed to grow nearer so slowly. Just before they
reached it Niven went down, and groaned when Appleby seized his shoulder
and jerked him to his feet.
"Don't give in, Chriss. You must hold out," he said, and floundered on
again, dragging his comrade after him.
"I'm hurt. Only one foot to run with," gasped Niven.
Stumbling and blundering they reached the boats, but the men behind were
almost upon them when Appleby, taking his hand from Niven's arm, grasped
the nearest. Then there was a breathless shout, and they were
floundering down the beach waist-deep in froth as a sea rolled in, while
dusky objects came clattering over the shingle a few paces behind them.
Two men sprang in over the gunwale, and Jordan's voice rose up.
"Don't fool it by too much hurry, boys. Wade right in until she's clear
afloat."
The next sea took them up to the shoulders, and Appleby, gasping with
the icy cold, and half-blinded by the spray, saw that Niven was no
longer with them.
"Chriss. Hallo! Where are you?" he shouted breathlessly.
He fancied a half-stifled cry answered him, and loosed his grasp on the
boat. He did not remember whether he shouted again, or not, for he was
only sensible that his comrade had been left behind, but next moment
another shout rang out, and he felt his heart throb, as struggling
shorewards he recognized the voice.
"Boys, will ye be leaving Mainsail Haul?" it said.
There was a growl in answer, and the boat came surging in almost on top
of Appleby. Then men were apparently splashing through the water all
about him, and one ran several yards in front of them howling gleefully
and swinging a great club. After that Appleby was not quite sure what
happened, but there were shouts and blows and a pistol shot, and they
were floundering back again, Donegal dragging Niven through the water
after him, and most of the men swinging their clubs. The boat lay
half-swamped on her side when they reached her, and Appleby wondered
afterwards how they got her through the surf, but he knew Niven lay on
the floorings, and straining every muscle and sinew he tugged at his
oar. Donegal was apparently yelling gleefully still. Then, as they
drew out from the shore there was another red flash, and Jordan's voice
rose up from the next boat.
"If he can't be quiet, boys, you'd better heave him over. I've no use
for letting them know just where to shoot."
"That's sense," said Charley. "Reach out and put some weight on,
Appleby. Your partner's all right."
Appleby did as he was bidden, though the spray that whirled about them
rendered the boat almost invisible as she lurched over the swell, while
his contentment increased when Niven assured him that it was only his
foot, that was hurting him. Presently the _Champlain_ ran past the boat
with canvas banging, and while they hove her in Stickine drew the
skipper towards the rail.
"There's a boat on our bow. Came off 'bout a mile back down the beach,"
he said. "They pull like white men, so far as I make out."
"Heading straight to windward, too!" said Jordan, quietly. "Well, we'll
have the main topsail on her."
The topsail was aloft in another minute, and the _Champlain's_ rail
almost awash as she thrashed out to sea, but it was only in short tacks
she could work out of the bay, and their pursuers seemed to know it, for
they had rowed to windward and could accordingly chose their time for
approaching her.
"'Pears to me they mean to come on board," said Jordan dryly. "Well,
you'll pass up the clubs and lay them handy on the house, but there'll
be trouble for any one who takes one up before he's told to. Is it you,
Montreal, at the wheel?"
There was a growl in answer, and Jordan seemed to smile.
"Then," he said, "you'll keep her going and not too high, until I tell
you."
They swept on hurling the spray aloft, for though the bay was slightly
sheltered the swell worked in, and it was blowing tolerably hard, while,
so far as Appleby could see, the boat meant to intercept them when they
went about close off a smoking reef. He could just make her out every
now and then as she rose with a sea.
"That," said Jordan, "'pears to me uncommonly like a gun-boat's cutter,
and by the way they're pulling they've a good many men in her."
They drove on, the boat growing nearer and larger, until she came
reeling towards them with oars thrashing up the froth, and Jordan sprang
up on the rail. Appleby could see that if they went round now, the boat
pulling straight to windward would still close with them when they came
about to clear another reef not far away, but Jordan, it seemed, had no
intention of coming round.
"It's not my fault I can't run away," he said quietly. "Keep her going,
Montreal."
The reef was close to leeward now, the boat nearer still to weather, and
already somebody was shouting on board her. She was pulling straight
towards the schooner's bows, and would be alongside in another few
moments. Appleby felt his heart throbbing painfully. Then the skipper
raised his hand.
"Down helm--a spoke or two," he said.
There was another shout from the boat, for it seemed that the schooner
had yielded, but if that was its meaning it was premature, for while her
headsails rattled she still drove ahead, and Montreal's harsh laugh
jarred through the crash and sound of smashing oars below.
"Up again. Fill on her!" roared Jordan, and Appleby, running aft with
the rest, saw the boat drive away helpless astern. Nobody was
apparently pulling, and he surmised that the rending oars had hurled the
men who held them one upon the other.
Then the _Champlain_ came round, and a rifle flashed harmlessly as she
once more swept past the disabled craft. Ten minutes later there was no
sign of the boat, and they were thrashing out to sea alone.
"I don't quite know what they were, or that I want to, but if they'd
been sealers they'd have had us sure," said Jordan, with a little laugh.
"Well, we'll fix up how we're going to square this thing off with Motter
to-morrow."
*CHAPTER XIX*
*THE SEALERS' RECKONING*
The wind fell light next morning, and the haze closed in, but it became
evident there were reefs not far away when the _Champlain_ fell in with
a herd of holluschackie. The men were in an unpleasant temper, and
worked in eager haste when Jordan bade them get the boats over, for to
have gone back and swept every seal off the island would have been a
relief to them then. Jordan, however, seldom let his feelings overcome
his prudence, and he smiled dryly as he watched the men.
"I don't quite know where the beach is, but there are the seals," he
said. "If we run the flag up you'll pull back just as quick as you
can."
The boats had started in another minute, and with rifles flashing every
now and then they swung over the long swell, until the men's arms and
backs were aching.
Darkness was creeping in when they came back one by one, and then by the
flicker of blinking lanterns the work went on. The deck grew foul with
grease and blood, the knives slipped in the tired hands that held them,
and the lads would stop gasping a moment or two each time a stripped
carcase went over the side, and wonder whether anything would ever free
them from the horrible smell. At last it was over, and while the
_Champlain_ crept on her way again they sat greasy and slimy in the
hold. They were very tired, but there was content in the sealers'
bronzed faces, save for that of Montreal, who sat gloomily silent away
from the rest.
"You've not been talking much to-day. Feeling sick?" said somebody.
Montreal's brown fingers slowly clenched themselves. "Not in the way you
mean. You know what I came up here for, boys, and I've had 'bout enough
of this," he said. "How'm I going to find out anything when Jordan
yanks me out of every boat that goes ashore?"
Donegal, whose forehead was wrapped in a crusted bandage, shook his
head.
"And Ned Jordan knows as well. Can ye not be trusting him?" he said.
Montreal appeared to find some difficulty in checking a groan. "I've
waited a long while, boys, and I'm kind of tired," he said.
There was silence for a minute, for the men knew it was a brother their
comrade had come to find, and Niven, who lay upon the floorings with one
foot tied up, remembering what he had heard in Motter's house, was about
to speak when Appleby kicked him on the leg.
"Still," said somebody, "there's nothing you can do."
Montreal glanced round the shadowy hold as though to make sure that
Stickine was not there. "Well," he said slowly, "I guess the
_Champlain_ will be short of a boat and a man short one morning--and
there'll be trouble for some folks yonder if it's dead that man's
brother is. It's the not knowing--the knowing nothing, that's killing
me."
"One man couldn't do much alone," said Charley dryly.
Montreal laughed mirthlessly, and there was a curious glint in his eyes.
"I guess he could," he said. "That is, if he had a rifle, and didn't
worry 'bout anything so long as he used up the magazine before they got
him down."
Donegal's face lit up under the crusted bandage, and his voice had a
little gleeful ring. "And two av them would do just twice as much--and
it's two, or more, there'll be, but we'll give Ned Jordan a fair show
first," said he.
A little growl of grim approval rose from the men, but none of them said
anything further, and they did not seem quite at ease when Jordan and
Stickine came down the ladder. The skipper sat down, and looked at them
gravely, but if he noticed anything unusual he did not mention it.
"We've got to have a little talk, boys," he said. "You know the kind of
trick Motter would have worked off on me. He'd have taken my dollars
and then before I got the furs turned the Russians loose on us. He and
one of their officers fixed up the thing, and before I got out of their
grip I'd have left skins and schooner behind me. Now, I don't like
being kicked that way by anybody."
The skipper may have been mistaken, but the men believed him.
"We'll go back and pull his place down," said somebody.
Jordan smiled and shook his head. "And find a squad of bluejackets
waiting for you? That's just what Motter would figure on, and there's a
gunboat crawling round," he said.
"Are we going to sit down and do nothing?" asked Montreal.
"No," said Jordan with a little twinkle in his eyes. "Now, it's kind of
difficult for a gunboat to be in two places at once, and while she's
hanging round Motter's watching for us there's nothing to stop us
walking right into the sealing post."
He stopped a moment, and looked straight at Montreal. "Well, now, that
isn't in the deal you made to go sealing with me, but I heard they had a
white man there."
There was a murmur of astonishment, and Montreal stood up quivering a
little. "And," he said hoarsely, "you're going for him?"