THE SCHOONER REAPPEARS
It was early in the evening when after a toilsome march Mr. Barclay and
the boys reached a Siwash rancherie built just above high-water mark on
the pebbly beach of a sheltered inlet. Frank had already discovered that
the northern part of the Pacific Slope is a land of majestic beauty, but
he had so far seen nothing quite so wild and rugged as the surroundings
of the Indian dwelling. Behind it, a great rock fell almost sheer,
leaving only room for a breadth of shingle between its feet and the
strip of clear green water. On the opposite side mighty firs climbed the
face of a towering hill so steep that Frank wondered how they clung to
it, and at the head of the tremendous chasm a crystal stream came
splashing out of eternal shadow. Seaward a wet reef guarded the inlet's
mouth, with its outer edge hidden by spouts of snowy foam, upon which
the big Pacific rollers broke continually, ranging up in tall green
walls and crumbling upon the stony barrier with a deep vibratory roar
which rang in long pulsations across the stately pines.
The rancherie was a long and rather ramshackle, single-storied, wooden
building not unlike a frame barn, only lower, and Frank discovered that
although it was inhabited by the whole Siwash colony there were no
divisions in it, but each inmate or family claimed its allotted space
upon the floor. A tall pole rudely carved with grotesque figures stood
in front of it, and it occurred to Frank as he inspected them that he
was face to face with the rudiments of heraldry. The nobles of ancient
Europe, he remembered, blazoned devices of this kind upon their shields,
and their descendants still painted their lions and griffins and eagles
upon their carriages and stamped them upon their note paper. He was
probably right in his surmises, though there are different views upon
the subject of totem poles, and the Siwash, who ought to know most about
them, seem singularly unwilling to supply inquirers with any reliable
information.
A group of brown-faced, black-haired men and women dressed much as white
folks stood about the rancherie, and near them were ranged rows of
shallow trays of bark containing drying berries. Frank noticed that the
woods were full of the latter--hat berries, salmon berries, and splendid
black and yellow raspberries. Several big sea canoes were drawn up at
the edge of the water, and Mr. Oliver sat near one of them with another
cluster of Siwash gathered about him. They had spread a number of
peltries out upon the stones, which Mr. Oliver explained were seal
skins. Frank examined one, and found it difficult to believe that this
coarse, greasy, and nastily smelling hair was the material out of which
the beautiful glossy furs were made. He confided his views to Harry.
"Yes," said the latter, "they're not much to look at now. They have to
go through quite a lot of dressing, and I've heard that in the first
place all the long outside hair is plucked out. There's an inner coat."
He looked at the men. "It's done in England, isn't it?"
Mr. Barclay smiled. "A good deal of it is, anyway." Then he addressed
Mr. Oliver. "You're buying some of these peltries?"
"One or two," was the answer. "We want an excuse for this visit."
Mr. Barclay made a sign of assent, and after chaffering with the Indians
for a few moments Mr. Oliver broke in again: "They're cheap, that's
sure. I suppose these fellows would rather sell them on the spot for
dollars down than pack them along down to Alberni or some other place
where they'd probably have to take grocery stores in payment. If you're
open to make a deal we'll take two or three between us. We ought to get
our money back with something over in Victoria."
Mr. Oliver kept up the bargaining for a while, and then explained that
he and his companion did not care for the rest of the skins, which were
inferior to those they had chosen. One of the Siwash thereupon informed
him that more canoes were expected in a day or two, adding that he would
probably be able to show them further peltries if they could wait their
arrival.
"Tell him we'll stay," said Mr. Barclay. "At the same time you had
better ask him if there's any likelihood of our getting down to Victoria
by water. You can say we've had about enough crawling through the
bush--it's a fact that _I_ have--and lead up to the question naturally."
Frank, observing a twinkle in Harry's eyes, watched the Indians' faces
when Mr. Oliver addressed them, but they remained perfectly
expressionless.
"I can't get anything out of them about the schooner," Mr. Oliver
reported at length. "This fellow says the easiest way would be to send
our Indians back for the canoe, which I'll do. It's possible that we may
chance upon a little more information later on."
"Where do they get the skins?" Frank asked presently, when the Indians
had left them.
"That's a point they don't seem much inclined to talk about," Mr.
Barclay answered. "They probably follow them in their canoes as they
work up north, though it's only odd seals they pick up in that way. The
principal supply comes from the Pribyloff Islands up in the Bering Sea.
It's supposed that with the exception of a few which frequent some reefs
lying nearer Russian Asia practically all the seals in the North
Pacific haul out there for two or three months every year. The American
lessees club them on the land, but the crews of the Canadian schooners
kill a number in open water outside our limit. They claim that although
the seals are born on American beaches we don't own them when they're in
the sea, but, as it's suggested that they're not always very particular
about their exact distance from the islands, their proceedings make
trouble every now and then. I'm talking about the fur seals; there are
several other kinds which are more or less common everywhere."
He broke off and sat smoking silently for a while, looking at the skins.
"They seem to have taken your fancy," Mr. Oliver observed presently.
"It's a fact," Mr. Barclay assented. "I was just thinking I'd like to
take that big one and the other yonder home with me. My daughter Minnie
visits East in the winter now and then, and she's fond of furs, though
so far I haven't been able to buy her any particularly smart ones.
There's a man I know in Portland who can fix up a skin as well as any
one in London. He was a good many years in Alaska trading furs for the
A. C. C., and some of the Russians who stayed behind there taught him to
dress them."
Mr. Oliver laughed. "I suppose the thing is quite out of the question?"
"It is," said Mr. Barclay dryly. "You ought to know that the United
States charges a big duty on foreign furs."
"On foreign ones!" broke in Harry, nudging Frank. "A seal born on an
American beach could certainly be considered an American seal."
"When you import goods into the United States you require a certificate
of origin, young man."
"That fixes the thing," said Harry. "On your own showing, those seals
originated on the Pribyloffs. They're American."
"Ingenious!" exclaimed Mr. Barclay, with a longing glance at the skins.
"There's some reason in that contention, but won't you go on? You don't
seem to have got through yet."
"In case you felt justified in taking a skin or two," continued Harry
thoughtfully, "I'd like to point out that, as a rule, the Customs
fellows don't trouble about a sloop the size of ours. We just run up to
our moorings when we come back from a yachting trip, and there's a nice
little nook forward which would just hold a bundle of those peltries.
It's hidden beneath the second cable."
Mr. Barclay picked up a piece of shingle and flung it at him.
"You can stop right now before you get yourself into difficulties. What
do you mean by proposing a smuggling deal to a man connected with the
United States revenue?"
"I'm sorry," Harry answered with a chuckle. "I should have waited until
the rest had gone."
Mr. Barclay regarded him severely, though his eyes twinkled.
"Your smartness is going to make trouble for you by and by," he said.
"Go and see what that Siwash is doing about our supper."
Harry moved away, but presently came back to announce that the meal was
ready. When it was over the boys strolled off toward the reef, leaving
the men sitting smoking on the beach.
"That boy of yours told me what seemed a rather curious thing last
night," said Mr. Barclay, and he briefly ran over what Harry had related
about the man with the peculiar shoulder.
Mr. Oliver listened in evident astonishment.
"It's the first time I've heard of the matter," he exclaimed. "What do
you make of it?"
"In the meanwhile I don't quite know what to think. If that man is boss
of the gang it explains a good deal that has been puzzling me, but I
must own it's considerably more than I expected. The general idea was
that he'd cleared out of the country, which would have been a very
natural course in view of the fact that he'd probably have been
sandbagged if he'd show himself after dark on any wharf of two of the
coast states. Anyway, your son's description was quite straight. He
seemed sure of him."
"Harry's eyes are as good as yours or mine," said Mr. Oliver with a
smile. Mr. Barclay wrinkled his brow.
"There's a point that struck me--though I can't say if it explains the
thing. The boy's only young yet, he has imagination and, it's possible,
a fondness for detective literature, like the rest of them. Now we'll
assume that he had heard of a certain sensational case--a particularly
grewsome crime on board an American ship--and the arrest of the rascal
accused of it. I needn't point out that the fellow only escaped on a
technical point of law and that his picture figured in some of the
papers. Isn't that the kind of thing that's likely to make a marked
impression on the youthful mind?"
"I can see two objections," responded Mr. Oliver. "In the first place,
Harry was away in Idaho while the case was going on. The second one's
more important. Harry might try to put the laugh on you, as he did not
long ago, but when he makes a concise statement it's to be relied upon.
In such a case I've never known him to let his imagination run away with
him."
Mr. Barclay spread his hands out in a deprecatory manner.
"Then we'll take the thing for granted, and it certainly simplifies the
affair. I'd no trouble in finding the Chinese colony, and though I've no
idea how they get the dope, that doesn't matter. The point is that it's
very seldom anybody is likely to disturb them in this part of the bush,
and there are two inlets handy. A schooner could slip in here a dozen
times without being noticed by anybody except the Siwash. Then we have
the fact that a notorious rascal who has evidently a hand in the thing
was seen heading for the Chinese colony. It seems to me decisive."
"What are you going to do about it?" Mr. Oliver asked.
"Wait and keep my eyes open. If it appears advisable I may communicate
with the Canadian authorities later on, though, of course, we must
contrive to get our hands on the fellows in American waters. I've an
idea it can be done."
Mr. Oliver said nothing further, and by and by, when a thin haze rolled
down from the hillside and night closed in, they strolled toward the
rancherie, where they were given a strip of floor space not far from the
entrance. The boys came in a little later and lay down apart from them
and nearer the door, but Frank did not go to sleep. The rancherie was
hot and the dull roar of the combers on the reef came throbbing in and
made him restless. He lay still for what seemed a considerable time, and
at last there was a low sound which might have been made by somebody
rising stealthily, after which a dim black object flitted out of the
door. Then Harry, who lay close to him, touched his arm.
"Are you asleep?" he asked very softly.
"No," answered Frank. "Where's that fellow going?"
"Get out as quietly as you can," was Harry's reply.
Frank had kept his shirt and trousers on, and after feeling for his
boots he arose cautiously, holding them in his hand. In another moment
or two he had slipped out into the cool night air and was crossing the
shingle in his stockinged feet. Once or twice a stone rattled, but he
supposed the sound was lost in the clamor of the reef, for nobody seemed
to hear it. When they had left the rancherie some distance behind they
sat down.
"Now," said Harry, "I'll tell you my idea. They're expecting the
schooner and don't want her to run in while we're about. They've
probably had a man on the lookout down by the entrance, and I expect the
fellow who went out has been sent by the boss or Tyee to learn if the
other one has seen her."
"It's curious some of them didn't hear us," Frank observed thoughtfully.
"I'm not sure that they didn't," Harry admitted. "Anyway, they couldn't
stop us without some excuse, and, if I'm right, they certainly wouldn't
want to tell us why they wished us to stay in. Of course," he added, "it
might make them suspicious, but I don't know any reason why we should
point that out to Barclay. The great thing is to keep out of sight in
case they follow us."
They put on their boots and crept along in the gloom beneath the rock,
heading toward the reefs. A little breeze blew down the hollow, setting
the dark firs to sighing, and part of the inlet lay black in their
shadow. The rest sparkled in the light of a half-moon which had just
risen above the crest of the hill. They could hear the soft splash and
tinkle of water rippling among the stones, but now and then this sound
was drowned as the roar of the reef grew louder and deeper. Presently a
dim, filmy whiteness in front of them resolved itself into a glimmering
spray cloud and fountains of spouting foam, and when at length they
stopped among a cluster of wet boulders they could see a black ridge of
rock thrusting itself out, half buried, into a mad turmoil of frothing
water. It lay in the shadow of the rock, and there was no moonlight on
the ghostly combers which came seething down upon it. A little outshore,
however, the sea sparkled with a silvery radiance except where the
shadow of a black head fell upon it. There was not more than a moderate
breeze, but the Pacific surge breaks upon and roars about those reefs
continually.
A little thrill ran through Frank as he leaned upon one of the wet
boulders. It was the first time he had trodden a Pacific beach, and he
realized that he had now reached the outermost verge of the West. He
could go no farther. The ocean barred his progress, and beyond it lay
different lands, whose dark-skinned peoples spoke in other tongues. The
white man's civilization stopped short where he stood. Then as he
watched the ceaseless shoreward rush of the big combers and looked up at
black rock and climbing pines, a strange delight in the new life he led
crept into his heart. Dusky shadow and silvery moonlight seemed filled
with glamour, and he was learning to love the wilderness as he could
never have loved the cities. Besides, he was there to watch for the
mysterious schooner, and that alone was sufficient to stir him and put a
tension on his nerves. It was more than possible that there were other
watchers hidden somewhere in the gloom.
He did not know how long they waited, with the salt spray stinging their
faces and the diapason of the surf in their ears, but at last she came,
breaking upon his sight suddenly and strangely, as he felt it was most
fitting that she should do. Her black headsails swept out of the shadow
of the neighboring head, the tall boom-foresail followed, and a second
later he saw the greater spread of her after canvas. She drove on,
growing larger, into a strip of moonlight, when, for the wind was off
the shore, he saw her hull hove up on the side toward him, with the
water flashing beneath it and frothing white at her bows.
"She's close-hauled," said Harry. "They'll stretch across to the other
side and then put the helm down and let her reach in. It's a mighty
awkward place to make when the wind's blowing out."
She plunged once more into the shadow, but Frank could still see her
more or less plainly--a tall, slanted mass of canvas flitting swiftly
through the dusky blueness of the night. She edged close in with the
reef, still carrying everything except her main gaff-topsail, and then
as her headsails swept across the entrance the splash of a paddle
reached the boys faintly through the clamor of the surf and they heard a
hoarse shout.
"There's a canoe yonder," announced Harry. "The Siwash in her is hailing
them. They've heard him. Her peak's coming down."
A clatter of blocks broke out and the upper half of the tall mainsail
suddenly collapsed. Then the schooner's bows swung around a little until
they pointed to the seething froth upon the opposite beach.
"What are they doing?" Frank asked. "She's going straight ashore."
Harry laughed excitedly. "No," he said, "that Siwash has told them to
clear out again, and it will want smart work to get her round in this
narrow water. They've dropped the mainsail peak because she wouldn't
fall off fast enough."
Frank watched her eagerly for the next moment or two. Her bows were
swinging around, but they were swinging slowly, and the beach with the
white surf upon it seemed ominously close ahead. He saw two black
figures go scrambling forward and haul the staysail to windward, but she
was still forging across the inlet. Then her bows fell off a little
farther, the trailing gaff swung out with a bang, and Frank saw the
masts fall into line with him and a bent figure behind the deckhouse
struggling with the wheel. In another moment her mainsail came over with
a crash and she was flitting out to sea again.
"Now," cried Harry, "back up the beach for your life! We're going in
swimming!"
"You can do what you like," grunted Frank. "I'm heading straight for the
rancherie."
"After the swim," urged Harry. "Get a move on and loose your things as
you run. I'll explain later."
He ran on, flinging off his clothes, and plunged into the water when
they drew near the rancherie. In another moment or two Frank waded in
after him and was glad he had done so when he heard the soft splash of a
canoe paddle somewhere in the gloom. He fancied that the Siwash would
see them, which, as he realized, was what Harry had desired. They were
some distance from the mouth of the inlet and he did not think the
schooner would have been visible from the spot, which led him to believe
that if the Indians had noticed their absence their present occupation
might serve as an excuse for it.
He did not see the canoe reach the beach, but in two or three minutes
Harry suggested that they might as well go out, and putting on some of
their clothes they made for the rancherie. Creeping into it softly, they
lay down and soon afterward went to sleep.