FISHING IN ALASKA
"Are you sure this is the same cabin?" asked George.
"Yes, I am sure this is the same cabin. At any rate, the description is
perfect, both as regards the structure and the surroundings."
"I may be somewhat dense," George went on, "but I can't understand why a
miner who is fool enough to prospect for gold on a dead glacier should
take pains to conceal plans concerning the manufacture of a machine.
What did he want of the plans?"
"I didn't say that he was concealing the plans," laughed Will.
"Well, you inferred as much!"
"As a matter of fact, I think he is hiding the plans."
"Does he expect to go into the manufacturing business?" grinned Sandy.
"I don't know about that," Will replied, "but there is talk that the
clerk and the miner conspired to lose the plans."
"Because of the thumb prints?" asked Sandy.
"No; because the machine outlined in the plans is a mining machine, and
because this clerk, Vin Chase, his name is, and this miner, Garman, have
a notion in their head that they can steal the idea and bring forth a
machine of their own. At least that is the supposition in Chicago."
"The plot deepens!" laughed George, "We'll be doing business with the
Patent Office the first thing we know!"
"Are the plans which are claimed to hold the thumb prints of any value?"
asked Sandy. "What I mean is, is the alleged invention of any account?
You know there are plenty of inventions which are not worth the paper
they are drawn on."
"Spaulding and Hurley, the two men accused of stealing the money," Will
answered, "declare that the plans are absolutely without value."
"Why didn't you tell us all this before we left Chicago?" asked George.
"I don't see any necessity for your keeping the story of the plans such
a profound secret!"
"Well," answered Will, "the principal reason why I didn't tell you the
whole story in Chicago is that I didn't care to clutter your minds up
with a puzzling proposition which might be solved in a moment at the end
of the journey. I expected to find Garman and the plans in this cottage.
In that case, I should have shipped the plans back to Chicago and we
should have gone with our playful little vacation under the North Star."
"Then you wouldn't have told us anything about the plans or the
robbers?" questioned Sandy.
"Certainly not," was the reply. "You see, boys," Will went on, observing
the injured look on the faces of his chums, "we've always been mixed up
in some mystery, ever since the day we started out to visit the Pictured
Rocks of Old Superior. So I thought you might like one trip free of
puzzles and excitements."
"Don't you never permit us to lose sight of a mystery!" exclaimed
George. "I eat mysteries three times a day, and then dream of mysteries
at night! And Sandy," he went on, "just gets fat on mysteries!"
"All right," Will agreed. "If you want to tie your intellect all up into
knots studying out such Sherlock Holmes puzzles as come to me, I have no
objections."
"Well, we've found the cottage," George observed presently, "but we
haven't found the man."
"Perhaps Bert Calkins found him," contended Will.
"Do you really think the miner is still hanging around this cabin?"
asked Sandy. "Do you think he is the man who gave Bert the clout on the
head? If you do think so, we'd better keep a sharp lookout."
"Garman wouldn't know anything about our coming here after the plans!"
suggested George.
"Any man who steals another man's invention, or tries to steal it, will
go to almost any length to protect the thing he has stolen. Even if
Garman had no previous knowledge of our visit to this place our arrival
here would at once excite his suspicions."
"I see that now," agreed George, "and the first thing the fellow would
do would be to try to discover what we were doing here."
"Yes," continued Will, "and that would be sufficient motive for him to
attack the bearer of the code despatch."
"I guess we've got it all doped out now," laughed George. "All we've got
to do is to find this man Garman, take the original plans away from him,
mail them back to Chicago, and go on about our business."
"And the lawyers in Chicago will do the rest!" grinned Sandy.
"It looks easy, doesn't it?" suggested Will.
"Why, if this miner doesn't know anything about what we're here for, we
can tell him any story we're a mind to. We can tell him we're here on a
vacation and have money to invest in a mine, if he can find the right
kind of a mine for us," laughed George. "In twenty-four hours after we
get hold of him, we can have him eating corn out of our hands, like a
billy goat."
"You say it well!" laughed Sandy.
"That's all very well," Will agreed, "provided Garman isn't the man who
took the code despatch from Bert Calkins."
"And provided, too," George declared, "that Garman didn't force the boy
to translate the despatch for his benefit."
"And provided, also," Sandy cut in, "that the code despatch doesn't give
away the whole snap to the miner. If he sees the machine plans referred
to in any way, he'll think we want to get them away from him, because
they are the stolen plans, and then it will be all off for us!"
"And so, when you come to round up on the proposition," Will argued, "we
are not much further along than we were when we left Chicago, except
that we have found the cabin."
"Who said anything about getting dinner?" asked Sandy, after a short
pause. "I remember having a little snack about twelve o'clock, but that
wasn't to be considered as a full meal, I hope."
"What have we got to eat?" asked Will.
"Nothing but a lot of canned stuff!" declared Sandy.
"Well, then, go out and get a deer, or half a dozen rabbits, or go back
here to the little creek that runs into Copper river and see if you can
get a mess of fish. There ought to be plenty of fish in Alaska!"
"What kind of fish can you get?" asked Sandy.
"Salmon!" answered Will.
"How far is it to the creek?" was the next question.
"Something over a mile, I should say," replied Will.
"It can't be any further than that," George cut in. "The glacier this
cabin is built on supplies most of the water for it."
"All right, then," Sandy replied. "I'll get myself up a little lunch
consisting of a couple of slices of bacon and three or four eggs, and go
out and catch a ten-pound salmon for dinner. Want to go with me,
George?" he added. "No need of all three staying here."
"Let Will go," replied George. "I'm tired, and there's a particularly
interesting book I'd like to finish this afternoon."
Will went pawing among the fishing tackle, and finally called out to
George who was just crawling into a bunk with his book:
"What do they catch fish with in Alaska?"
"Hooks!" replied George.
"Hooks and eyes?" asked Will, with a chuckle.
"Sure! Hooks and eyes! You see 'em with the eyes, and grab 'em with the
hooks!"
"Aw, never mind that gink!" laughed Sandy. "He doesn't know any more
about fishing in Alaska than a hog knows about Sunday! Bring along all
the flies we've got and some red flannel, and some pieces of dirty
bacon, and we'll manage to get fish. If one bait won't answer, another
will."
"Do we have to cut a hole through the ice?" asked Will.
"Cut a hole through the ice!" repeated George. "Eighty or ninety in the
shade! If you don't get this boy out of here, Sandy," George added,
"I'll give him a poke in the eye!"
After selecting such flies, hooks, and lines as they thought might prove
alluring to the fish, Will and Sandy started away in the direction of
the little stream which ran out of the glacier a mile or so to the north
and took a general direction toward Copper river.
After walking half a mile or more, they came to a line of rocks which
seemed to extend from the open ice of the glacier to the coast, a
distance of perhaps five or six miles. West of this line of moraine
rocks the land sloped gradually to the northwest and here the headwaters
of the little creek they sought were found.
Straight away to the north, west of the glacier, rose a range of wooded
hills just now bright with blossoms and swarming with insect life. The
little creek crept along to the south of this range, and, further down,
separated the ground to the south from the hills.
Sandy leaped across the little rivulet as it came bubbling out of the
ice hidden under the moraine and started down the bank next to the line
of hills. Will kept to the other side.
"Why don't you come across?" shouted Sandy.
"What's the good of crossing over at all?" Will asked. "Before long the
stream will be so wide that you can't cross back, and then you'll have
to retrace your steps clear to the headwaters!"
"I can swim, can't I?" laughed Sandy.
"Not in that cold water!" replied Will.
Sandy only laughed in reply to the warning, and the two boys proceeded
downstream, one on each side of the rivulet.
Within half an hour they caught half a dozen salmon of fair size,
weighing from four to six pounds, using only red flannel for bait.
"What do you think of a fish in his right mind that'll try to eat red
flannel?" asked Sandy, speaking from the opposite side of the creek.
"Boys do more foolish things than that!" answered Will.
"Explanation!" grinned Sandy.
"They smoke cigarettes, for one thing!" replied Will. "Even a fish that
tries to make a meal off red flannel won't smoke a cigarette."
"We don't seem to get anything very big!" shouted Sandy.
"Well," Will answered back with a faint smile, "take a look up the
hillside and see if that bear coming is large enough for you!"