IN THE BLUE BEAR’S CAVE
It was with a feeling of great uneasiness that Johnny came on deck next
morning. What was to happen? Had that little brown man told the story of
their struggle in the night? And if he had? He shuddered.
Yet, strange to say, the day wore on in perfect peace. They were not even
asked to go below and clean fish. The reason for this was apparent, the
fish on deck had been taken care of. Since the storm was still roaring
across the sea, no others could be brought in. During the forenoon two
small, motor-driven crafts came close to stand by.
“They belong to this outfit,” MacGregor declared. “They may have salmon
below-deck. They’re afraid of the storm. That’s why they don’t come in.
“Ah, well,” he sighed. “We’re here for the day at least. Even if your
_Krazy Kat_ was in the water, Rusty, we couldn’t risk her in a storm like
this.”
“These Orientals are a queer lot,” Johnny mused.
“Queer’s no name for it, me boy,” said MacGregor. “As for me, I don’t
trust ’em. They’re like children, just when they’re makin’ the least
noise is when you’re sure they’re up to some mischief.”
Was this true? Johnny shuddered anew, but said never a word.
They discovered during their lunch in their stateroom at noon that there
was something vaguely familiar about the brown boy who brought the lunch.
Johnny stared at him. But Rusty exclaimed in a whisper, “Kopkina! You
here?”
The boy made a motion for silence. “I am spy,” he whispered. “Red McGee
good man. Me, I, Red McGee man.
“You listen,” his voice dropped to a whisper. “I tell ’em, that one
captain this ship, tell ’em you Red McGee boy.” He nodded to Rusty. “Tell
’em Red McGee mebby plenty mad. Plenty ’fraid Red McGee. They not punish
you for fight on deck last night. Must go now.” He disappeared through
the door.
“Boy!” Johnny breathed. “I’m feeling better already.”
Two hours later they had added cause for feeling better. Just when the
sea was beginning to calm a little they caught the drum of a motor. As
Johnny heard it his heart stood still, then leaped.
“A motor,” he breathed. “That’s a powerful motor. If only it’s Dan
MacMillan and his seaplane.”
“It is! It is!” Rusty’s voice rose to a high pitch. “There! There it is.
See!”
Johnny did see. He pointed it out to MacGregor. They all leaned on the
rail watching the seaplane approach.
“If it’s only Dan,” MacGregor breathed.
There came the sound of rushing feet. Apparently every little brown man
on the boat had heard those motors. They came swarming onto the deck.
“If it’s Dan MacMillan,” said MacGregor, “there’s sure to be someone with
him.”
“They’ll be looking for us,” said Rusty.
“Yes, and we’ll have to find a way to let them know we’re here,” Johnny
added.
“That,” said MacGregor, “is going to be hard, with all these.” His glance
swept the brown throng.
“Tell you what!” Johnny exclaimed. “Rusty and I might do a little boxing
bout. There’s sure to be someone on the plane who knows us.”
“And they’ll recognize you by your actions,” MacGregor agreed. “It’s a
capital idea. I’ll go for the gloves.”
And so it happened that, as the seaplane flew over the ship, circled,
then dipping low, passed within a hundred feet, those in it witnessed a
strange sight—two white youngsters staging a boxing match for the benefit
of a host of little brown men, who, truth to tell, gave them scant
attention.
“I only hope they recognized us,” said Johnny, throwing his gloves on the
deck.
“You and me too,” said Rusty. “Anyway,” she laughed, “that’s one time I
didn’t knock you out.”
Whatever impression this little drama may have made upon the occupants of
the seaplane, the effect of the appearance of the seaplane on the little
brown men was apparent at once. On every face as the seaplane went
winging away MacGregor read consternation.
“They’re afraid,” he grumbled low to his young companions. “Down deep in
their hearts they are afraid.”
“What will they do now?” Rusty asked anxiously.
“They’re already doin’ it,” said MacGregor, calling attention to the rush
and bustle on board. “Puttin’ the ship in shape. It wouldn’t surprise me
if they weighed anchor within the hour. And if they do, me lassie,” he
added, “you may be lookin’ on them Oriental cities within a week, for
they’ll be headin’ straight for home.”
“Oh-o,” Rusty breathed. But she said never a word.
On that same morning in Smokey Joe’s cabin Lawrence was up before the wee
small hours had passed. After one good look at the sea, which was still
rolling high, he dashed back into the cabin to find Blackie staring at
him wide awake.
“Black-Blackie,” he stammered. “I—I hate to disturb you. But—but that
blue bear—”
“I know.” Blackie sat up. “Three peaks, a look and a right smart ho,
hum.”
“Blackie! It’s terribly important. Just think! A little blue bear. The
only one in captivity, if we get him.”
“I know.” Blackie slid out of his bunk. “Get the fire going. Put the
coffee pot on. We’ll be off in a half hour.”
“Oh, think—”
“Put the coffee on!” Blackie roared.
After tacking an old shirt to a pole as a signal of distress to any boat
that might pass and instructing Smokey Joe to be on the lookout, Blackie
drew a rough map, showing where, according to Smokey’s direction, the
bear’s cave might be found. After that he led the way over the first
“peak.”
These peaks were, they discovered, mere ridges. The distance was, in
reality, much shorter than they had thought.
“This is the place,” Lawrence said, an hour and a half later. “It must
be.”
“It is,” Blackie agreed. “There are the two scrub spruce trees with
Smokey’s blaze on them.”
“And there’s the cave!” Lawrence was greatly excited.
“Not much of a cave,” said Blackie. “Might be quite some bear at that.
Wait.”
With a small hatchet he hacked away at a dry spruce knot until he had a
pitch-filled torch. This, with the aid of some dry shavings, he lighted.
“Now,” he breathed. “Give me one of the ropes. We’ll have to manage to
tangle him up somehow. I’ll lead the way.”
“Al-all right,” Lawrence’s tongue was dry.
The floor of the dark grotto was strewn with pebbles. To walk without
making a noise was impossible.
“Wait! Listen!” Lawrence whispered when they had covered some twenty
paces.
As they paused, they caught a low hissing sound.
“Snakes,” the boy suggested.
“Not here. Too cold. It’s the bear. Get your rope ready.”
Slowly, cautiously they moved forward.
“There! There are his eyes.” Two balls of fire appeared directly before
them.
And then things began to happen. A low snarl was followed by the sound of
scattered pebbles. Blackie was hit by the rushing bear and bowled over
like a ten pin. But Lawrence, quick as a cat, saw a hairy head, aimed a
short swing and let go his rope.
Next instant he was shouting: “Blackie! Quick! Help! I got him! I got
him!”
The husky little blue bear dragged them both to the very entrance of the
cave. There, panting and tearing at the rope, he paused to glare at them.
The rope was drawn tight about his shoulders with one foreleg through the
loop.
Blackie, who was both fast and strong, made quick work of what remained
to be done. Fifteen minutes later, carrying the live bear slung between
them on a pole, they headed for the cabin.
To their great joy, as they neared the cabin, they saw one of Red McGee’s
gill-net boats awaiting them in the little bay. Smokey Joe had flagged it
down.
After a hasty, “Thank you and goodbye” to Smokey, they tossed their
priceless captive into the after cabin of the stout, little motor-boat to
head straight away over a rolling sea toward still more adventure, of
quite a different nature.