"Go and look for caribou, and attend to their business, I suppose, and leave us quiet, peaceable folk alone," he laughed, adding: "I never saw such a pack before, though I've heard some of the old Eskimos say that years ago it used to happen now and again that packs like this appeared. Wolves are cowardly beasts, but numbers give them courage. When six or eight get together, you have to look out for them, and when the pack grows to a dozen they'll attack openly, and aren't afraid of anything—not even man."

"Well, anyway we had the adventure we started out to get," laughed Bobby, "and a little more of it than we expected."

"Yes, and a nice haul of wolf pelts to boot," added Skipper Ed.

"We were lucky they didn't get us," said Jimmy.

"Yes," agreed Skipper Ed, "lucky—the kind of luck we were talking about tonight. That is, the luck of the Almighty's bounty and protection. We did the best we could, according to our lights, to protect and help ourselves, and so He helped, and brought us safely back, none the worse, and perhaps a little the stronger and better and richer in experience than we were an hour ago."

"It was a corking good adventure, anyhow!" broke in Bobby. "That sort of thing just makes me tingle all over! Somehow when I get out of a mess like that I feel a lot bigger and stronger and more grown up. It was great fun—now that it's over."

"You're a natural-born adventurer," laughed Skipper Ed. "You should have lived in the old days, when men had to fight for their life, or went out to find and conquer new lands."

"Well, I'm glad it's over," Jimmy shuddered—"the run from the wolves—and that they've gone. I didn't have time to feel much scared out there, but I'm scared now of what might have happened. I don't like to get into such fixes."

"Well, it's over, and all is well, and we're none the worse for it. Now drink your hot tea, lads," counseled Skipper Ed. "We've work to do before we sleep."

They ate their hardtack biscuit, and sipped the hot tea silently for a little, listening the while to the snug and cheerful crackle of wood and roar of flames in the big box stove.

"Now," said Skipper Ed finally, "we'll haul the wolves into the porch, and make them safe, for the dogs are like to tear at them, and injure the pelts."

The following morning the carcasses of five additional wolves were discovered at the place where they had first fired upon the pack. Two of the dogs, mangled and torn by wolf fangs, were dead, and three others were so badly injured that for a long time they were unfitted for driving. But the others had discreetly decided that it was better "to run away and live to fight another day," and were none the worse for their scrimmage.

Bobby, of course, ran over to Abel's cabin to tell the great news of the battle, and Abel and Mrs. Abel must needs return with him to assist in removing the pelts from the animals, and to spend the day with Skipper Ed and his partner. And a merry day it was for all of them, for wolf pelts could be traded at the mission store for necessaries. And none of them gave heed or thought to the danger the pelts had cost, save to give thanks to God for His deliverance; for dangers in that land are an incident of the game of life, and there the game of life is truly a man's game.



CHAPTER IX

THE FISHING PLACES

Like every other healthy lad of his years Bobby loved fun and adventure, though he had early learned to carry upon his broad shoulders a full portion of the responsibilities of the household. In the bleak land where he lived there is no shifting of these responsibilities. Everyman, and every boy, too, must do his share to wrest a living from the sea and rocks, and Bobby had no thought but to do his part. If a boy cannot do one thing in Labrador, he can do another. He can cut wood, hunt small game, attend the fish nets, jig cod—there are a thousand things that he can do, and make sport of as he does them, too, as Bobby did, until he grows to man's estate.

Each summer Abel and Mrs. Abel returned to their old fishing place on Itigailit Island, and of course Bobby went with them, and did his share in jigging cod; and each summer Skipper Ed and Jimmy went to Skipper Ed's old fishing place—the place where he had found his forlorn little partner that stormy autumn day, when they had sealed their bargain with a handshake.

The days of preparation for departure to the fishing were days of keen and pleasurable anticipation for the boys. It was a break from the routine of the long winter, and brought with it the novelty of change. These promised weeks upon the open sea were always weeks of delight, and above all else was the pleasure of seeing and sometimes visiting the fishing schooners which occasionally chanced their way.

The schooners had a wonderful fascination for the lads, for they came from the far-away and mysterious land of civilization of which Skipper Ed had told them so often and so much, and of which they had read so eagerly on long winter evenings.

It was more than a novelty to listen to the sailormen on the schooners talk of the strange happenings in that wonderful land, and to hear them sing their quaint old sea songs and chanteys, or relate marvelous stories of adventure.

Sometimes a skipper would drop them a newspaper, many weeks old to be sure, but as fresh and interesting to them as though it had come directly from the press. Or perchance—and this was a treasure indeed—an illustrated magazine fell to their lot. And no line of paper or magazine, even to the last advertisement, but was read many and many times over. And no illustration in the magazines but held their attention for hours upon hours.

These old newspapers and magazines were preserved, and carried home to take their place as a valued source of entertainment on stormy winter days and long winter evenings. And finally the illustrations and more interesting articles were clipped and pasted upon the walls until the interiors of Abel's and Skipper Ed's cabins became veritable picture galleries and libraries of reference.

But the eve of parting for their separate fishing places was always tinged with sadness and regret, for during these weeks they were denied one another's companionship.

"If our fishing places were only close to each other, so we could fish together, wouldn't it be fine!" suggested Bobby, one spring day as he and Jimmy sat on a rock below Abel's cabin, looking expectantly out over the bay, while Abel, with Skipper Ed's assistance, put the finishing touches upon the big boat in preparation for departure to their fishing places the next morning.

"Yes, wouldn't it!" exclaimed Jimmy. "If we weren't so busy, Partner and I would be dreadfully lonesome without you."

"And if it wasn't for being busy I'd be dreadfully lonesome without you, too," admitted Bobby. "I always am, anyhow."

"Yes," said Jimmy, "so are we on days when the sea's so rough we can't fish."

"But it's fine out there, and it's always fine to get back, isn't it, Jimmy?"

"Aye, 'tis that!" declared Jimmy.

"But it makes me feel lonesome already," said Bobby, returning to the original proposition, "to think that I won't see you and Skipper Ed for so long."

"What's this I hear? Lonesome for Partner and me?" asked Skipper Ed, who had finished with the boat and, coming up behind the boys, overheard Bobby's remark.

"Yes," said Bobby, "at the fishing."

"Well, well, now, isn't that strange!" ejaculated Skipper Ed. "I was thinking the same way, and Abel was thinking that way, too, and we've been talking it over!"

"Jimmy and I think 'twould be fine if we could all fish together," continued Bobby.

"So were we! So were we! A strange coincidence!" declared Skipper Ed. "And Abel thinks it might be arranged."

"Oh, can it? Can it?" and the boys jumped to their feet.

"I don't know," and Skipper Ed's face assumed a long and gloomy expression as he seated himself upon the rock. "There's one thing in the way and I couldn't consent."

"Why can't we?" asked Jimmy, in deep disappointment.

"Because," said Skipper Ed seriously, "I'm not free to consent."

"Why not? Yes, you are!" coaxed Bobby. "Please do."

"I'd like to," said Skipper Ed. "Yes, I'd like to; but you see I've got a partner, and one partner can't go ahead and do things unless the other partner agrees. At any rate he shouldn't. Do you agree, Partner?"

The boys gave a whoop of joy.

"Then you consent, Partner?" and Skipper Ed's eyes twinkled humorously.

"Of course I do, Partner!" exclaimed Jimmy. "It's what I've wanted to do right along."

"Then everything is arranged," said Skipper Ed. "Abel says there are plenty of fish for all of us around Itigailit Island. Perhaps, then, we'd better go home, Partner, and put things in shipshape for an early start in the morning."

And so they parted in high glee, Bobby to the cabin to break the good news to Mrs. Abel, and Skipper Ed down the trail toward his own cabin, with Jimmy at his heels.



CHAPTER X

A FOOLHARDY SHOT

Though the days were long now, for this was July, when dawn comes in this land before two o'clock in the morning, it was scarce daylight when Skipper Ed and Jimmy in their big trap boat, and with a skiff in tow in which were stowed his seven sledge dogs, hoisted sail and bore down the bay before a westerly breeze.

And as they passed beyond the point which separated the cove in which Abel's cabin stood from the cove where their own cabin stood, they discovered Abel's boat almost abreast of them, and within hailing distance. Bobby and Jimmy exchanged vociferous greetings, and Skipper Ed and Abel converged their courses until the boats were so close as to permit of conversation.

It was a glorious morning. The air was crisp and fragrant with whiffs of forest perfumes borne down to them from the near-by shore. Banks of brilliant red and orange in the eastern sky foretold the coming of the sun. The sea sparkled. Gulls and other wild fowl soared overhead or rode lightly upon the swell. A school of shining caplin shimmered on the surface of the water. Here and there a seal lifted its curious head for a moment, and then disappeared. At intervals a grampus, with a startling, roaring blow, raised its great black back above the surface, and then sank again from view.

On barren hillsides patches of snow, remnants of mighty drifts, lay against the dark moist rocks like great white sheets, and here and there miniature ice pans rose and fell upon the swell, reminders of the long cold winter, for winter in this far northern clime is ever reluctant to relinquish its grasp upon the earth.

The glow in the east disappeared at length, and then the sun rose to caress them with his warmth. Presently mirages appeared. Islands seemed to sit upon the tops of other islands, or to hang suspended in the air, and every distant shore became distorted in the brilliant July sunlight.

"That's the way a good many of us look at things in this life," said Skipper Ed. "We see the mirage, and not the thing itself. Hopes loom up and look real, when they're just false. It's a great thing to be able to tell the differences between what is real and what is just a mirage."

The wind fell away to a dead calm before noon, and though Abel and Skipper Ed worked at their heavy sculling oars, and Bobby and Jimmy and Mrs. Abel at the other oars, the boats, laden as they were, and retarded by the skiffs in tow, made such slow progress that at length they stopped at a convenient island to boil the kettle and cook their dinner and wait for a returning breeze.

Dinner was a jolly feast, simple as it was, for in this land folk live upon simple food and are satisfied with little variety, for their appetites and desires are not glutted, as ours so often are. And many things that you and I deem necessary they do not miss, because they have never had them, and more often than not have never so much as heard of them. And perhaps it is just as well, and their happiness is just as complete.

A cod which Bobby caught with his jigger, was boiled in sea water, because sea water salted it to just the right flavor. This was the first cod of the season, and the first cod is always a delicacy, and so they deemed it, together with some of Mrs. Abel's bread, and a pot of tea sweetened with a drop of molasses.

Then Skipper Ed and Abel shaved tobacco from black plugs, and Skipper Ed and Abel and Mrs. Abel talked while they waited for the wind to rise that was to carry them on their journey.

It was a rocky, irregular island upon which they had halted, with rocks sloping up from the water's edge, and on the top some struggling bunches of brush. It was not a large island, but nevertheless Bobby and Jimmy deemed it worthy of exploration, and so, bent upon discovery, they left their elders to talk, while they wandered about.

"There's a dotar on the shore," exclaimed Bobby, stopping suddenly and indicating the dark body of a harbor seal sunning itself comfortably upon the surface of the smooth, flat rocks near water. "Wait here, Jimmy, till I get my gun and try a shot at him."

And away he ran, presently to return with his gun—the same that Abel had found in the boat at the time he discovered Bobby. It was double-barreled, and a shotgun, but now both barrels were loaded with round ball. And loaded with ball it was effective enough at fifty yards or so, but far from certain in accuracy at a greater distance.

"Let's work down through the brush as far as we can," suggested Bobby, "and then I'll crawl down on him, if he'll let me, for a good close shot."

Slowly they crawled, and cautiously, looking at nothing and paying attention to nothing but the seal, which, presently becoming conscious of danger perhaps, grew restless; and though Bobby was not as near his game as he should have wished, he threw up his gun and fired. The bullet, after the manner of bullets fired from shotguns at long range, went wide of its mark, and the seal, after the manner of seals, slipped gently into the water and was gone.

"There he goes!" exclaimed Bobby in disgust, springing to his feet. "If I had only had a rifle!"

"Yes," said Jimmy, "you'd have—"

Jimmy's sentence was cut short by the sound of a heavy tread behind them, and wheeling about our young hunters discovered a big polar bear, in the edge of the brush and not twenty yards away. It had apparently been aroused from an afternoon sleep, and not being partial to human society was now bent upon an expeditious departure from the vicinity. Quick as a flash Bobby raised his gun to his shoulder.

"Don't shoot! Don't shoot!" warned Jimmy.

But Bobby did not heed the warning. The bullet from the undischarged barrel went crashing into the animal's shoulder. The bear stumbled, bit furiously at the wound, and then in a rage charged upon his now defenseless enemies.

Polar bears, unless very hungry, or unless placed in a position where they must defend themselves, will rarely attack man. But when wounded they are more likely than not to become furious, and their fury knows no bounds. Bent upon revenge they will attack viciously and are dangerous enemies. The hunter who wounds a polar bear without first taking the precaution to prepare for defense or retreat, tries an exceedingly dangerous experiment.



This was exactly what Bobby had done. The instant he fired the shot he realized that he had not reached a vital spot. In his eagerness to secure the bear he took the chance of his single bullet disabling it. A reckless game it was, but he played it and lost.

Jimmy was unarmed and Bobby had no time to reload, for he knew the bear would charge immediately.

"Run, Jimmy! Run for your life!" he shouted.

But Jimmy needed no warning. He was already putting into action all the speed he could muster, and away went Bobby, also.

Jimmy chose the open space nearer the shore, Bobby a more direct, though more obstructed, course across the island, but both took the general direction of camp. As the two diverged the bear, probably because he was more plainly in view, chose to follow Jimmy, and followed him so strenuously and with such singleness of purpose that he was presently at Jimmy's very heels—so close at his heels, indeed, that had Jimmy stopped or hesitated or lessened his speed for an instant, the infuriated beast would have been upon him.

Bobby was quick to discover that the bear had left his own trail, and he was also quick to discover Jimmy's imminent danger. There was no other help at hand. If Jimmy was to be saved, he must save him. The thought crossed his mind like a flash of lightning. He did not lose his head—Bobby never lost his head in an emergency. He thought of everything. He feared there was not time to reload, but it was the only thing to do. As he ran he drew two shells, loaded with ball, from his pocket. For the fraction of a minute he halted, "broke" his gun, dropped the shells into place, snapped the gun back and threw it to his shoulder, but in the brief interval that had elapsed the bear and Jimmy had so far gained upon him that the distance between him and the bear loomed up before him now as almost hopelessly long. If he only had a rifle, instead of his shotgun! But it was the last hope, and whispering a prayer to God to send the bullet straight, with nerves as tense as steel, he pulled the trigger.

His heart leaped with joy as he saw the bear stop, bite again at the wound, this time near its hind quarters, and then with a roar of rage turn from Jimmy toward himself.

He would not risk another shot at that distance. He would wait now for his enemy to come to close quarters, and with nimble fingers he slipped a loaded shell into the empty barrel, that when the time came to shoot he might have two bullets at his disposal instead of one. He had never felt so perfectly cool and steady in his life, nor so absolutely unafraid, as now, while he stood erect and waited.

The bear was not twenty feet away when he fired his first shot. It staggered, shook its head for a moment, and then rushed on. Bobby drew a careful bead and fired again. The bear fell forward, pawed the rocks, regained its feet, and lunged at Bobby.



CHAPTER XI

WHEN THE ICEBERG TURNED

But the bear had spent its vitality, and as Bobby sprang nimbly aside it fell at the very spot upon which the young hunter had stood when he delivered his last shot, struggled a little, gave a gasp or two, and died. And when Jimmy came running up a moment later Bobby with great pride was standing by the side of his prostrate victim.

"We got him, Jimmy! We got him!" said he in high glee, touching the carcass with his toe.

"But, Bobby, what a chance you took!" Jimmy exclaimed. "Supposing you hadn't stopped him!"

"No chance of that at all," declared Bobby in his usual positive tone. "All I wanted was time to load, and I knew I'd get him."

"Well, I'm thankful you got him, instead of he getting you, and I was afraid for a minute he was going to get us both," and Jimmy breathed relief, as he placed his foot against the dead bear. "My, but he's a big one! I don't think I ever saw a bigger one!"

"He is a ripper!" admitted Bobby proudly. "Won't the folks be glad!"

And Bobby was justified in his pride. He had fired upon the beast in the first instance, not through the lust of killing but because he was prompted to do so by the instinct of the hunter who lives upon the product of his weapons. In this far northern land it is the instinct of self-preservation to kill, for here if man would live he must kill.

In Labrador they butcher wild animals for food just as we butcher steers and sheep and hogs for food, and the only difference is that the wild creature, matching its instincts and fleetness and strength against the hunter's skill, has a reasonable chance of escape, while our domestic animals, deprived of liberty, are driven helpless to the slaughter.

In our kindlier clime the rich soil, too, produces vegetables and fruits upon which we might do very well, if necessary, without ever eating meat; but in the bleak land where Bobby and Jimmy lived the summer is short and the soil is barren, and there are no vegetables, and no fruits save scattered berries on the inland hillsides. And so it is that here men must depend upon flesh and fish for their existence and they must kill if they would live.

Every lad on The Labrador, therefore, is taught from earliest youth to take pride in his profession of hunter and trapper and fisherman—for on The Labrador every man is a professional hunter and trapper and fisherman—and to strive for skill and the praise of his elders, and Bobby was no exception to the rule.

And so it came about that Bobby at the age of thirteen proved himself a bold and brave hunter, and standing now over the carcass of his victim he felt a vast and consistent pride in his success; for it was no small achievement for a lad of his years to have killed, single-handed and poorly armed, a full grown polar bear. It was an accomplishment, indeed, in which a grown man and a more experienced hunter than Bobby might have taken pride; and a grown man could scarcely have employed better tactics, or shown greater skill and courage, after the first foolhardy shot had been fired.

But this was Bobby's way. It was an exhibition of his old trait of getting himself and Jimmy into a scrape and then by quick action and practical methods getting them safely out of it again.

Skipper Ed and Abel had heard the reports of Bobby's gun, and they knew that something unusual was on foot. The first shot did not disturb them. That, they knew, was for the seal for which Bobby had taken the gun. But no self-respecting seal will remain as a target to be fired at repeatedly, and the shots that followed told their practiced ears that more important game than a seal was the object of the fusillade. And so, without parley, each seized his rifle, and together they set out across the island, and thus it happened that presently they came upon Bobby and Jimmy admiring the prize.

"Jimmy and I got a bear! A ripping big one, too!" said Bobby as the two men came up to them, giving Jimmy equal credit, for if he was positive, Bobby was also generous, and wished his friend to share in the glory of his triumphs and achievements.

"Bobby got him alone," corrected Jimmy. "I legged it, and if it hadn't been for Bobby he'd have caught me."

"Oh, you know better than that," protested Bobby. "You got in his way, so he'd take after you, and that gave me time to load, and shoot him."

"Peauke! Peauke!" exclaimed Abel. "A fine fat bear."

"Good for you, Bobby!" commented Skipper Ed, looking the carcass over. "I never killed as big a bear as that myself. Good work!"

"And we'll have some meat now, and won't have to eat just fish all summer," said Bobby, who had the respect of most healthy boys for his stomach.

"We'll feast like kings," agreed Skipper Ed. "Flesh as well as fish. Great luck! Great luck! And I'll be bound not another lad of your age could have got a bear like that with just a shotgun. Why, neither Abel nor I would have tackled him with just a shotgun. No, sir, we wouldn't!"

And Skipper Ed put it to Abel, who declared he never would have risked a shotgun unless he had a spear, also, to protect himself.

Deftly and quickly they skinned and dressed the carcass, wasting no part of the flesh, save the liver, which they fed to the dogs, for, as every one knows, the liver of the polar bear is poisonous and unfit for human consumption.

"I could eat a steak right now," suggested Bobby, when the meat was stowed.

But there was no time now to cook bear steaks, for a breeze had sprung up and they must needs take advantage of it, and Skipper Ed and Jimmy had already hoisted sail.

"Never mind," said Abel, "I'll show you! I'll show you!" and with an air of mystery, and chuckling to himself, Abel hurriedly gathered some flat stones which he piled into the boat.

"Now," suggested Abel, when they were at last moving, "you take the tiller, Bobby, and we'll see about the bear steaks."

With much care he proceeded to arrange the stones in the bottom of the boat until presently a very excellent fireplace was built, and so arranged that the boat itself was well protected. No wood save driftwood was to be found on Itigailit Island or on the near-by shores, and therefore both Abel's boat and Skipper Ed's boat had been provided with sufficient firewood to meet the needs of their camp for several days. And so, with fuel at hand, Abel quickly had a cozy fire blazing in his fireplace and Mrs. Abel, laughing and enjoying the novel experience of cooking in a boat, had some tea brewing and some bear's steaks sizzling in the pan in a jiffy.

Skipper Ed's trap boat, though a fine sea craft, was not so fast a sailer in a light breeze as Abel's, and though Skipper Ed and Jimmy had left the island some little time in advance the boats were now so close that Abel could make himself heard, and standing in the bow he bawled:

"Pujolik! Pujolik!" (A steamer! A steamer!)

A steamship in these waters was uncommon. No steamer had ever come into the bay, indeed—for they were still in the bay—at least within the memory of man, and eager to see what manner of ship it might be Skipper Ed and Jimmy were on their feet in an instant, eagerly searching the eastern horizon.

Abel was immediately convulsed with laughter, and Mrs. Abel laughed, and Bobby laughed, and when Skipper Ed and Jimmy, failing to discover the steamer, or any signs of it, turned inquiringly back toward Abel, still standing in the bow, Abel pointed to the smoke rising from the fire, and repeated:

"Pujolik! Pujolik!"

Then Skipper Ed and Jimmy understood, and they laughed too. It was a great joke, Abel thought, and for an hour afterward he indulged at intervals in quiet chuckles, and even after the two boats had drawn alongside, and tea and fried bear's steaks had been passed to Skipper Ed and Jimmy, that they too might share in the feast, Abel laughed.

It was noon the following day when the boats drew up to the old landing place on Itigailit Island, and an hour later the two tents were pitched on Abel Zachariah's old camping ground, and everything was as snug and settled, and they were all as perfectly at home, as though they had been living there for months.

Then the dogs in the skiffs were brought ashore and released from their two days' confinement, and Abel's train and Skipper Ed's train, after the manner of Eskimo dogs, immediately engaged in a pitched battle. They began by snarling and snapping at one another with ugly, bared fangs, and then followed a rush toward each other and they became a rolling, tumbling mass of fearsome, fighting creatures, and had to be beaten asunder with stout sticks before they could be induced to settle into their quiet and uneventful summer existence.

When all was arranged Bobby, after his custom, walked quietly back to the cairn which he had built in previous summers to mark the grave of the mysterious man that Abel and Mrs. Abel had buried so many years before, and Jimmy went with him.

"I often wonder," said Bobby, as he replaced some stones that winter storms had loosed, "who the man was and how he came by his death. I remember I called him Uncle Robert, but I can't remember much else about him, and that is like a dream."

"I wonder if he really was your uncle?" suggested Jimmy.

"I don't know," said Bobby. "I try to remember, until my head is spinning with it, and sometimes it seems as though I am going to remember what happened away back there. It's just as though I had lived before, and I think of bright lights, and beautiful things, and wonderful people. I wonder if Father and Mother are right, and what I remember is heaven? Do you think so, Jimmy?"

"I—I wonder, now!" Jimmy's voice was filled with awe. "Maybe you did come from heaven, Bobby!"

"I don't believe so," and Bobby was practical again. "I don't feel as though I'd ever been an angel, and I don't look it, do I?"

And he squared his shoulders and laughed his good-natured, infectious laugh, in which Jimmy joined, and the two returned to camp.

There was no floe ice on the coast now, but the sea was dotted with many icebergs, children of the great northern glaciers, drifting southward on the Arctic current. Some of them were small and insignificant. Others towered in massive majesty and grandeur high above the sea, miniature mountains of ice. Some were of solid white, but the greater part of them reflected marvelous blues and greens and were a riot of beautiful color.

One of the smaller icebergs lying a half mile or so from Itigailit Island attracted Bobby's attention as he and Jimmy walked back from the cairn.

"See that berg, Jimmy?" he asked.

"The little one close in?"

"Yes. Do you know, I've got an idea. That bear meat won't keep long unless we pack it in ice or salt it, and I'd rather have it fresh than salted, wouldn't you?"

"Of course I would!" said Jimmy.

"Then let's take your skiff—it's bigger than ours—and go for a load of ice."

"It's dangerous to go digging on icebergs. They're like to turn over," suggested Jimmy.

"Oh, don't be afraid, now. Come on. There isn't any danger," said Bobby, with impelling enthusiasm. "We can get enough ice to keep the meat fresh until it's all used up. Come on."

And Jimmy, as was his custom when Bobby urged, agreed. Skipper Ed's skiff lay at the landing, and arming themselves with an ax the two pulled away unobserved.

It was a small iceberg, perhaps sixty feet in diameter, and rising not more than twenty feet above the water. Its surface was irregular, and there were several places where excellent footing could be had. The boat was directed toward one of these.

"You stay in the boat," said Bobby, seizing the ax, "and I'll go aboard her and cut the ice."

"Be careful," cautioned Jimmy.

"Oh, there's no danger," said Bobby, climbing to the iceberg.

Bobby began chopping off as large pieces as he thought he could conveniently handle. The ice was exceedingly hard and brittle. It had frozen centuries before, under the extremely low temperatures of the Arctic regions. It had its beginning, perhaps, in snow deposited in some far-off Greenland valley. Other snows had come upon it, and still other snows, until a tremendous weight of snow pressed it, as it froze, into a glass-like hardness.

And all the while the great mass was moving, inch by inch, and slowly, down the long valley toward the sea. Perhaps a century passed, perhaps two or three, or even more, centuries, before this particular portion of the glacier, as these masses of ice between the hills are called, reached the sea and was at last thrust out beyond the land.

And then, one day, with a report like the report of a cannon, it separated from the mother glacier, slid out into the current, and began its southward voyage. Months had passed since then—perhaps a year, or even two or three years—and all the time it had been wasting away in the water until Bobby and Jimmy found it this July day, off Itigailit Island.

But neither Bobby as he chopped at the ice, nor Jimmy as he sat in the boat, gave that a thought, if indeed they knew it. They were intent only upon gathering enough of the aged ice to preserve the meat of a polar bear.

Neither did they realize that with each stroke of the ax Bobby was disturbing the center of gravitation of the iceberg, already delicately balanced in the water, until presently Jimmy noticed that the side next him was rising—very slowly and deliberately at first.

"Bobby! Look out—the berg's turning!" he shouted in a terrified voice.

Up and up went the side of the iceberg. Bobby was lost to view. Then came a rush of water, a great deluging wave swamped the skiff, and Jimmy went down with a crash and roar of water and crumbling ice in his ears.



CHAPTER XII

ADRIFT ON THE OPEN SEA

As the iceberg turned, great masses of ice, some of them weighing tons, loosened from the main body, and with loud rumbling and roar crashed into the sea. Bobby, when he realized what was happening, began with all his energy to scramble up the wall of ice as it rose from the water.

Fortunately it was a small iceberg, and fortunately, also, it turned slowly and with deliberation and but a short distance, when it again reached its equilibrium, and was still.

Bobby's life had been one of pretty constant peril and adventure, and after the manner of wilderness dwellers he had learned resourcefulness and self-possession. It is indeed a part of the daily training of every lad of the wilderness, that he acquire these attributes, until at last they become second nature to him, and instinctively he does the thing he should do when he comes suddenly face to face with unexpected dangers. And so it was with both Bobby and Jimmy, and thus it came about that Bobby did not lose his head when the iceberg began to turn, and when it was again at rest he found himself upon a high pinnacle, with the seething waters all around him. To be sure, his heart beat faster, and it was but natural that he should be excited, but his nerves were nevertheless under control, and his wits, too.

From his perch upon the iceberg Bobby looked eagerly for Jimmy and the skiff. He feared that some of the ponderous blocks of ice had fallen upon them and crushed them, and the thought made him heart-sick for an instant.

But presently he saw the skiff, filled with water and smothering in the swell, and a moment later he discovered Jimmy, also smothering in the swell, but swimming vigorously toward the iceberg. This brought him vast relief. Jimmy was alive and apparently uninjured, and the whole adventure became to Bobby at once an ordinary occurrence of their every-day life, for which he was mightily thankful. To be sure it was an unpleasant and annoying adventure, but they would escape from it, he had no doubt, none the worse for their experience. And in this frame of mind he clambered down the slippery sides of the ice hill to a level spot at the water's edge, shouting in the most matter-of-fact way, as he did so:

"This way, Jimmy! This way! You can climb aboard here!"

In a few strokes Jimmy came alongside, and Bobby, taking his hand, helped him to scramble, shivering, to the ice.

"My, Bobby, but I was glad to see you here!" Jimmy exclaimed through his chattering teeth. "I was afraid you were done for! I was afraid it carried you under when it turned."

"I was afraid you were done for, too!" and there was thanksgiving in Bobby's voice. "How did it happen you got into the water? Did the ice hit the skiff?"

"I don't know how it happened," said Jimmy. "I don't think the ice hit the skiff, but it all came so suddenly I don't know."

"Well, here we are, and out there's the boat, and we've got to get it," declared Bobby. "I'm going for it."

"No, let me go. I'm wet anyhow, and I'm all right for it," Jimmy protested. "I might have brought it in with me, but I didn't see it."

"I'm going," declared Bobby, with an accent that left no doubt he was, as he pulled off his clothes, and his sealskin boots. "You've had your dip, and I'm going to have one now—the first of the year."

"It's pretty cold," Jimmy cautioned. "I've been in, and I'm used to it, and don't mind it."

But Bobby was in, and swimming for the skiff. It was, fortunately, not above fifty or sixty feet away, for the whole occurrence had taken place within a very few minutes' time, and the boat had not yet had time to drift beyond reach.

A few strokes carried Bobby to the submerged skiff. He secured the painter, which was attached to the bow, and with some hard tugging reached the iceberg, and climbed up with Jimmy's assistance.

"You'd better take off your things and wring 'em out, while I dress," Bobby suggested, as he drew his clothes on.

"I guess I had," Jimmy agreed.

"Now," said Bobby, when he and Jimmy were dressed, after Jimmy had wrung as much of the water as possible from his clothes, "we're going to have a hard time of it getting the water out of her. How'll we do it?"

"Can't we get her alongside and turn her over?" Jimmy suggested. "We can pull her up empty."

With some mighty pulling and hauling, and many futile efforts, they at length succeeded, and presently the skiff was in the water again and floating as easily as though nothing had happened and it had never once been under the waves. And then a new problem confronted them.

"The oars! The oars are gone!" exclaimed Jimmy in consternation.

And so they were. Nowhere could they discover the oars, though they clambered up the iceberg again and scanned the surrounding sea.

"Well," said Bobby, "that's hard luck! I wonder if we can't make father or some one hear. Let's get up on top and yell."

From the top of the iceberg they shouted and shouted, but Mrs. Abel was in one tent, busied with her household affairs, and Skipper Ed and Abel were in the other tent, making ready their fishing gear, and the breeze blew from the land, and altogether no one heard the shouting.

"No use," said Bobby at last, descending to the skiff. "I'll tell you what we'll do. We'll knock one of the seats out, split it, and make two paddles. They'll be short, but they'll do us to get ashore. It isn't far."

"It looks as though it's the only thing to do, unless we want to stay here for three or four hours," agreed Jimmy, taking the ax and knocking out the seat. "I'm shivering cold from my wetting."

"It's lucky I hung to the ax," said Bobby, as he watched Jimmy fashioning the paddles.

"There," said Jimmy at length, "they're pretty short paddles, but we'll have to make 'em do. Let's get off of this."

But the tide was running out, and a very strong tide it proved, and the breeze from the land was stiff enough, too, had there been no opposing tide, to have made pulling against it with a good pair of oars no easy task. All this they did not realize until they had paddled beyond the shelter of the iceberg, for they had drawn the boat up upon its lee side.

They put all the energy they could muster into their effort, but the paddles were very short and very narrow, and work as they would they presently discovered that tide and wind were mastering them, and instead of progressing toward Itigailit Island they were drifting seaward.

"We can't make it!" said Jimmy at last.

"No," agreed Bobby. "We'll have to go back to the berg and wait for them to come for us."

But even that they could not accomplish. Work as they would, the paddles proved hopelessly inefficient, and after an hour's desperate effort they realized that they were nearly as far to seaward from the iceberg as the iceberg was from Itigailit Island.

"Well," said Bobby, at length, "we're in for it, and a fine fix it is."

"What are we going to do?" asked Jimmy. "We've got to do something."

"I wish that I had some of that bear meat. I'm as hungry as the old bear ever was," said Bobby, irrelevantly.

"Well, so am I, but we'll be hungrier than the bear ever was, I'm thinking, if we don't do something to get to land," broke in Jimmy with some irritation. "Why, Bobby, don't you realize what it means? We've got no water and nothing to eat! We'll perish of thirst and hunger if we don't get to land! Unless a sea rises and swamps us, and then we'll drown!"

"It does look as though we were drifting to the place I came from, but it won't do any good to worry," said Bobby. "Maybe when the tide turns we can do something. The wind goes down with the sun every evening, and then with the tide in our favor maybe we can make it."

"It'll be a good hour yet before the tide turns, and two or three hours before sundown, and where'll we be then?" argued Jimmy, dejectedly. "I wish I could be like you, Bobby, and not worry over things the way I do."

"Well, just remember that we did the best we could to get out of the mess after we got into it, and if we keep on doing our best that is all we can do, and worrying won't help us any. I just feel like being thankful that you weren't killed and we're both here safe and sound, with an even chance that we'll get back home all right."

And so, paddling, drifting, sometimes silent for a long while, sometimes talking, the time passed. The land faded upon the horizon and was lost. Icebergs lay about them. Once they were startled by the thunderous roar of a monster berg in the distance as it toppled and turned upon its side, and later they felt its swell. Not far away a whale spouted.

Finally the sun set, and the wind died, and for a little while the heavens and icebergs and sea were marvelously and gloriously painted with crimson and purple and orange.

Then came the long gray twilight of the North, and at last the stars, and night, and darkness, with the icebergs, white, spectral, and coldly majestic, rising in silhouette against the distant sky, and the throbbing, restless sea, somber and black, around them.



CHAPTER XIII

HOW THE "GOOD AND SURE" BROUGHT TROUBLE

The two or three hours of the midsummer Labrador night were long hours for Bobby and Jimmy—the longest hours they had ever experienced. At intervals, guiding their course by the stars, they paddled, and this drove away the deadening chill that threatened to overcome them.

But at last dawn came, and with the growing light the sense of helplessness which had enveloped them during the period of darkness fell away, and to some extent Bobby's confidence, hopefulness, and buoyancy of spirits returned, and he rallied Jimmy, also, into a better frame of mind.

"Hurrah!" shouted Bobby, at length. "See there, Jimmy!"

And Jimmy, looking, saw upon the western horizon a long, gray line.

"Why, there's the land!" he exclaimed.

"Isn't it great to see it again!" said Bobby.

"Let's paddle hard, and see if we can't make it. The tide's been drifting us in, and the paddling we've done in the night has been helping."

"It didn't seem to, but it must have," agreed Jimmy, working as hard as he could with his short paddle. "The exercise kept me warm, and that's about the only good I thought it was doing, but it did help, didn't it?"

"It certainly did," agreed Bobby. "My, but I'm hungry!"

"So am I," said Jimmy. "Won't the sun feel good when it rises?"

"I wonder which way we lie from home?"

"South, of course, for that's the drift of the current. All the bergs drift south."

"Yes, but how far?"

"Oh, I don't know, but we must be some bit south of the island."

And so they calculated and chatted, while the glow grew in the eastern sky, and until the sun rose, at last, to comfort them and warm stiffened fingers and chilled bodies. But with the sun a westerly breeze also set in to retard them, and their progress was tedious and slow.

The shore still lay a long way off, though a little nearer than when they first discovered it in the morning light, and Bobby had just remarked that they had gained a little, when Jimmy suddenly ceased paddling, and rising to his feet gazed eagerly to the southward.

"What is it?" asked Bobby. "What do you see?"

"A sail! A sail!" Jimmy almost shouted a moment later. "I wasn't sure at first, but now I'm certain!"

Bobby was on his feet in an instant, and the two, balancing themselves dexterously while the skiff rose and fell upon the swell, watched excitedly as the sail increased in size.

"It's a schooner!" said Jimmy.

"And it'll pick us up!" said Bobby.

"If it doesn't pass too far to windward to see us," suggested Jimmy.

"They'll be sure to see us," insisted the optimistic Bobby. "They can't pass between us and the land without seeing us."

And so it came to pass. Nearer and nearer the schooner drew, until at length her whole black hull was visible, and then Bobby and Jimmy took off their jackets and waved them and waved them, until presently men crowded at the rail of the schooner and waved in answer, and in due time, when the schooner came abreast of them, a boat was lowered, and pointed directly toward them.

"Now we'll be all right," said Bobby, with immense relief, as they watched the four long oars, pulled by four husky men, rise and fall and glint in the sunshine, while a fifth man sculled astern. "They'll either drop us in at Itigailit Island or lend us oars for the skiff!"

"Yes, and it's great luck for us that they saw us," remarked Jimmy. "I don't believe we ever could have made land with these short paddles."

"The first thing I want is something to eat and drink," declared Bobby. "I'm getting hungrier every minute."

But the boat was upon them already, and they were soon to have a plenty to eat, and the adventure after all had amounted to nothing but a little inconvenience. It was all in a day's work, and already they had forgotten the dismal night, or if they had not in fact forgotten it they had at least put it behind them as an experience of small importance.

"Look sharp now, lads!" shouted the man at the sculling oar, as the boat and the skiff, rising and falling upon the swell, approached each other. "Look sharp! Now, heave her, b'y!"

And Jimmy, in the bow of the skiff, with coiled painter ready, tossed it to one of the men. The boats were straightened out, the skiff drawn alongside, and in a moment Jimmy and Bobby were aboard, with Skipper Ed's skiff trailing behind.

"Why, it's Skipper Ed's partner an' Abel Zachariah's lad! My eyes! My eyes now! And whatever brings you driftin' around the sea at this time of the mornin', and with nary an oar?" exclaimed the man astern, who proved to be Captain Higgles of the Newfoundland fishing schooner Good and Sure, who for as long as the lads could remember had anchored for at least one night each summer on his outward voyage down north, or on his homeward voyage south, in the shelter of the island upon which Skipper Ed had always fished, or behind Itigailit Island. And so it happened that Captain Higgles recognized Bobby and Jimmy, and they recognized him.

"Oh," explained Bobby, "we were getting ice off a berg yesterday, when she shifted and turned us over and we lost our oars."

"Yesterday, was it? And so you young scallawags ha' been cruisin' about since yesterday, eh, with nary an oar. Now listen t' that, b'ys! Cruisin' around with nary an oar! My eyes! Oh, my eyes!" and the captain roared with laughter, as though it were a great joke, and the four seamen laughed with him.

"And neither of you'd be eatin' a biscuit, an' drinkin' a mug o' tea, now, if you had un!" he continued. "I'll be bound both o' you young daredevils'd turn up your nose at a mug o' tea and a biscuit, now. Wouldn't ye?"

"No, sir," said Jimmy, "we wouldn't turn up our nose at anything good to eat."

"I could eat the oarlocks this minute!" broke in Bobby.

At which Captain Higgles exclaimed, "My eyes! Oh, my eyes!" and indulged in another burst of hearty guffaws.

"Well, b'ys," said the captain, "I know how you feels, an' I knows where you'll get th' tea and th' biscuit. An' th' cook aboard th' Good an' Sure'll show you."

"Thank you," said Bobby.

'"Twere lucky I sees you," continued the captain. "There's a sick lad with a rash aboard, an' it's a wonderful troublesome rash, and makes he sick. I were just turnin' in t' see Skipper Ed, thinkin' he might know what t' do for the little lad t' relieve he, when we sights you."

"What, sir!" exclaimed Jimmy, "are we as far south as that?"

"Aye," said the captain, "we're just t' th' s'uth'ard o' Skipper Ed's fishin' place. An' weren't you comin' from there when you goes adrift?"

"No, sir," explained Jimmy. "Partner and I are down at Itigailit Island with Abel Zachariah this year, and we went adrift from there."

"An' there we goes, then!" said the captain. "Another hour's sail, but time saved. Lucky for you that we sights you, an' lucky for th' sick lad, an' lucky for me—lucky all around. My eyes! 'Tis like t' be a lucky day."

And so it came about that Bobby and Jimmy were presently aboard the Good and Sure, satisfying an accumulated and vast appetite upon Captain Higgles' good hardtack and tea, while the schooner laid her course for Itigailit Island.

An hour later, as the captain had predicted, the Good and Sure came to off Abel Zachariah's fishing place, and almost before the anchor chains had ceased rattling Skipper Ed and Abel pulled alongside in a boat and were expressing their relief upon the safe return of the two lads, whose sudden and unexplained disappearance had puzzled them and caused them a deal of worry.

"I finds th' young scallawags driftin' around th' sea, and bearin' no course whatever," explained Captain Higgles, "an' I picks un up as salvage. But I don't want un. My eyes! I don't want un. I don't want any such two scallawags as they about the Good an' Sure. They'd be causin' me no end o' trouble, and you can have un free o' charge if you'll but take a look at a sick lad I has below, sir, an' tell us what t' do for un. 'Tis Hen. Blink's lad, sir. He has a wonderful rash all over he—my eyes, 'tis a wonderful rash, and it makes th' lad sick."

Skipper Ed followed the captain to the cluttered little cabin, and Abel and Jimmy and Bobby, curious to see the wonderful rash, also followed.

The lad, a boy of ten years or thereabouts, was stretched upon a bunk, and he was indeed afflicted with a wonderful rash. The moment Skipper Ed set eyes upon him his face assumed a very grave expression. He asked several questions, which the child's mother answered, and then he asked the boy:

"How you feeling, little lad?"

"Terrible sick," answered the boy, "but I'd be fine if I could go above deck, sir."

"'Twill never do for you to go above deck with this rash," said Skipper Ed, "but there'll be better luck by and by, lad; better luck, lad."

And then he directed the mother to give the child no cold drink, to keep him below decks, and not on any account to permit him to become chilled until the rash had disappeared and he felt quite well and normal again. To this he added some simple directions as to food.

"Is I goin' t' die?" asked the boy anxiously.

"No, no, lad, not if you do as your mother tells you, now. You'll be all right, but it'll be some time. Can't weigh your anchor and hoist your sails for a little while. Better luck by and by, though."

"What's th' matter with un, Skipper?" asked Captain Higgles when they were again on deck.

"Measles," answered Skipper Ed.

"Measles! Measles!" exclaimed the Captain in instant consternation. "My eyes! Oh—my—eyes! And we're all like to cotch measles! And measles kills folks! Oh—my—eyes! 'Tis like t' ruin th' v'yage!"

"'Tis too bad, but it can't be helped," Skipper Ed sympathized. "The lad has the measles, and if any of you haven't had measles you're likely to get 'em now. The only thing for you to do if any one breaks out with the rash, is to treat him just as I said to treat the boy. Don't let 'em go out or get chilled till the rash is well."

"My eyes!" said Captain Higgles. "Measles! 'Tis a wonderful dangerous complaint. I minds when th' folks cotched un one summer in Black Run Harbor, and most every one that cotched un died! Oh, my eyes!"

"Aye, 'tis like t' be a dangerous complaint down here on The Labrador, where we folk have poor means for caring for our sick," agreed Skipper Ed, dropping into the dialect of the people, as he often did when conversing with them. "But you have a schooner, and you're not so badly off as we are in our tents."

"My eyes!" repeated Captain Higgles. "Measles! 'Tis like t' ruin th' v'yage!"

The Good and Sure spread her canvas and sailed away that morning, and quite as though nothing had occurred to disturb the even tenor of their every-day existence Abel Zachariah and Skipper Ed and Bobby and Jimmy turned their attention to jigging cod, and Mrs. Abel to splitting the fish and spreading them to dry, and all worked from morning until night each day, that none of the harvest might be lost, for that year there was a plentiful run of fish.

But Skipper Ed had something on his mind. After the departure of the Good and Sure his face looked troubled, and more than once he murmured, "Better luck, I hope. Better luck." And as the days passed his anxiety increased, and Bobby and Jimmy frequently surprised him looking intently at them.

Then came a morning when Bobby complained of feeling ill, and Skipper Ed directed that he must not go with the others of them to jig, but must remain in the tent, and he prepared a hot drink for Bobby, and wrapped the lad warmly in blankets. That very day Jimmy, too, fell ill, and Abel fell ill, and a day later Mrs. Abel also complained. "Measles," said Skipper Ed.

And measles it was, and a serious condition of affairs confronted Skipper Ed. He gave up his fishing and devoted his whole attention to his four patients, and he thanked the Lord that he himself had passed through the ordeal as a child, and was immune.

Because the people on the Labrador can seldom be brought to understand that a patient with this ailment must be kept warm and free from exposure or chill until the period of rash is passed, it is too often a fatal disease there—and an epidemic is sure to result in many deaths. In tent life, in time of gales and driving storms, it is frequently difficult, and sometimes indeed impossible, to properly care for the patients, for the tents of the people are seldom stormproof or rainproof.

And so it was that Skipper Ed, who was not only nurse but cook, was more than occupied. There were times when confinement grew irksome to his patients, and at those times he was compelled to resort even to force to prevent one or another from going out into the chilling sea breeze. And one morning Bobby did evade him and go out, and became chilled, and the following day lay, as Skipper Ed verily believed, at the door of death.



CHAPTER XIV

VISIONS IN DELIRIUM

There came a terrible day and night when Bobby's life hung in the balance. A burning fever was upon him. His reason wandered, and he talked of strange things.

"Mamma! Mamma!" he called, and time and again he plead: "Uncle Robert, give me a drink of water! Uncle Robert, I'm so thirsty! Oh, I'm so thirsty!"

And then it would be Abel Zachariah or Mrs. Abel, or Jimmy, or Skipper Ed himself, who was addressed. Every subject under the sun was running through Bobby's poor, delirious mind. Sometimes he spoke in Eskimo, sometimes in English. "Father!" he would cry, "see this cod. He's a fine one! We'll have a fine catch this season." And so he would ramble along about the fishing for a time, and then perhaps grow silent, only to resume, upon some other thought.

After each brief silence there was something new. Perhaps he was warning Jimmy to run, or declaring that he knew he could get the bear if he only had time to load. Or perhaps he was telling Mrs. Abel that he was tired, oh, so tired, and begging her to sing a lullaby to him as she used to do when he was little.

Skipper Ed, foreseeing this state of affairs, had removed his other patients, who were now convalescing, to his own tent, where he gave them strict instructions as to their conduct, and such casual attention as he could. But for the most part he remained with Bobby. Indeed, during the day and night of Bobby's delirium he scarcely left Bobby's side for an instant. And more than once during this period of vigil and fear and foreboding Skipper Ed fell upon his knees and poured out his soul to the Great Master in an appeal for his young friend's life.

It was near sunrise on the second morning of his delirium that Bobby suddenly ceased to speak and lay very quiet—so quiet that an awful dread came into Skipper Ed's heart. He leaned over the still form and with fearful apprehension listened for breathing that he could not hear, and felt for heart beats that were too faint for his discovery.

And then again he fell upon his knees, for he was a God-fearing man and he had the love of God in his heart, and he prayed that if it were not too late God in His goodness would again place the breath of life into Bobby and return him to them. He prayed aloud, and as he prayed the tears ran down his weather-beaten cheeks.

At last he rose. Bobby's face had assumed an unnatural, peaceful repose. The color had left the cheeks that had been fever flushed for so long. The lips were partly open, and there was no movement or sign of life.

Skipper Ed staggered to the tent front, and thrusting the flaps aside staggered out. The world lay quiet and serene, as though it held no grief. The waves lapped gently against the rocks. The sky was afire with radiant beauty.

For a long while Skipper Ed stood there, his face drawn and haggard, his tall form bent, uncertain which way to turn or what to do. Presently the fire faded from the sky, a breeze sent a ripple over the calm waters, and the big sun rose out of the sea, as though to ask him why he mourned. And then he whispered, "Thy will be done. If it is Thy will to take him from us, oh God, give us the strength and courage to accept our bereavement like men."

Then it was that a new, strange peace came upon Skipper Ed, and he reentered the tent, to stoop again over Bobby's couch, and as he did so his heart gave a bound of joy, and a lump came into his throat. Bobby was breathing—ever so softly—but breathing.

With the passing minutes the steady, regular breathing became more apparent, the pulse asserted itself and grew stronger, and at the end of an hour, when Bobby at last opened his eyes Skipper Ed saw that reason had returned to them.

"I've—been—asleep—dreaming—queer—dreams," Bobby murmured faintly.

"Yes," said Skipper Ed, "you've been asleep."

"I—feel—very—weak."

"Yes, you're very weak, for you've been very sick, lad," and Skipper Ed, choking back his emotion, added cheerily: "But there's better luck for you now, lad. Better luck."

"May—I—have—a—drink?"

Skipper Ed poured some water into a tin cup, and supporting Bobby's head, held the cup to his parched lips.

"Father—and mother—and Jimmy—where—are—they?" Bobby feebly asked, for even in sickness his eye was quick to note their absence.

"They're in my tent. Nearly well, but not well enough to go out and get chilled, though they're ready enough for it, and tired enough of staying in," said Skipper Ed.

And then, wearied with the exertion, Bobby fell into deep and strength-restoring slumber, and Skipper Ed joined the others to cheer their hearts with the good news that Bobby's illness had passed its climax, and to rejoice with them over a meager breakfast.

With the passing days Bobby grew rapidly stronger, and the others were able to be out and at their duties again. And in due time Bobby, too, was out on the rocks enjoying the sunlight, with his old vigor daily asserting itself.

But hours of sunshine were few now, and more often than not the sky was leaden and somber, and the wind blew raw and cold, and already the clouds were spitting snow. The fishing season had passed almost before they realized it. The weeks of idleness had been costly ones, and when the time came for them to return to the cabins at the head of Abel's Bay, and make ready for winter, they had garnered little of the harvest that had promised so well.

"Every season can't be a good one for us," remarked Skipper Ed as they struck their camp. "Better luck next year; better luck. And we should be mighty thankful we're all alive and all well. That's good luck—good luck, after all."

But they were to be denied many things that winter that the fish they had not caught would have brought them. The little luxuries in which they had always indulged occasionally were not to be thought of; and pork, which is almost a necessity, was to become a rarity and a luxury to them, and there were to be times when even the flour barrel would be empty.

But this was a part of the ups and downs of their life, and one and all they accepted the condition cheerfully, for who, they said, does not have to endure privations now and again? And they had always done very well in other years, and the needs of life are small; and so they had no complaint to make. Comfort and privation are, after all, measured largely by contrast, and what to them would have been comfortable and luxurious living would have seemed to you and me little less than unendurable hardship.

Bobby and Jimmy were as glad, now, to return to the snug cabins as they had been to set out for Itigailit Island in the summer, and as they looked back over the few short weeks, the July day when they had their adventure with the bear seemed to them a long, long while ago.

And when the boats were loaded Bobby ran up to say good-bye for a season to the cairn and the dead man mouldering beneath it, and to the wide open sea, and the misty horizon out of which he had drifted, and then they hoisted sail and were off.

Another long winter with its bitter cold and drifting snow, its joys and its hardships and adventures, was at hand.



CHAPTER XV

MAROONED IN AN ARCTIC BLIZZARD

That was indeed a winter of bitter cold and of almost unexampled severity. It came suddenly, too, and with scant warning, as we shall see, and a full fortnight in advance of the time when it should have come.

Abel and Skipper Ed took Jimmy with them that year upon their autumn seal hunt. It was deemed wise to leave Bobby behind with Mrs. Abel, despite his protest. Though he was willing enough to remain when Mrs. Abel declared that because of her recent illness she wished some one to stay at home and assist her, for she did not feel equal to the task, unassisted, of making things snug for the winter. And of course there was none but Bobby to stay.

And so it came about that Bobby, with many longings and regrets, though cheerful enough withal, stood down on the beach one frosty September morning and watched Abel Zachariah and Skipper Ed and Jimmy sail away for the hunt, while he comforted himself with the thought that another year he, too, would go.

Indeed, he had already taken part in the spring hunt, and though he gave no hint that he had guessed what was in their minds, he knew well enough that the plea that he was needed at home to assist Mrs. Abel at the work was a subterfuge of his foster parents, instigated, he had no doubt, by Skipper Ed. He was also satisfied that the real reason why he was left at home was because they deemed him not yet strong enough, as a result of his own recent illness, to withstand the unavoidable exposure and hardships to which the seal hunters would be subjected on the open and unprotected coast. And he had to confess to himself that he had not indeed recovered the full measure of his activity and hardihood, and that there was reason and justice in their course.

A raw wind was blowing, but a fair wind, and in a little while the boat, bowling before the breeze with all sail set, was lost to view. Then, disconsolately, Bobby turned back to the cabin, but Mrs. Abel took good care that he was kept so busy that he soon forgot his disappointment in work.

And that day he and Mrs. Abel had a jolly dinner of boiled goose, and tea, and that evening they sat a full hour beyond their bedtime while she recounted to him in her own quaint way the story of his coming from the place where mists and storms are born, and told him how he was sent by God to be their son, and how little he was, and how ill he was when Abel first placed him in her arms, and how she had hugged him to her, and had nursed away his fever, and how glad she and Abel had always been that God had sent them a son.

The days passed thus until they lengthened into a week. Though Bobby was content enough, it was but natural that he should be a bit lonesome now and again, and eagerly wish the fortnight gone that yet must pass before the return of the seal hunters.

The wild geese and ducks were still in flight, coming in great flocks from the lakes of the vast unknown interior and from the farther north, on their way to milder southern climes. There were several marshes near Abel's Bay where the migrating flocks tarried for a time to rest and feed, and of mornings they would pass with a great roar of wings and loud honking from the bay to these marshes, and at night they would return.

It was Bobby's custom morning and night to lie in wait for them with his shotgun, and he always returned to the cabin with as many birds as he could carry. These were hung in the entrance shed of the cabin, where they would freeze and remain fresh and good until needed for the table. And thus he too was doing his part in providing for the long winter which was at hand.

The goose-hunting season was always one of great sport for Bobby, but this year he found it lonesome enough without Jimmy's company. It was this loneliness, no doubt, that prompted him, one morning in the beginning of the second week after the departure of the seal hunters, to take Abel Zachariah's old skiff and pull far down the bay in the hope that he might kill a seal on his own account. It was a gray day, with leaden clouds hanging low. Patches of snow lay upon the ground. The bay, throbbing with a gentle swell, was somber and dark.

Bobby rowed the old skiff down the bay and past the bird islands near which he and Jimmy had their adventure on the cliff, but no seals were to be seen, and presently he turned his attention to the numerous sea pigeons which were swimming here and there. The young birds were quite full-grown now, and it was great fun shooting at them and watching them dive and rise again unharmed, though sometimes one would be just a fraction of a second too slow and the shot would find it, and then its downy body would float upon the water, and Bobby would pick it up and drop it into the boat and turn his attention to another, which might escape, or might be added to Bobby's bag.

This was exciting sport—so exciting that Bobby could not bring himself to give it up until a full two hours past noonday, and even then he would not have done so had not a rising northeast wind created a chop which made shooting from the skiff so difficult and inaccurate that it lost its interest.

Then Bobby discovered that he was possessed of a great hunger, and he ran the skiff ashore on a wooded point, and in a snug hollow in the lee of a knoll and surrounded by a grove of thick spruce trees, where he was well sheltered from the keen northeast wind, he lighted a fire, plucked and dressed one of the fifteen sea pigeons he had secured, and impaling it upon a stick proceeded to grill it for his dinner.

He was thus busily engaged when snow began to fall. Thicker and thicker it came, but Bobby was well protected and he finished his cooking and his meal without a thought of danger or concern for his safety. And, when he had eaten, reluctant to leave his cozy fire, he tarried still another half hour.

"Well," said he, rising at length, "the snow's getting thick and I'd better be pulling back. My! I didn't know it was so late! It's getting dusk, already, and it'll be good and dark before I get home!"

Then, to his amazement, he discovered when he emerged from his sheltered nook that the wind had risen tremendously, that the cold had visibly increased, and that the chop had developed into a considerable sea, and that the snow, too, driving before the wind, was blinding thick.

Bobby was not, however, alarmed, though he realized there was no time to be lost if he would reach home before the full force of the rising blizzard was upon him, and he chided himself for his delay. But the old skiff was a good sea boat, and Bobby was a good sea-man, and he pulled fearlessly out upon the wind-swept waters. And here the driving snow soon swallowed up the land, but Bobby was not afraid, and pulling with all his might turned down before the storm.

For a little while all went well, and Bobby was congratulating himself that after all he would reach home before it became too dark to see. Then suddenly a big sea broke over his stern, and left the skiff half filled with water. This was serious. He could not relinquish the oars to bail out the water. Another such deluge would smother him.

Then he realized that the seas had grown too big for him to weather, and his one hope was to make a landing. He searched his mind for a section of the shore within his reach, sufficiently free from jagged rocks and sufficiently sheltered to offer him a safe landing, and all at once he bethought himself of the bird island where he and Jimmy had gone egging, and which he had visited many times since.

He was, fortunately, very near the island and when he heard the surf beating upon its rocky shores he determined quickly to make an effort to run upon its lee shore. Here, he argued, he could bail the water from the skiff, and then could pull across to the mainland, where he could haul up the skiff and walk home. It would be a disagreeable tramp in the storm, but it was his safest and his only course.

But even in the lee of the island the seas were running high and dashing upon the rocks with such force that for the instant he held off, hesitating. There was no other course, however. The half-submerged skiff would never live to reach the mainland. With every passing minute conditions were growing worse.

And so, watching for an opportune moment, Bobby drove for the shore. A roller carried the skiff on its crest, dropped it with a crash upon the rocks, and receded. Bobby sprang out, seized the painter, and running forward secured it to a bowlder, that the next sea might not carry it away.

Then, watching his opportunity, little by little and with much tugging and effort, he drew the skiff to a safe position beyond the waves, and as he did so he discovered that the water which it held ran freely out of it, and that one of its planks had been smashed, and in the bottom of the skiff was a great hole.

And there he was, wet to the skin, stranded upon a wind-swept, treeless island, with a useless skiff and with never a tool—not even an ax—with which to make repairs. And there he was, too, without shelter, and the first terrible blizzard of a Labrador winter rising, in its fury and awful cold, about him. And whether or not there was any wood about that could be gathered with bare hands he did not know. But more important than wood was cover from the storm, for without protection from the blizzard Bobby was well aware he could never survive the night.



CHAPTER XVI

A SNUG REFUGE

The weather had suddenly become intensely cold, and Bobby's wet clothing was already stiff with ice. The northeast wind, laden with Arctic frost, swept the island with withering blasts, and cut to the bone.

The wind was rising, too, and there was no doubt that with darkness it would attain the velocity of a gale, and the storm the proportions of a sub-Arctic blizzard. Snow was already falling heavily, and presently it would be driving and swirling in dense, suffocating clouds. Winter had fallen like a thunderbolt from heaven.

But Bobby never permitted himself to worry needlessly. He was not one of those who with the least difficulty plunge into unnecessary discouragement and lose their capacity for action. It was not in his nature to waste his time and opportunities and energies worrying about what might happen, but what in the end rarely did happen. He conserved his mental and physical powers, and turned his mind and muscles into vigorous and practical action. And like every fortunate possessor of this valuable faculty, Bobby more often than not raised success out of failure.

And so it came to pass that when Bobby found himself cast away upon the naked rocks of a small and treeless sub-Arctic island, with no shelter from the awful cold of a driving blizzard, and with no other tools than his hands, he did not give up and say, "This is the end," and then sit down to wait for the pitiless cold to end his sufferings. What he did say was:

"Well, here I am in another mess, and I've got to find some way out of it."

He examined the skiff carefully and the examination satisfied him that it was too badly injured to be repaired with the means at his command, and so with all his energy he set himself at once to making himself as comfortable as the conditions and the surroundings would permit.

First he scoured the island for wood, for he knew that presently the storm and blizzard would rise to such proportions as to render any efforts to find wood impossible, and any attempt to move about perilous, and therefore no time must be lost.

In a little while he succeeded in collecting a considerable amount of driftwood, and when he turned his attention to other things he had the consolation of knowing that the gale would sweep the snow from the rocks and into the sea, and that any wood that he had overlooked in his search, or had no time now to gather, would be left uncovered, where he could find it when the blizzard was past and he could go abroad again.

He piled his fuel by the side of a big, high, smooth-faced bowlder which he had purposely chosen because of its location, not far from the place where he had been driven ashore, and on the lee side of the island. The smooth face of this bowlder looked toward the water, and with its back toward the wind it offered a fairly good wind-break, and a considerable drift had already formed against its face, or sheltered, side, where the snow lodged as it was driven in swirling gusts around its ends or swept over its top.

When his wood was gathered, Bobby with much effort dragged the boat to the rock, and then working hard and fast cleared away the snow as best he could with the aid of sticks and feet from the smooth rock bed in front of the bowlder, and on which the bowlder rested. He now carried from the innumerable stones lying about upon the wind-swept rocks, sufficient to build at right angles to the bowlder two rough walls about two feet high and as long as the width of the boat. These walls were perhaps eight feet apart, and when they were finished he raised the boat, bottom up, upon them, the after part of the boat resting upon one, the prow extending over the other, and the side of the boat shoved back flush against the bowlder face.

Thus he made for himself a covered shelter, and the front of this he enclosed with other stones, save for a space three feet wide in the center, which he reserved for a door. From low spruce bushes—for there were no trees on the island—he now gathered a quantity of brush and arranged it under the boat for a bed.

Dusk was settling before these arrangements had been completed. When all was at length as snug as his ingenuity could make it in the short time at his disposal, he stored as much of the wood, under the boat as the limited space would allow and still permit him room to stretch with some comfort; and as quickly as possible he built a small fire just outside the door. Already snow had drifted around the ends and on top of the boat and his little fire reflecting heat within soon made his covered nook comfortable enough.

Fourteen sea pigeons would make fourteen meals, though scant ones for a husky fellow like Bobby. Now he was hungry enough, as indeed he always was at meal hour and it did not take him long to pluck and dress one of the birds, and in short order it was grilling merrily on the end of a stick. There was no bread to keep the grilled sea pigeon company, but Bobby did not mind in the least. Indeed, this lack of variety was no hardship. He often dined upon meat alone, and now he was thankful enough to have the sea pigeons, or indeed anything.

But almost before his supper was cooked the little fire, deluged with clouds of snow, dried out and refused to burn, and it became evident to Bobby that he must face the night without fire, and resort to other means to protect himself in his narrow quarters from freezing. He was already ashiver and his hands and feet were numb.

He had no blanket, and no other covering than the wet clothes he wore, and he closed the door of his shelter as best he could with the sticks of driftwood which were stored under the boat. There was nothing else to be done.

The cold had become intense. The storm demon had broken loose in all its fury and was lashing sea and land in wild frenzy. The shrieking wind, the dull, thunderous pounding of the waves upon the rocks and the hiss of driving snow, filled the air with a tumult that was little less than terrifying.

No man unsheltered could have survived an hour upon the exposed rocks of the blizzard-swept island, and cold and shivering as he was, Bobby gave thanks for his narrow little cover under the boat, which in contrast to the world outside appealed to him now as an exceedingly snug retreat. It was safe for a little while, at least, and here he hoped he might have the strength to weather the storm in safety.

And while he lay and listened to the roar and tumult of the storm, presently he became aware that he was growing warmer. His shivering ceased. The bitter chill of the first half hour after his fire went out passed away, and in a little while to his astonishment he discovered that he was not after all so uncomfortable.

"The snow must have covered me all up," he exclaimed with sudden enlightenment, "and I'll be at the bottom of a big drift pretty soon, and that's what's making me warm."

It was dark, and he struck a match to investigate, and sure enough, every chink and crevice, even his door, was packed with snow, and not a breath of air stirred within. Gradually the sound of the shrieking wind and pounding sea seemed farther and farther away, and he heard it as one hears something in the distance.

"Mother's going to be scared for me," he mused, as he rearranged his bed of boughs. "She'll think I'm lost, and I'm sorry. She'll be all right when I get home, though. It is a fine mess to get into."

Then his thoughts turned to Abel Zachariah and Skipper Ed and Jimmy, somewhere out on the coast and weathering the same storm. But they had a tent and a stove, and they would be comfortable enough, he had no doubt.

But there was the seal hunt. Winter had come to cut off the seal hunt two weeks too soon, and they could scarcely have made a beginning. That was a serious matter. The failure of the fishing season, now coupled with an undoubted failure of the autumn seal hunt, would pinch them harder than they had ever been pinched before. Without the seals they would not be able to keep all of their dogs, and the dogs were a necessity of their life.

All of these thoughts passed through Bobby's mind as he lay in the dense darkness of his den. But he was young and he was optimistic, and disturbing thoughts presently gave way to a picture of the snug little cabin at the head of Abel's Bay and of its roaring fire in the big box stove, and with the picture the sound of the storm drew farther and farther away until it became at last one of Mrs. Abel's quaint Eskimo lullabies, that she crooned to him when he was little, and Bobby slept.

And there under the snow drift he slept as peacefully as he could have slept in his bed at home in the cabin at Abel's Bay, and just as peacefully as he could ever have slept in a much finer bed in that misty and forgotten past before he drifted down from the sea to be a part of the life of the stern and desolate Labrador.

And so God prepares and tempers us, to our lot, and shows us how to be happy and content, if we are willing, in whatever land He places us, and with whatever He provides for us. And thus He was tempering Bobby and directing him to his destiny.



CHAPTER XVII

PRISONER ON A BARREN ISLAND

Because his bed of boughs was snug and comfortable, and because there was nothing else to do and nowhere to go, and it was the best way, anyhow, to spend the hours of imprisonment that would last until the blizzard spent itself, Bobby gave himself the luxury of a long sleep. But even then it was still dark when he awoke, and at first he was puzzled, for he was sure he had slept away hours enough for daylight to have come. He could hear the raging storm and pounding seas in a muffled roar, as though far away, while he lay for a little while wondering at the darkness.

The air had grown close and stifling, and presently he arose and struck a match. It glowed for a moment but refused to burn. He struck another and then another, with like result. The matches were perfectly dry, for he carried them in a small, closely corked bottle. He could not understand it in the least. He struck another. It flashed, but like the others went out.

Then he suddenly remembered that Skipper Ed had once said fire would not burn in air from which the oxygen had been taken, for then the air would be "dead," and that a person would exhaust all the air in a close room in a short time, and therefore rooms should be well ventilated. And with this he realized what had happened. His air had been cut off and all that remained was dead.

The drift had covered his den to a great depth while he slept, and the wind had packed the snow so hard that the air could no longer circulate through it.

It was necessary that an opening be made quickly or he would smother, and this he set about to do with all his might. He removed some of the sticks with which he had closed the doorway, and using one of them as a tool dug away the snow, until light at last began to filter through, and he knew it was day, and presently he broke the outer crust of the drift. A flood of pure but bitterly cold air poured in upon him, and he breathed deeply and felt refreshed.

He had dug his opening straight out from the place which he had arranged for a door, and he now made it large enough to permit the passage of his body as he crawled upon hands and knees.

The storm had in no degree abated. The velocity of the wind was so terrific that had Bobby not stood in the shelter of the drift-covered bowlder he could not have kept upon his feet. The air was so filled with driving snow as to be suffocating. A tremendous sea was running and great waves were pounding and breaking upon the rocks with terrific roar, though no glimpse of them could he get through the snow clouds that enveloped him.

There was nothing to be done but to return to his burrow and make himself as comfortable as circumstances would permit. His first care was to clear away the snow which he had thrown back under the boat as he dug his way out, and which partially filled his cave. And when this was done he selected a sharp stick and with it made three or four air holes in the roof of the drift above his door, to furnish ventilation, for it was not long before the entrance of the passageway was again closed.

Bobby was very hungry, as every healthy boy the world over is sure to be when he rises in the morning, and when he had completed the ventilation of his cave to his satisfaction he proceeded to make a small fire over which to grill one of his birds, never doubting the smoke would pass out of the ventilating holes that he had made through the top of the drift. But to his chagrin the smoke did not rise and was presently so thick as to blind and choke him, and he found it necessary to put the fire out. And so it came about that in the end he had to content himself with eating his sea pigeon uncooked, which after all was no great hardship.

All that day and all the next day the storm continued and Bobby was held prisoner in his cave, and he was thankful enough that he had the cave to shelter him.

When he awoke, however, on the morning of the third day of his captivity, and forced his way out of doors, he was met by sunshine and his heart bounded with joy. It was only behind bowlders and the clumps of bushes scattered here and there, and in sheltered corners where drifts had formed, that snow remained upon the island. Elsewhere the wind had swept the rocks clean.

The gale that had racked the world had passed, but a brisk breeze was blowing down from the north, sharp with winter cold. The sea, too, had subsided, though even yet big rollers were driving and pounding upon the rocky shore.

"Now," said Bobby, "with the first calm night, when the water quiets down, the bay will freeze, and then I can walk in on the ice. But they'll have to hurry in from the seal hunt or they'll be caught out there and won't be able to bring the boat in this winter. I can stand it a little while, and I hope the freeze-up won't come till they get back home."

But Bobby lost no time in needless calculation. What was of highest immediate importance was the satisfaction of his appetite, which as usual was protesting against delay.

He had been eating raw sea pigeon quite long enough, and he proposed now to enjoy the great treat of a grilled bird. And so without troubling himself with vain regrets of what he might have done or might not have done, he proceeded to fetch wood from his cave and to build a fire, and a good one it was to be, too, in the lee of his bowlder. And when the wood was crackling merrily he made a comfortable seat of boughs upon which to sit while he cooked and ate the one sea pigeon which he allowed himself.