The execution done was perhaps no more than he expected, but as the white boys saw his success they broke into a cheer. As the startled flock screamed and honked away, down came two of the fowl, one with broken wing and another laid fair about the neck by the gripping cords which had encircled it. Before they could escape, all the boys were after them, plunging into the mud and water, careless of anything but their game. They found that one of their geese was an old gander, but the other was a fat young bird, which John fondled with the utmost interest.

"I'll bet you this one'll be good to eat!" said he. "Let's go back and see how it goes."

"I wonder if you ever will get enough to eat, John!" said Rob, reprovingly. "We have only had breakfast an hour or so. But I'm agreed that young wild goose will make a good change of diet for luncheon."

He patted Skookie on the shoulder to compliment him on his skill.

"Plenty times me catch-um," said Skookie, proudly, as he untangled his cords. "Plenty times my peoples come dis place."

Whether he meant that his people had been hunting here very often, or intended to hunt here often, they could not understand. Happier than they had been for some days, they went back to the hut, picked the old goose, skinned out the breast of the young one, and began, somewhat unskilfully, to prepare for the cookery of their new game. The best they could do was to cut the breast of the fowl into strips and fry it with some of the bear fat in the broken skillet. Even so, they found it delicious eating.

Skookie, after the fashion of his people, sat on the ground cross-legged, and when it came his turn to help himself from the common dish he plunged his fingers into the hot contents, and fishing out a long piece introduced it into his mouth. When his mouth was full as it would hold he took his knife-blade, and after his fashion cut off a piece close to his lips, on the outside—the way in which most of these Northwestern natives eat their meat. The other boys, who had been reared with different ideas of table manners, looked at him with surprise. Skookie did not seem to notice, but munched away contentedly, repeating the performance now and then.

"If that's the way they eat up here," said John, at last, "I suppose we ought to learn how to do it." So saying, soberly he began to sharpen his knife on a near-by stone, as he had seen Skookie do, and, taking a piece of goose breast in one hand, he partly filled his mouth and undertook to cut it off at the proper length. At once he uttered a wild cry, and dropped both knife and morsel to the ground. Blood flowed from his face, and he clapped his hand to the end of his nose, which he had nearly severed with the stroke of his knife, as it had slipped unexpectedly through the piece of meat.

"Now look at you!" said Jesse. "You've pretty near cut off your nose; that's what you've done. That comes of forgetting the way you were brought up. Come here—let me see how badly you're hurt."

Skookie broke out into wild peals of laughter at this mishap, which left John none too well pleased. Rob and Jesse, however, bent over him as he whimpered with the pain, and did what they could to make amends for the disaster.

"Hot water is best for a cut," said Rob, taking their tea-vessel from the fire and looking about for a piece of rag. Thus, in short, by the free use of hot water, he did at length stop the flow of blood in part, at least.

"John," said he, at last, "you came mighty near spoiling your beauty. Your nose is turned up, anyhow, and now you have nearly cut off a half inch more of it. Lucky for you the cartilage was tough, or you would have looked more like an Ethiopian than an American. I guess it will grow fast again, although you will have to wear a handkerchief tied around your face and head for some time."

"I don't care," mumbled John. "I wanted to see how they did it."

"Well, you know now," Rob assured him, in a matter-of-fact way. "But I would suggest that you eat in the ordinary civilized fashion after this, because you haven't any more nose than you need, and your mother might not like you to come home with a part of it missing."

It was some days before the smart of this wound was entirely gone, but it may be said that in time it healed and left but a slight scar at the lower end of the nose, although John for some days went about with a handkerchief tied about his face. This did not prevent his taking part in future goose-hunts, which came to be a regular part of their programme.

Before the geese had become too wise they succeeded in killing several dozen with the thongs, each of them taking his turn and throwing them, which they found not so difficult an art to master, after all. Skookie showed them how to smoke the breasts of these wild-fowl so that they would keep, and thus they made a valuable addition to their stores.



XXII

SPORT WITH THE SALMON

"Natu salmon," said Skookie one morning, poking his head in at the door of the barabbara, where the others still sat, washing up the breakfast dishes.

"What's that he says, John?" asked Rob, who seemed less ready than the younger boy to pick up the native speech.

"Natu means nothing or no or not," interpreted John. "What's the matter with the salmon, Skookie?"

They all crawled out of the low-hung door and followed the Aleut to the spot where they had left their fish concealed. They found nothing but stripped bones. Around the spot hung a crowd of great ravens and crows, protesting at being disturbed at this easy meal.

"We had six fine salmon there last night," grieved Jesse. "They're awfully hard to catch now, too, because they've got shy in the shallow water. They're all down in the big hole at the mouth of the creek, and it's going to be harder and harder to get any. As for the whale meat that the old chief left, I don't suppose it was salted enough, and it probably won't keep."

"We'll have to build some sort of shelter for our fish and game," said Rob, looking at the havoc which had been wrought by the birds. "It isn't right to waste even salmon, abundant as they are—although they may not be so abundant after this, as you say, Jesse."

"I'll tell you what," said John, after a moment's thought, "I've got an idea!"

"Well, what is it?"

"You know, there was Uncle Dick's fishing-rod we brought with us in the dory. I took it out and pushed it under a log at the top of the beach wall. Now, I put that rod in the boat carefully myself, because I knew how much Uncle Dick thought of it. I don't suppose he'll thank us for bringing it away, because it's his best trout rod."

"I don't see what use it would be to us," said Jesse. "It's too light to tie a grab hook to, and even if you hooked it into a salmon the rod would break."

"Yes," said Rob, "a trout rod isn't meant in any case for fish as heavy as this. Besides, you see, these salmon never take a fly; even if we had any flies to go with the rod, or any line, or any reel, for that matter."

"The reel is on the butt joint of the rod; I'm pretty sure I saw it there. Come, let's find out! I tell you, I've got an idea," insisted John.

They all repaired to the beach where, as promised, John produced the rod from its hiding-place under the drift-wood log. True, the reel was there in place. Without delay he put the joints of the rod together, finding some difficulty in this, for the rain and salt air had not improved it in the least. None the less they threaded the line through the guides and found that everything was serviceable.

"Uncle Dick would not care," said John, "if he knew just how we are situated."

"Still, I don't get your idea," began Rob.

"Well, I don't know whether or not it's a very good one," answered John; "but who's got a few little hooks to lend me now?"

"Here are two or three," said Jesse, fishing in his pockets. "They're about big enough for bait hooks for trout, but salmon won't take any bait. I don't see what you mean."

John made no comment, but cut off two or three short pieces of the line about a foot in length. To each of these he attached one of the sharp-pointed little hooks and fastened them at intervals a couple of feet apart on the line. One hook he tied at the end of the line itself.

"Oh, I see!" said Rob. "You mean to throw that outfit as though it were a fly."

John nodded. "If you can cast as light a thing as a little trout fly with this rod," he said, "you ought to be able to cast these hooks—larger, not much heavier, and just about right to go straight. Anyhow, let's go down and try."

"Good idea!" agreed Rob. And they all departed, the Aleut boy with them, to the lower reaches of the stream, where, as has been said, the salmon now more frequently resorted.

As they stood on the bank above the big pool they looked down into it, and saw that the sea-tide run of the salmon had brought in the average number of fish. The whole interior of the pool, which otherwise would have had a dark-green appearance, seemed to be made up of melted silver layers, all in motion. There were hundreds of fish moving about, up and down, and round and round, hesitating about following up the thread of the fresh water, and not wanting to go back to the salt water, which lay behind them.

"My gracious, there's about a million in there!" exclaimed John, peering over the edge.

"Yes, but Skookie couldn't get any with the snag-pole now," said Rob. "They're getting wise and stay too far out. I shouldn't wonder if your idea was a good one, if only that rod were stronger."

Rob rubbed his chin meditatively. "You are welcome to try first. I don't want to break that rod, and I know what will happen if you hook on to a big fish with it."

John set his lips in determination, none the less, and stepped down to the edge of the pool. Slowly the interior mass of silver seemed to grow fainter. The fish saw him, and moved gently away to the opposite side of the pool. Presently, however, they could see the shining mass edge back again to the centre of the pool, where the deeper water was over the gravel.

John began to cast the hooks back and forward above his head, as every fisherman does in casting a fly. Little by little he lengthened the line, still keeping it in the air, until he saw he had out enough to reach well across the pool. Then, gently as he could, he dropped the line and its gang of hooks on the surface of the water. The hooks, being small, were not heavy enough to sink the line directly. John waited and allowed it to settle until the hooks were flat on the bottom on the farther side of the pool. He looked down on the water and saw the silvery mass divided in two sections, as though the line had cut it. The keen eyes of the fish, heedless as they usually are in the spring run, had now grown more suspicious, and they settled apart as the line came across them, visible against the sky as they looked up from below.

John made no motion for a time; but at last, as the fish began to settle back, he gently raised the tip of the rod, and began to work the hooks toward him across the pool in short, steady jerks. At first the line was too low to pass near the main body of the fish, but as it shortened the hooks began to travel up through the depth of the pool. Then, all at once—he never knew how, exactly—something startling happened. There was a sudden breaking of the surface of the pool into a shower of spray, and with a mad rush a big salmon twelve or fifteen pounds in weight nearly jumped into his face as he stood at the edge of the water.

Frightened, he dropped the tip of the rod, and every boy present gave an exclamation of surprise. The words were not out of their mouths before, suddenly, the water on the far side of the pool was broken and the spot at John's feet was vacant. The fish, swift as lightning, had tumbled back after its leap across the pool and gone up on the other side in an attempt to escape the hooks, one of which, by chance, had fastened in the lower jaw. Therefore, as the fish could keep its mouth closed, it was ready for as fair a fight as though it had taken the fly, although little can be said in praise of foul-hooking a fish under any circumstances save those such as now existed, for these boys were in need of food.

John had caught trout before, and had seen many a good fish handled on a fly-rod. After the first rush or two of the fish he gathered in the line rapidly with his left hand and put a strain on the rod. The salmon at first did not attempt to repeat its earlier mad rushes, but in fright began to circle the pool, scattering all the other fish into a series of silver splashes as they spread this way and that.

Having got in touch with the fish, and finding that the hook still held, John now reeled in all the slack and settled down to a workman-like fighting of the fish, the others standing near him and volunteering suggestions now and then, of course.

"The tide's coming in all the time," said John. "If this fish ever leaves the pool and starts across on the flats, I don't see what I'm going to do, because the creek's too deep to wade now."

The salmon, however, obligingly kept to the pool, once in a while making a mad leap into the air and shaking himself. Skookie, without advice from any one, stationed himself at the foot of the pool, and whenever the fish headed that way, he tossed a stone in front, heading it back and keeping it from running out toward the sea. Finally he motioned Jesse to take up this work, and without removing any of his scanty clothing, or asking advice from any one, walked up above the place where John was standing and deliberately plunged into the creek and swam across, taking up a position on the opposite side of the pool, where the tide-water was beginning to spread out into the flats. Thus the boys had the pool surrounded, and whenever the fish started one way in dangerous fashion, a stone thrown in front of him would usually turn him. All John had to do was to keep the strain of the rod on his fish and to see that he had plenty of line on the reel.

They fought the old fellow in this way for more than half an hour, until John's arms fairly ached from the strain of the rod—a sturdy split bamboo of the best American make, which well withstood the skilful use it now was receiving. There is no need to break a fly-rod when the reel is full of line, and the strain can be eased to suit the rushes of the fish.

"Well, I don't see that we are much closer to our salmon than we were when we began," said Rob, at last. "It's good fun, but a slow way of getting salmon. Can't you pull him in on the line?"

John shook his head. "I'm afraid it would break," said he. "Never you mind. We'll get Mr. Salmon before we're through. I can handle him all right, I'm pretty sure."

He came near speaking too early, however, for now, with some impulse of its own nature, the salmon concluded it had had enough of this sort of thing and decided to go back to sea. With a long, straight rush it headed for the bottom of the pool. Rob and Jesse began to cast in rocks, but in spite of all their splashing the fish kept on taking out yard after yard of John's line. At last John, still using all the strain the rod would stand, was obliged to follow on shore. The fish turned the corner of the pool and entered the narrow gut in the rocks which led out to the sea, where the creek entered it over a wide flat of shingle. John was able to keep his feet in the hurried rush along shore, and he kept touch with the fish all through the narrows and until it had reached the shallows, where the flats were now covered two or three feet deep with the advancing tide. Here the last inch of his line was exhausted, and he himself, desperate in his anxiety to keep his fish and to save his rod, followed until he was waist deep in the sea. The salmon did not swerve, but headed straight for some distant haunt which perhaps it remembered as existing out there in the ocean.

At length John could go no farther with safety, and in desperation gave the fish the butt, as an angler says. The rod bent up into a splendid arch, all its strength being now pitted against the power of the swimming fish.

The latter, somewhat tired by its long flight, felt this added resistance of the rod, and unable to gain any more line, since there was no more to gain, and to ease itself of the strain, flung itself high into the air just as the last limit of the rod was reached. Down it came with a splash, but this time apparently confused; for as it fell on the water and chanced to head up-stream, it started directly back over the course it had come. The long slack of the line could not be recovered fast enough to follow it, but the hook held. A moment later the fish was back in the pool, the line back on the reel, and John, perspiring and flushed, was still master of the situation.

After that matters were simpler. The fish was more tired, and its leaps into the air were shorter and more feeble.

Without advice from any one, Skookie now ran out into the grass and found his long salmon gaff. Wading at the edge of the pool, he made one or two ineffectual attempts to gaff the salmon; then flinging the pole across the creek to the others, again he plunged in, swam across, and took up his stand near John, who by this time had shortened the line and was fighting the fish close in.

"Now we'll get him!" cried Rob. "Go slow there, John. Don't let him break away. He's headed in now. Just lead him in. There!"

With a swift, sure movement the Aleut boy had gaffed the salmon, and an instant later it was flapping high and dry at the top of the bank. It seemed to them this was a better fish than any they had taken directly with the snagging-pole, although, as a matter of fact, it was the latter implement, after all, which had landed the fish.

John sat down on the shingle, tired after the long fight. He patted the rod affectionately.

"Talk about fun!" said he; "this is the only way to catch fish."

Indeed, this proved much to be the truth within the next few days, for the salmon became so wary as to make it hard to reach them by anything but a long line. Sometimes it would be an hour before they could foul-hook a fish, but in this way they got a number of salmon—some of them fastened around the head, one or two, strangely enough, directly in the mouth, and several directly under the back fin. Again a fish might be hooked close to the end of the tail, and in such cases it was almost impossible to land it for a long time. But with skill and care the fly-rod, devoted to this somewhat crude form of sport, held its own, and much more than paid for itself in actual food, not to mention the added sport.



XXIII

AMONG THE EAGLES

The routine of camp life, where one is obliged to do all the cooking and other work, besides providing food, is ordinarily enough to keep the camper pretty busy. The boys usually found enough to do with their hunting, fishing, cooking, and other work, but sometimes in these long Alaska days, where for almost twenty-four hours the sun shone and the darkest night was scarcely more than an hour or so of twilight, they found time to wander around their island in exploring expeditions.

At times they climbed one peak or another almost to the top, but from the loftiest eminences they attained they could see nothing of the interior of the island except more and more sharp and rugged peaks thrusting themselves up—a mountain region which, indeed, is little known by any white man, or even by the natives, who rarely go far inland.

A customary journey for them was along one or the other of the river valleys which came down to their bay, the mouths of which they could reach in calm weather easily by a short journey in the dory. Their favorite valley was that running back from what they called "Gull Rocks." It was traversed by a good salmon river and was much frequented by wild animals. As it chanced, they did not run across any more bear, although continually here and elsewhere they saw signs where these great animals had done their work in salmon-fishing—heaps of bones where scores of fish had been partially stripped of their flesh.

On one particular day, as the young adventurers passed up this valley on an all-day tramp, they found the salmon heaps especially abundant, and observed that the numbers of crows and eagles were more than usually great.

"I think it's a new run of fish coming in," said Rob. "Probably the 'humpies' are beginning to run. They're bigger than the red salmon, which we've been having so far. They're better to eat, too; even the bears know that. We'd better look out or we may run across more bear in here than we want. See here where this big fellow was eating last night. I suppose he has gone back into the mountains somewhere by now. And here is where some foxes have come down and eaten what the bears left; and the crows are waiting to eat what the foxes left. And look there, at that fish-eagle! Old Mr. Osprey is working for his breakfast now."

He pointed to a large, grayish bird which was circling above them, its neck bent down as it peered intently at the surface of the stream below.

"Watch him!" said Jesse. "There!"

All at once the osprey, which had been uttering a low sort of whistle, folded its wings and darted down, swift as a flash, at an angle of about forty-five degrees. With a resounding smack, and in a cloud of white spray, it disappeared from view beneath the surface of the water; but instantly, with a vast flapping, it rose and fought to get wing-hold on the air. Taking flight only with the utmost effort, the boys saw that it held in its talons a big salmon whose weight was all it could manage to bear away.

"Well, what do you think of that?" said Jesse. "Didn't he do it easy? I should think he would break his back, hitting the water that hard."

"Yes," commented John; "if a fellow dives from a place ten feet high it's fall enough for him; but this fish-hawk came from two or three hundred feet up in the air. They must be put together pretty strong or they'd smash themselves. Look at him go!"

Uttering now its shrill whistle, the osprey rose higher and higher in a wide circle, endeavoring to carry off its prize. Something seemed to agitate the bird, and a moment later the boys saw what this was. High up above, in still larger circles, was a larger bird—a male bald eagle, which now drew into position directly above the osprey.

"Now watch, and you will see some fun," said Rob. "No wonder Mr. Osprey is mad; he's going to lose his fish—that's what's going to happen to him. Watch that eagle!"

The two birds kept their relative positions—the osprey, either angry or frightened, still struggling to get away with its prey; the eagle, easily circling above it, itself now and then uttering a shrill cry—a scream-like whistle that could be heard at a great distance.

At last the osprey gave up the struggle and attempted to escape. With difficulty it detached one foot from the fish, which now fell down at full length and disarranged the osprey's flight. Finally it succeeded in shaking the talons of the other foot free. The osprey made a swift side dash and left the salmon to fall, at a height of, perhaps, one hundred and fifty feet or so.

The eagle, which seemed to be twice that high above the ground, now performed a feat which the boys could never understand. They did not see how he could fall much faster than the fish; yet before their eyes they saw the great bird half fold its wings and dart down swift as a flash. Before the salmon had struck the ground the eagle struck it, fair, with both feet, and, never touching the earth itself, swung in a wide, low circle, itself master by robbery of the prize which the labor of the fish-hawk had won.

"Look at that old thief!" said Rob. "It's a funny thing to me that an eagle can't very often catch fish for himself, plentiful as they are here. Yet you'll notice that if an eagle is on a tree directly over the salmon he can't start quick enough to catch a fish—it'll always swim away from him. They catch some in shallow water, but they don't seem to be very good fishermen after all. A bald-headed eagle would rather steal a fish from an osprey than to catch one for himself, and we've just seen how it's done. Watch the old thief!"

The eagle, apparently contented with his morning's work, leisurely rose and flapped on his way toward a clump of small cotton-woods. At the summit of a small tree he perched, holding the fish under his feet and uttering now some short, shrill cries, which the boys could hear answered from the heap of brush which they saw was the nest prepared by these birds. There were scores of these rude nests scattered along the timber flats.

"Let's go and see what they do now," suggested Rob.

As they approached they saw the male bird clumsily flap down to the nest, where it dropped the fish. The hen eagle fell upon it with short, savage screams and began to tear it apart. They also saw, now and again bobbing above the rim of the nest, the heads of two young eagles.

Rob cast a critical look at the trunk of the tree. "I can climb that tree," said he, at last, "and I have a mind to turn the tables on that old thief up there."

He pointed to the male eagle, which was now flapping in short circles above the top of the tree, uttering hoarse cries of anger.

"You'd better look out," said John; "old Mother Eagle will pick your eyes out if you're not careful."

"I'm not so sure about that," said Rob; "but I'll take care. Anyhow, here goes!" So saying, he threw off his coat and began to ascend the tree, a feat which grew easier as he reached the wide-spreading limbs. In a few minutes he stood almost under the nest. Here he kept his left arm in front of his face and made feints with a piece of branch at the mother eagle, which indeed came dangerously close to him. The boys below began to flop their arms and throw up their coats. At length both of the parent birds, contrary to what might be believed or may have been written regarding them, turned tail like cowards and abandoned their young to their fate. They perched on trees a hundred yards or so distant, and watched to see what would go forward. Rob worked his way on up the tree and peered curiously over the edge of the wretched brush-heap which served as the nest. Here he saw two large, ungainly young birds, not yet able to fly, but able to spit, scratch, and flap their wings. Getting a good foothold on a supporting branch, Rob made several attempts to get hold of the young birds. Finally he succeeded in getting one by the neck, and with a jerk threw it out so that it fell flapping to the ground. Skookie would have killed it at once, but the others stopped him. A few moments later they were owners of both these birds, and Rob had rejoined his companions at the foot of the tree.

"I'll tell you what," said he, as he wiped the perspiration from his face; "let's see if we can't make pets of these eagles. We nearly always have more than we can eat, and it's the same sort of food these birds are used to; so why shouldn't we tie them up and keep them around the hut? Maybe they'll scare the crows and ravens away from our fish."

"That's a fine idea," said John. "We'll just try that. I had a couple of hawks once for pets. They ate a great lot, and they fought you, too, for a long while. My hawks used to lie on their backs and grab me by the hand every time I tried to feed them. I suppose these eagles will be worse yet."

"Anyhow, we'll try them," said Rob. "Let's wrap them up in our coats and take them down to the boat."

This they did, and although the old eagles followed them for two or three miles, sometimes coming rather close, and frequently uttering their wild calls of anger, the boys had no trouble in making away with their young captives. The birds seemed rather stupid than otherwise, and were as ready to eat food from human hands as from the talons of their parents. They did not really become tame, but, having learned their source of food, in a few days became so indifferent to human presence that they would only ruffle up their scanty crests and beat their wings a little when approached. They never allowed one to put a hand on their heads, and, indeed, were very far from being friendly. Their presence about the camp, however, did serve in part to mitigate the nuisance of crows and ravens, which continually hovered about, trying to steal from the scaffold where the boys kept their supplies of meat and fish. All boys like pets, and these found their strange captives interesting enough at least to help pass the time.



XXIV

AN ADVENTURE ON THE GULL ROCKS

"I'll tell you, fellows," began Rob, a day or so after they had brought home the young eagles—"I'll tell you what we ought to do to-day after we have got the breakfast dishes done. Let's make a trip over to the big rocks beyond, where we went with Jimmy that time. If the eggs are not all hatched, and if these birds keep on laying, as maybe they do, we might still get some fresh eggs."

"That would be fine," said John, "because I for one am getting just a little tired of salmon all the while. I'd give anything for a good piece of bread and butter."

"Or pie," said Jesse, his mouth almost watering.

"Now, there you go," said Rob, "talking about things we can't have. Why, I wouldn't give a cent for a piece of pie myself—that is, not unless it was a piece of real cherry pie, with fresh cherries, the kind we used to get—" All three boys looked at one another and broke out laughing.

"Anyhow," said John, "maybe we can make a sort of pie after the salmon-berries get ripe. At least we could if we had a little flour and lard and baking-powder and things—"

"And if we knew how," added Jesse. "It seems to me the best thing we can do, the way things are, is to go egg-hunting as Rob suggests."

There was perhaps more wisdom in Rob's plan than any one of the boys knew at first. He was old and wise enough to know that the best way to keep them all from homesickness was to be busy all the time. This discovery is not new among military men, or those who lead exploring parties, although it was one which Rob thought out for himself; so now he went on:

"We'll just take the dory," he said, "and slip down the coast beyond the mouth of the creek, and so on beyond the rocks where Jimmy and we all went when we got the sea-parrot hides. There are rocks over there, tall needles with straight sides, that have got thousands of birds of all sorts on them."

"What will we do with our eagles?" asked Jesse, hesitating.

"We can leave them plenty of food, and put a few boards together so that they can get under in case the crows or ravens should attack them. They will get along all right, I am sure."

"I'd like to go with Skookie in the bidarka," said John, but Rob shook his head.

"No, you don't," he said, "you go in the dory with the rest of us. That boy is all right, but he might not be strong enough to handle a bidarka in a high sea; and up here we never can tell when the wind is going to come up."

"Suppose it did upset," said John, sturdily. "I have been out of it, here in the lagoon."

"Yes, but that is different from getting upset out there in the middle of the bay. You know perfectly well that you could not get back in again; and swimming out there is something different from the lagoon, where the bank is right at hand all the time. I don't even like to go very far out in the dory; but see, it is fair and calm just now. So hurry up and let's get away. Get all the rope you can, too, fellows, because we may have to go down the face of the rock to get at the nests."

"I have seen pictures of that," said Jesse—"how the egg-gatherers go down in a rope handled by other men up above them on the rocks. Do you suppose that three of us could pull the other fellow up and down? Skookie here looks pretty strong."

"I don't know," said Rob, "but we'll take the rope along and see how it works out."

Not long after they were safely off in the big dory, which, under two pairs of oars and with the wind favorable, astern, made very good time down the long spit at the mouth of the creek. Beyond that point they were obliged to take to the open bay, quite out of touch of land, for a distance of a mile and a half. This brought them to the foot of a small, rocky island, out of which arose two or three sharp, column-like groups of rocks which, as Rob had said, were literally covered with nesting birds.

"We'll have to get around behind," said Rob; "nobody could climb up on this side, that's sure."

Scrambling over the loose rocks, left wet and slippery by the tide, they passed to the rear of these pillars, first having made fast the dory so that it could not be carried away. In the pools of sea-water they found many strange shells and several specimens of the squid, or cuttle-fish, upon which Skookie fell gleefully. He and his people are fond of this creature as an article of food; but its loathsome look turned the others against it, so that with reluctance he was forced to throw them away again.

At the back of the largest of these rock pinnacles they stood in hesitation for a moment, for the ascent seemed hard enough. At last, however, Rob found a sort of cleft or large crack, which seemed to lead up toward the top, and whose rough sides seemed to give foothold sufficient for a bold climber. "Here we go, fellows!" he said, and so started on up, hand over hand, the best he could. To their satisfaction, however, they found the going not so hard as it had looked from below. At the top, the sides of the cleft seemed to pinch together, so that in some places they were obliged to climb as a chimney-sweep does, their legs pressed across the open space; but as they were all out-of-door boys and well used to Alaska mountain work, they went ahead fearlessly and soon found themselves at the summit of the tower-like rock, whence they had a splendid view of the bay and the surrounding country. Startled by their presence, the sea-birds took wing in hundreds and thousands, soaring around them, flapping almost in their faces, and uttering wild, discordant cries. The boys fought these off as they began to explore the top of the rock.

"Mostly little gulls here," said John, "and I never heard they were good to eat. I don't like the look of these eggs, either. Looks as if we were too late for a real good egg season."

"Well," said Rob, "anyhow, we have had a good climb and a good look over the country. Now, what I propose to do is to see what there is lower down on the face of the cliff. I'm sure there's a lot of sea-parrots there, because I can see them flying in and out down below."

"Let me go down, Rob," said John. "I'm lighter than you are."

"No," said Jesse, "I think I ought to go down, because I am even lighter than you, John, and Rob is stronger than either of us."

"I'll tell you how we'll fix that," said Rob. "We'll tie the end of the rope around this big rock here; and I'll pass the other end through my belt and pay it out as I climb down. I won't need to put all my weight on the rope, but will just use it to steady me as I climb. If I have any trouble getting up, why, then you three fellows can see what you can do toward pulling. Don't you let it slip, now. And if I shake the rope three times, then you begin to pull. You can signal me the same way if I get where you can't see me, or where you can't hear me call for the noise the birds are making."

It was really a dangerous thing which Rob proposed to do, but boys do not always stop to figure about danger when there is something interesting ahead. Passing the rope through his belt as he had said, he kept hold of the free end with one hand, and so, picking his way from one projecting point to another, he began slowly to pass down the seaward face of the rock, which proved to be not so steep as it had seemed from below, although ridged here and there with sharp walls or cut banks, which crossed from almost one face of the pinnacle to the other.

Rob's daring was rewarded by the finding of countless numbers of nests of the sea-parrots, which were bored back straight into the face of the cleft. "Here they are, boys!" he called back, his voice being even by this time barely distinguishable amid the clamor of the gulls and other wild birds which continuously circled about.

Rob thrust his arm into one of these holes in the cleft, and was lucky enough to catch a female parrot by the neck and to pull her out without any injury to himself. For a time he examined the bird, laughing at its awkward movements when he flung it on the rocks at last, uninjured. Then he edged on along the rock face, his foot on a sort of narrow shelf and his body guided by the supporting rope. "I can get a lot of them here!" he called up to his friends.

A moment later he pushed his arm again into an aperture among these nests. At once he uttered a sudden, sharp cry and pulled out his arm. His finger had been bitten almost to the bone by the hornlike beak of one of the birds. The pain of this alone would have been bad enough, but now it caused a still more serious accident.

As Rob shook his bleeding finger at his side, and half raised his left arm to fend off the rush of two or three angry wild birds, he suddenly slipped with one foot at the edge of the narrow shelf on which he stood, and before he could catch his balance or do more than tightly grasp the free end of the rope which passed under his belt, over and down he went.

For one swift instant he saw the long, white, curling breakers on the beach below him, for he fell face downward, his body or feet scarcely touching the rocky wall. He never knew quite how it happened, but in some way the rope jammed at his belt, and before he had fallen more than fifteen or twenty feet he found himself fast, but swinging like a plummet at the end of the line, entirely out of touch, with either hands or feet, with the face of the rocky wall. Below him he could faintly hear the murmur of the sea on the rocks a hundred and fifty feet below. Above him he could see nothing but the edge of the shelf over which he had fallen. As soon as he could control himself, he called aloud again and again, but he got no answer. If his friends above heard him, their answer was drowned by the clamor of the wild birds. Here, then, was the most serious situation in which he had ever found himself in all his life.

Up above, on the summit of the rock, the boys had seen the sudden jerk on the rope and noticed that now it was motionless, whereas before it had trembled and shifted as Rob moved along the shelf. Skookie was the first to divine what had happened. He pointed to the cord, now tense and stiff, and leaned out over the rim, peering down at the shelf where Rob had stood.

"Him gone!" said he, turning back a sober face. "Pretty soon him die now, I guess."

Jesse and John looked at each other with white faces. They sprang to the rope, but hesitated, fearing lest touching it might prove dangerous.

"Wait," said Jesse. "Let's look around first and get our wits together. One thing is certain, he is down there at the end of this. If the rope was not fast to him it would be loose and we could pull it up. That means that he is alive yet, anyhow, I am sure." He leaned far out over the rim of the summit, and between his hollowed hands called down: "Don't be afraid, Rob! We'll pull you up pretty soon!"

Dangling far down at the end of the rope, Rob at first grew faint and dizzy. He dared not look below him, but had presence of mind enough to keep his eyes fixed on the nearest part of the cap of the rocky wall, so that he was less dizzy, although he whirled round and about at the extremity of the rope, which it seemed to him would almost cut him in two. None the less he made the end all the more secure about his waist; then once in a while he would ease the strain by lifting a little with a hand above his head. He shifted the rope until the noose came closer under his arms, realizing that he must not exhaust his strength in trying to raise his weight hand over hand. Thus, after the first few minutes of fright and after he had dared to open his eyes and take stock of the dangerous plight in which he found himself, he began calmly to reason, as very often one will who finds himself in imminent peril, the situation being too serious to allow him time for fright.

Skookie sat down apathetically on the rocks and made no move. "Get up there, Skookie!" said Jesse. "Why do you act like a dummy? Nobody is dead yet. We're going to haul him up; don't you see? Now get hold of the rope—all of us; now, all together!"

They lifted as hard as they could, but, do their best, they could gain almost nothing on the rope. Little as that was, Rob felt it down below and knew that they were trying to save him.

"Now what shall we do?" John asked Jesse, in distress. "If we can't pull him up—and maybe we'd cut the rope on the rocks trying to do that—why, then, how is he going to get out of that?"

Skookie, seeing that they had but little success in lifting the heavy weight at the other end of the rope, now, without any orders, tried a plan of his own. Passing along the edge of the rim of rock off to the right, he found a place where he could descend for at least a short distance. He disappeared below, but presently came back, his face lighted up with the first sign of hope it had shown.

"Dis way!" he said; "dis way!" and made motions that they should pull on the rope and shift it to the right as far as they were able. The young native's sharp eyes had seen that if Rob could get to a place a little farther at one side than where he hung, he could get his feet against the rock, and so, perhaps, help himself more than otherwise would be possible.

A little consultation followed at the top of the rock, then inch by inch the boys edged the rope along. Rob found himself, without any effort of his own, gradually approaching the face of the rock. At last he could kick it; and so he helped himself, pendulum fashion, until finally he got a hand on a rocky point, and so could rest his weight on the rough surface. To him even this vantage-ground seemed as if it were actual safety, so much better was it than swinging helpless like a fly on a cord. When his weight was taken from the rope those above at first thought that he had fallen to the foot of the cliff; but now he gave the signal of three short jerks, and they saw that he must have reached some place where he could support his weight. At this they broke out into a shout of joy.

"Now, what will we do?" asked Jesse, thoughtfully. "We won't pull up until he signals us again, I guess. Maybe he will try to come up himself, steadying himself by the rope, the way he went down. I wish we could see where he is."

This chance counsel of Jesse's was precisely the best thing that could have happened, for Rob had now determined to help himself by climbing up the rope hand over hand in the attempt to reach the ledge from which he had fallen. How he was going to get over the edge he could not clearly see, but he was now convinced that the friction on the rope was such that his friends could not haul him up, and that if he were saved he must save himself by getting above that projecting edge.

Slowly he began to feel his way up the rock, supporting his weight as much as possible without the use of the rope, until, half leaning against the rock and half pulling on the rope, which was now shifted to a point directly above his head, he reached a place where he could no longer keep in touch with the rocky face. Then bravely, as should any one who finds himself in such straits, he swung out and rapidly began to climb up the rope, hand over hand, sailor fashion.

He reached the edge of the rock, and perhaps might have been able in some way to get above it without injury, although, on the other hand, he might never have been able to get across unaided. What happened was that the boys up above, seeing the rope again agitated and not certain what their best course now might be, laid hold of it and began to pull as hard as they could. The result was that Rob's left hand, just as he reached the rim of rock, was caught under the rope. He flung his other hand around the corner, caught the rope, and scrambled up on one knee just as the strong heave from above tore the rope almost through his fingers, cutting them open as they lay against the rocks.

The pain was intense, but he hardly minded that, for he saw now that he was again in safety. From there on up the face of the rock he scrambled on hands and knees, slipping and falling, but still going up, assisted by the steady pull, hand over hand, of his friends, who now saw what had happened, and who encouraged him with their shouts. So, none of them knew just how, presently he found himself at the summit once more, the others about him, all talking at once.

Rob held up his mangled hand, from which the blood was now flowing freely. The wounds to his fingers were really serious, but he bore the pain as bravely as he could, although his face was white.

"Anyhow, I got back," said he, shaking the blood from his hand. "I think the best thing we can do now is to start on home. I ought to do something for this hand as soon as possible."

They were all pale and very much frightened. All at once Rob began to tremble, his hands and legs shaking uncontrollably. The nervous strain having now relaxed, the full shock of terror and pain set in, as often is seen in the cases of grown men similarly situated. It was some time before he recovered sufficiently to be able to risk the dangerous climb down the cliff on the inner side of the pinnacle. At last, however, they found themselves again safely in the dory, where, of course, his companions would not allow him to think of rowing. Progress against the wind and sea they found now much slower, and it was almost an hour before they reached the mouth of the creek, where Rob could land on the beach and so walk up toward the hut. By that time his hand was badly swollen and giving him intense pain.

The boys did not attempt to take the dory around to the landing opposite to the hut, but left it moored at the creek mouth. They did not talk a great deal as they returned to the barabbara at the close of their disastrous day. The pain which Rob suffered gave them all concern. It was Skookie once more who proved himself resourceful. Without asking leave of any one, he crossed the lagoon on the stepping-stones and disappeared in the thicket beyond. A few minutes later he appeared with his hands full of coarse green leaves with slender, lance-shaped tips, the name of which none of the boys ever knew.

"Karosha," he said—"all right, all right," and so proceeded to bind these on Rob's wounded fingers. Having wrapped them in a number of the leaves, he led Rob to the edge of the creek, and here made up a big ball of mud, which he plastered over the entire hand.

"Now I am a pretty sight," said Rob. "I was going to wash my hands, but maybe this will do. I have heard that natives sometimes know a thing or two about taking care of such things."

The native lad's knowledge of simples proved more efficient than any of them had dreamed. In the course of half an hour Rob's face brightened. "Why," said he, "I don't believe it hurts so badly now. Skookie, you are a great little doctor." And, indeed, that night he slept as soundly as any, although they all spent less time than usual that evening in talk about the doings of the day.



XXV

CRIPPLES' CASTLE

"Well," said Jesse, just before noon of the following day, as he stooped to enter the door of the barabbara, "accidents never come singly." His face was drawn with pain, as Rob, to whom he spoke, noticed.

"What's up, Jess?" asked Rob. "Has anything happened?"

"I struck my foot against an old nail or something of the sort," answered Jesse. "A piece of an old klipsie was lying out in the grass, and it has cut through my shoe and gone into my foot."

Rob sat up on the blanket where he had been nursing his own crippled hand. "An old nail!" he said. "Lucky if it wasn't worse! No telling what the point of it might do toward poisoning the wound. I'll tell you right now that I don't want even any rusty nails around my feet, let alone the irons of an old fox trap."

"I've heard of such things as lockjaw," said Jesse. "There was a boy in our town had it, and he was just walking along and struck his foot against an old nail in a shingle." His face seemed grave.

"Now, don't go to talking about that," said Rob. "When a fellow gets scared of anything is when he catches it. They say that if a man goes to Africa and expects to come down with a fever he always does, and if he doesn't think anything about it he probably gets along all right. Now, let's have a look at your foot. Take off your shoe; and put the kettle on the fire, so that we can get some warm water. The first thing always is to keep a cut clean; and I have read, too, that where there is any rusty nail or toy pistol around the best thing is to keep a wound open."

"That doesn't seem to be the way you are treating your fingers," said Jesse, looking at the cloth in which Rob still kept a big poultice of black mud.

"Well, a poultice draws poison out of a wound, you see," said Rob, "and mud is good for that. We had a pointer dog once, and he came home with his face all swelled up, and my father said he had been bitten by a snake. We didn't know what to do, but the dog did; he wouldn't let any one touch him, but went off to a slough back of the house and lay down in the mud, and he kept his head in the mud for two or three days. He got well all right. Your foot cannot be any worse than if you had been snake-bitten, surely, and you and I ought to have as much sense as the dog. My hand does not hurt now, and I'll warrant Skookie and I will fix up your foot in a jiffy."

He put his head out of the door and called for John and Skookie, both of whom presently came, the latter soon returning with a double handful of mud, for which Rob had asked. Meantime they had taken off Jesse's shoe and stocking, cleaned the wound, and Rob had cut it open even a little wider with his knife—at which Jesse made a wry face.

"I hate to do it, Jess," said Rob, "but that is what I read doctors do in a case like this. Now for a good poultice. You will be all right in a day or so."

In truth, they very probably did the very best that could be done in such circumstances. There might have been serious trouble from a wound from an old klipsie barb. Surgeons have died from poison received from knives used in post-mortem work. Lockjaw might very well follow upon a wound from a piece of dirty iron of this kind; but, luckily, the germ of that disease seemed not to exist in this case; at least the treatment which Rob applied proved quite effective and no evil results followed. Although Jesse limped for a time, in a few days he became quite well, and the swelling in the foot amounted to very little.

"But now," said John one morning, as the three of them sat by the fireside in the barabbara, "we are a fine-looking lot, aren't we? Just look at us—every one of us has got something the matter with him!" They all took a glance and broke out in a loud laugh together, in which Skookie joined uproariously. As a matter of fact, each one of them was wearing a bandage. Rob had his hand done up, Jesse's foot was encased in a mud plaster, and John still wore his handkerchief tied over his nose, whose tip he had nearly severed in his attempt at eating after the Aleut fashion.

"Well," said Rob, "it's lucky that none of us is hurt bad enough to cripple him seriously, anyway; although I guess Skookie will have to do most of the work of getting wood and water for a day or so yet."

"There's no reason why I could not carry wood and water," said John. "My nose is not in the road."

"I shouldn't say it was," said Jesse. "It never was long enough to get in the road, John, and it seems as though you had tried your best to shorten it as it was." They never tired of laughing at John for his clumsiness in Aleut table manners.

"Now, see here, Jess," said John, "if you keep on making fun of my nose I won't give you any more mud for your old foot. I'm the only one that is not taking the mud cure excepting Skookie. I might just advise you two that about all our salt whale meat is gone, and it is too late now to get any more. It is about time we did some fishing, it seems to me."

"Well, I don't want to sit around this way all the time," said Jesse. "I am for going out in the dory and trying for some fresh codfish. I'm rather tired of salmon again."

"That's right," said Rob. "I was just going to say the same thing. Back home we used to like salmon better than codfish, because the codfish was always salt. Salmon used to be forty cents a pound back in the States, but out here, where we can catch forty pounds in an hour, we don't like it as well as codfish. All right, Jess, I'm game to go down to the mouth of the creek where we left the dory, and go out in the bay for a try after cod. But how will you get down there with your foot all tied up?"

Jesse put his hand on Skookie's shoulder. "Oh, that will be easy," said he. "Skookie and I will go down the creek in the bidarka."

They agreed to this plan, and Jesse, hobbling out to the edge of the lagoon, picked up one of the bidarka's paddles—a narrow-bladed, pointed implement such as the Aleuts always use—rested the end of the paddle on the bottom on the other side of the bidarka, and, steadying himself by this means, slipped into place in the front hatch of the boat, just as one would step into a tottery birch-bark, although not even the latter can be more ticklish than one of these skin-covered native boats. Skookie was less particular, but, with the confidence born of long experience, took a running jump as he pushed off the bidarka and scrambled into the rear hatch. An instant later his own paddle was in motion, and Jesse and he made good speed down the creek. All the boys had by this time learned something about the use of the bidarka, and could handle themselves fairly well without swinging the craft from side to side as they paddled. Jesse always thought that the paddles were too small, but the only answer Skookie made to this criticism was, "My peoples long time make paddles dis way."

The four met at the mouth of the creek, and soon they launched the faithful dory, in which they always kept their cod-lines on the hand-reels under the stern seat. Skookie took command of the expedition, for he seemed to know instinctively where the best fish could be found. Under his instruction he and John paddled the boat out fifty fathoms or so from the extreme beach point, where he motioned John to take up his hand-line while he held the boat in place. "Plenty deep waters here," he said; "plenty dose codfish."

"Sure!" said John. "Here's right where Jimmy took us the first time."

The boys threw over their lines, letting the heavy leads of the big hooks sink into more than one hundred feet of water. They had not long to wait, for the codfish seemed to be extremely numerous hereabout. John gave a sudden jerk and began to pull in rapidly, hand over hand. After a time they could see the gleam of a ten-pound codfish coming up to the surface on the line, rolling and twisting lazily and making no great fight. With a whoop John threw him into the boat, where the fish seemed even too lazy to flap about very much. It was a fine, dark fish, and Skookie gave it his professional approval as he rapped it over the head. Hardly had John gotten his fish into the boat before Jesse also began to pull in and added a second prize. Rob was fishing on the opposite side of the boat, and using a sort of squid with lead run around the hook, much like a bluefish squid. He was pulling the bait up and down with long jerks, as the native codfishers do, when all at once he felt something strike. "This fish seems mighty heavy," said he, "and it runs around different from a cod." None the less, he kept on pulling in line, and at length saw the gleam of a fish. "Humph!" said he, "no wonder it pulls hard! I've hooked it right square in the side. It pulls harder than a foul-hooked salmon, down that deep in the water. I wonder what it is?"

It was a flat, shiny fish, handsome enough to look at, but Skookie shook his head. "Him no good," said he, and at once threw it overboard.

"I think that is what the sailormen call a silver hake," said Rob; "but if Skookie doesn't approve of it, I guess we won't take any chances."

The fish kept on biting at Rob's peculiar lure and at the pieces of salmon which the other boys used as bait. In the course of an hour they had the bow end of the dory well piled up with codfish, and Rob declared that they had enough. They also had nearly a dozen gnarled, knobby-looking fish, mostly all head, which Skookie insisted were better than codfish, to which they later all agreed. Sailors call these fish "sea-lawyers," because of their wide mouths, as they explain it. They rowed in to the beach near the mouth of the creek and dressed their fish on the shore not far from the salmon pool. After this they lay about in the sunshine of a beautiful day and idled away an hour or two more.

"I'll tell you what, fellows," said John, after a time, as he stopped throwing pebbles into the pool, "we ought to have some sort of a camp down here at the mouth of the creek, too. Look over there at that rock face on the other side of the creek; that would be a fine place to build another house. I think it would be fun."

"But look at us, all crippled up as we are," said Rob. "We never were in as bad shape to go to work."

"Oh, well," demurred Jesse, "we wouldn't have to do it all in one day. I think, too, it would be some fun to build a barabbara all of our own."

"I suppose we could float some logs down the creek," said Rob, "and maybe pick up some drift-wood on the beach and tow it around with the dory. And there's some drift right here at the mouth of our creek. We could build it over there just back of those scrubby trees, and with the cover of those and the tall grass no one could see it from the water unless he looked mighty close. And, as John says, it might save us a walk once in a while."

"If that wasn't a rock wall over there," said Jesse, "we could make a dugout; but there isn't any cave or opening in the rock there."

"No," said Rob, "and we can't build a bark house like a Chippewa, nor a mat house like a Siwash, nor a tepee like a Sioux. On the whole, I have noticed that every country knows how to build its own houses best. The natives here make barabbaras because they have material for that sort of house, and they seem to do pretty well, if they do smoke a little."

"Suppose we build a barabbara, then," suggested Jesse.

"Ask Skookie," suggested Rob.

But Skookie, although he knew perfectly well what they were talking about, did not grow very enthusiastic over the idea. He could see no use in doing any work which was not absolutely necessary. "S'pose got plenty barabbara now, all light," he said, pointing up the creek at their camp. The others, however, overruled him, and when he saw his companions at work he fell to as enthusiastically as any, and they found his suggestions of the greatest value.

At first they marked out a place about twelve feet square or so on the ground, and cleared it of grass, rocks, and pebbles. To this they dragged some of the drift logs which they found near by, and so began a rough sort of foundation. They had no nails which they could spare and not even a hammer, but the axe they found very useful in shaping the ends of the logs so that they would stay in place. They drove stakes to hold the corners together better and to keep the walls from falling down; and between the logs they put in chinking of moss, grass, and mud. Even before the end of their first day they had quite a start on their new house, and were eager for the next day's work, sore and crippled as they were.

On the following day they made house-building their first order. By noon they had their side walls fairly well laid up with logs, which now gave them some trouble to hoist and to keep in place. They towed drift-wood now into the creek, having used up most of the material which lay close at hand.

The roof gave them the most trouble. They built their side walls about four feet high, but they did not know how to keep the roof from falling in. They did not wish to plant any poles in the centre of the barabbara, as that would take up too much room and would interfere with the fireplace. They had no means of joining or framing any timbers for the roof, and they did not know how to make an arch. At last Jesse hit upon an idea.

"I'll tell you," said he; "we'll get some long poles and rest them on the top of the walls and plant the ends in the dirt and weight them down with rocks there. Then the other ends will stick in over the walls toward the centre, and will do for rafters for us to put our roof on. We'll leave a hole in the centre where the rafters don't meet. In that way we can have a roof without any posts in the middle of our house, so that the inside will all be clear room."

This crude idea of architecture appealed to the others and, indeed, proved rather effective, although it was different from the plan on which their old barabbara was built. They had some trouble in getting poles sufficiently long, but at last succeeded. On these they laid such flatter pieces as they could find in the drift-wood wreckage, piecing out the roof with poles and covering it all with grass and moss. Over this they put yet other timbers, and stones, and finished all with a heavy cover of dirt. This labor occupied them all that day and nearly three days more, as neither Rob nor Jesse was in very good condition to do much work. At last, however, they saw their new barabbara completed. It could hardly be seen from the opposite side of the creek, and any one passing the mouth of the creek on the bay would never have detected it at all.

Tired by their labors, they lay down on the grass in front and looked at their structure. "I'll tell you," said John, rubbing his dirty hands over his face to wipe the perspiration from his eyes; "we'll call this 'Cripples' Castle.' I don't think it's bad for the time we have put in, when there wasn't one of us feeling very well. But Rob's hand is pretty near well now, and Jesse's foot is getting better, and my nose is not going to come off, after all. We'll call it 'Cripples' Castle,' but hope that our luck will be better in it."

"Come on, let's go inside," said Jesse. So they crawled into the ragged hole in the wall which they had left for a door. They found the interior spacious enough for their needs, and the roof in the centre was stronger than that of their old barabbara. They got some firewood together, and with Skookie's help piled the floor under the eaves thick with sweet-smelling grasses from the flats near by. That night, when the Alaska sun gradually retired for its short rest, they sat around a brightly burning fire in the interior of their castle and ate the heartiest meal they had known for some time. It was then that Rob produced a surprise for the others.

"Now we have got some of our old dried bear meat," said he. "I suppose it's good, but it doesn't look it now—and a little salt whale and plenty of fresh codfish and salmon; and Skookie has got some of those white mock radishes of his, of which we don't know the name. But it seems to me that everything runs to meat. How would you like to have some onions?"

"Onions!" exclaimed Jesse; and "Onions!" repeated John after him. "Nothing would be better, but we haven't got any."

Rob produced from behind his back a small sack which they found contained a few of these precious bulbs, most valued of almost any vegetable in the far north.

"Where did you get those?" asked John. "They certainly didn't grow here."

"No," said Rob; "I found this little sack hidden back under the klipsies in the far end of the old barabbara up there. I suppose some native hid it there when they came down in the bay after their whale. Anyhow, we have been on meat diet so long that I will take the liberty of using these, no matter whom they belong to. Of course we're not living much on salt meat, but even if we don't get scurvy we ought to have all the vegetables and green things we can get hold of. Now, onions mayn't smell as nice as some things, but there's no better medicine in this sort of life."

"Leave them to me," said John, who had grown to be quite a good cook, perhaps by reason of his natural inclination for good things to eat. "I'll make a stew of them with some of that bear meat and some of Skookie's bulbs here. I'll bet we'll have the finest meal to-night we have ever had on the island." And so they all agreed. Late that night they rolled up in their bedding on the grass beds of their new house, and soon slept soundly within close reach of the waves of the sea, whose steady sound along the beach came to them far more plainly here than had been the case at the older barabbara.

After this the boys used this new house more than the older house, and little by little moved most of their belongings down there, although they still kept their flag-staff up on the upper beach in the hope that some passing vessel might come into their bay and see their signal.



XXVI

THE JOURNEY AND THE STORM

"Now I've got a notion," said Rob, one morning not long after they had finished their new barabbara, "that if we were asked about this big island where we are living we couldn't tell very much regarding it. We've only been over a little strip of country around here. I don't suppose we've ever been more than five or six miles from camp yet, even when we climbed highest in the mountains beyond the creek. Yet we can see over thirty miles of country from here. I'd sort of like to have a trip up one of those other valleys." He pointed a hand to the farther shore of the bay which lay before their gaze, level and calm as a mirror.

"That's what I've thought more than once, too," said Jesse. "Why not make an exploring expedition over there?"

"We couldn't do it and get back in time for supper," demurred John.

"No," smiled Rob, "but we could have several suppers over there. Why not go across and camp out a night or two, and just rough it a little bit? You can see that there are pine woods on the mountains over there, and wherever there is pine it is always comfortable camping. We could take some grub along, of course, and our rifles."

"How'd we sleep?" asked Jesse. "It has a way of raining in this country every once in awhile."

"Well," said Rob, "we could sit under a tree if we had to. I don't suppose we could make a bark shelter, and we have nothing that would do for a tent; but we have our kamelinkas, and the blanket we made out of the sea-parrot breasts. We'd get along somehow. What do you say, Skookie?"

Skookie grinned, understanding what was on foot. "All light—all light!" he said.

"Agreed then, fellows," said Rob. "And we'll start this very morning, because the bay is perfectly calm and there seems no danger of rough weather. It'll be cold up in the mountains, so we'll take one blanket for each two of us, and those that don't carry blankets will carry grub. We two will take our rifles, John, and Skookie the axe. We'll get on famously, I am sure."

The boys began to put out the different articles on the ground for packing. "Now we don't want to make our packs too heavy," said Rob. "The best way to pack is with a pair of overalls."

"How do you mean?" asked John.

"Well, you put all your things down on a piece of canvas or something, and you lash it tight with a rope, making a bundle about twice as long as it is wide, so that it will lie lengthwise on your back. You put your cord around each end, and then around it all lengthwise. Now you take your pair of overalls and straddle the legs across the lengthwise rope until it comes to the cross rope around the lower end. Then you take the ends of the legs and spread them apart at the other cross rope, wide enough for your shoulders to go in, leaving enough of the legs for shoulder-straps. Then you tie the ends of the legs fast to the cross ropes with small cords. There you are with the best kind of pack straps, which don't weigh anything and don't cut your shoulders. The legs of the overalls are soft, you see. Big Mike showed me how to do this, back home. He used to pack two sacks of flour up the Chilkoot Pass on the snow."

"Yes," said Jesse, "I've heard about that way, and seen men pack that way, too. There's only one thing that makes me against it now."

"What's that?" asked Rob, thoughtlessly.

"We haven't got the overalls!"

Rob's face fell as he rubbed his chin. "That's so," he admitted, "we haven't! And our trousers are getting pretty badly worn and wouldn't do for pack straps. I suppose we'll have to cut strips of seal leather or take a piece off our bear hides. Well, we won't make the packs heavy, anyhow, and we'll take it slow and easy."

Within an hour they had stowed their equipment in the dory and pushed off, all of them rowing and paddling. They thought they would soon be across the bay, whose opposite shore looked quite close; but they were somewhat startled to see how long it took them actually to make the distance, which must have been some six or eight miles. The bay, however, remained quiet and their progress was steady, although they were all very tired by the time they landed on the opposite beach, at the mouth of the valley which they purposed to explore.

"It seems wilder over here," said John. "Look how rough the mountains seem and how thick the timber is on above there. And I don't see any barabbara over here."

"There's something that looks like one, back from the beach a little way," said Jesse, pointing out what seemed like a low heap of earth. They went over and found it to be, indeed, the ruins of an old barabbara, which looked as though it had not been occupied for a lifetime. The roof had fallen in and the walls were full of holes, so that it was quite unfit for occupancy. They left it and passed up the beach, where they saw the ruins of several other houses, no doubt occupied by natives very long ago. Beyond this a short distance, not far from a deep path which was worn in the tundra by the wild game, they saw a number of rude posts standing at different angles, loosely embedded in the soil, and in some instances fallen and rotting in the grass. Some of these had rude cross-arms at their tops, others two cross-arms, the lower one nailed up at a slant. The boys regarded these curiously, but Skookie seemed anxious to move on.

"Why, what's up, Skookie? What's the matter?" asked Rob. "What do these posts mean, that look like crosses?"

"Dead mans here—plenty, plenty dead mans, long time," said Skookie. "No mans live here now. I'm not like dis place."

"Why," said Rob, "they're graves, and these are crosses—I think that one with the double arms must be one of the old Russian crosses. Was there ever a village here, Skookie?"

The Aleut lad nodded his head. "Long times, my peoples live here some day. Russian mans come here, plenty big boats; plenty shoot my peoples. Dose Russian mans make church here, show my peoples about church. Bime-by Russian mans go way. Bime-by my peoples get sick, plenty sick; all die, all dead mans here. My peoples go way, never come back no more. I'm not like dis place." He shuddered as he looked at the grave posts, and was eager to go on.

"That must have been seventy-five years ago," commented Rob. "Perhaps small-pox killed off the villagers who built this little town. See, the wind and the weather have polished these posts until they are white as silver. Well, I don't know but I'm ready to go on myself."

Shouldering the packs which they had put down when they paused for their investigation, they took their way on up the ancient trail made by the bears and possibly once beaten by human feet. Once they came upon the fresh trail of a giant bear which had passed the night before, according to Skookie, but as the animal had swung off to the left and out of their course, they made no attempt to follow it; and if truth be told, they seemed now so far from home in this new part of the country, and were so depressed by the thought of the abandoned village, that something of their hunting ardor was cooled for the time. The walking across the mile of meadow-like tundra was hard enough, and they were glad when they reached the rockier bank of the stream which came down, broad and shallow in some places, narrow and tumbling in others. Here sometimes they waded in the water to escape the tangled thickets of alder interspersed with the prickly "devil's club," peculiar to all Alaska—a fiendish sort of plant covered with small spines, which grows in all fantastic shapes, but which manages to slap one somewhere, no matter where one steps upon it, and whose little prickly points detach themselves and remain in the flesh. Our young explorers, however, were used to Alaska wilderness travel, and they took all of this much as matter of course, pushing steadily on up the valley until they reached a fork, where to the right lay rather better going and larger trees.

They concluded to bear up the right-hand canyon, and, pausing only for a bit to eat, about the middle of the afternoon, they had perhaps gone six or eight miles from the sea-shore when they concluded to camp for the night.

They were now at the foot of a dense mountain forest, where the shadows lay thick and cold, and there seemed something sinister in the silence all about them. None the less, they soon had a good camp-fire going, and with the axe they proceeded to make a sort of lean-to shelter out of pine boughs. Rob picked out a place near a big fallen log, drove in two crotches a little higher than his head, and placed across them a long pole; then from the log to this ridge-pole they laid others, and thatched it all with pine boughs until they had quite a respectable house. On the floor they spread out a deep bed of pine boughs, and so sat back under their shelter, with their fire roaring and crackling in front of them; and all agreed that they had a very comfortable camp. Pretty well worn out by the hard work of the day, for their packs and rifles had grown unspeakably heavy, they ate their supper of dried meat and smoked salmon, and so curled up in their blankets, too tired to stay awake.

The next morning they were up, feeling much more courageous after their good rest.

"I think it might be a good plan," said Rob, "to leave one of the grub packs here; and if we camp farther on to-night, and decide to go yet deeper into the island, to leave a little grub at each camp, of course swung up so that nothing can get at it to eat it."

"How far do you want to go?" asked John, whose legs were rather short, and who was feeling a little stiff after his first day's travel.

"Well, I don't know," answered Rob, "but if you fellows agree, I'd be for going at least a day's march farther up this valley. It'll be colder, and it'll be harder climbing, but the footing will be better and we can take our time. I'd like to see if there isn't some sort of a pass up here, the other side of which leads down into the interior. I've always heard that the arms of the sea came pretty near cutting this island in two, along about the middle somewhere. We might have to take a look over on the other side of the island sometime, if we stayed here five or ten years, you know!"

The other boys looked sober at this sort of a jest, but pluckily agreed to go on for at least one more day. This they did not regret, for they found themselves now in a country savoring more of the mountains than of the sea. Snow lay just above them, but the tops of the mountains seemed fairly open. Their little valley had a steady ascent, although by this time its watercourse had dwindled to a stream over which they could step as they pleased. Along the stream there showed the inevitable trail of the giant Kadiak bears which for hundreds of years had made these paths over all the passes down to the streams. Fresh bear signs the boys saw in abundance, but did not stop to hunt.

Once, as they crossed their stream, they passed the mouth of a short, steep little ravine which opened down into the valley. Here Rob's eye detected something white. Stepping over in that direction, he called the others. "Look here, fellows, here's a great big bear skull all by itself!"

They stood about this object, which certainly was enough to puzzle them. There it lay, entirely stripped of all flesh, and very white, although the bone was not badly bleached by the elements as yet. There was not the sign of any struggle anywhere about, nor was there the least particle of any other bones. They searched for the remainder of the skeleton of the animal, but found nothing of the sort anywhere about. There lay the grinning skull, far up here in the mountains, with nothing to tell whence it came or how it happened to be there.

"My, wasn't it a whale!" exclaimed Jesse. "See, it's almost as long as my arm. I'll bet it's eighteen or twenty inches long, measured as it is. But what could have killed it? Nothing could kill a bear except another bear; but that wouldn't account for the head being here all alone. Skookie, what do you think about this?"

"My peoples, maybe so," said Skookie.

"Your peoples? Why, I thought you said no one lived over on this side. And we've seen no signs of hunting here anywhere."

Skookie went on to explain. "S'pose my peoples hunt. Kill big bear. Some mans take hide, some mans take meat, some mans take head. Dis head not good for eat, but very much heavy. Some mans get tired, lay it down here; maybe so birds eat-um all up but bone."

"But how long ago did all this happen, Skookie?" asked John.

"I dinno."

"And where did the hunters come from?" asked Rob.

"I dinno. Maybe so Eagle Harbor, maybe so Old Harbor."

"Which way is Old Harbor, Skookie?" asked Rob, suddenly.

The lad pointed back across the mountains, beyond the bay, and beyond their camp on the farther side. "Plenty far," he said.

"Then which way is Eagle Harbor—I suppose you mean a native village."

"Eagle Harbor dis way." And Skookie pointed across the head of the pass toward which they were travelling up the valley.

"How far?" demanded Rob.

"I dinno," answered Skookie; "plenty miles, maybe so. My peoples live Old Harbor."

Rob studied for a moment. "I'll bet that if we kept on," said he, "until we came to the top of this divide, we'd find the head of a river running down the other way. Like as not it would go to some bay where Eagle Harbor village is. Well, that makes the island seem not quite so big. Come on, let's go on up to the top of this pass, anyhow."

So they plodded on, but did not reach the summit that night, nor did they find any further solution to the riddle of the lost bear skull, which latter Rob left in the trail, intending to pick it up on their return, although Skookie seemed to be averse to this performance; owing, no doubt, to some of his native superstitions. That night they camped high up in an air which was very cold, so that they shivered before morning, although their fire of little logs had not yet burned out.

By noon of the next day, two camps out from the sea, and at a distance of perhaps twenty-five miles or more, they reached what was plainly the divide between this valley and another leading off to the northwestward. Here they paused. Before them stretched a wilderness of upstanding mountain peaks into which there wound the narrow end of a new valley, widening but slightly so far as their eyes could trace it.

"Eagle Harbor that way, Skookie?" asked Rob, leaning on his rifle and looking out over the wild sea which lay before him.

"I dinno," said Skookie.

"How far do you think it is?"

"I dinno."

The Aleut lad was truthful, for neither he nor any of his family had ever crossed the island here, and he knew nothing of what lay ahead. Plainly uneasy now, Skookie had had enough of travel away from camp. "Maybe go back now?" he asked Rob, inquiringly.

"I suppose so," replied the latter, "although I'd jolly well like to go over in here a little farther. I've a notion we'd come out somewhere closer to Kadiak town; and maybe we'd run across some native who would take us in. But there doesn't seem to be any game except once in a while a ptarmigan—those mountain grouse that strut and crow around here on the snow, and aren't big enough to waste rifle ammunition on. Maybe it's safer to go back to our camp and wait for a month or so more at least. What do you say, fellows?"

The others, who were very tired and a little uneasy at being so far from what was their nearest approach to a home, voted for the return. So, after a rest at the summit, where cutting winds soon drove them back, they shouldered their lighter packs and began to retrace their way down the valley to the sea.

Now they did not have to build any shelters for the night and could use their old camps. They found that their appetites were increased by their hard work, so that after the last camp they had little left to carry except their blankets and guns, although Rob manfully insisted on carrying out the great bear skull, which he found quite heavy enough before the end of the journey.

When at last they left the mountains and crossed the tundra to the deserted village near which they had left their dory moored, they saw that a change had come over the weather. In the north a black cloud was rising, and the surface of the bay, although little broken by waves so far as they could see, had a steely and ominous look.

"Maybe so rain bime-by," said Skookie.

Rob studied the bay and the sky for some time. "What do you say, boys?" he asked. "Shall we try to make it across to-night? I don't like the look of things out there, and you know it's a long pull."

"Well," said John, "I'm for starting across. There's no place to stop here, and I don't like this place any more than Skookie does, anyhow."

Jesse agreed that they might probably better try to make their home camp, as their supplies were low, and since, if stormy weather came, it might be a long time before they could cross the bay.

"All right, then," said Rob; "but we've got to hurry."

Skookie also was plainly nervous. They rushed the dory from its moorings, and all taking oars and paddles, gave way strongly as they could. At that time there were no waves of consequence, only a long, slow motion like the pulse of the sea which came down from the outer mouth of great Kaludiak Bay. The wind had not yet risen, although steadily the twilight seemed to thicken.