For three-quarters of an hour they made good progress. Then they noticed that their boat began to pitch a little, and small, choppy waves raced by. A strong slant of wind was coming down from another valley farther toward the mouth of the bay, opposite which they passed, when they left at one side the long spit of land which had served as shelter to their part of the inner bay.

Evidently the wind was freshening. A fine spindrift settled on the farther side of the bay, so that at times their own shore was cut out from view for many moments. Night, too, was now coming. Without a word the boys bent to their oars, thoroughly alarmed. Rob and Skookie were perhaps the calmest of the four, and Rob undertook to do what he could to encourage his companions.

"One thing you want to remember, boys," said he, "and that is that one of these dories will stand almost as much sea as a ship, if you handle her right. We'll keep her quartering into the waves, and will keep on rowing all night if we have to. Never mind where we strike the shore on the other side—we won't try to come out just at our camp. I only hope we can make it above the mouth of our creek, because if we go below that point we might drift twenty miles, clear to the far end of the bay. Don't pull too hard now and get fagged, but keep up a steady lick. Jesse, you'd better get in the stem and let John and Skookie each pull an oar. I'll take the other pair. Get your tin pail ready, Jesse, and if we take in any water, keep it bailed out the best you can."

The others were plucky, although every one was anxious. The little crew kept sturdily at the oars, facing what was a situation serious enough to daunt even the strongest men. These Alaskan storms are dangerous even to the most powerful vessels, and no coast in the world has a longer record of shipwreck and lost vessels of which no trace ever is found.

When once fairly out in the middle of the bay, the boys got a notion of the power of the sea such as they never before had known in their lives and thought never again to repeat. Clouds now obscured the sky. The wind increased steadily, coming in directly from the mouth of the great bay, and bringing with it all the power of the mighty Pacific Ocean. As these young adventurers looked over their shoulders it was a truly terrifying spectacle which met their gaze.

In steady succession, a few moments apart, there came down into the bay, apparently reaching from side to side across it, long black hills of water, great, roller-like waves which did not break but came in black and oily. Each one, as it towered above the little boat, seemed about to engulf it, but in some way the splendid little dory found its way up the side and across the crest; and then they would see the great, silent black hill of water swing on into the bay and pass out of sight, only to be followed by another. The wind was not yet strong enough to break the tops of the waves, and fortunately the tide was coming in, so that there were no rips, which would surely have swamped their little craft.

"Keep on pulling, boys!" cried Rob. "We're doing finely. She rides these big waves like a duck. She's a splendid boat!"

Skookie did not say anything, but once in a while cast an anxious eye toward the head of the bay.

"Is it all right, Skookie?" asked Rob.

"I dinno," answered Skookie, and bent again to his oar.

"So long as the sea doesn't break," said Rob, "we can ride these rollers all right. It's when she goes white that you want to look out."

Perhaps this was precisely what Skookie had feared. Within three minutes after Rob had spoken what he had dreaded actually occurred. They were riding steadily up toward the top of a long, oily wave whose leeward side was quite unbroken, when, just as they reached the top, the wind seemed to tear the crest of the wave into shreds. Without warning, a great, boiling surge of white, hissing water came up all around them. It was as though some angry spirit of the deep had risen up from below and tried to pull them down.

The white water poured in over the gunwale and half filled the dory, which seemed on the point of sinking before the long wave crept away, growling, as though disappointed at being baffled in its purpose.

Jesse, who had left the stern seat and was crouched in the bottom of the dory, uttered a cry of affright.

"Quiet, there!" called out Rob, sharply. "Bail, bail as fast as you can! Hurry up!"

Thoroughly frightened, but rallying to his young commander's voice, Jesse obeyed, and bailed rapidly as he could, the sloshing water now leaving him for the bow, and now flooding him to the knees as it swept back to the stern when the bow arose. The dory yawed and veered unsteadily. Had they struck another piece of white water the end must have come for them, for their craft would have been beyond the control of their weary arms. Good-fortune was with them, however, and Jesse's efforts steadily lightened their little ship, while the others kept her headed up, quartering into the long waves.

How long they rowed in this heart-breaking manner none of them ever knew, but it seemed many hours. No doubt it was two or three hours before they began to reach the shelter of the nearest projecting point on the farther side of the bay. By this time they were nearly worn out, their arms trembling, and their faces pale from over-exertion, but they dared not stop, and so pulled on as best they could. All at once Skookie spoke.

"Karosha!" he exclaimed. "Pretty soon all light, all light! I hear-um water over dar."

He meant that he now could hear the surf breaking along the beach on their side of the bay. The roar of the waves became plainer and plainer as they pulled in, and now the rollers became less gigantic, and their headway increased as the wind was shut off by the promontory at the head of their beach.

The sound of the breaking surf was ominous enough of itself. In these wild seas it is not every one who can take in a boat safely through such waters. Rob was wise enough to ask counsel of Skookie in this matter, when at last they could see the rim of white water breaking madly along the shingle.

The young Aleut did not seem much concerned. He told them to stop rowing when they approached the first long ridge of breaking water, and with his own oars he held the boat for a minute, looking astern and waiting for the right instant. A great wave came in toward them, but just before it broke Skookie gave a shout and they all fell to their oars, going in just with the crest of this wave and keeping just ahead of where it broke. Thus their boat was carried high up the beach.

At the right instant overboard went Skookie waist deep in the surging white water. In an instant Rob was out on the other side. The receding wave almost swept the dory back, but they held her; and another, lifting her clear and carrying the boys off their feet for a moment, flung her yet farther up the beach and at the edge of the high-water mark. As she grounded this time they were all out and helped run her up high and dry. Here they made her fast by the painter to a jagged rock which projected from the wall at the edge of the beach. Then, too tired to do anything further, and trembling now in the reaction which followed the peril from which they had escaped, they flung themselves panting on the beach, with pale faces looking out into the stormy sea which thundered at their feet. They were all sobered thoroughly by their experience. At last Rob spoke, standing up preparatory to the walk down the beach toward their old barabbara.

"I know what I thought out there when she broke under us," said he; "and I know what I did, too."

"Yes, and," said Jesse, as he and the others rose to follow him, "I know what I'm going to do before I go to sleep to-night, too. I'm going to remember my prayers."



XXVII

THE MAN-HUNT

For several days after their fortunate escape from the storm at sea the boys were willing enough to lie around their camps, resting, undertaking no labor beyond that necessary in getting their daily food. About this latter there was rarely any difficulty at all.

Of course, after a time all the birds in the lagoon were easily frightened away, but once in a while during the coming week the young hunters repeated their hunt with the thongs, and finally saw quite a heap of smoked goose-breasts accumulate on their drying-rack, where some of the bear meat still remained, as well as a goodly number of split salmon.

The gulls' nests and the salmon stream afforded their best source of supply, each practically exhaustless at that season. The salmon came practically to their very door, and, provided as they were now with salt, there was small excuse for any of them going hungry. So easy, indeed, did life become, so far as food was concerned, that, as has been stated above, a certain monotony, not to say anxiety, settled upon them all. This, however, was one day broken by an event of most startling interest.

They were following down the salmon creek, with the intention of taking a few fish at the pool near the mouth, when all at once the young Aleut, whose keen eyes were ever searching the country both far and near, paused and gave a low exclamation as he pointed to the mud near the banks.

"Bad mans come!" he said.

They peered where he pointed. Sure enough, there was the mark of a man's foot, evidently that of a man wearing mukluks, or seal boots. The boys looked at one another.

"Him come," said Skookie, making signs of catching salmon. He made other signs of going to sleep, putting his hands against his cheek and closing his eyes, and then pointing up the hills. He pointed from the hills to the creek. Thus the boys knew what he meant, what they at once suspected to be the truth—that their late prisoner Jimmy was hiding out in the mountains, and coming down like a wild animal to make his living on the salmon run.

This was a situation which at once seemed to them very grave.

"He has not left, after all," said Rob, moodily. "I wish we had him under lock and key again. The question is, are we going to catch him again, or is he going to catch us first? That's what I want to know."

"What do you mean?" asked John. "He's free, and we don't know where he is. Surely you don't mean that we ought to go and hunt him up?"

"I feel just this way," answered Rob, "as I always have about anything of the sort—if there's going to be trouble, let us have it over and done with. For one, I don't relish lying awake night after night wondering if our camp is going to be surprised; and neither do I like to walk these shores wondering if this fellow is going to slip an arrow into one of us from the grass."

"Wouldn't we be safe in the house?" asked Jesse.

"We can't stay in the house all the time, and we would not be safe even there. No, it looks as though we ought to go out and hunt this fellow up and see what he is doing and intends to do."

Without further words they turned back toward the house, followed by the Aleut boy, who looked from one to the other as if wondering what their words signified. This he discovered a few moments later, when Rob and John both emerged, each with a loaded rifle under his arm.

"Come on," said Rob, and led the way, splashing through the shallow water at the foot of the lagoon which separated them from the mountain-side beyond.

They climbed in silence for some time, steadily ascending the steep face of the snow-capped mountain which lay before them. Again they saw the wonderful pictures afforded by this region, where both ocean and mountains blend in the landscape. As now and then they paused for breath, they turned to look at the wonderful view of the great bay, the silver thread of the lagoon and creek, and the low, round dot made by their hut upon the flat. Above them circled many of the great bald eagles, which occasionally departed for their salmon-fishing in the stream. Once or twice they heard the sharp bark of a fox concealed in the alder thickets, and as they reached the upper slopes, where the snow still lay, frequently they saw the mountain ptarmigan, at this altitude still in its white winter plumage. These birds, when alarmed, would fly but a short way and then poise in the air, uttering a sharp, crowing cackle, soon to alight and stand motionless on the snow. All these scenes of wild nature were noted by the boys, though perhaps not so much as they might have been had they not been upon so serious an errand.

From time to time they caught the trail of the fugitive across the snow-field, where it could be seen for half a mile at a stretch. Beyond such a snow-field they came across the ashes of a fire which had been built behind a clump of rocks out of sight from the beach below. There were some half-burned bones, which showed that some one had cooked fish here. Skookie, making the sign of sleep, or night, held up six fingers, to show that it had been that many days since the fugitive had been here.

They managed to puzzle out the trail for some distance up the mountains from this point, but finally lost it on a bare rock ridge which thrust up well toward the peak of the mountain between two snow-fields. Skookie, stooping down and hunting like a dog among the half-bare rocks, slowly puzzled out the trail for a time. Evidently the man they wanted had made a practice of sleeping far back in the mountains. For a time they almost despaired of discovering him, until at last Jesse, whose eyes were always keen, pointed out what he thought were tracks leading across a snow-bank a quarter of a mile ahead. Hastening thither, they gained a half-mile more in their pursuit, but finally were obliged to halt puzzled at a bare rim of rock, beyond which and below them lay a wide expanse of rough country broken by canyons and covered by a dense alder growth, the only timber of that region.

In that broken country hiding might have been offered for a regiment, almost, it seemed. Rob suggested that it was perhaps as well to return to camp and give up the search.

"Hold on a minute," said Jesse. "Look over there! I think I see something."

He pointed ahead and below at some object a half-mile farther on. Presently they all saw it—a figure visible against the snow which lay along the edge of a sharp canyon wall. A moment later it was lost as it moved into the cover of the alder thicket; but even as they hesitated they saw arising a thin wreath of blue smoke, which proved to them that the figure they had seen was a man, and no doubt the one for whom they were looking.

Skookie looked serious, his brown face drawn into a frown of anxiety and fear.

"Bad mans, bad mans!" he said, over and over again, shaking his head.

"Come on, fellows!" was Rob's comment, and he plunged on down the rock face, hurrying to get his party out of sight as quickly as possible. Once lower down, and near the elevation of the smoke at the canyon side, concealment was much easier, and from this point they stalked the hidden fugitive much as they would have done with a big-game animal had they been pursuing it.

They paused at last at the rim of a shelving rock which projected out at the top of the canyon wall. The smell of the smoke was strong in their nostrils, and they knew that they were near the end of their hunt. Somewhere below them, perhaps within a few yards or feet, the fugitive must be lying; but, although they peered over cautiously, they could see no one. As a matter of fact, a shallow cavern existed directly under them in the side of the canyon wall, and it was at the mouth of this that the Aleut had built his fire.

Seeing no sign of life, Rob proceeded to dispose his forces with the purpose of surrounding his man. He motioned to Jesse and the Aleut boy to remain at the rim of the canyon, and, sending John to a point below, he himself climbed down on the upper side of the fire. When he reached a point where he could see into the mouth of the cave and realized that very probably this was the abode of the escaped Aleut, he waited until he saw John in position below, and then as they both covered the mouth of the cave with their guns he gave a loud call:

"Here, you, Jimmy, come out of that!"

They all heard a low exclamation, which assured them that their man was at home; but at first he refused to appear. Rob called out loudly again, half raising himself above a rock behind which he had taken shelter against any surprise.

Presently they heard a voice raised, not in defiance, but in entreaty. They scarcely recognized the figure which limped to the mouth of the cave, so gaunt and haggard did it seem. It was, indeed, their late prisoner, but now bent and weak, as though ill and half starved. He held his bow and arrows in one hand over his head, but the bow was not strung. Evidently he intended to surrender without any resistance.

"Good mans, good!" he repeated, beating on his breast.

They closed in on him now and took away his weapons. The Aleut boy jabbered at him in excited tones, apparently accusing or reproaching him. Jimmy edged away from him and looked at the white faces of the others, which regarded him sternly but with no apparent anger. He sadly pointed to his leg, which had been injured by a fall on the rocks. Evidently he wanted to tell them that if they would take him back on the old footing he, for his part, would be glad enough to come, if only they would keep the savage brown boy away from him.

"Now we've got him," said Rob, at last, "and what shall we do with him?"

"We'll have to take him down," said John. "He'd just about die if we left him up here; and I don't believe he'll make us trouble any more. Besides, we've got Skookie here to watch him now."

Rob debated the matter in his mind for some time, but finally agreed that Jimmy would probably make them no more trouble, since he very possibly was hiding out more in fear of them than in any wish to harm them. Reasoning that one or both of these natives might be useful in later plans, he at last held out his hand to Jimmy, and with some effort persuaded Skookie that it would be better for him to shake hands with Jimmy than to take a rifle and shoot him, as the boy seemed more disposed to do. He knew that these natives soon forget their animosities.

Thus at length they started down the mountain along the trail, which Jimmy pointed out, hobbling along in advance. In a couple of hours they were at the top of the high rock face above the mouth of the creek. Here Jimmy paused and anxiously scanned the entire expanse of the adjacent cove and the long line of the beach beyond. He seemed overjoyed that there was no longer any sign of the hostile party which had come in pursuit of him. At least the boys guessed that was what he felt, and guessed also that he had been coming down to the stream at night and not in the daytime, perhaps thus sustaining the fall which had hurt his leg.

They were hungry that night as they cooked their evening meal in the smoky barabbara.

"No watch to-night, boys!" said Rob. "These two friends can watch each other, if they feel like it, but I think we may sleep without anxiety."

"For a prisoner, it looks to me that Jimmy was very glad to be caught," remarked John.



XXVIII

A HUNT FOR SEA-OTTER

Two or three days more passed in this strange situation, but nothing took place which even to Rob's watchful eye seemed to indicate any danger from either of their Aleut companions. In the wilderness the most practical thing is accepted as it appears, without much argument, if only it seems necessary; so now this somewhat strangely assorted company settled down peaceably into the usual life of the place, until an event happened which brought them all still more closely together.

They were going over to the beach to see that their flag-staff was still in proper position, when Jesse's keen eyes noted at the edge of the beach a small, dark object which had been cast up by the waves. A moment's examination proved to them that this was nothing less than a sea-otter cub, a small animal not much larger than a wood-chuck, but with a long, pointed tail, and covered with short, soft fur. All these boys had lived in Alaska long enough to know the great value of the fur of the sea-otter, which even at this time was worth more than a thousand dollars a skin. They reasoned that since this cub had come ashore there might be older otters about. The cause of the death of the cub they never knew; nor, indeed, do even the native hunters always know what kills the otters which they find sometimes cast up by the waves on the beaches. Some natives say that in very cold winter weather an otter may freeze its nose, so that it can no longer catch fish, and thus starves to death. Some, of course, are shot by hunters who never find them. It is customary for the profits of such a find to be divided among the tribe or family making the discovery, and even in case a hunter can prove that he has shot an otter at sea which has come ashore, the finder receives a certain proportion of the profits, most of the hunting done by these natives partaking of a communal nature.

"This fur is still good," said Rob, pulling at it. "It hasn't been dead very long, so maybe its mother is still around, or its daddy. That would be something worth while, wouldn't it? Five hundred to fifteen hundred dollars, perhaps."

The older Aleut was standing on the summit of the sea-wall, shading his eyes and looking steadily out over the waves. At last he gave a loud, sharp call, in which an instant later the Aleut boy joined. The two ran first toward the dory, which lay on the sea-beach, where it had been left after the last voyage for eggs, but an instant later they turned back to the lagoon where the bidarka lay, and made motions that this should be carried across and launched.

Rob and John hurried for their rifles. Jimmy caught up his bow and arrows, and the Aleut boy his short spear. They hurried the bidarka across the sea-wall to the open water of the bay. Jimmy resumed his watch from the summit of the sea-wall. For what seemed a half-hour he stood motionless and staring out over the bay. Then again he called aloud and, hurriedly lifting his bow string into the notch, ran down to the bidarka, motioning to Rob to take his seat in the rear hatch.

"You others get into the dory with Skookie," called out Rob, even as the strong sweep of Jimmy's paddle swept them free of the shingle.

To launch the heavy dory was something of a task for the younger boys, but in their excitement they accomplished it, so that the two boats were soon out for yet another of the wild sea-hunts of this far-away coast.

The method of the natives who hunt the sea-otter is to make a surround with a fleet of bidarkas, much as they hunt the whale; but this, of course, was impossible now. None the less, Jimmy, who assumed the position of master of the hunt, motioned to the Aleut boy in the dory to keep off to the left, while he and Rob circled far to the right in the bidarka.

To the Aleut mind nothing approaches a sea-otter hunt, for it affords not only the keenest sport, but the greatest possible financial reward. The method of the hunt is somewhat complicated in some of its features. When the otter dives the boats gather in a circle, and as soon as it appears every bowman does his best to strike it with an arrow. The first arrow to strike the otter makes the latter the property of the lucky bowman, who, of course, knows his own arrow by his mark. As, however, the first arrow may not stop the otter, the "owner," as the boats close in upon the game, may very probably call out what he will pay for another arrow lodged in the body of the otter. Instances have been known where the first bowman has in his excitement pledged away more in arrow-interest than the total value of the skin amounts to, so that he is actually loser instead of gainer by the transaction. The arrow closest to the tail is the one which most prevents the otter from diving; hence the value of the arrows is measured by the distance from the tail, the arrow of each man being so marked that it cannot be mistaken.

All of this etiquette of the otter-hunt was, of course, unknown to the white boys, whose main interest, indeed, was one of sport rather than of profit. They were keen as the natives, none the less, and eagerly watched every signal given by the leader of the hunt.

At last Jimmy held a paddle up in the air, a signal for the other boat to slow down. A moment later Rob spied the otter lying stretched out motionless on the water as though asleep, as indeed likely was the case, since that is the method of sleep practised by this species. Now, a few fathoms at a time, the native edged the bidarka up toward his game, precisely as the Aleut chief had approached the whale. The dory, no longer rowed furiously, but now paddled silently by John and Skookie, approached on the other side. As they now were on a comparatively smooth sea, and not more than fifty yards from the animal, Rob motioned to his companion to allow him to fire with his rifle, but the latter emphatically refused. He knew that an arrow safely lodged is more sure to bring the sea-otter into possession than a rifle-ball, which might kill it, only to cause it to sink and be lost.

Jimmy now laid down his paddle, took up his bow and arrows, and signalled to Rob to paddle ahead slowly. A few yards farther he motioned for the headway to be checked, and just as the bidarka stopped he launched his barbed arrow with a savage grunt.

The weapon flew true! A wide rush of bubbles showed where an instant before the otter had lain.

Both otter and arrow had disappeared, but the Aleut sat waiting grimly, although the boys in the other boat gave a yell of exultation. In a few moments the wounded animal showed a hundred fathoms ahead. Here, stung by the pain of the bone head, which had sunk deep into its back, it swam confusedly for a moment at the surface. The shaft of the arrow had now been detached from the loose head cunningly contrived by the native arrow-makers, and a long cord, which attached the arrow-head to the shaft, and which was wound around the latter, now unreeled and left the shaft floating, telltale evidence of the otter's whereabouts, even when it dived.



Jimmy tried a long shot as the bidarka swept ahead under Rob's paddle, but this time he missed, and down went the otter again. It did not dive deep, however, and the shaft of the arrow told where it might be expected. As its round head, with bright, staring eyes, thrust up above the water, there came the twang of the young Aleut's bow, and the second arrow chugged into the body of the otter. Even the older hunter greeted this shot with applause.

The otter, however, is hard to kill with an arrow of this sort, since its skin is loose and tough. The creature dived once more, but the second floating shaft now began to handicap its motions. Both boats followed it from place to place as it swam. At last, almost exhausted, it showed once more, and the older Aleut sent home an arrow at the back of its head which killed it at once. He hauled up across the bidarka deck the body of the otter, a dark-brown creature, even at that season fairly well furred, and in weight about that of a good-sized dog.

Now and again calling out in sheer exultation at the success of this strange hunt, they all now turned ashore. That day they had plenty to do in skinning the otter and making a rude stretching-board for the great skin. The boys were all astonished to see how much larger it stretched than had seemed possible from the size of the body of the animal itself; but the hide of the sea-otter lies in loose wrinkles, so that it may bend and turn freely as a snake when making its way in the water. They found the skin to be more than six feet long from tip to tip.

The young friends engaged in some speculation as to how much the skin might bring at the Seattle market. One thing of value it seemed to establish beyond doubt—Jimmy and Skookie, as they both worked at fleshing the hide, had dropped their mutual suspicions and become hunting companions.



XXIX

UNCERTAINTY

Midsummer came and passed, and still no sign from the outer world came to relieve the growing anxiety of the boys so long marooned on these unfrequented shores. They had kept very small account of the passing of the days, and perhaps none of them could have told how many weeks had elapsed since the beginning of their unwilling journey from Kadiak. They no longer knew the days of the week; and, indeed, had any of their relatives seen them now, with their shoes worn to bits, their clothing ragged and soiled, and not a hat or cap remaining between them, they might have taken their sun-browned faces and long hair to be marks of natives rather than of white boys of good family.

It is not to be supposed, however, that they had given up all hope, or that at any time they had allowed themselves to indulge in despondency. Rob especially, although serious and quiet, all the time was thinking over a plan. This, one day, he proposed to the others.

"I have resolved," said he, "that if you other boys agree, we will start for home just one month from to-day."

They sat looking at him in silence for some time.

"How do you mean?" asked Jesse, his eyes lighting up, for he was the one who seemed most to feel homesickness.

"I mean to start back to Kadiak, where we came from!"

"Yes, and how can we tell which way Kadiak is?" inquired John.

"I'll tell you how," said Rob. "We will travel, of course, in our dory, which will carry our camp outfit and food enough to last for a great many days, even if we should prove unable to take any codfish or salmon along the coast."

"But which way would we go?" insisted John.

"The opposite of the way we came," smiled Rob. "A tide brought us into this bay. The same tide on the turn would carry us out of the bay. To be sure, the wind may have had much to do with our direction, but it is only fair to suppose that if we came down the east coast of Kadiak on an ebb we would go up that same coast on the flood. At least, if we could do no better, we would be leaving a place where no word seems apt to get to us."

"It would be a risky voyage," said Jesse. "I didn't like it out there on the open sea!"

"There is some risk in staying here," was Rob's answer. "Whether or not those natives took our message to Kadiak, they certainly will tell all the other villagers that we are here. In time they will know we are helpless. It may be only a matter of days or weeks before they will come and do what they like with us—steal our guns and blankets, and either take us far away, or leave us to shift for ourselves as we can."

"Could we send Jimmy out with another message?" suggested John.

"I doubt it," answered Rob. "If he wanted to leave here he could take the bidarka almost any night and escape, but I believe he is afraid to leave the bay lest he may be found by some of these villagers whom he has offended. I don't think Skookie would go anywhere with him. As it is, one is a foil to the other here with us, but each is afraid of the other away from us!"

"But don't you suppose that Skookie's people will come back after him sometime?"

"True enough, they may; but who can tell the Aleut mind? I don't pretend to. Of course, by the late fall, say November, when the snows come and the fur is good, I don't doubt these people will come back here to trap foxes, for that is evidently a regular business here; but that would mean that we would have to winter either with them or by ourselves; and I want to tell you that wintering here alone is an entirely different proposition from summering here, now when the salmon are running and we can go out almost any day and get codfish, not to mention ducks and geese. Besides, our people would be driven frantic by that time. On the other hand, if we were lucky enough to make it to Kadiak we would get there in time to find your uncle Dick, or at least to get a boat home to Valdez sometime within a month after we got to Kadiak. Of course, we don't know anything about the country between here and there. The whole coast may be a rock wall, for all we know."

"The steamers have government charts to tell them where to go," mused John; "but we haven't any chart, and we don't even know in what direction of the compass we ought to sail, even if we had a compass."

"Before ships could have charts," said Rob, "it was necessary for some one to discover things all over the world. I suppose that's the class we're in now—we're the first navigators, so far as help from any one else is concerned. In Alaska a fellow has to take care of himself, and he has to learn to take his medicine. Now none of us is a milksop or a mollycoddle."

"That's the talk!" said John. "For my part, if Jesse agrees, we'll try the journey back in the dory. But if we're going to undertake it we ought to begin now to lay in plenty of supplies."

"I have been thinking of that," said Rob, "and so I move we begin now to get together our provisions."

From that time on they all worked soberly and intently, with minds bent upon a common purpose. They hunted ducks and geese regularly now, curing the breasts of the wild fowl on their smoke-rack. Codfish they did not trouble to take for curing in any great quantity, as they knew they could secure them fresh at almost any point along these shores. Salmon they smoked in numbers, for now the run of the humpback salmon was on, replacing the earlier one of the smaller red salmon. Part of their dried bear meat, now not very palatable, they still had left. They even tried to dry in the sun some of the bulbs which the natives occasionally brought in. Their greatest puzzle was how they could carry water, for, since they knew nothing of the coast ahead, they feared that they might be obliged to pass some time without meeting a fresh-water stream. At last John managed to make Jimmy understand what they required, and he, grinning at their ignorance, showed them how they could make a water-cask out of a fresh seal-skin, of which they now had several from their hunting along the coast.

"Now," said John, when finally they had solved that problem, "we've got to have a sail of some sort."

"And not a piece of canvas or cloth as big as your hand," said Rob, ruefully. "I admit that a sail would be a big help, for we could rig a lee-board for the dory. Then, if the wind was right, we could get back to Kadiak in a day, very likely; for we couldn't have been much more than that time in coming down here without a sail."

It taxed John's ingenuity as interpreter for a long time to make the natives understand what he now required. At last, by means of his clumsy attempts to braid a sort of mat out of rushes and grass, they caught his idea and fell to helping him. That week they finished a large, square mat, fairly close in texture, which they felt sure could be used as a square-rigged sail. They prepared a short mast and spars for this, and as they reviewed the progress of their boat equipment they all felt a certain relief, since all of them were more or less familiar with boat-sailing.

"I hate to go away and miss all the foxes we could get at the carcass of that whale this fall," said Rob one morning, as he stood at the sea-wall and watched three or four of these animals scamper off up the beach when disturbed at their feeding on the carcass. "In fact, I feel just the way we all do, pretty much attached to this place where we've had such a jolly good time, after all; but we've got to think of getting home some way. We've got our water-cask ready, and our sail is done, and we've got two or three hundred pounds of fairly good provisions. We'll pull the dory up to the beach here opposite our camp and get her loaded. What time do you say, John? And what do you think, Jesse? What time shall we set for the start?"

John and Jesse stood, each breaking a bit of dried grass between his fingers as he talked. At last John looked up.

"Any time you say, Rob," he answered, firmly.

"To-morrow, then!" said Rob.

They stood for a moment, each looking at the other. For weeks they had been in anxiety, for many days extremely busy, most of the time too methodical or too intent to experience much enthusiasm. Now a sudden impulse caught all three—the spirit of resolution which accomplishes results for man or boy. Suddenly John waved his hand above his head.

"Three cheers!" he exclaimed.

They gave them all together.

"Hip, hip, hurrah!"



XXX

"BLOWN OUT TO SEA!"

Meantime, what had happened in the outer world during all these months? What had been the feelings of Mr. Hazlett on that day in early spring as, hour after hour, he walked Kadiak dock and peered into the fog in vain, waiting for the boat which did not appear? And what of his feelings as all that day and night passed, and yet another, with no answer to his half-frenzied search of the shores close to the town, of the decks of the still lingering steamer, and of the surroundings of the Mission School across the strait? None could answer his questions, and no guess could be formed as to the missing dory and its crew, until at last there were discovered the two natives who had rowed the dory away from the Nora.

These told how the boat had disappeared while they were absent. They had thought that the boys had made their way back to town. Now, finding that such had not been the case, they expressed it as their belief that when the latter had pitted their weak strength against the Pacific Ocean they had failed and had been blown out to sea.

"Blown out to sea!" How many a story has been written in that phrase! How could this anxious watcher face the parents of those boys and tell them news such as this? At least for a time he was spared this, for no boat would go back to Valdez within a month, and those who awaited news were Alaska mothers and knew the delays of the frontier. None the less, Mr. Hazlett had borne in upon him all the time the feeling that he himself had been responsible for this disaster. Even as he set to work to organize search-parties he felt despair.

The natives, not clear as to the instructions given them, had supposed that they were to go in search of the revenue-cutter Bennington; yet as a matter of fact that vessel was moored on the western instead of the eastern side of the island at the time, whereas it seemed sure that the dory with the missing boys must have been carried along the east coast of the island, and not through the straits to the westward.

Mr. Hazlett knew well enough the strength of the outgoing Japan Current here. A boat might be carried to Asia, for all one could tell to the contrary, although its occupants must long ere that have perished from hunger and thirst. And what chance had a small boat in waters so rough as those of this rock-bound coast, risky enough for the most skilled navigators and in the best of vessels? Was not all this coast-survey work intended to lessen the danger of navigation, even for the most skilled commanders? What chance had these, weak, young, and unprepared, who had thus been thrust into such perils? All that could be held sure was that the boys had disappeared as completely as though the sea had opened up and swallowed boat and all!

Duty now required that Mr. Hazlett should report on board the Bennington; so, after a few days spent in fruitless searching within reach of Kadiak town, he took the pilot-boat and hastened over to the west side of the island where the Bennington lay at anchor, with her boat crews engaged in the tedious work of making coast soundings.

Mr. Hazlett laid before Captain Stephens the full story of the mysterious loss of his young charges. The face of the old naval officer grew grave, and for some moments he turned away and engaged in thought before he spoke. Then he turned sharply to his executive officer.

"Call in the boat crews, sir!" he commanded. "We move station within the hour!"

"Then you mean that you are going to help search for them?" asked Mr. Hazlett.

"With all my heart, sir!" said the rough commander. "I have boys of my own back in New England. We'll comb this island rock by rock, and if we suspect foul play we'll blow every native village off the face of it!"

The hoarse roar of the Bennington's deep-throated signal-whistles echoed along the rock-bound shore. Within an hour her boats were all stowed, and with each man at his quarters the trim cutter passed slowly down the west coast of the island.

"I'm not supposed to be a relief expedition," muttered Captain Stephens, "and I s'pose we'll all lose our jobs with Uncle Sam; but until we do, I figure that Uncle Sam can better afford to lose three months' time of this ship's crew than it can three bright boys who may grow up to be good sailors sometime.

"We'll skirt the island in the opposite direction from that in which the youngsters probably went," said he, turning to Mr. Hazlett. "We'll have to stop at every cannery and settlement, and the boat crews will need to search every little bay and coast."

"You talk as though you hoped to find them," said Mr. Hazlett, catching a gleam of courage from the other's resolute speech.

"Find 'em?" said Captain Stephens. "Of course we'll find 'em; we've got to find 'em!"



XXXI

THE SEARCH-PARTY

It should be remembered that the coast of the great Kadiak Island is here and there indented with deep bays, which at one point nearly cut it in two. Had the boys known it, they were, in their camp near the head of Kaludiak Bay, not more than thirty miles distant across the mountain passes to the head of Uyak Bay, which makes in on the west side of the island, and which was the first great inlet to be searched by the boat crews of the Bennington. The total coast-line of so large a bay is hundreds of miles in extent, and broken with many little coves, each of which must be visited and inspected, for any projecting rock point might hide a boat or camp from view.

On this great bay there were two or three salmon-fisheries in operation, and as these always employ numbers of natives who come from all parts of the island, Captain Stephens had close inquiries made at each; but more than two weeks passed and no word could be gained of any white persons at any other portion of the island.

"Naturally we won't hear anything on this side," said Captain Stephens to Mr. Hazlett. "Not many natives from the east coast come over here to work, and from what I know of the prevailing tides and winds I am more disposed to believe that they have been carried off toward the southeast corner of the island. The land runs out there, and, granted any decent kind of luck, the boys probably made a landing—if they could keep afloat so far."

"But what may have happened to them before this?" began Mr. Hazlett.

"Tut, man! We've all got to take our chances," replied the old sea-dog. "They've done their best, and we must do our best, too."

Week after week, hour after hour, and, as it seemed, almost inch by inch, the cutter crawled on around the wild coast of Kadiak, tapping each arm and inlet, literally combing out the full extent of the broken shore-line. So gradually they passed below the southern extremity of the island, worked up from the southeast, and one day came to anchor not far from the native settlement known as Old Harbor. Here a breakdown to their machinery kept them waiting for ten days. Meantime, the boat crews were out at their work. One day a young lieutenant came in and with some excitement asked to see the captain.

"I have to report, sir, that I think we've got word of those boys!" he said, eagerly, as he saluted.

"How's that? Where? Go on, sir!"

"There's a big boat party back from Kaludiak Bay, sir. They were in there on a whale-hunt several weeks ago. They saw a camp with three white boys and one refugee Aleut."

"Arrest every man Jack of them and bring them in!" roared Captain Stephens.

"Already done that, sir!" reported the lieutenant. "They are in the long-boat alongside."

"Then bring them here at once!"

A few moments later he and Mr. Hazlett found the deck crowded with a score of much-frightened natives.

"Who's the interpreter here?" commanded the captain.

A squaw-man who for some years had lived with the natives was pushed forward. He was none too happy himself, for he expected nothing better than intimate questions regarding certain wrecking operations which for years past had gone on along this part of the coast.

"Now tell me," began Captain Stephens, "what do you know about those boys over there? Why didn't these people bring out word to the settlement? What are you looking for here? Do you want me to blow your village off the rocks? Come, now, speak up, my good fellow, or you'll mighty well wish you had!"

Suddenly Mr. Hazlett uttered an exclamation and sprang toward one of the natives who carried a rifle in his hand.

"That gun belonged to Jesse, the son of my neighbor Wilcox at Valdez!" he exclaimed. "Tell me where you got it, and how!"

As may be supposed, it was the Aleut chief whom he addressed, and the latter now engaged in a very anxious attempt at explanation. He declared at first that the boys had given him this rifle as a present; then he admitted that he had promised to take a message up to Kadiak, going on to say that he had intended to do this, but that his wife had been sick, that he had been kept at the village by many things, etc.

"He's an old liar, without doubt," said Captain Stephens. "Half of this band of natives down here are afraid to come to Kadiak because of the debts they owe the company store. They are wreckers, renegades, and thieves down here, and you can't believe a word of them. I've half a mind to hang the lot of them at the yard-arm, and good riddance of them at that!"

The old chief understood something of what was going on, and now began to beg and blubber.

"Me good mans!" he repeated, beating on his chest.

"He says that he's got a boy of his own over there with the others in Kaludiak Bay. He's got a message written out by the boys, but the truth is he was afraid to go to town with it. Says the renegade Aleut over there was a good hunter, but a dangerous man—he stole their sacred whale harpoon here and made away with it—"

"But the message!" insisted Mr. Hazlett.

So at last the old chief fumbled in his jacket, and pulled out a soiled and crumpled paper nearly worn in bits. Enough of it at least remained to show the searchers that when it was written the boys were all alive and well, and were expecting help.

"The old fellow says he was expecting to take the paper up to town sometime this fall," went on the interpreter. "Says the boys had plenty to eat—fish and birds, and they had killed three bears—"

"Nonsense!" exclaimed Captain Stephens.

"Yes, says they had killed an old she bear and two cubs, and had the hides hung up—says the Aleut man had run away when they left—says they all killed a whale before they left, and left the boys as well fixed as they are here in this village. He can't understand why you should be anxious about them, when his own boy is over there, too. Says he can take you over there all right if you want to go."

"The little beggars!" said Mr. Hazlett, smiling for the first time in weeks. "We may get them yet."

"Get them? Of course we will!" growled Captain Stephens. "We'll have them aboard by this time to-morrow. Their camp isn't more than seventy-five miles from here at most."

The whistle of the Bennington once more roared out, and with the rattle of her anchor chains again the cutter pushed on up the coast, carrying with her, without asking their consent, the entire party of natives, who now fell flat on the deck in terror, supposing that they were being carried off to the white man's punishment for native misdeeds.



XXXII

THE DESERTED CAMP

"So the plucky little dogs killed a bear, eh?" went on Captain Stephens, as he paced up and down the deck. "I'll warrant they've had a deuce of a good time in there all by themselves, and they'll be sorry to be disturbed. Find them! Of course we will—find them fat as seals and happier than we are!"

In spite of all this both he and Mr. Hazlett were uneasy enough when finally the Bennington steamed majestically through the narrow mouth of Kaludiak Bay—the first steamer ever to awaken the echoes there—and finally swung to her anchor at a point indicated by the Aleut chief.

But to the whistle there came no answer of a rifle-shot, no signal fluttered, and no smoke was seen. The Aleut chief now became genuinely frightened as he pointed out the landing-place opposite to the barabbara, which, of course, could not be seen by reason of the low sea-wall.

The rattle of the davit blocks followed that of the anchor chains as a bow boat was launched.

"Go aboard, Mr. Cummings!" said Captain Stephens. "Take Mr. Hazlett and this old chief, and don't you come back without those boys! They're only out hunting somewhere, or else they'd have a fire going."

As the bow of the boat grated on the shingle Mr. Hazlett sprang ashore, and, under guidance of the Aleut, hastened over the sea-wall and across the flat to the barabbara. All was deserted and silent! No smoke issued from the roof, and not the slightest sound was to be heard. No boat appeared at the shore of the lagoon. The Aleut chief threw himself on the ground and began to chant.

Mr. Hazlett kicked open the door of the hut and pushed in, searching the half-dark interior. Only the whitened ashes showed a former human occupancy. It was not until, in his despair, he had turned to leave that he saw, fastened by a peg to the inside of the door, a brief note on a bit of paper.

"Mr. Richard Hazlett," it read. "All well. We sailed about July 30th. Love to the folks." Signed to this were the names of the three boys.

"God bless them!" he muttered. "They knew I'd come! Why did I not come soon enough! But where did they sail—which way—and what has become of them?"

He turned to the grovelling native.

"You lying coward!" said he. "Take me to them now, or by the Lord you'll swing for it! Do you hear?"

The old man wept bitterly. "My boys go, too," he wailed. "Bad mans go, maybe so! Maybe so all dead now!"

In answer he was caught by the arm and hastened back to the gravely waiting boat crew. It was a saddened party which reported the truth on board the Bennington.

"Get under way, Mr. Cummings!" ordered Captain Stephens. "We've not lost them yet. The writing is pretty fresh on that note. We haven't passed them anywhere below, and they must be on their way back to Kadiak."

Without delay the Bennington once more took up her course and, emerging from the mouth of Kaludiak, headed northward up the east side of the island. Within ten miles the sharp-eyed Aleut detected a flat bit of beach, and the interpreter suggested that a boat be sent ashore to examine it, as it was sometimes used as a camping-place. When the lieutenant returned he reported that he had found poles cut not long before and used as a shelter support. A fire had been built not more than a week ago, in his belief. It might or might not be the camping-place of the missing boys.

The face of Captain Stephens brightened. "Of course it's those boys!" he said. "I tell you, those youngsters are sailors. We'll find them all lined up on Kadiak dock waiting for us—and me obliged to report to Washington that I've spent two months with this vessel hunting for them! God bless my soul!" However, it was satisfaction and not anxiety which caused his eyes to glisten.

Precautions were not ceased, and the boats continued to comb out every open bay which could not be searched with the ship's glasses. Finally they reached the mouth of Eagle Harbor, near the entrance to which the boats discovered yet another camp-fire, probably marking the limits of another day's journey of the young voyagers.

"Plucky little dogs—plucky!" grumbled the captain. "They're not old women like you, Hazlett! They can take care of themselves all right!"

The interpreter stepped up. "The old man says there's a village at the head of this harbor," he began. "Says there may be a few people living there, though most of them have likely gone to the fisheries. He thinks the village ought to be examined."

"Go in with the boat, Mr. Cummings!" ordered Captain Stephens. "It'll keep you overnight. As for me, I don't dare risk the tide-rips between these rocks and that big island over there—which must be Ugak Island, I suspect. I'm going to drop back and go outside that island, and to-morrow I'll meet you thirty miles up the coast. Comb out the bay! If the boys have left the village they've very likely sailed for the opposite point of this bay, and maybe you'll get word of them at one place or the other."



XXXIII

SAVED!

It was a night of anxiety and expectation on the Bennington, and, as the cutter swung at anchor north of the bold and dangerous point of Ugak Island, every one on board was astir at early dawn.

"Boat on the larboard bow, sir!" reported an ensign, soon after Captain Stephens was known to be awake in his cabin.

"What boat is it?" inquired the latter, eagerly, throwing open the dead-light of his room and gazing out along the shore.

"It's our boat, sir, with Lieutenant Cummings."

"Any passengers aboard?"

"I'm afraid not, sir."

The captain slammed shut the dead-light and turned moodily to his desk. He did not seem to enjoy the breakfast which one of the cook's men presently brought to him.

"Tell Lieutenant Cummings to report as soon as he comes aboard," he commanded.

Lieutenant Cummings, however, far from being discouraged, was much elated when he appeared, smiling, at the captain's door.

"They slept at the village, sir," he said. "Five persons in all. Everybody's gone from the village but one or two old people, and these report that the boys came in there for water and to see what news they could get. They had a young native boy with them and a full-grown Aleut. They put him in irons—"

"Put him in irons!" roared Captain Stephens. "God bless my soul! Those young rascals will be sending out to look after us before long! Sailors!—and they've got a man in irons!"

"They say the Aleut was afraid to go to town," resumed the lieutenant, "and tried to escape. They halted him and kept him under guard all night. The five of them left yesterday about noon, and as they were seen not far from the mouth of the bay toward evening, they're very likely camped not far around the point yonder, sir."

"Get under way!" ordered Captain Stephens. "I've got a little professional pride about this thing, and I don't want those youngsters to beat the Bennington into port! Full speed ahead!"

Half an hour later the Bennington poked her nose around the next bold promontory of the east coast of Kadiak. One more broad bay lay before them.

Tossing up and down on the waves, half-way or more across, was a small, dark object!

The eyes of the old Aleut were first to discover this, and he began to shout and gesticulate as several pairs of glasses were turned upon it. Old Captain Stephens broke out in a string of nautical ejaculations, which need not be printed in full. "Look at that!" he cried. "Talk about sailors! See 'em go! They wouldn't reef a point if they could—and I guess they can't, for they seem to have a board or something for a sail. And they've got leeboards down. They've got two oars out for steering-gear. By the great horn spoon! Cummings, crack on more steam or they'll beat us to New York! Why, dash my eyes, Hazlett, you old woman, didn't I tell you you couldn't lose those boys?"

The gentleman whom he addressed smiled rather crookedly but could find no speech.

The whistle of the Bennington roared out three times in salute. At once the distant dory came about and laid a long tack to intercept the course of the cutter. In a few minutes she was within hailing distance. The crew of the Bennington were along the rail, and without orders they greeted the young sailors with a cheer.

"By gad!" said Captain Stephens, turning away. "It's worth a couple of months of Uncle Sam's time to see a thing like that. There's where we get our men! Safe? Humph!"

Rob, John, and Jesse, all ragged and bare-headed, stood up in the pitching dory, calling out and waving their hands. First they passed up their prisoner, and an instant later they were on board and in the middle of excited greetings. These over, they hurriedly explained the events covering the strange situations which have been recounted in our earlier pages. Meantime, Skookie was standing silently and stolidly at the side of his father, who made no such great excitement over him. The boys now introduced him, with the highest praise for his faithfulness and a plea that something be done for his reward.

"So far as that is concerned," said Mr. Hazlett, "every decent native concerned in this shall have more than justice done to him. I'll put the boy into the Mission School at Wood Island, if he likes, and he shall have all the clothes he needs, and something besides. It's lucky for this bunch of natives that we don't put them all in jail. How about this man they tell me you've been keeping prisoner?" continued Uncle Dick.

"Please, sir," said Rob, earnestly, "don't be hard with him. I'm not sure that we understand all about the way these natives think. He tried to get away from us, and we tied him up because we needed him as a pilot. We didn't know the way back to town, you see, because when we came down the coast it was all in a fog and we couldn't see anything."

"Rather risky pilot, from what I hear," commented Uncle Dick.

"I believe he was more scared than anything else," went on Rob. "He never really made us any trouble, and he did a lot of work for us for which we have promised him pay. We've got to keep our word to all these people, you know. But, if you please, we'd rather pay money to them than to give up our rifles; and we'd like Jesse's rifle back."

"That will be easy," said Uncle Dick. "All these people will count themselves fortunate. But what a lot of them we'll have to ship back down the coast to Old Harbor—I suppose we'll have to charter a schooner for that!"

"I say, Uncle Dick," broke in John, eagerly, "if you send a schooner down, couldn't we boys go along with her?"

Uncle Dick looked at him quizzically for a moment.

"You could not!" he answered, briefly.

THE END