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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 44352 ***
+
+                       _A Mystery Story for Boys_
+
+
+
+
+                                 _The_
+                             SHADOW PASSES
+
+
+                                  _By_
+                              ROY J. SNELL
+
+
+                          The Reilly & Lee Co.
+                                Chicago
+
+                             COPYRIGHT 1938
+                                   BY
+                          THE REILLY & LEE CO.
+                         PRINTED IN THE U.S.A.
+
+
+
+
+                                CONTENTS
+
+
+  CHAPTER                                                           PAGE
+  I The Silver Fox                                                    11
+  II Blackie’s Story                                                  32
+  III Fat and Furious                                                 38
+  IV The Capture of Old Silver                                        53
+  V Johnny Fights for Fun                                             68
+  VI Smokey Joe’s Blue Bears                                          77
+  VII A Strange Battle                                                85
+  VIII The Stormy Petrel’s First Prize                                98
+  IX Fate Lends a Hand                                               103
+  X A New World                                                      111
+  XI The Fall of Red McGee                                           119
+  XII A Ptarmigan Feast                                              128
+  XIII The Shadow                                                    141
+  XIV A Voice in the Fog                                             147
+  XV A Roar from the Deep                                            158
+  XVI Looming Peril                                                  166
+  XVII Trapped                                                       174
+  XVIII Five Rounds and a Friend                                     181
+  XIX Ordered Below                                                  189
+  XX A Battle in the Dark                                            194
+  XXI Wall of Glass                                                  201
+  XXII Dreams                                                        209
+  XXIII In the Blue Bear’s Cave                                      216
+  XXIV Overtaking a Shadow                                           225
+  XXV “Bill” Returns                                                 233
+
+
+
+
+                           THE SHADOW PASSES
+
+
+
+
+                               CHAPTER I
+                             THE SILVER FOX
+
+
+“And then I saw it—the Shadow.”
+
+The speaker’s eyes appeared to snap. Johnny Thompson leaned forward in
+his chair. “It glided through the fog without a sound.” The voice droned
+on, “Not a sound, mind you! We had a small boat with powerful motors. I
+stepped on the gas. Our motors roared. We were after that shadow.”
+
+“And then?” Johnny Thompson whispered.
+
+“For all I know,” the black-eyed man murmured, leaning back in his chair,
+“we might have cut that shadow square in two. Anyway, that’s the last we
+saw of it for that day.
+
+“But think of it!” he exclaimed after a second’s pause. ”Think of the
+thing just disappearing in the fog like that!”
+
+He was a romantic figure, this man Blackie. The boys of Matanuska Valley
+in Alaska loved this gathering of an evening about the red-hot stove in
+the store. And no part of the evening’s entertainment was ever half so
+thrilling as Blackie’s stories.
+
+“It was spring then,” Blackie added, “late May, when the salmon run was
+on.”
+
+“It was a whale after salmon, that shadow,” someone suggested.
+
+“No, sir!” Blackie fairly shouted. “It was too fast for a whale! Some
+sort of Oriental craft, I shouldn’t wonder. Though how they’d make it go
+without a sound is beyond me.
+
+“Ah well,” he sighed, “I’ll be rid of these by spring.” He kicked at the
+crutches beside his chair. “Then I’ll be after ’em again, those bloomin’
+Orientals and their gliding shadows.”
+
+“You going back into the Coast Guard Service?” Johnny asked eagerly.
+
+“I sure am!” Blackie agreed heartily. “Boy! That’s the life! A speedy
+boat with two or three airplane motors in her hull, a good crew, plenty
+of gas, the wide open sea and enough trouble to keep your eyes open day
+and night. Man! Oh, man!”
+
+“Take me along,” Johnny suggested impulsively.
+
+“Me too!” put in Lawrence, his slim, bright-eyed cousin.
+
+“What do you know about boats?” Blackie asked.
+
+“Plenty,” was Johnny’s prompt reply. “Been on ’em all my life, power
+boats on the Great Lakes, Carib Indian sailboats in the Caribbean,
+skin-boats way up north. It’s all the same.
+
+“And Lawrence here,” he added after a brief pause, “he knows about
+motors.”
+
+“I—I was assistant mechanic in an airplane hangar for a season,” Lawrence
+agreed modestly.
+
+“Well, it—might—be—arranged,” Blackie replied slowly. “Don’t know about
+pay. You sort of have to be on regular for that. But up here in the
+north, things can’t always be done according to department regulations.
+Anyway, it’s worth thinking about.”
+
+“Thank—oh, thank you,” Lawrence stammered. Johnny knew how he was feeling
+at that moment. He, Johnny, had met adventure in many climes. Lawrence
+had lived a quiet life. Really to sail on a coast guard boat in search of
+Orientals suspected of stealing salmon, smuggling or spying off the
+Alaskan shores, to chase gray shadows that pass in the fog! Worth
+thinking of? Well, you’d just know it was!
+
+Johnny was still thinking of all this when two hours later, he crept
+beneath the blankets in the small log cabin room occupied by Lawrence and
+himself.
+
+“That would be great!” he was telling himself. In fancy, he allowed his
+mind to wander. Bristol Bay, a hundred and fifty miles wide and a hundred
+and fifty long, fishing boats on the water, canneries on the shore and
+back behind all this in the fog somewhere, beyond the three-mile line,
+great dark bulks that were Oriental ships. Why these ships? No one knew
+exactly. “Spying out our shore-line,” some said, “stealing our salmon,”
+said others. And perhaps they were smugglers. It was known that these
+ships carried smaller crafts that could be lowered to the water. “Could
+do anything, go anywhere, these small boats,” Johnny assured himself.
+
+“And the Shadow, that mysterious gray form that goes streaking through
+the fog. What could it be?
+
+“Ah, well,“ he settled deeper among the blankets. “It’s a long time till
+spring, and here, right in Matanuska Valley is exciting adventure
+aplenty.”
+
+As if reading his thoughts, Lawrence murmured dreamily, “We’ll go after
+him again tomorrow.”
+
+“Yes,” Johnny agreed, “tomorrow.”
+
+
+“Lawrence! Look! There he is!” Johnny pointed excitedly up the glistening
+expanse of frozen river. Tomorrow had come. They were on the river.
+
+“Wh—where?” Lawrence whispered.
+
+“You don’t have to whisper.” Johnny laughed low. “He’s way up there. I
+can scarcely see him with the glass. Here! Take it. See that pool of
+water on the right side?”
+
+“Yes—yes, I see.” Lawrence took the field glasses.
+
+“At this end of that pool. I saw him move. Look quick!”
+
+For a space of ten seconds Lawrence studied that pool. “Yes,” he
+exclaimed at last, “he _is_ there! I saw him move over to the right.”
+
+“Lawrence!” Johnny’s voice was tense with emotion. “I’m going after him!”
+
+Johnny bent over to tighten a skate strap. “Here! Give me the bag. You
+follow me, but not too fast. You can keep the glasses. I won’t need
+them.”
+
+“Al—all right, Johnny. Be careful! You—”
+
+But Johnny was away. Skating from the hips, scarcely lifting a foot from
+the ice, he appeared to glide without effort over the glass-like surface
+of the river.
+
+The boy’s spirits rose. They were “after him again.” And “he” was a grand
+prize indeed.
+
+“If only we can get him,” Johnny was thinking. “If we only can.”
+
+The distant future quite forgotten, Johnny was living intensely in the
+glorious present. Lawrence followed slowly. He, too, was a skillful
+skater. The river at this point was frozen solidly. No need for thought
+here. At once his mind was busy with memories of the not-too-distant past
+and plans for the future.
+
+Life for him had been strange. Eight months before he had been on the
+broad, dry prairies of the Dakotas. Now he was skating on the Matanuska
+River in Alaska. Nor was this just an adventurous winter trip. The
+Matanuska Valley was his home and would be, he hoped, for years to come.
+Six miles back and up a half mile from the river was their claim and the
+sod-covered log cabin they called home.
+
+“We are pioneers!” he whispered to himself. “Pioneers!” he repeated
+softly. How he loved that word. How much it meant to them all; freedom,
+new life, fresh hope and in the end a home all their own. “And paid for,”
+he declared sturdily.
+
+Yes, when the government had announced a resettlement project in this
+rich valley and the Lawsons who had been driven from their farm home by
+drouth and dust heard of it they had joined up. And here they were:
+father, mother and son, with cousin Johnny thrown in for good measure.
+
+“Been here six months,” Lawrence thought. “Got a little start. And next
+year!” Ah, yes, next year. His face sobered. So much depended on the
+future. And they needed so many things.
+
+“We’ll not go in debt,” his father had insisted stoutly. “Not for a
+single thing we can do without.”
+
+But now the boy’s mind came back with a snap to the immediate present. As
+he looked ahead he saw nothing of Johnny. For a second his heart
+fluttered. Had his good pal come upon an unsuspected air-hole? Had he
+gone through? Was he, at this moment, caught by the swift current,
+shooting along rapidly beneath the ice?
+
+“You have to know your river,” an old-timer had said to them. “Every foot
+of it.” Did Johnny know it well enough, or—
+
+Of a sudden he let out a low, happy laugh. Some distance ahead, showing
+among the branches of a fallen fir tree, he had caught a glimpse of
+Johnny’s plaid mackinaw.
+
+“He—he’s all right,” he breathed. “Just getting a look.”
+
+Johnny was now within a hundred yards of that dark pool, where, he hoped,
+their prize still lurked.
+
+“He must see him with the naked eye,” Lawrence murmured as he glided into
+the shadow of a shelving bank. Here, steadying himself with one hand, he
+held the glass to his eyes with the other.
+
+Then, with hand trembling so it seemed the glass would drop, he
+exclaimed, “Man! Oh, man! It’s a silver fox and a beauty! If only he gets
+him! If he does!”
+
+They were hunters, these boys. “Strange hunters!” some might say. “No
+guns! No traps!” This valley was alive with rich, fur-bearing animals.
+With guns and traps one might reap a winter’s harvest. Without guns or
+traps how was it to be done! This had been the question uppermost in
+their minds some weeks before. In the end they had found the answer, or
+thought they had. And a strange answer it was.
+
+They had arrived, this little family of four homesteaders, along with
+hundreds of others in the Matanuska Valley, too late in the spring to
+clear land and raise a crop. They had been obliged to content themselves
+with a large garden and an acre of potatoes.
+
+Such potatoes as those had been! “We’ll sell two hundred bushels!”
+Lawrence had exulted. “That will go a long way toward buying a small
+tractor. Then just watch our smoke!”
+
+“Oh, no you won’t!” Jack Morgan, an old-time settler in the valley, had
+laughed.
+
+“What? Why not?” the boy demanded.
+
+“Who’ll you sell ’em to?” the old-timer asked in a kindly voice.
+
+“Why, we—we’ll ship ’em out.”
+
+“You can’t, son,” Jack’s voice rumbled. “That’s the trouble. At present
+there’s no market for farm products here. Never has been. That’ll be
+worked out in time, now the government is interested. But just now we
+have to eat our own potatoes.”
+
+“But how do you get any money?” Lawrence had demanded.
+
+“Trap foxes, minks, martin. Good money in trappin’,” was the old-timer’s
+reply.
+
+Of course, the boys had come rushing home bursting with the news that
+they could make money all winter long trapping.
+
+To their surprise they saw Lawrence’s father’s smiling face draw into
+sober lines.
+
+“No, boys,” he said quietly. “Not that. Anything but trapping. It’s too
+cruel. I’d rather you went out with a gun.”
+
+“But we haven’t a gun,” Lawrence protested.
+
+“That’s right,” the father agreed. “And it’s not to be regretted.
+
+“You see, boys,” his face took on a strange look, “when I was about ten
+years old I had a dog I thought the world and all of. He didn’t cost a
+lot of money. Never won any prizes at dog shows. But his hair was kinky,
+his eyes alive with fun and his bark a joyous sound to hear. No boy ever
+had a more faithful friend than good old Bing.
+
+“And then,” his voice grew husky, “well, you see there was a man who
+lived all by himself down by the river, Skunk McGee they called him.
+Never amounted to much, he didn’t. But he trapped enough skunks and
+muskrats to pay for his groceries.
+
+“Our farm was along the river, on both sides. Father told him more than
+once not to set his traps on our farm.
+
+“One time in the dead of winter, way down below zero, old Bing didn’t
+come home. I was worried but father said, ‘He’s gone to the neighbors and
+they took him in on account of its being so cold.’
+
+“But he hadn’t,” Mr. Lawson’s tone changed abruptly. “He was in one of
+Skunk McGee’s traps. And when we found him he was dead, frozen hard as a
+rock.
+
+“And so you see, boys,” he added quietly, “I’ve always hated traps. I
+never see one even now but I seem to see poor old Bing with one foot in
+it, whining and shivering out there all alone.”
+
+From that day on the thought of traps was banished from their minds.
+
+But the foxes? Did they vanish? No indeed! The foxes saw to it that they
+were not forgotten.
+
+Before the summer was at an end some families, unaccustomed to the
+pioneer life, lost courage and decided to return to their original homes.
+Among these were two families who had brought with them small flocks of
+chickens. By careful planning the Lawsons were able to buy the chickens.
+Having built a stout log henhouse and a small wire enclosure for sunny
+days, they felt better than ever prepared for the winter.
+
+“Chicken for Thanksgiving and Christmas and eggs all winter long! What
+luck!” Lawrence rejoiced.
+
+The chickens, no doubt, were something of a surprise to the foxes. But
+had they not always preyed upon ptarmigan? And were not chickens just big
+plump ptarmigan? Perhaps this was the way they reasoned. At any rate, one
+night Lawrence heard a loud squawking and rushed out just in time to see
+a plump white hen vanish into the night. A fox had her by the neck.
+
+“Something must be done about that,” he insisted at once. “If we can’t
+trap the foxes, what then?”
+
+“Take them alive,” was his father’s prompt reply.
+
+“Alive! Alive!” both boys cried.
+
+“I can’t see why not,” was Lawrence’s father’s quiet reply. “Of course,
+you’ll have to wear tough, moose-hide mittens and keep your noses out of
+reach, but—”
+
+“We’ll do it,” Lawrence exclaimed. “But then,” his face sobered, “how’ll
+we ever catch up with a fox?”
+
+“When I was a boy,” said his father, “we used to catch muskrats on
+skates.”
+
+“Muskrats on skates?” Lawrence laughed.
+
+“We were on the skates,” his father corrected with a smile. “The rats
+were on the ice, you see,” he leaned forward. “We worked it this way.
+We’d watch until the muskrat came out of his hole to get a drink. He’d go
+to an open pool of water at the edge of the ice. We’d wait until he’d
+started back across the ice. Then we’d come swooping down on him. He’d
+get frightened and sprawl all over the ice—no wild creature can handle
+himself well on the ice. So we had him.
+
+“Once,” he chuckled, “Bob Barnett saw something moving on the ice. It was
+just getting dark. He thought it was a rat. He come swooping down upon it
+and—” he paused to chuckle. “Well, it turned out to be a skunk. The skunk
+objected to his intrusion. So Bob went home to bury his clothes—just for
+a scent.”
+
+The boys joined in the laugh that followed but they were not slow in
+following this suggestion. They found, however, that great skill and
+caution were needed in this type of hunting.
+
+They made progress slowly. After catching two muskrats, a snow-shoe
+rabbit and two ground-squirrels, they decided to start a small zoo all
+their own.
+
+“Who knows?” Lawrence enthused. “We may catch some truly rare creature.
+The keepers of zoos are always on the lookout for live specimens. We may
+sell enough to get that bright new tractor down at Palmer after all.”
+
+“A tractor!” Johnny doubted. “Oh! No! Surely not that much!”
+
+“And yet,” Lawrence now thought as he stood watching for Johnny’s next
+move on the river ice, “there he is creeping up on a silver fox. What is
+a real, live silver fox worth?” To this exciting question he could form
+no accurate answer. He had a hazy recollection of reading somewhere about
+one that was sold for $3000.00.
+
+“No such luck as that,” he whispered.
+
+Just now, however, his attention was directed toward the silver fox that,
+still very much at liberty, had taken a good drink from the pool and was
+standing, nose in air, apparently looking, listening, smelling. Had he
+smelled trouble? Would he drop into the pool to swim across and disappear
+on the farther bank, or would he start back across that glistening
+stretch of ice? Lawrence felt his heart leap as he saw the fox drop his
+head. The big moment was at hand.
+
+“He—he’s going across!” he exclaimed in a hoarse whisper. “It means so
+much!” His thoughts went into a tailspin. Not only would they possess a
+real, live silver fox for which, beyond doubt, some zoo would pay
+handsomely, but their flock of chickens would be safe, for they could
+tell by the size of the tracks that he was the one that was getting the
+chickens. He was a sly one, indeed, this fox. Three times in the last
+month, in spite of their every effort to prevent it, he had carried off a
+fat old hen.
+
+“He—Johnny’s starting,” Lawrence said, as, gliding silently from cover,
+he prepared to follow his cousin on his swift, silent, breathless quest.
+
+It was a truly wonderful sight, those two boys moving as if pushed by an
+unseen hand closer, ever closer to the unsuspecting fox.
+
+Moving swiftly, Johnny reached a fallen cottonwood tree. Just then the
+fox, pausing in his course, once more sniffed the air. “I might get him
+if I rushed him now,” he thought, “and I might miss.” This was true. The
+fox was but a third of the way across the ice. He was still too close to
+the pool. The plan was to allow him to reach the very center of the
+river, then to rush him. Startled, he would start quickly for some shore.
+Losing all sense of caution, he would begin to sprawl upon the ice. As
+the boy came rushing on with the speed of the wind, he would stoop over,
+snatch at the fox and speed on. He must seize the fox just back of his
+ears. Could he do it? As he stood there hidden his pulse pounded madly.
+He, too, had seen that it was a silver fox.
+
+“He—he’s smelled me!” The boy’s voice rose in a sudden shrill shout.
+“Come on, Lawrence! I’m going after him! Bring the bag!”
+
+Gripping a large, moose-hide sack, Lawrence went speeding after him.
+
+As for Johnny, with breath-taking suddenness, he saw the distance between
+him and the fox fade. A hundred yards, fifty, twenty, and—“Now!” he
+breathed. “Now!”
+
+The fox was not a foot from the edge of the pool when, still speeding
+wildly, the boy bent down and made one wild grab.
+
+“Got him!” he shouted exultantly. But wait! Ten seconds more and the
+fox’s ivory teeth were flashing in his very face. He seemed to feel them
+tearing at his nose. There was nothing to do but drop him. With a
+suddenness, startling even to the fox, the boy let go.
+
+Down dropped the fox. On sped the boy. When Lawrence reached the spot the
+fox had vanished into a hole and Johnny was skating slowly, mournfully
+back.
+
+“Never mind,” Lawrence consoled. “We’ll get him another time.”
+
+“But a silver fox and a beauty!” Johnny exclaimed. “Think of losing him!”
+
+“I have thought.” Lawrence was able to grin in spite of his
+disappointment. “It would have meant a lot and now—” he chuckled, “now we
+know it’s a real silver fox after our chickens. We’ll have to lock them
+in a vault.”
+
+“Not as bad as that,” said Johnny. “But Lawrence,” his voice dropped.
+“This must remain a deep secret. Not a word to anyone. If Jim and Jack
+Mayhorn knew about this there’d be a trap on every foot of the river.”
+
+“Never a word,” Lawrence agreed.
+
+They were a rather disconsolate pair as they pulled off their skates a
+half hour later.
+
+“To think!” Johnny groaned. “I had my hands on five hundred dollars,
+perhaps a thousand dollars worth of fox and had to drop it because it was
+too hot.”
+
+“The price of a tractor,” Lawrence agreed. “It’s too bad.”
+
+It was too bad indeed. All day, five days in the week, they worked hard
+at clearing land. The trees were coming down. After the spring thaw
+thousands of stumps must be pulled. A tractor would do that work. After
+that it would draw the plows.
+
+“If only I hadn’t lost him!” Johnny groaned.
+
+“Aw! Forget it!” Lawrence exclaimed. “Come on! Let’s go home by the
+camp.”
+
+The “camp,” as they had come to call it, was a three-sided shelter built
+on a corner of their forty-acre claim. It had been built, and apparently
+abandoned, only a few months before their arrival. Such a snug shelter
+was it that the boys had often sought its protection from storms. Once,
+with a roaring fire before its open side, they had spent a night sleeping
+on its bed of evergreen boughs.
+
+The place never lost its fascination. Who had built it? Trader, hunter,
+trapper or gold prospector? To this question they could form no answer.
+Would he some day return? To this, strangely enough on this very
+afternoon they were to discover the answer, at least that which appeared
+to be the answer. As they were looking it over for the twentieth time
+Lawrence suddenly exclaimed, “Look! Here’s a bit of cloth tacked to this
+post. And there’s a note written on it in indelible ink!”
+
+Johnny did look. “Read it!” he exclaimed.
+
+“I will,” Lawrence began to read. “Can’t quite make it out,” he murmured.
+“Oh, yes, this is it.
+
+“‘I WILL BE BACK ON JULY 1st. BILL.’”
+
+“So he’s coming back,” Johnny’s tone was strange.
+
+“Coming back,” Lawrence agreed. “All right, Bill, old boy,” he laughed.
+“We’ll keep your snug little camp ship-shape till you arrive.”
+
+And for this bit of service, had they but known it, they were to receive
+a very unusual reward.
+
+
+
+
+                               CHAPTER II
+                            BLACKIE’S STORY
+
+
+“Tell us how you got that game leg of yours, Blackie,” Joe Lawrence, the
+Palmer store-keeper, said to Blackie, as they all sat about the roaring
+steel-barrel stove three nights later.
+
+“Oh, that—” Blackie did not reply at once.
+
+Johnny and Lawrence were by the fire. They had walked in from the claim,
+a frosty three miles, with the thermometer at twenty-five degrees below.
+They were not the sort of boys who loaf about stores and pool halls,
+listening to cheap talk. Far from that. They had come to make a purchase
+or two and, in an hour, with the steel-blue stars above them would be on
+their way home. Just now the fire felt good.
+
+“Sure, tell us,” Johnny encouraged.
+
+“Hello! You here?” Blackie demanded, as if he had not seen them before.
+“What’d you come in for on a night like this?”
+
+“Wedges,” said Johnny. “Steel wedges for splitting logs.”
+
+“Wedges.” There came a hoarse laugh from the corner. It was Jack Mayhorn
+who spoke. “Who wants wedges in this country? Do like I do. Cut down the
+trees that split easy.”
+
+“They’ve all got tough spots,” Johnny replied quietly. “Where the limbs
+have been cut off.”
+
+“Oh, the knotty pines!” Jack laughed again. “Roll ’em into the fence row
+an’ leave ’em. That’s the way we do.”
+
+“We don’t,” said Lawrence. “We aim to take them as they come, tough or
+not tough, they’ve got to bust.”
+
+“Why?” Blackie fixed his piercing black eyes on the boy.
+
+“I—I don’t know why,” was Lawrence’s slow reply. “I can’t explain it
+right.” The boy hesitated. “But I—you know—I sort of hate being licked,
+even by a tough log. So I—we sort of take ’em as they come.”
+
+“That’s great!” Blackie slapped his knee. “And I suppose you feel the
+same way?” he asked of Johnny.
+
+“Sure do,” was Johnny’s prompt reply. “They can’t come too tough for me.”
+
+“Can’t come too tough for little old Johnny.” There was a sneer in Jack
+Mayhorn’s voice. “But he’s afraid to set traps or carry a rifle.”
+
+“Not afraid,” Johnny replied quietly. “Just don’t want to.”
+
+“Tell us, Blackie,” Joe, the store-keeper, broke in, sensing a possible
+row, “tell us how you got that leg.”
+
+Even then Blackie did not comply at once. Turning to the boys, he said in
+a low tone, “You boys are dead right. No use letting a log or anything
+else lick you.” Dropping his voice still lower he added, “I might take
+you with me next spring on that coast guard boat. I just might, that is,
+if you still want to go.”
+
+Then in a changed voice he said, “All right, Joe, I’ll tell you all about
+that leg of mine, though I’m not fond of doing it. It always makes me
+hopping mad, just thinking about it.
+
+“You see,” he went on at once, “I was up a river in Asia. Doesn’t matter
+which river. I was in the navy. Less than six months ago, although it
+seems two years. I was on a small U. S. gunboat. What one? That doesn’t
+matter, either. She’s at the bottom of the river now.” He paused to stare
+at the fire.
+
+“We were laying up the river. There was fighting down below. We’d come
+up-river to get out of the way. The fighting was foolish enough, but none
+of our business.
+
+“We were there to protect American citizens. There were twenty or more of
+them on board, reporters and missionaries and the like.
+
+“I’d just come on duty when a big bombing plane came hovering, like a
+vulture, over us. It circled off again. ‘Good riddance,’ I said to my
+buddy.
+
+“I hadn’t finished saying it when it came zooming back. This time higher
+up and—” Blackie took a long breath. “The bloomin’ infidels! What do you
+think? They let go a bomb that missed us by inches.
+
+“You should have seen us scatter,” Blackie laughed in spite of himself.
+
+And then, of a sudden, the lines between his eyes grew deep and long.
+“They bombed us. They sank our ship. My buddy was killed. I caught it in
+the leg. I got a lifeboat off, doing what I could to save the women.
+
+“Me,” he faltered. “I’m no sort of a story teller. But I hope I’m
+something of a fighter. This old leg will be good as new next spring.
+And, sure’s I’m living, I’m going hunting little brown men up there in
+Bristol Bay. They stole a cool million dollars’ worth of fish last
+season. How many’ll they get this year? That depends on the Coast Guard
+men and, glory be! I’m one of them. I’m out of the navy, invalided home,
+back on the good old job, and there’ll be plenty of things a-popping in
+May.
+
+“Er, excuse me, boys,” he apologized. “That sounds an awful lot like
+bragging. We didn’t catch the Shadow that passes in the fog last season.
+We didn’t do those Orientals much harm, either. Too slick for us, I
+guess. But wish me luck next time. The biggest industry in Alaska, the
+run of red salmon, depends on us.”
+
+“Here’s luck,” said Johnny, lifting a cup of coffee just poured by Joe’s
+motherly wife. “Here’s luck to the service.”
+
+“And may you be my buddy!” Blackie added.
+
+That night Johnny and Lawrence walked home in silence. The great white
+world was all about them and the blue-white stars above. Their thoughts
+were long, long thoughts.
+
+Arrived at their log cabin home, they dragged out a tattered map of
+Alaska to study its shore-line and most of all the shores of Bristol Bay.
+
+“May,” Lawrence said at last. “That’s a long time yet.”
+
+“Yes,” Johnny agreed, “and there’s plenty to get excited about tomorrow.
+What do you say we turn in?”
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER III
+                            FAT AND FURIOUS
+
+
+Anyone who had watched the two boys skating slowly up the river next
+morning would surely have been puzzled. Before them, now darting up a
+steep bank and now scurrying along over the snow, were two brown,
+fur-clad creatures. Neither dogs nor cats, they still appeared quite
+domestic in their actions. Once when they had gone racing ahead too far
+Johnny let out a shrill whistle and they came dashing back to peer up
+into his face as if to say, “Did you call me?”
+
+“They’re great!” Lawrence chuckled. “Got a dog beat a mile. They never
+bark.”
+
+“And yet they can find where wild creatures live,” Johnny agreed.
+
+Just now, as you no doubt have guessed, the boys were looking for the
+spot, under some great rock or at the foot of a tree, which the silver
+fox called his home.
+
+“We must find him,” Johnny had exclaimed only an hour before.
+
+“We surely must,” Lawrence had agreed.
+
+And indeed they must, for three principal reasons. Last night the fox
+had, by shrewd cunning, managed to pry the chicken coop door open and
+made off with a rooster. The fox was worth a lot of money—they were sure
+of this—dead or alive. They must get him before someone with a gun or
+with traps got sight of him. And they must take him alive, if possible—a
+very large contract.
+
+Their desires had been redoubled by something that had happened only the
+night before. Mack Gleason, the settler whose claim joined them on the
+west, had been in for a friendly chat.
+
+“Got your tractor yet?” he had asked of Mr. Lawson.
+
+“Not yet,” had been the reply.
+
+“Well, you better hurry. They’re going fast. May not be another shipment
+until it is too late for spring’s work.”
+
+“No money just now.”
+
+“Money!” Mack exploded. “Who said anything about money? Government gives
+’em to you on time.”
+
+“But time has a way of rolling around,” Mr. Lawson had replied quietly.
+
+“Oh, the Government wouldn’t be hard on you,” Mack laughed. “Look at us.
+We’ve got a washing machine and a buzz-saw, and a motor to run ’em, a
+tractor, plow, harrow, everything, and all on time.”
+
+“Yes, I know,” had come in the same slow, quiet tones. “And I know the
+Government won’t be hard on you. Still it will want its money, same as
+any loaning agency. It just has to be that way.
+
+“This week,” Mr. Lawson went on after a moment, “I received a letter from
+an old friend of mine. Few years back he secured a government loan on his
+home. He didn’t keep up the interest and payments. They took it from him.
+Now he’s unhappy about it. But people who borrow must pay. That’s why
+we’re trying not to borrow.”
+
+“And we won’t, not if we can help it.” Lawrence set his will hard as he
+now followed those dark brown creatures over the ice.
+
+“Johnny,” he said suddenly. “Do you think father should let us use
+traps?”
+
+“I—I don’t know,” Johnny replied slowly. “But that, for us, is not the
+question. Ours is, ‘Have we a right to urge him to let us use them?’
+
+“And the answer is, ‘No,’” he chuckled. “So we’ll have to trust our
+little old otters to lead the way. When they find Mr. Silver Fox for us
+we’ll have to grab him.”
+
+“If only one of those trapping fellows doesn’t get him first,” Lawrence
+said, wrinkling his brow.
+
+Early in the season, as, with dreamy eyes, the boys wandered over the
+forty acres of land that was, they hoped, to be their home for years to
+come, they had caught the low, whining notes of some small creatures
+apparently in distress.
+
+“It comes from under that rock,” Johnny had said.
+
+“No, over here beneath this dead tree trunk,” Lawrence insisted.
+
+He was right. Having torn away the decayed stump, they had found two
+round, brown balls of fur. These balls were baby otters. Taking them
+home, they had raised them on a bottle. And now, here they were, paying
+their debt by scouting about in search of the silver fox.
+
+Pets they were, the grandest in all the world. The happiest moments of
+their young lives were these long hikes. Never once did it seem to occur
+to them that it might be nice to desert their young masters and answer
+the call of the wild.
+
+Now, as the boys followed them, they went gliding here and there peeking
+into every crack and crevice of ice or frozen shore. From time to time
+they poked their noses into some hole into which strange tracks had
+vanished. After a good sniff they put their heads together and uttered
+low whining noises. These noises varied with their opinions on the
+condition of each particular hole. At times they appeared to shake their
+heads and whine, “Too bad. He was here three hours ago. Now he’s gone.”
+
+At other times they put their noses in the air and sang triumphantly,
+“He’s there. He’s right in that hole this minute.”
+
+Had the boys been able to train their pets to go in the hole and frighten
+out the prey, they might have held a moose-hide sack at the entrance to
+each hole and added quite rapidly to their collection of living Arctic
+animals. This, however, the otters would not do. They were not looking
+for a fight. And indeed, why should they? They did not live upon
+squirrels and muskrats, but upon fish. “We’ll find ’em, you catch ’em,”
+seemed to be their motto.
+
+For the boys, finding the lair of the silver fox would not insure his
+capture. It merely meant that they would know where he lived and would
+watch that spot in the hope that he might come out on the ice in search
+of food or a drink and that then they might come speeding in to grab him.
+
+“Look!” Lawrence exclaimed suddenly, “there are Old Silver’s tracks!”
+
+“Yes, sir! He just cut in from the hill to the river. He—” Suddenly
+Johnny broke off to peer upstream.
+
+“Something moving up there,” he whispered. “Maybe—”
+
+But the otters had smelled the fox tracks and were off on swift tracking
+feet. Johnny bent over to examine those tracks.
+
+“It’s the old fellow or his brother,” he murmured. “No other fox around
+here has such large feet. Boy! He’s a humdinger!”
+
+Once more his keen eyes swept the upper reaches of the river. “Huh!” he
+grunted. “Whatever that was, it’s vanished now.”
+
+“Might as well follow the otters,” Lawrence suggested.
+
+They did follow. Soft-footed in silence they tracked on for a mile. Up
+banks and down again, over a ridge, back to the river. “Look at those
+feathers!” Lawrence whispered.
+
+“Got a ptarmigan,” said Johnny. “After that he should have made a bee
+line for his lair.”
+
+That was just what the fox had done. Straight as an arrow he had returned
+to the stream, then he had sped away along its course until he came to a
+huge gray rock. There the trail ended. And beneath this rock, according
+to the verdict of the two singing otters, he must still lie fast asleep.
+
+“Good old otters!” Lawrence exclaimed in a hoarse whisper.
+
+“They’ve found us his hiding place,” Johnny agreed. “And will we watch
+it? We—”
+
+Suddenly he broke off short to point excitedly upstream.
+
+“A bear cub!” Lawrence exclaimed low. “He’s going to cross the river.”
+
+“We—we’ll get on our sk-ates,” said Johnny excitedly. “Then let’s take
+him.”
+
+“Can we?” Lawrence was doubtful.
+
+“Sure! We’ll lasso him and tie him up. He’ll make a grand addition to our
+zoo. Come on!”
+
+Swinging out on the shining ice, skating silently from the hips, the boys
+glided like two dark ghosts toward the unsuspecting bear cub who, at that
+moment, had started to cross a broad stretch of slippery ice. Sly silence
+is, however, a game that two can play at. This the boys were to learn
+very soon and to their sorrow.
+
+One day the boys had come, quite unexpectedly, upon a half-grown white
+caribou, or perhaps it had been a reindeer, that had wandered down from
+some far northern herd. However that might have been, they were filled
+with regret at the thought that they were not equipped for capturing it
+for their “zoo.” From that time on they had carried lariats and, by way
+of some added safety, short, stout spears. They were thus equipped today
+as they sped swiftly, silently toward the bear cub.
+
+“I’ll toss the lasso over his head, then you watch the fun,” Johnny
+chuckled.
+
+“I’ll watch all right,” Lawrence agreed. And he did.
+
+Slowly, clumsily, the young bear, no larger than a good-sized dog, made
+his way across the ice. The wind was away from him. He could not smell
+the intruders, nor was he aware of their presence until, with a sudden
+rush, Johnny was upon him.
+
+Never will the boy forget the look of surprise that came over the young
+bear’s comical face as he stared straight into his eyes. The whole affair
+was easy, too easy. He passed so close to the cub that he might have
+touched him. He did not. Instead, he dropped his noose over his head,
+pulled it tight, then, letting out slack, whirled about to face the cub.
+What would the cub do about that? He was to know instantly. Throwing
+himself back on his haunches, the cub began backing and pulling like a
+balky horse. On his skates, Johnny was no match for him. All he could do
+was to come along. To his further annoyance, he found that his lariat had
+whirled about his wrist and tied itself into a knot. As long as the cub
+kept the line tight he could not untie the knot. He did not quite relish
+the idea of dashing up to the cub and saying, “By your leave, I’ll untie
+this knot.” So, for the moment, he played into the cub’s hand.
+
+Then the unexpected happened. With a grunt and a snarl of rage, a huge
+black bear, the cub’s mother beyond a possible doubt, dashed over a ridge
+to come charging straight at Johnny and the cub.
+
+“Hey! Hey! Look out!” Lawrence shouted. “Drop your rope and beat it.”
+
+“I—I can’t,” Johnny cried in sudden consternation. “He—he’s got me tied.”
+
+“Tied!” Lawrence gasped.
+
+“It’s ’round my wrist.” Johnny watched wide-eyed while the huge mother
+bear came tobogganing down the high, steep river bank. She hit the ice
+like a bobsled and, dropping on hind legs and tail, came sliding straight
+on.
+
+Just in time, Johnny came to his senses and began doing a back-stroke.
+Only by inches did he miss the husky swing of the angry bear’s paw.
+
+“Cut the rope,” Lawrence shouted.
+
+“Al-all right, I’ll—I’ll cut it.” Johnny dug into a pocket with his free
+hand. A pocket knife. It must be opened. With one eye on the cub, who for
+the moment sat whining, and the other upon the mother bear, who was
+scrambling awkwardly to her feet, he had no eyes left for his knife. Just
+as, having gripped the handle with one hand, the blade with the other, he
+managed to open the knife, the cub, going into frenzied action, gave him
+a sudden jerk that sent the knife spinning far out on the ice.
+
+“It’s gone,” he groaned.
+
+No more time for this. Old mother bear was after him. Fortunately this
+old bear was heavy with fat. She had been preparing for a winter’s sleep.
+Still she could travel and she was fat and furious. Her skill as a skater
+was something to marvel at.
+
+Since he could not escape from the rope, the only thing for Johnny to do
+was circle. Circle he did. One time around with the bear at his heels;
+two times around he had gained a little; three times around he caught the
+gleam of his knife. Could he stoop and pick it up? He bent over, made a
+reach for it, struck a crack with his skate and all but fell.
+
+“I—I’ll get it next time,” he breathed.
+
+To his surprise he found that next time the knife was well out of his
+reach. Then to his utter horror, he saw that the perverse cub was
+standing still, making an animated Maypole out of himself and that it
+would be no time at all until the rope would be all wound around him.
+They would meet face to face, cub, mother bear and boy. And after that?
+He shuddered as he sped along that ever-narrowing circle.
+
+“I’m coming in,” Lawrence shouted.
+
+“No, you—”
+
+Johnny could say no more. Lawrence was already in. Skating straight at
+the bear to attract her attention, Lawrence shot past her and slapped her
+sharply on the nose.
+
+It was a daring and effective endeavor. Turning with a snarl, completely
+abandoning her cub at this fancied insult, the bear went after him with a
+rush.
+
+That was all right as far as it went. The skating was good. The bear was
+fast, but not fast enough to catch him. There is, however, an end to all
+things. There was an end to that stretch of ice. It ended in a series of
+rapids that were not frozen over.
+
+Lawrence groaned as he saw open water ahead. To his added terror, he saw
+that the river narrowed at that point. That the bear could outrun him on
+land he knew all too well.
+
+“Got to be an artful dodger,” he told himself.
+
+At that moment how he rejoiced that he had trained himself as a hockey
+skater. Swinging about in a half circle, he sped toward the right-hand
+bank. But the bear was there ahead of him.
+
+Just as she reared up for a sledge-hammer blow, the boy whirled squarely
+about and shot away to left. Again he was too late for a safe passage,
+but not so much too late. He was gaining. Three more times, then with a
+joyous intake of breath he shot past the bear and was away.
+
+In the meantime, Johnny, safe for the moment from the mother bear, had
+hastily unwound the surprised cub, then had rushed him with such speed
+that the rope was off his neck before he could lift a paw. The cub was
+free. So was Johnny. And there were no regrets.
+
+“Johnny,” said Lawrence as he joined his companion five minutes later, “I
+don’t think we want any bears in our zoo. They’re too playful.” They were
+to change their minds about this, but that was to come sometime later.
+
+“That,” said Johnny with a chuckle, “was almost funny.”
+
+“Yes,” Lawrence agreed, “almost.” He did not laugh. “Almost, but not
+quite.”
+
+A moment later he exclaimed, “Johnny! Where are the otters? We can’t lose
+them.”
+
+“They’ll probably hunt us up. They—” Johnny broke off short. “Look!” he
+murmured low. “Look! There’s the silver fox. He’s out of his hole.
+He—he’s going to cross the ice.”
+
+Lawrence glanced back to the spot where the bears had been. They had
+vanished. “This time,” he whispered, “we’ll get that old silver fox. We
+simply must.”
+
+
+
+
+                               CHAPTER IV
+                       THE CAPTURE OF OLD SILVER
+
+
+Johnny felt his pulse quicken as he sped along over the ice. The silver
+fox had come out of the hole. There could be no doubt of that. Would he
+dodge back in again or would he start across the ice?
+
+“If he starts!” the boy breathed.
+
+He must not be too fast nor too sure. Last time he had muffed a glorious
+chance. Slowing up, he slid in behind a clump of elders and came to a
+standstill. There, gripping a shrub, he stood trembling like a butterfly
+ready for flight.
+
+As for Lawrence, he was coming on more slowly. Naturally more cautious
+than his cousin, he had an eye out for trouble. That fat old mother bear
+might still be lurking among the ridges. He had not forgotten how she had
+come charging down upon them.
+
+“Can’t take unnecessary chances,” he told himself. “Life is wonderful. I
+am sure that taking unnecessary chances is wrong. It is making light of
+God’s great gift to us—life.”
+
+Ah, yes, it was good to live just now. For the first time in their lives
+his little family felt sure of having a home of their own. As he glided
+slowly along he thought of the summer’s struggle. At first it had been
+damp and bitterly cold. Then the sun had been hot and the mosquitoes had
+come in swarms.
+
+Through all this they had labored on; father, mother, and these two stout
+boys. It was said that gangs of men would be along to clear patches of
+land and build cabins. To this they had not listened. “We came to make
+our own way,” they insisted. “We are pioneers. Pioneers must work.”
+
+When garden and potato patches were planted they had started the cabin.
+Selecting, from near and far, trees that were dead but not decayed, they
+had built a cabin whose walls would not warp and shrink as would those
+built of green timber.
+
+Later, in the autumn when sharp winds told of a long winter ahead, they
+had cut squares of tough sod and piled them about the cabin until it
+seemed a sod house. When the question of a heating stove had arisen, they
+had discovered an abandoned gasoline barrel, had cut one hole for a door,
+another for the stove-pipe, had done a little drilling and riveting, and
+thus had made a stove that, fed on crackling fir logs, laughed at the
+Arctic cold.
+
+“Pioneers!” he whispered. “We are pioneers.” How he loved that thought.
+
+Of a sudden his attention was drawn from past to present by Johnny’s
+beckoning hand. With a quick twisting glide, he moved silently forward
+until he was at his companion’s side.
+
+“Look,” Johnny gripped his arm. “There is the fox. He hasn’t started
+across yet and—”
+
+“And there are the otters!” Lawrence broke in with a shrill whisper.
+
+“Yes,” Johnny agreed. “That’s the queer part of it. They came just so
+close to the fox, then seemed to shout something at him.”
+
+“Like one boy daring another to come out and fight,” Lawrence laughed
+low.
+
+“Yes, or inviting him to a game of tag,” whispered Johnny. “And look!
+There he goes! There goes the fox! Good old otters! They are
+helping—helping a lot.”
+
+He had spoken the truth, the fox was after one of the otters.
+
+“Little good it will do him,” Lawrence chuckled. “Those otters are more
+at home on ice and in water than on land.”
+
+“Listen!” Johnny’s voice was tense now. His figure stiffened. “In a
+minute I’m going after him. I’ve got the bag. If I get him I’ll pop him
+inside. I won’t miss now. You just follow along slowly. I might need
+you.”
+
+“Al-all right,” the younger boy agreed.
+
+There might have been boys who would have said, “This is my turn. You
+muffed last time.” Not so Lawrence. All too well he knew the skill and
+natural daring of his cousin. And, after all, in their little family the
+rule had ever been, “Each for all and all for each.” So he watched his
+cousin glide silently out for one more adventure.
+
+Ten seconds later in watching the little drama of wild life being played
+there on the ice, he had all but forgotten Johnny. Never before had he
+seen the tame otters put on such a clever show. Just as the larger one
+had so far escaped the onrush of the fox that he was becoming
+discouraged, the small otter, with cunning and extreme daring, slipped up
+and all but shouted in the fox’s ear. At once, the now thoroughly angered
+fox turned to dash after this second intruder.
+
+No sooner had the first otter been abandoned than he turned about to
+begin slipping up on the fox to dare him for one more race.
+
+“For all the world like a game of tag!” Lawrence murmured.
+
+All this was aiding Johnny, though it is to be doubted whether the otters
+knew the value of their antics. The fox was being led farther and farther
+out on the ice. At the same time his attention was so held by this
+strange game that he was almost certain to miss catching sight of the boy
+who now glided closer, ever closer to him.
+
+“Good old otters!” Johnny repeated in a whisper as, drawing his
+moose-hide mittens tight, he prepared for the final dash.
+
+“He’s going after him,” Lawrence thought as, with a thrill shooting up
+his spine, he glided from his sheltered spot, ready, if need be, to come
+in on the finish.
+
+With a suddenness that must have been startling to the keenest eyes,
+Johnny swept down upon the fox and the otters. Did the otters see him?
+Beyond doubt. They saw everything. But the fox? For once he was caught
+quite unawares. One startled look, a quick squatting down on the ground,
+and Johnny was at his side. Before the fox could relax from this stiff
+pose, Johnny’s hands, like a brass collar, were about his neck.
+
+“You got him!” Lawrence shouted, springing into action. “You got him!
+Hurray!”
+
+Then a terrible thing happened. Overjoyed at their great good fortune,
+Lawrence for the moment lost his bearing. Of a sudden his skate struck
+ice that crunched ominously. He tripped to go plunging forward into the
+black waters of the racing river. He had fallen into an open pool.
+
+“I’ll drown,” he thought, as, in an involuntary manner, he struck out
+with his hands in a swimming motion. All too late he saw ice ahead. Next
+instant he was beneath the river’s ice.
+
+Johnny saw all this. With a gasp of terror he all but dropped the fox.
+Then, scarcely knowing what he did, he thrust the fox as if he were his
+mother’s fur scarf, into the moose-hide bag, drew the strings tight, then
+shot away toward the spot from which his cousin had vanished.
+
+As Lawrence shot beneath the ice, life seemed near its end. Yet there had
+never been a time when life had seemed so real and so joyous as now. For
+a second panic gripped him. Holding his breath, he tried to think.
+
+In an instant his mind was clear. He knew what he should do. There were
+two open pools farther on. How far? He did not know exactly. Could he
+hold his breath till then? He must hope. And he must try to move over
+closer to the shelving bank. If he reached the pool he might then touch
+bottom.
+
+Desperately he struggled to draw himself over to the left. His head
+hummed. His lungs were bursting, his heart pounding.
+
+“It—it’s the end,” he thought.
+
+And then, up he popped. Just in time, as his feet touched, he gripped the
+edge of the ice and held there. Ten agonizing seconds he clung there,
+then a voice shouted, “Hold on, I’m coming.”
+
+Ten seconds more and Johnny, who had leaped to the bank and raced along
+it, reached out to grip his mackinaw.
+
+“Now!” he shouted. “Out you come.” And out he came.
+
+Weak from excitement and exhaustion, he lay there for a time motionless.
+
+“This won’t do,” Johnny exclaimed at last. “We’ve got to get going.
+Here,” he dragged the sodden mackinaw from his cousin’s shoulders, then
+put his own sheep-lined coat in its place. After putting his own dry
+mittens on Lawrence’s hands, he pulled him to his feet.
+
+“It’s you for skates and the ice, then home as fast as ever you can.” He
+pushed him on before him.
+
+As his skates touched the ice Lawrence felt new warm blood racing through
+his veins. He was off with the speed of the wind. And after him, with a
+moose-hide sack dangling at his side and filled with one very angry
+silver fox, came his loyal, anxious yet joyous friend and cousin, Johnny.
+
+The day, for this part of the world, was not extremely cold. Lawrence’s
+trousers froze into pipe-like forms, but his sturdy, youthful body
+resisted the cold and sent him speeding on his way.
+
+Dropping down on the river bank at last, they dragged off their skates to
+take the usual short cut through the timber.
+
+As he passed the carefully built shelter beside that narrow stream,
+Johnny recalled the note tacked to a post and wondered afresh whether the
+mysterious Bill would arrive, just as the note said he would, on July
+1st.
+
+“Who do you suppose he left that note for?” he exclaimed suddenly.
+
+“Haven’t—the—slightest-notion,” Lawrence panted, still racing along.
+“One—thing—is—sure. I’m—going—to—be—there—when that day comes.”
+
+“We’ll both be there,” Johnny agreed. Somehow, as he thought of it, in a
+strange way it seemed that Bill and the silver fox must in some way be
+associated with each other. “Pure moonbeams,” he assured himself, yet the
+thought remained in the back of his mind.
+
+There is something in the north that is called “Grapevine telegraph.”
+This name is given to the mysterious means by which, in a land devoid of
+telephone and telegraph, news travels fast and far. Was it this unreal
+telegraph that, six hours later, as Lawrence, none the worse for his
+experience, lay before the roaring fire, brought a stranger to their
+door? Who can say? Be that as it may, there he was.
+
+“Excuse me for intruding,” said the tall, smiling stranger as he brushed
+the snow from his moccasins. “I heard you’d got a silver fox and I just
+had to have a look at him. It’s been three years since I saw one. I’m Jim
+Clem. Got a claim over on the other side of the settlement.”
+
+“You—you’ve seen silver foxes.” Johnny was on his feet.
+
+“Hundreds of ’em.” The stranger smiled.
+
+“Hun-hundreds,” Johnny stammered. “I thought they were rare.”
+
+“Used to be,” admitted Jim Clem. “Still are, fairly so. Did you get a
+good one?”
+
+“Yes, I—well,” Johnny whirled about. “I’ll show you.” Opening the back
+door, he dragged in a small wire cage. “We just put him in this for a
+little while,” he half apologized.
+
+“Oh! He’s alive. Hurt much?” Jim asked.
+
+“Not hurt at all.”
+
+“Not hurt?” Jim stared. “How’d you catch him?”
+
+“With my hands,” Johnny chuckled. Then, seeing that this would not stand
+as a bare statement, he explained briefly their method of capture.
+
+“Say-ee,” Jim exclaimed, dropping into a chair, “you’re regular natives.
+And that’s a fine specimen. Time was when you’d get two thousand dollars
+for him.”
+
+“Yes, we—”
+
+“But not now,” Jim broke in. “Never again. Know much about foxes?”
+
+“No, we—”
+
+“Then, I’ll tell you.” Jim settled back in his chair. “I worked on a
+silver fox farm for three years. ‘Million Dollar Farm,’ they called it.
+And that’s what it was. Raised only silver foxes.
+
+“But you don’t get that way all at once,” he laughed. “Not by a great
+deal. Take that fellow you got there. Suppose you find him a mate and
+decide to start raising silver foxes. Pretty soon you’d have a lovely lot
+of cute little fox cubs. But would they be silver foxes? Not one. That’s
+almost certain.”
+
+“Not one?” Lawrence sat up.
+
+“That’s it,” Jim agreed. “You’d get two or three little red foxes and,
+with great luck, a cross fox, that’s all.”
+
+“You see,” he leaned forward, “a silver fox is a freak, just as a
+half-white robin is. If a half-white robin hatches his eggs his young
+ones are likely to be jolly little robin redbreasts, nothing more.
+
+“Only by keeping foxes for years and years can you at last hope to raise
+pure silver foxes. That takes thousands and thousands of dollars. Four
+brothers went in for that in a big way years ago. Last year they sold
+13,000 pelts for more than $1,000,000. And that,” he added, “figures up
+to something like $77.00 apiece.”
+
+“That’s what our fox is worth,” Lawrence groaned. “And we’d have to kill
+him to get that?”
+
+“Oh, sure,” Jim grinned. “But truly,” his face sobered, “that’s the tough
+part about fox farming. In the end you’ve got to kill ’em, so some fine
+lady can drape their skins about her neck.”
+
+“I’d never sell ours to a fox farm,” Lawrence said with conviction.
+
+“How about selling him alive to some zoo?” Johnny asked hopefully.
+
+“Don’t know very much about that,” Jim replied slowly. “I wouldn’t hope
+too much. There are 5,000 fox farms these days. And they raise some
+beauties.
+
+“But if you mean to keep this fellow alive,” he added, “you want to get a
+wooden barrel and make it into a den for him. Pack it all ’round with
+chaff and moss to make it warm. Then build him a wire pen all about it.
+He’ll get along fine if you do that.
+
+“I’ll have to trot along.” He rose to go. “Come and see me. I’ll tell you
+more about ’em. They’re interesting no end, foxes are.” He bade them
+goodnight.
+
+“Well,” Johnny drawled slowly, “Old Silver won’t buy us a tractor, that’s
+sure.”
+
+“No,” said Lawrence. “But we can learn a lot about him and we can at
+least keep him from eating our chickens. Don’t give up the ship. We’ll
+happen onto something yet.”
+
+There are other rewards than money in this life of ours. Remarkable
+achievement of any sort usually brings us kind words of deserved praise
+from our fellowmen. It was so with Johnny and Lawrence. More than one
+settler had suffered from the night raids of Old Silver. Now that he was
+in prison his captors were highly praised.
+
+Still the problem remained; should they give up their dream of complete
+independence and go in debt for a tractor?
+
+“I think you’d better,” said Johnny. “There are only a few left and they
+are going fast.”
+
+“There’ll always be the Titan,” Lawrence laughed.
+
+“Yes, the Titan,” Johnny agreed. “But who could ever pay for that
+tractor?”
+
+The Titan was a powerful new type of tractor. Only one had been brought
+on and that one was priced at a cool thousand dollars.
+
+“We’ll wait a little longer,” was Mr. Lawson’s decision. “The tide of
+fortune may turn our way.”
+
+
+
+
+                               CHAPTER V
+                         JOHNNY FIGHTS FOR FUN
+
+
+News travels fast in the north. When the time came for the boys to make
+one more journey to the store at Palmer everyone had heard of their
+catch.
+
+“Here they come,” someone shouted as, stamping the snow from their feet,
+they entered the smoke-filled room.
+
+“Here they come. They bring ’em back alive!” someone else shouted.
+
+“Well,” Lawrence drawled, “we bring them anyway. Got two minks today.
+That’s two more that won’t carry off folks’ chickens.”
+
+“I hear you boys got a silver fox.” There was a suggestion of antagonism
+in Jack Mayhorn’s voice as he said this.
+
+“Yes,” Johnny replied. “And we’ve still got him.”
+
+“Do you know, fellows,” Jack gave vent to a chuckle that seemed a little
+strained, “back in Michigan, where I lived on the shores of Lake
+Superior, there was a feller who used to go lake-trout fishin’. He
+trolled with an out-board motor. Always got ’em, too, a whale of a fine
+catch.
+
+“But you know,” he edged forward in his chair, “there was net fishermen
+there, too. Fished fer a living. And one day when we was lookin’ over
+this sportin’ fellow’s catch, the fish he claimed he’d caught trollin’ we
+found had net marks on ’em.”
+
+“Net marks?” someone said.
+
+“Sure.” There was a shifty look in Jack’s eyes. “He’d been liftin’ nets
+an’ helping himself to the fish that didn’t belong to him. And I was
+wonderin’,” he paused, “just wonderin’, Johnny, if that silver fox of
+yours mebby had a lame foot or—or somethin’.”
+
+The silence that followed was painful. Johnny made no reply. His fingers
+worked along his palm, that was all.
+
+It was Blackie Dawson who spoke at last. “I take it, Jack,” he spoke
+slowly, “you are insinuating that these boys took the fox from your trap.
+Let me tell you, old man, that sort of thing calls for a fight; in the
+north it does.”
+
+Jack made no reply, but Johnny did.
+
+“I’m sorry,” he said, speaking slowly. “It doesn’t mean a fight to me.”
+
+“You won’t fight?” Blackie stared at him.
+
+“Not to settle a personal grudge,” Johnny replied slowly. “If Jack wants
+to think we took the fox from his trap, that’s his privilege. If he would
+like to examine the fox that’s his privilege also. But I’m not going to
+beat him up just to make him take back something he’s said. That might
+seem to be a point of honor but we all have our own codes of honor. It
+may seem queer but I’d rather take an insult than give someone a
+beating.”
+
+“Take a beating you mean,” Jack sneered. He was nearly twice Johnny’s
+size.
+
+“Joe,” said Johnny, turning to the store-keeper, “you told me you got two
+pairs of boxing gloves through the mail.”
+
+“Sure, Johnny, I did. Here they are.” Reaching behind him the
+store-keeper drew out two pairs of gloves.
+
+“Put ’em on, Johnny,” Blackie encouraged.
+
+“Put ’em on! Put ’em on!” came from all over the room. There was a stir
+of expectancy in the air.
+
+“Sure, I’ll put them on,” Johnny grinned. “What do you say, Joe? I’ll box
+you five rounds. Five friendly bouts for fun, money or marbles.”
+
+The crowd stared, Johnny was talking not to the man who had offered the
+insult but to his friend the store-keeper.
+
+For a moment Joe stood staring at him. Then, as the light of a smile
+spread over his face, he said, “Sure, Johnny, I’ll box you, not for money
+or marbles, but just, you might say, for fun.”
+
+It will be a long time before the settlers of Matanuska Valley will again
+witness such a match as followed. Five rounds for fun, between friends?
+Yes, perhaps. And yet there were times when even Johnny doubted that.
+True, he was not angry for a moment, just in there doing his best. But
+Joe? He was wondering about him.
+
+Though he had told no one in the valley about it, Joe had, only the year
+before, belonged to the U. S. Marines. The Marines neither give nor ask
+quarters. And Joe had been champion of his regiment. As for Johnny, well
+you know Johnny. If you don’t, you should have been there that night.
+
+From the start it was leather against leather, a slap for the chin, a
+thrust at the heart, a bang on the side of the head, and after that a
+clinch.
+
+Seldom had men been more evenly matched. Joe was older, more experienced,
+Johnny younger, faster on his feet.
+
+They had not been going a minute when an involuntary ring had formed
+about them. In that ring, gaping open-mouthed was Jack Mayhorn.
+
+Twice Johnny was down on a knee. Each time he was up and at it. Once,
+backed into a corner, Joe tripped and fell. He, too, was up before the
+count of three.
+
+The fifth round was wild. Had there been an announcer, he must surely
+have lost his mind calling, “A right to Johnny’s chin, a left to his ear.
+The ear is bleeding. Oh—a! A slam on the side of Joe’s head that makes
+him slightly groggy. Johnny’s following through. The clinch! The referee
+(Blackie) separates them. They are sparring now. Now! Oh, now! Johnny
+takes one on the chin. He’s down. One—two—three—He’s up again.” So it
+went to the end.
+
+As the cowbell, rung by young Larry Hooker, announced the close of the
+round, the crowd went wild with enthusiasm, but Joe, seizing Johnny by
+the glove, dragged him into the kitchen at the back of the store.
+
+“Boy, you’re a whiz!” he exclaimed. “There was a time or two when I
+thought you had me.” He was mopping Johnny’s face with a wet towel.
+
+“Not a chance,” Johnny laughed. “I didn’t know what I was stepping into
+but I did my best.”
+
+“Listen,” Joe held up a hand. The tumult in the outer room had died down.
+Blackie Dawson was about to make a short speech. “Gentlemen,” he was
+saying, “the day after tomorrow at early candle light, there’ll be
+another boxing bout in this room. It will be between—” he paused—“between
+Jack Mayhorn and—he—he has a choice—Johnny Thompson or Joe Lawrence.”
+
+“No!” a voice fairly roared after the shouts had subsided, “I got a bad
+foot. My footwork, it ain’t no good at all.” It was Jack Mayhorn who
+spoke.
+
+“So it’s _your_ foot that’s bad and not that silver fox’s foot?” Blackie
+bantered.
+
+The crowd let out a roar that could have been heard a mile.
+
+“That’ll about fix Jack Mayhorn,” said Joe. “He’s not likely to bother
+you much now.”
+
+An hour later, when the customers had “cleared out and gone home,” Johnny
+and Lawrence found themselves in Joe’s kitchen. Blackie and Joe were
+there. So was Mrs. Joe. They were all eating huckleberry pie and drinking
+hot chocolate.
+
+“Johnny,” said Joe, feeling a plaster on his chin, “why did you do it?”
+
+“Do what?” Johnny stared.
+
+“Pick on me for a fight. I never done you no wrong.”
+
+“That’s why,” was Johnny’s astonishing reply. “It’s an old Eskimo
+custom.”
+
+“What is?” They all stared at him.
+
+“According to the Eskimo law,” Johnny went on soberly, “if you are going
+to be killed it has to be done by a near relative or very close friend.
+So-o—” he added with a spreading grin, “I thought you’d do as well as
+anyone. And you did—even better.”
+
+“Anyway,” Blackie supplemented after their laugh was over, “folks in
+Matanuska Valley will know who among us can put up a good scrap and that
+always helps.”
+
+When one is young he thinks only of the present and the future, never of
+the past. As the two boys walked home that night, they thought much of
+the future. The bond of friendship between them and Blackie Dawson was
+growing stronger every day. When spring came, would they go booming away
+with him on a Coast Guard boat in search of adventure in Bristol Bay? Who
+could tell?
+
+In the meantime there was work to be done, plenty of it. Some twenty
+acres of land was yet to be cleared. In the spring stumps must be pulled.
+Without a tractor this would mean back-breaking labor.
+
+“Perhaps we can get more foxes?” Lawrence said, thinking out loud.
+
+“Yes, and other wild creatures,” Johnny added. “That country ‘back of the
+beyond’ has never even been explored. There must be wild life back there
+that’s never been seen. Peary found white reindeer on one of his
+expeditions. Who can tell what we’ll come upon if we keep up our search?”
+
+Who, indeed? The boy had spoken more wisely than he knew.
+
+
+
+
+                               CHAPTER VI
+                        SMOKEY JOE’S BLUE BEARS
+
+
+Johnny awoke with a start. What had wakened him? He could not say for
+sure. He had a feeling that it had been a human voice, perhaps a shout.
+
+Propping himself up on one elbow he listened intently. There came no
+sound save the long-drawn distant howl of a wolf. “Must have dreamed it,”
+he murmured as he drew deep into the caribou-skin bed.
+
+The night was cold, bitter cold. It was dark. Like chilled white
+diamonds, stars glistened in the sky. “What a change a few hours can
+make,” he thought. They were sleeping in the mysterious Bill’s shelter,
+he and Lawrence.
+
+Why were they sleeping in this cheerless shelter? Warm beds awaited them
+at home. When one is young he does not need too good an answer for the
+thing he does. Both Johnny and Lawrence were born scouts. They loved the
+sharp tang of cold on their cheeks, followed by the quick glow of a
+campfire. The smell of wood-smoke, deer steak broiled over coals, dreamy
+hours just sitting before the fire, not talking, just thinking, all these
+were a joy to them. So they liked to get away for a night. Bill’s camp
+was a convenient place.
+
+Johnny did not fall asleep at once, instead his mind was crowded with
+dreamy thoughts.
+
+Perhaps Bill was a gold prospector. Perhaps he had discovered gold. Then
+when he returned to this camp, they might all go tramping away to find
+the spot and stake out claims.
+
+“That would ruin the settlement,” he told himself. “People would desert
+their dreams of making homes for brighter, more illusive dreams of
+wealth. And yet—” What did he wish? He could not tell.
+
+When they had retired for the night the moon had been shining, a bright
+fire gleamed before their shelter. Now all was gloomy and cold. Should he
+rekindle the fire? “No. Too chilly,” he shuddered. “Wait till morning.”
+
+The days that had gone before had been uneventful ones. More and more he
+had come to realize that they must have a tractor. Long hours they had
+worked clearing timber. Brush was burned. But wood must be saved for
+fires, for buildings and fences. Every day saw larger piles of wood on
+the cleared land.
+
+“With a tractor and a stout sled we’d have it hauled home in no time,”
+Lawrence had said to his father. “Without it—”
+
+“Wait a little longer,” his father had counseled.
+
+So they were waiting and tonight, sleeping in Bill’s shelter, they were
+still waiting.
+
+So Johnny thought and dreamed until at last he fell asleep.
+
+Perhaps he slept an hour, perhaps less or more. Then he awoke with a
+suddenness that set his senses reeling.
+
+“Law-Lawrence!” he shouted in wild consternation. “The bear! The bear!”
+
+Something solid and heavy as a bear had landed with all but crushing
+weight on his chest. It still rested there but did not move.
+
+“That’s no bear,” said a gruff, good-natured voice. “That’s my pack.
+Sorry! Didn’t know you was here.”
+
+“Lawrence!” Johnny exclaimed. “It’s Bill!”
+
+“Not Bill neither,” the stranger disagreed. “They call me Smokey Joe.”
+
+“Smokey Joe!” Johnny peered into the darkness, trying to get a look at
+the man’s face. “Smokey Joe. I’ve heard of you.”
+
+And he surely had. Smokey was a well-known character in the valley. The
+old-timers told how he came and went. Always in search of gold, he would
+disappear for months.
+
+“Then,” one of the motherly women added, “just when we think he’s gone
+for good, up he pops again. We feed him up and patch his clothes. Then,
+like some boy, he’s off again.
+
+“But he’s no boy,” she added. “He came to Alaska in the gold rush of
+’97.”
+
+“Eighteen-ninety-seven!” Johnny had exclaimed. “More than forty years
+ago!”
+
+“He never left,” the gray-haired lady had added. “He came from the
+Cumberland Mountains somewhere and he still speaks in their queer way.
+
+“They say,” she added with a lowered voice, “that he struck it rich once,
+had nearly half a million dollars, and that he’s got some of it hid away
+in the hills somewhere. But, then,” she sighed, “you can’t believe
+anything you hear and only half you see in Alaska. Alaska is a place of
+wild dreams.”
+
+Johnny was recalling all this as he made haste to split dry wood into
+fine pieces, whittle some shavings, then light a blaze in their
+out-of-doors fireplace.
+
+“It’s about morning,” he said, at last looking into Smokey Joe’s seamed
+face. “Did you come far?”
+
+“Been travelin’ mighty nigh all night,” the old man drawled. “Me and my
+hounds here.” He nodded at three powerful dogs, already curled up on the
+snow for a sleep. “Right smart cold up yonder. Hit’s a sight better here
+in the bottoms.”
+
+“We’ll have coffee before you know it,” Johnny said cheerily. “Coffee and
+sour-dough flap-jacks.”
+
+“Ah,” the old man sucked in his breath. “Sour dough flap-jacks. They
+shore do stick to yer ribs. Reckon Smokey Joe’s the flapjack eatinest
+feller you almost ever seed.”
+
+Lawrence grinned. This old man spoke a strange language.
+
+“A bear!” Smokey chuckled. “You all thought I were a bear! That’s right
+smart quare.”
+
+“We almost caught a cub,” Johnny explained. “Caught him alive, I mean.”
+
+“Almost.” Lawrence laughed. “But his mother objected.”
+
+“Bears,” said the old man, blinking at the fire. “Back thar in them thar
+glaciers thar’s bears you might nigh wouldn’t believe the plain truth
+about.”
+
+“Why?” Johnny sat up. “What’s strange about them?”
+
+“Might nigh everythin’s quare, I reckon. Hm,” the old man sniffed the
+coffee, “smells powerful good.”
+
+“It’ll be boiled in a minute or two,” said Johnny. “But tell me about
+those bears.”
+
+“They’re blue, plumb blue, like a thin sky.” The old man struggled for
+words. “They’re right smart woolly like sheep, I reckon. But they ain’t
+sheep. God-a-mighty, narry a bit of it. One of them clawed my lead dog
+like tarnation. An’ they’re the fish-eatinest critters you most ever
+seed.”
+
+“Polar bears?” Johnny suggested.
+
+“Polar bears, big as good-sized hounds!” Smokey sniffed. “Who’s ever
+hearn tell of sech polar bears?”
+
+Who indeed? Johnny was growing excited and confused. “Woolly, blue bears
+no bigger than dogs,” he was thinking. “What kind of bears could they
+be?”
+
+In his confusion he upset the coffeepot and spilled half its contents.
+For all this, there was plenty left. Smokey Joe drank it piping hot, ate
+in a ravenous manner. Then, springing to his feet and calling to his
+dogs, declared he must get down to Palmer for a new pack of grub.
+
+“He’s found a trace of color in some dashing stream that doesn’t freeze,
+not even in winter,” was Johnny’s conclusion. “He’s going to hotfoot it
+right back and get rich—maybe.”
+
+“But, Johnny,” Lawrence was not smiling, “do you really suppose there are
+any such bears as he described?”
+
+“Of course not,” was Johnny’s prompt reply.
+
+“But, Johnny, if there were, if we caught one alive! No bigger than a
+dog. We could do it, Johnny. We could buy a tractor.”
+
+“Forget it. It’s all a pipe dream, I tell you.”
+
+But Lawrence did not forget Smokey Joe’s blue bears, nor, in the end, did
+Johnny.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER VII
+                            A STRANGE BATTLE
+
+
+Shortly after noon of that same day a slim, bright-eyed man in a huge
+beaver overcoat drove up to the Lawson cabin. Johnny and Lawrence, who
+were about to go back to their wood cutting, stared at him.
+
+“Hello, boys,” was his surprising greeting. “I hear you bring ’em back
+alive.”
+
+“Why, yes, we—Sometimes we do,” Johnny replied in confusion.
+
+“Blackie Dawson told me about you.”
+
+“Oh, Blackie.” Johnny’s face brightened.
+
+“I am in the animal business,” the man explained, alighting from his
+hired sled and allowing Lawrence to lead his horse away. “I thought you
+boys might help me a little.”
+
+“Help you? Oh, sure!” Things were looking better and better. “Here’s
+where we get a start,” Johnny was thinking.
+
+“What have you?” the man asked.
+
+“Well, er—mister—”
+
+“They call me Professor Ormsby,” said the stranger. “You may call me what
+you please.”
+
+“Well, then, Professor,” Johnny went on, “we have a silver fox, a
+perfectly keen fox.”
+
+“Caught in a trap, I suppose?”
+
+“No. By hand.”
+
+“By hand!” The Professor stared. “How do you do it?”
+
+Johnny told him in as few words as possible and with no dramatics at all,
+just how it was done.
+
+“Oh, I say!” the Professor exclaimed. “That’s great! You took a chance
+with that fox. But, let me see—No-o, I can’t use a silver fox. How about
+beavers?”
+
+“We haven’t taken any beaver. We—well, we were afraid it might be against
+the law even to catch them alive.”
+
+“I have a government permit,” said the Professor. “But if you haven’t any
+beaver—”
+
+“Catching beaver would be easy. We have a grand colony not three miles
+away,” Lawrence put in. “We might—”
+
+“How about mink?” Johnny asked. “We have some fine ones. Or snow-shoe
+rabbits?”
+
+“I suggest that you eat the rabbits,” the Professor laughed. “I’ll have a
+look at your mink. But beaver! There’s your main chance. Can’t you get me
+some? Big ones, the bigger the better.
+
+“You see,” he smiled, “we think we’re really doing good through this
+work. In the big cities, hot in summer and cold in winter and crowded
+always, there are hundreds of thousands of children who would never know
+what a woodchuck, a monkey, a beaver or a bear looked like if they didn’t
+see them in a zoo. Brings real joy to them, I’m sure. Many’s the fellow
+who dates his first real interest in the wide out-of-doors to his visit
+at the zoo.”
+
+“Yes, I—” Johnny had scarcely heard him. “Could we do it?” he was asking
+himself. He was thinking of beaver. “Why not? Thousands and thousands of
+city children.” His head was in a whirl.
+
+“I think,” he tried to make his voice seem very cheerful, “I think we can
+supply the beaver. Can’t we, Lawrence?”
+
+“What? Yes. Oh, yes,” Lawrence replied.
+
+“One of them must be a big one, a real boss of the village,” warned the
+Professor.
+
+“We’ve got him,” Johnny laughed uncertainly. “Napoleon himself.”
+
+“Yes. Oh, yes. We’ve got him, all right,” Lawrence did not laugh.
+
+Strangely enough, as a short time later the boys went away on one more
+“Bring ’em back alive hunt” there was no spring in their step. Their
+faces were sober. If they succeeded this one more time, the coveted
+tractor would be within their grasp, and yet they appeared anything but
+happy.
+
+“Might even get the Titan,” Lawrence tried to tell himself. This boy
+loved fine machinery and that Titan tractor was a beauty. It had power,
+plenty of it. With it they could not only pull stumps and plow fields for
+themselves, but do work for other settlers on shares and, in quiet times,
+they could work on the road. “Four live beavers,” he thought. “That’s all
+it takes.” Yes, that was all it took, and yet—
+
+Up a small stream that flows into the Matanuska River early in the year
+the boys had discovered a beaver colony. Many an hour they had spent
+watching these busy beavers. Never in all their lives had they seen such
+feats of engineering done by creatures of the wild.
+
+There were at least sixty beavers in the group. One big fellow, weighing
+sixty pounds or more, was the leader. He was the boss contractor. And
+such a boss as he was!
+
+“Napoleon,” they had named him. He stood for hours, as the great little
+general is pictured, straight, stiff and soldier-like. To him came the
+others. Were there trees to be felled? Two lieutenants came marching
+soberly up to him. They talked earnestly, nodding their heads, like real
+people, then off they rushed to start a dozen beavers doing the work.
+
+It was so in everything. Most interesting of all had been the building of
+the big dam. This work, the boys understood, must be rushed. Winter would
+come. Ice would freeze two feet thick. The level of the stream must be
+raised to six feet so the beaver tribe could use the water beneath as a
+highway all winter long. The water must be dammed up.
+
+This dam building, done under the wise direction of old Napoleon, had
+progressed rapidly for a time, then a sudden freshet of water loosened
+some of the beams and the whole affair threatened to go down stream.
+
+“What’ll they do now?” Lawrence had asked.
+
+“Wait and see,” was Johnny’s answer.
+
+Old Napoleon sent his men, like sub-engineers, all over the dam, making a
+study of conditions. Then, apparently abandoning all this work, he
+ordered a new dam built a hundred feet farther down stream.
+
+But did he truly abandon his first work? Not a bit of it. He and his crew
+built just enough of a dam below to raise the water and relieve the
+pressure from the original dam. Then, with an air of professional pride,
+Napoleon returned to his old post and the work was well completed before
+frost.
+
+“He,” Johnny thought to himself, “is the friend we mean to capture and
+sell into slavery, Old Napoleon.” Little wonder that his heart was heavy.
+“Old Napoleon,” he whispered once again.
+
+But what was this? As they neared the beaver colony where they were sure
+to find Napoleon out sunning himself, they caught sight of some creature
+skulking through the brush.
+
+“It’s a wolf,” Johnny whispered. “Let’s follow him.”
+
+Follow him they did, and to their consternation saw that he was headed
+for the beaver colony.
+
+“We’d better frighten him away,” Lawrence whispered. “He’ll drive all the
+beavers beneath the ice. Then we won’t be able to lasso a single one.”
+
+This, Johnny knew, was good advice, but for some reason scarcely known to
+himself, he said, “Let’s wait.”
+
+When at last they caught sight of the beaver village, they saw old
+Napoleon standing stiff and straight as ever in his place. He was having
+a sun bath.
+
+After sneaking along through the brush, the wolf made a dash at the
+beaver.
+
+“He’ll kill him,” Lawrence whispered.
+
+Did he? Strange to say, as the wolf came near, the beaver did not stir
+from his place. This appeared to surprise the wolf, who did not at once
+rush in for the kill. Sneaking up close, he made a dash at the beaver,
+but stopped just short of his goal. Still the beaver did not move. To the
+boys this seemed strange. Their respect for the old fellow grew by leaps
+and bounds. He appeared to be saying, “What’s a wolf that one should fear
+him?”
+
+“He—he’s great!” Johnny shrilled.
+
+“Magnificent,” Lawrence agreed.
+
+Snarling low, the wolf began dashing and snapping at the beaver. Each
+snap made him bolder. Now his ugly jaws were three feet from the
+apparently defenseless hero of wild life, who had decided to give his
+life for his home and his people. Now he was only two feet away. And now
+only a foot.
+
+“We—we’d better step in,” came from Lawrence.
+
+“Wait,” Johnny gripped his arm hard. Perhaps he should stop the wolf, but
+he waited, fascinated.
+
+“Now!” Lawrence caught his breath. The end, he was sure, had come.
+
+And then, of a sudden, things did happen, but not in accord with
+expectations. Old Napoleon had chisel-shaped teeth that cut wood like a
+hatchet. Without a sound, as the wolf, having grown bold, snapped in his
+very face, he shot forward to close those murderous teeth over the wolf’s
+closed jaws.
+
+“Great Scott!” Johnny muttered.
+
+The struggle that followed was fast and furious. Kicking and scratching,
+the wolf rolled over and over, but not once did Napoleon’s locked grip
+loosen. It was only when his opponent, completely exhausted and all but
+smothered, lay limp at his side, that he at last pried his own jaws apart
+to climb awkwardly to his place in the sun. Instantly the wolf dragged
+himself to his feet, to go slinking away into the brush.
+
+For one full minute the boys stood there motionless. When Lawrence spoke
+his voice was husky. “Johnny, I’ve often suspected old Napoleon of being
+a tyrant. He’s lazy, too. I’ve never seen him do a lick of work. But he
+is one swell engineer and a grand boss.”
+
+“What’s more, he’s no coward,” Johnny added.
+
+“Johnny, I can’t do it,” Lawrence dangled his lasso.
+
+“Neither can I,” said Johnny. “Let’s go.”
+
+Turning, they made their way in silence down the narrow stream to its
+mouth. There they dropped down upon the snow to put on their skates.
+
+“Johnny,” said Lawrence, “we’re a pair of old softies.”
+
+“That’s right,” said Johnny. “But I don’t mind, do you?”
+
+“Not a bit. Let’s go.”
+
+
+“Get ’em?” the Professor asked as they came stamping into the cabin.
+
+“No—er, well, no we didn’t,” Johnny stammered.
+
+“How come?” the man’s face sobered. “That was your big moment.”
+
+Sensing the tenseness of the situation, Mrs. Lawson said, “The coffee’s
+hot. I have some spice cookies, just out of the oven. How would you like
+a bite to eat?”
+
+“That—that would be splendid!” said the Professor.
+
+When, over their cups of coffee, the boys had told the whole story, there
+was a strange look on the Professor’s face as he said, “Can’t say that I
+blame you. Under the circumstances I should have done the same thing. We
+shall be obliged to get our beaver some other way. And as for your
+tractor—”
+
+“We—we’ll manage,” Lawrence replied slowly. Then, “By the way, Professor.
+You must know about bears. Are there any light blue bears?”
+
+“Blue bears? Let me think! Oh, certainly! They belong up this way, too.
+Very rare they are, though.”
+
+“Blue bears!” Lawrence became greatly excited. “Small blue bears, no
+larger than a good-sized dog, with woolly hair? They—they live on fish?”
+
+“What?” It was the Professor’s turn to become excited. “You haven’t seen
+one? You—you couldn’t catch one for me, could you?”
+
+“Sure—sure,” Lawrence stammered. “No, I mean we haven’t. That is, we
+could, I—I’m sure we could.”
+
+“If you were to bring me one of those bears alive and in good condition,”
+the Professor spoke in a deeply solemn voice, “you might name your own
+price. Glacier bears, they are called. There is a stuffed specimen in the
+United States National Museum, but not a single living specimen in
+captivity anywhere.”
+
+“We—we’ll hunt up Smokey Joe tomorrow,” Johnny said. “He’s seen them. He
+can tell us where they are. In fact, he told us all about them, only I
+thought it was all hooey.”
+
+“Smokey Joe? Who is that?” the Professor asked.
+
+“An old prospector,” Johnny explained. “He’s been all over this country.”
+
+“In that case,” said the Professor, “much as I should like a glacier
+bear, I suggest that you postpone your search until late spring. Those
+rare creatures inhabit the wildest sort of country, rocks, cliffs and
+glaciers. They are worse than mountain goats. You would almost certainly
+perish. And besides, it is fairly certain that they, like most others of
+their kind, hibernate. And so—”
+
+“So another bubble bursts,” Johnny groaned.
+
+“Don’t be too pessimistic,” the Professor smiled. “I shall hope to hear
+from you sometime in June or early July. A single specimen will do.
+
+“And, by the way,” he added as he rose, “I’ve decided to offer you a
+hundred dollars for your silver fox. That may not seem such a good price,
+but is really above the market.”
+
+“Sold! Sold!” the boys exclaimed in unison. And so it was that the boys
+collected their first real money. They were, however, still a long way
+from their goal.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER VIII
+                    THE STORMY PETREL’S FIRST PRIZE
+
+
+As the winter wore on the cold grew more intense. Ice on the streams was
+thick. Wild animals appeared to vanish from the scene. Snow covered much
+of the river surfaces. All these things served to make “bringing them
+home alive” more difficult.
+
+At last the boys gave up this strange occupation and turned to the task
+of clearing the ten-acre tract.
+
+“If we can get that tract cleared we’ll plant it in barley, oats and
+peas. When these are ground together they make excellent chicken feed.
+We’ll go in for poultry. There’s a steady market for dressed chickens and
+eggs at Fairbanks,” said Mr. Lawson.
+
+“Yes, if we get that tract cleared,” Lawrence thought, but did not say.
+No further suggestion that they go into debt for a tractor was made by
+anyone.
+
+The long Arctic evenings were divided between games and dreaming. The
+fame of Johnny’s and Joe’s boxing had traveled far. The recreation room
+at Palmer was given over to this excellent sport two nights a week.
+
+A boxing club was formed. Even Jack Mayhorn dropped his feud with Johnny
+and joined up. Members of a boxing club at Seward accepted an invitation
+for a contest. Johnny and Joe won this by a narrow margin.
+
+On the evenings when business or pleasure did not take them to town
+Johnny and Lawrence might often be found dreaming by their own
+hearth-fire.
+
+“When the land is cleared and plowed, when the grain is sowed and we’ve
+earned a breathing spell,” Lawrence would say, “then we’ll hunt up old
+Smokey Joe and go out for one of those glacier bears.”
+
+“If we can find Smokey Joe,” Johnny would smilingly agree. “And if they
+don’t need us for service in Bristol Bay.”
+
+“Bristol Bay,” Lawrence would reply doubtfully. “Seems as if I’d rather
+catch animals alive than go after those Orientals.”
+
+“We’ll take them alive, too,” Johnny chuckled.
+
+Lawrence was not so sure of this. Hour after hour Blackie Dawson, who had
+discarded his crutches, entertained them with stories of his adventures
+with the Orientals.
+
+“They want everything for themselves. They spoiled their own fishing by
+catching the salmon before they were half grown and canning them right on
+the ships. Now they want to come over here and do the same, right up
+there in Bristol Bay.
+
+“They catch our fish and can ’em, then they pop into Seattle or San
+Francisco and say, ‘See all the fine fish we have canned for you. Come
+and buy them.’
+
+“Think we’ll do that?” he would storm. “Not on your life! We’ll get ’em.
+You’ll see.
+
+“But the Shadow,” his voice would drop, “that shadow that passes in the
+fog. How’s a fellow to catch that? Who can tell? But we’ll get it, too,”
+he would add, striking the table a lusty blow.
+
+In March he received his appointment as Commander of the _Stormy Petrel_.
+
+“A swell boat.” He was proud of her. “Come on down with me and we’ll turn
+her motors over once or twice just to get the rust out of ’em.”
+
+Johnny and Lawrence accepted his invitation. They did far more than turn
+the motors over. With Lawrence as engineer and Johnny as first mate, they
+cruised for three days along the Alaskan shores.
+
+On the third day, “Just to get in practice,” as Blackie put it, they
+hailed a suspicious-looking craft carrying no flag. When the skipper
+failed to heed Blackie’s command to head around, they sent a ball from
+their shiny brass cannon over her bow and she promptly hove to.
+
+She was found to be carrying contraband drugs. “A fair capture in a fair
+chase,” as Blackie expressed it. “A regular feather in our cap.”
+
+“Well,” said Johnny, “how did you like it?”
+
+“Those are glorious motors,” Lawrence enthused. “How I’d love to be their
+master. But I hope—” he hesitated. “I rather hope we go after the glacier
+bears. That’s the surest way to get a tractor. And a tractor’s what we
+need most.”
+
+“Time and fate will decide,” Johnny said soberly.
+
+“Time and Blackie,” Lawrence added with a laugh.
+
+“And Smokey Joe,” Johnny amended.
+
+
+
+
+                               CHAPTER IX
+                           FATE LENDS A HAND
+
+
+Strangely enough it was Fate, in the form of an automobile accident in
+far away Seattle, that cast the final vote deciding their choice between
+the _Stormy Petrel_ in Bristol Bay and a glacier bear hunt with Smokey
+Joe.
+
+Spring had come at last. Steadfastly refusing to go in debt, the Dawsons,
+with Johnny’s help, were attempting to clear their land without the help
+of a tractor.
+
+At first it was fun. With blasting powder and dynamite they blew the
+larger stumps into shreds. The boom—boom—boom of blasts might be heard
+for miles.
+
+There remained thousands of smaller stumps. To force these from the tough
+sod and heavy black soil with pick, shovel and bar, was back-breaking
+labor.
+
+“Give me time,” Johnny would groan when morning came. “There’s a place in
+my back somewhere that bends. I’ll find it. Just give me time.”
+
+Joke as they might, they could not but feel that progress was woefully
+slow and that seed-time would find them all unprepared.
+
+One bright day an automobile came bumping over the uneven road to pause
+before their field. Out from it popped an old friend.
+
+“Blackie!” Johnny exclaimed. “I thought you’d be in Bristol Bay by now.”
+
+“I’m on my way,” Blackie puffed. “And so are you.
+
+“Mr. Lawson,” he exclaimed, “I must draft your boys into my service.”
+
+“What about these stumps,” Mr. Lawson straightened his stiff back.
+
+“What’ll it cost to have ’em out with a tractor?” Blackie demanded.
+
+Both Johnny and Lawrence looked at him with gleaming eyes.
+
+“Why do you need my boys?” the man among the stumps demanded.
+
+“Two of the men who were to accompany me have been crippled,” Blackie
+explained. “They were in an auto accident in Seattle. I had a wire this
+morning. They were so badly hurt they could not let me know sooner. And
+tomorrow we were to sail. Already there has been news of trouble in
+Bristol Bay.
+
+“I tell you, Mr. Lawson,” Blackie was pleading now. “It’s for Alaska and
+her greatest enterprise I ask it. Yes, and for every humble American who
+makes a simple meal from a can of salmon. As I see it, it’s your
+patriotic duty to let them go.”
+
+Then Blackie did a strange thing for him. He quoted poetry—
+
+  “‘Not once nor twice in our fair Island’s story
+  Has the path of duty been the way to glory.’
+
+“Mr. Lawson!” he exploded, “let them go. Here!” he waved a roll of bills.
+“I’ll pull your stumps. I’ll plow your land and sow your seed. Let them
+go.”
+
+Who could have refused? Surely not a man with Tom Lawson’s patriotic
+soul. “Al-all right, boys,” he said huskily. “Go get your clothes.
+And—and Blackie, I must trust you to bring them safely home.”
+
+“No need to worry,” Blackie reassured him. “We’ll all be back to shoot
+fire-crackers with you on the Fourth of July. And may your fields be
+green by then.”
+
+Twenty-four hours later Johnny and Lawrence found themselves standing on
+the narrow deck of the _Stormy Petrel_ watching a familiar shore-line
+fade from their sight.
+
+To Johnny this seemed just one more journey into the great unknown. To
+Lawrence it was something more, his first long trip away from his own
+family. Strange emotions stirred within him. Questions he could not
+answer crowded through his mind. How long was this journey to last? What
+strange, wild adventures would he meet? What would be the outcome? Would
+they be of some real service?
+
+Through his thoughts ran Blackie’s two lines of verse,
+
+  “‘Not once nor twice in our fair Island’s story
+  Has the path of duty been the way to glory.’”
+
+What did it mean? He had only a vague notion.
+
+“MacGregor,” he said to the gray-haired engineer who thrust his head up
+from the engine room, “what do these words mean?” He repeated the lines.
+
+“Well, noo, me lad,” said the friendly old Scotchman, “I’ve never been
+too good at poetry. But it seems to me it says if ye think first of yer
+country and her needs, ye’ll be likely to get the things you want most
+fer yerself; that is, I meant to say, in the end.”
+
+“Thanks.” Once again the boy paced the deck. Was this true? He wanted a
+tractor, a humble, earth-digging, sod-plowing, stump-pulling tractor. It
+was a strange thing for a boy to want, he knew. Most boys would have
+wished for an automobile, but he wanted a tractor. Would he get it?
+
+As they left Seward behind and headed west to follow the Alaskan
+Peninsula until they could cross over into Bristol Bay, it seemed to him
+that they were heading directly away from his heart’s desire. The pay
+they were to receive was small. It would help very little. “And yet,” he
+thought with a firm resolve to do his best in his strange new position,
+“Sometimes fate does seem to take a hand in making things come out just
+right. Here’s hoping.”
+
+The _Stormy Petrel_ was a sturdy boat with powerful motors. She was
+small—little larger than a good-sized speed boat. But how she could go!
+
+There was a small after-cabin with six bunks ranged along the sides. Here
+George, the colored cook, presided over a small stove producing glorious
+things to eat. The coffee was always hot. And indeed it was needed, for,
+as a gray fog settled down upon them, the air became bitter cold.
+
+Johnny was to take watch for watch with Blackie as steersman. Lawrence
+was to exchange watches with MacGregor and preside over the motors. Had
+this been a week’s cruise simply for pleasure, nothing could have been
+more delightful. Johnny loved boats. Lawrence listened to the steady roar
+of his motors and was joyously happy.
+
+And yet, there hung over them a sense of approaching danger.
+
+“Say-ee!” Johnny exclaimed on the third day, after taking their position
+and studying the chart. “We’re closer to Asia than we are to Seattle.”
+
+“Aye, that we are, me lad,” MacGregor agreed.
+
+“Yes, and that’s why it’s so easy for these Orientals to slip over here
+and trap our fish,” Blackie exploded.
+
+“And that,” he went on quietly, “is why you settlers in Matanuska Valley
+are given so much financial aid. Your old Uncle Sam wants you there. He’s
+going to locate more and more people along these Alaskan shores. You
+watch and see! Why? To give them homes? Not a bit of it. To have people
+here to watch those Orientals, that’s why.”
+
+“Well,” said Johnny with a laugh. “Looks like we’d learn a lot of
+geography and current history on this trip.”
+
+“No doubt about that, me lad,” MacGregor agreed.
+
+They had been on the water for five days when, touching Johnny on the
+shoulder, Blackie pointed at two spots of white against the sky.
+
+“That’s snow on two mountain peaks,” he explained. “The cannery we’re
+heading for is built on the banks of a small river close to these
+mountains. We’ll be there before dark. And after that,” he took a deep
+breath. “After that our real work begins.”
+
+“A new world,” Johnny murmured dreamily.
+
+“You don’t know half of it,” said Blackie. And Blackie was right.
+
+
+
+
+                               CHAPTER X
+                              A NEW WORLD
+
+
+Next morning Johnny and Blackie Dawson sat on the deck of the _Stormy
+Petrel_. A wild nor’wester was whipping up the ocean spray. Even on the
+river well back from the narrow bay, little whitecaps came racing in.
+
+“No day for going out!” Blackie grumbled. “Pile up on the rocks, that’s
+what we’d do.”
+
+“Yes,” Johnny agreed. Fact is, he at that moment was not thinking of the
+sea, but of the quiet Matanuska valley, of the snug home he and his
+people had built there. He wondered in a vague sort of way how far this,
+his latest venture, would lead him from that home. He was thinking not so
+much for himself as for his cousin Lawrence.
+
+Strange as it might seem, the welcome given them by the people of the
+cannery had not come up to their expectations. Men had stared at them,
+had mumbled something under their breath, then gone about their work.
+
+Work there was to be done, too. There was a pleasant hum of expectancy
+about the place. Every motor, machine and conveyor in the place was being
+given the once-over. Power-boat motors thundered as they went through
+their testing. Johnny felt a desire to become a part of it all. And yet—
+
+“Fool sort of thing this rushing off after adventure,” he told himself.
+But, had love of adventure alone brought them this far, hundreds of miles
+from his quiet valley? Love of home was one thing, love of one’s country
+another. You didn’t—
+
+His thoughts broke off short. There had come the sound of a loud voice.
+The _Stormy Petrel_ was anchored on a narrow dock that ran along the side
+of a long, low building, the cannery. A window was open. The speaker was
+near. Johnny caught every word. As he listened his ears burned. But what
+could he do? He was on his own boat. People who do not mean to be heard
+too far must speak softly.
+
+Perhaps the man meant to be heard. There was more than a suggestion of
+anger and threat in his voice as he said, “Fine fix we’re in! Huh! Here
+we are part of the biggest industry in Alaska. Fifteen million dollars a
+year. The Orientals start cuttin’ in on us. We call for help, for
+protection. And what do we get? A lousy tub no bigger than a gill-net
+boat. And how’s she manned, I ask you?”
+
+A second voice rumbled words that could not be understood.
+
+“She’s manned by a crippled young skipper,” the first speaker growled.
+“An old Scotch engineer and two kids. Protection! Bah!” There came a
+grunt of disgust. “We’ll have to take things into our own hands.”
+
+At that a door slammed and they heard no more.
+
+“Well?” Blackie tried to scare up a grin. It was not a huge success.
+“Kids,” he said.
+
+“We’re not quite that,” Johnny said quietly. “We _are_ pinch hitters.”
+
+“Sure you are,” Blackie agreed. “But I wouldn’t trade you for half the
+so-called men in the regular service.
+
+“Say, Johnny!” His voice dropped. “Know who that was talking?”
+
+“No-o.”
+
+“It was Red McGee. He is the union agent that looks after the interests
+of these men working in the canneries. They say he’s a good man and a
+fighter, but narrow. A—a fighter. Hm’m—” Blackie seemed to play with the
+words.
+
+“Johnny,” his whisper sounded like an exploding steam valve. “You _like_
+to box, don’t you?”
+
+“Nothing I like better,” Johnny grinned. “Started when I was six and
+never stopped.”
+
+“Red McGee’s a boxer,” Blackie said. “Off times like this I’m told these
+men up here go in for boxing bouts. Nothing savage, you understand, just
+a few friendly rounds. And Red’s never been beaten by any of them.”
+
+“And I suppose you expect me to trim him, at least to try it?” Johnny’s
+face was a study.
+
+“No-o, not just that, only a few friendly rounds. I’d like you to
+represent the _Stormy Petrel_.”
+
+“I think I get you,” Johnny’s lips moved in a quiet smile. “You want this
+crowd to know that I’m not a child.”
+
+“Johnny,” Blackie’s tone was almost solemn, “it’s important. Mighty
+important! If this fishing mob gets started and if they find a ship out
+there in Bristol Bay catching fish contrary to law, there’s going to be
+trouble. More trouble than all our diplomats can clear up in a year.
+
+“There’s no getting ’round it, this business has been slighted. But this
+much stands out like your nose—we’ve got to do what we can. And we can’t
+do much if these Alaskans sneer at us.
+
+“So-o, son,” he drawled, “if they give you a chance tonight you step in.
+And if a chance doesn’t open up, I’ll open one.
+
+“Come on,” he sprang to his feet. “It’s time for chow.”
+
+Passionately fond of boxing as Johnny surely was, he found himself
+dreading the encounter Blackie had proposed for that night. Why? He could
+not have told.
+
+A strange audience awaited him in the long, low-ceilinged room where, on
+working days cases of salmon were stored for shipping. Seated on empty
+packing boxes, the men formed a hollow circle. This circle was to be the
+ring for the evening’s entertainment.
+
+“They’re all here,” Blackie grinned. “A dozen nationalities: Italians,
+Finlanders, Swedes, down-east Yankees, an Eskimo or two and what have
+you.
+
+“One thing they’ve got in common,” his voice rang true, “they’re all
+Alaskans at heart. Hard fighters, straight shooters, they look you square
+in the eye and treat you fair. But when anyone tries any dirty,
+underhanded work, you’ll see sparks fly.”
+
+“Well,” Johnny smiled. “Whatever else happens, there will be no crooked
+work tonight. I don’t fight that way.”
+
+“Don’t I know it?” Blackie agreed.
+
+“Well, now, here we are,” he chuckled a moment later. “Reserved seats.
+Box seats, mind you. Who could ask for more?”
+
+As Johnny sat, quite silent in his place, watching one short three-round
+match after another being fought in a good-natured rough-and-tumble
+fashion between boatmen, cannery workers, carpenters, engineer and
+blacksmith, he became more and more conscious of one fact—the crowd was
+holding back its enthusiasm.
+
+“It’s like the preliminary bouts in Madison Square Gardens,” he said to
+Blackie at last. “They seem to be waiting for the one big fight. What’s
+coming?”
+
+“Can’t you guess?”
+
+“No-o, I—”
+
+“It’s you and Red McGee. They’re waiting for that.”
+
+“What?” Johnny half rose to his feet.
+
+“Keep your seat.” Blackie pulled him down. “Ever hear of the grapevine
+telegraph?”
+
+“Yes, in—in a sort of way.”
+
+“It’s the mysterious manner in which news travels up here. These fellows
+know about you. The minute I gave them your name they busted out, ‘The
+kid that packs a wallop?’”
+
+“And you—”
+
+“I said, ‘Sure! None other. But does Red McGee know it?’
+
+“They said, ‘Guess he doesn’t. He’s been in Seattle, just come up.’
+
+“Then I said, ‘Mum’s the word. We’ll just ask him to give Johnny a few
+pointers in boxing.’”
+
+“And they agreed?” Johnny seemed ready to bolt from the room.
+
+“Sure. Why not?” Blackie grinned. “It’s the grandest way to get in with
+all of ’em. They like a good joke. So does Red McGee.”
+
+“Even if it’s on him?”
+
+“Even if it’s on him. Absolutely.”
+
+“Then he’s a real sport,” Johnny settled back in his place. “It will be a
+real joy to box him a few rounds.”
+
+“Okie doke,” Blackie seemed relieved. “But, Johnny,” he added, “pull your
+punches. Murder isn’t legal in Alaska, not south of the Arctic Circle.”
+
+“I only hope Red McGee remembers that,” was Johnny’s solemn reply.
+
+
+
+
+                               CHAPTER XI
+                       THE FALL OF THE RED McGEE
+
+
+When by popular request, emphasized by loud shouts, Red McGee was called
+upon to put on the gloves, he stepped forward smiling. Johnny slid to the
+very edge of his box for a good look. This was the first time he had seen
+the man. He was a little startled.
+
+“So that’s what I’m going up against?” he murmured low.
+
+Six feet of man, broad shoulders, a shock of red hair that stood straight
+up, a square jaw and glittering eyes, this was Red McGee.
+
+And was he popular? The hoarse shouts of approval that made the rough
+rafters ring as he stepped out on the floor left no room for doubt.
+
+Red was to box three rounds with a man named Tomingo, a dark-faced
+foreigner who piloted a gill-net boat. Johnny was thankful for this brief
+reprieve before he too should step into the ring.
+
+That Red McGee was no mean boxer he learned at once. He had a head on his
+shoulders and a remarkable eye.
+
+“He seems to anticipate every move this Tomingo makes,” Johnny groaned in
+a whisper.
+
+“They have boxed together before,” was Blackie’s answer. “Perhaps many
+times. When you play a game with a man many times, just any game, you
+come to know his tricks. But you, Johnny, he doesn’t know you. It’s an
+advantage.
+
+“But, Johnny,” he cautioned after a moment’s silence, “don’t let him get
+to you. Look at those arms! If he hits you just once, a good square one,
+you’re sunk.
+
+“And, boy,” his voice dropped, “this is a big spot. It’s important,
+mighty important. These fellows must respect us, have faith in the
+_Stormy Petrel_ and her crew. If they don’t, they’ll go storming out
+there six hundred strong, looking for trouble. And if they find it! Oh,
+man! They might start a war.”
+
+“There!” Johnny breathed. “There’s the bell. That match is over. And Red
+McGee is just nicely warmed up.”
+
+The tall, lanky boatman who acted as referee shuffled off the floor.
+
+“Who’s next?” Red McGee invited with a broad smile.
+
+It was evident at once that few of the men cared to take him on. Tomingo
+was wearing a flaming patch where Red’s glove had raked his chin.
+
+“Red,” one of his own men volunteered, “there’s one of them kids from the
+_Stormy Petrel_ who’d like to learn a little about boxing. Would y’ mind
+a teachin’ him?”
+
+“One of those boys?” Red looked squarely at Johnny. Johnny flinched. Did
+Red know? “Oh, sure!” Red’s lips spread in a broad smile. “I like boys,
+always have. Sure I’ll show him.
+
+“Look, Tom,” he turned to the referee. “Help the boy on with his gloves.
+Be sure he gets ’em on the right hands. It’s awkward boxing if you
+don’t.” He let out a low chuckle.
+
+Once again Johnny flinched. What did Red know? Probably nothing. This was
+just his way of poking fun at the _Stormy Petrel’s_ crew. This made
+Johnny a little angry, but not too much.
+
+“Show ’em, Johnny,” Blackie hissed in his ear. Next Johnny found himself
+shaking the great paw of Red McGee. And so the fight began.
+
+Nothing had been said about the number of rounds, nor their length.
+Johnny was a little taken back when the referee settled himself on a box
+in a corner.
+
+“But then,” it came to him with a sudden shock, “I’m supposed to be a
+learner. When you’re taking lessons there are no rounds. Well, I’ll be a
+learner, for a while.”
+
+He carried out his plan to the letter, almost. After giving him a few
+words of instruction, Red invited him to “Sail right in. Hit me if you
+can.”
+
+The boy did not exactly “sail in.” Instead, he danced about the big man
+in an awkward but tantalizing fashion. There is nothing more irritating
+than a fly buzzing around one’s head. Johnny was, for the moment, Red
+McGee’s fly. He was here, there and everywhere. At times he appeared to
+leave himself wide open to one of Red’s sledge-hammer blows, but none of
+these really connected.
+
+All the time Johnny was thinking, “How long will he stand this? How long?
+How—”
+
+The answer came sooner than he expected. His arms were all but at his
+side, he was looking Red squarely in the eyes when he saw those eyes
+change. It was like the change of a traffic light from green to red. Of a
+sudden, a huge gloved paw came squarely at the side of his head.
+
+No one will ever know what that blow might have done had it arrived at
+its proposed destination. It did not arrive. Johnny’s head was not there.
+Instead, it was Red who, to his vast surprise, received the lightest of
+taps on the tip of his chin.
+
+The crowd saw and roared. There were men, plenty of them, who knew that,
+had Johnny not pulled that punch, Red would have hit the floor.
+
+Did Red know? For the life of him Johnny could not tell. One thing he did
+know, this was no longer a boxing lesson, nor was it to be a sparring
+match. It was instead to resemble an old-fashioned fight with no gong, no
+referee and no time out. Red McGee was aroused. There could be no doubt
+about that.
+
+Johnny kept his opponent going about the ring in a whirl. Twice he
+stopped and all but fell into Red’s waiting fists. Twice he heard the
+whistle of a glove as it brushed his ear.
+
+Once, when he was in Blackie’s corner, he heard a hoarse whisper,
+“Steady, there, boy. I can’t afford to lose you.”
+
+Once, in a mad rush, Red McGee tripped, falling to his knees. Backing
+away into a corner, Johnny gave him time to regain his feet. Gladly would
+the boy have remained in that corner for the count of a hundred. All too
+soon he caught Red’s challenge.
+
+“Come out an’ box.”
+
+“Red’s in a tight place,” Blackie said in a low tone to Lawrence. “I’m
+almost sorry I got him into it. He’s got a bull by the tail and can’t let
+go. If he quits now he’s afraid he’ll lose the respect of his men. If he
+goes on, well, anything may happen.”
+
+In the end two things happened. Both were surprises to Johnny.
+
+The older man was tiring. Johnny found that by using a little strategy he
+could tap the man’s chin at will. Be it said to his credit, he tapped
+that round red chin only twice. There is little to be gained by an
+unnecessarily large score.
+
+Those two taps, little heavier than love pats, stirred up something deep
+in Red’s nature. His men were looking on a new man. Not that they thought
+the less of him for it. Rough and ready men of the northern wilds, they
+understood as few ever do.
+
+Then things began to happen fast. Red lunged at Johnny. The boy dodged.
+The man came at him again. In one of those seconds when reason goes on a
+vacation, Johnny tried one more pulled punch to the chin. He did not pull
+it fast enough. Red McGee fell upon that punch as a polar bear falls upon
+a spear.
+
+There came a resounding thwack. Then, doubling up like an empty sack, Red
+McGee spread himself neatly on the floor. He was out for much more than
+the count of ten.
+
+The hush that followed was appalling. But the shout that followed!
+Nothing Johnny had ever before heard even remotely resembled it. Perhaps
+a gladiator in the Roman Arena, had he returned from the dead, might have
+recognized it with joy or fear.
+
+In vain did Johnny try to analyze that sound. Was it a cheer? Or was it a
+curse? Should he be carried out like a football hero or crushed by an
+infuriated mob?
+
+Strangely enough, as he stood there half paralyzed by the sudden shock of
+it all, he was conscious of one voice. Above the shout had risen a
+woman’s scream. And he had not known there was a woman in the place. Who
+was she? Where had she come from? Why was she here?
+
+“It’s all right, boys,” he heard a big voice boom. “He didn’t aim to do
+it. He pulled his punch. Twice he did it. He—”
+
+The speaker broke off short. There was a girl at his side, or perhaps a
+young lady. Johnny was not sure. A round, freckled face and angry eyes,
+that was all he saw. In another second she would have been at him, tooth
+and nail. But the big foreman, who had done the talking, wrapped a long
+arm about her waist as he said, “It’s all right, Rusty. Everything is O.
+K., child. He didn’t aim to do it. An’ your daddy ain’t hurt none to
+speak of. It’s what they call a knockout. He’ll be ’round in a twinkle.”
+
+At that the girl hid her face in the foreman’s jacket to murmur fiercely,
+“The brute! The ugly little brute!”
+
+And Johnny knew she meant him. Because she was a girl, because he had
+hurt her and he felt miserable, he slipped back into the outer fringe of
+the milling throng.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER XII
+                           A PTARMIGAN FEAST
+
+
+As Red McGee opened his eyes he found the foreman, Dan Weston and his
+daughter, Rusty, bending over him.
+
+“Wh-what!” he exclaimed, struggling to a sitting position, “what in the
+name of—”
+
+“You fell into a fast one, Red.” The foreman laughed. The crowd joined in
+this laugh but not the girl. Sober of face, she stood looking down at her
+father.
+
+“Daddy,” she began, “are you—”
+
+“Do you mean to say that kid from the _Stormy Petrel_ put me out?” Red
+McGee interrupted.
+
+“Well, you went out,” the foreman drawled. “The boy was the only one near
+you so I reckon—”
+
+He was not allowed to finish for at that Red McGee let out a tremendous
+roar of laughter.
+
+“Ho! Ho! Ha-ha-ha!” he roared. “That’s one on Red McGee.
+
+“But, boys!” he struggled to his feet. “I want to admit right here. There
+might be something to that _Stormy Petrel_ crew after all. Give ’em a
+chance, I say.”
+
+“Sure! Sure!” the crowd boomed. “Give ’em a chance.”
+
+“Where’s that young roughneck?” Red demanded, staring about him. “I want
+to shake his hand.”
+
+“Here—here he is!” Blackie pushed Johnny forward.
+
+“I—I’m sorry—” Johnny began.
+
+“Young man,” Red McGee broke in, “never apologize. Your enemies don’t
+deserve it, and your friends don’t demand it. From now on we’re pals.
+Shake on it.” Their hands met in the clasp of a grizzly and a bear cub.
+
+“What’s more,” Red went on, “the treat’s on me. You’re coming up to
+dinner with me, all four of you fellows from the _Stormy Petrel_. Ever
+eat ptarmigan pot pie?”
+
+“Never have,” said Johnny.
+
+“Well, you’re going to before this day is ...”
+
+                            * * * * * * * *
+
+... look into her eyes, he found himself seeing cold, blue-gray circles
+expressing as near as he could tell, undying hate.
+
+“Of course,” he said to Blackie, “you can’t expect a girl to understand
+about boxing, with all of its ups and downs. But it does seem she might
+give a fellow the benefit of the doubt.”
+
+“She will, son. She will,” Blackie reassured him. “Perhaps sooner than
+you think.” Was this prophesy or a guess? Time would tell.
+
+Rusty McGee was the type of girl any real boy might be proud to call a
+pal. With an easy smile, a freckled face and a mass of wavy, rust-colored
+hair, she caught your interest at a glance. The strong, elastic, healthy
+spring of her whole self kept you looking.
+
+More than once during his visit to the McGee summer home, a stout log
+cabin nestling among the barren Alaskan hills, Johnny found his eyes
+following her movements as she glided from room to room.
+
+“Boy, she can cook!” Blackie exclaimed as he set his teeth into the juicy
+breast of “mountain quail,” as ptarmigan are often called. And Johnny did
+not disagree.
+
+Since the crew of the _Stormy Petrel_ were her father’s friends, it was
+evident that Rusty meant to do her best as a hostess. But to Johnny she
+gave never a smile.
+
+“How she must love that old dad of hers!” Blackie whispered once.
+Johnny’s only answer was a scowl.
+
+Yes, Johnny was shunned and slighted by this youthful “queen of the
+canneries,” as she had once been called, but the _Stormy Petrel’s_
+engineer, old Hugh MacGregor, came in for more than his full share of
+interest.
+
+Hugh MacGregor was truly old. His thatch of gray told that. With
+grandchildren of his own he was just a big-hearted old man. Rusty was not
+long in sensing that.
+
+When the dinner, a truly grand feast, was over, the others, Blackie, Red
+McGee, Lawrence and Johnny retired to the glassed-in porch where they
+might have a look at the barren hills of Alaska and the wide,
+foam-flecked sweep of Bristol Bay, and, at the same time, talk of fish,
+Oriental raiders and the sea.
+
+MacGregor remained behind to “help with the dishes.”
+
+“Do you like Alaska?” Rusty asked him.
+
+“Oh, sure I do!” was the old man’s quick response. “I spent a winter much
+further north than this many years ago. I was quite young then. It was
+thrilling, truly it was. Cape Prince of Wales on Bering Straits—” his
+voice trailed off dreamily.
+
+“Way up there?” the girl exclaimed. “What were you doing?”
+
+“Herdin’ reindeer and Eskimo,” he laughed. “I crossed the straits in a
+skin boat with the Eskimo and lived a while in Russia without a passport.
+You do things like that when you are young.
+
+“Ah yes,” he sighed, “youth is impulsive, and often wrong.” He was
+thinking of Johnny. He knew how Johnny felt about things. He had become
+very fond of the boy.
+
+Did Rusty understand? Who could tell? Burying her hands in foamy suds,
+she washed dishes furiously. Nor did she speak again for some time.
+
+Meanwhile, over their pipes, Red McGee and Blackie were discussing the
+task that lay before them.
+
+“I suppose you know all about this Oriental fishing business,” Red
+suggested.
+
+“I’m not sure that I do know all about it,” was Blackie’s modest reply.
+“Suppose you tell me.”
+
+“It’s like this,” Red cleared his throat. “There was a time when we
+thought the salmon supply off these shores was inexhaustible. We caught
+them in nets and traps just as we pleased.
+
+“Then,” he blew out a cloud of smoke, “there came a time when we woke up
+to the fact that the whole run of salmon might vanish. You know what that
+would mean?”
+
+“Yes, I know,” Blackie agreed. “The little man in Hoboken, Omaha and
+Detroit who hasn’t much pay and has a big family could no longer feed the
+children on a fifteen-cent can of salmon.”
+
+“Right,” McGee agreed. “More than that, thousands of fine fellows, just
+such men as you saw tonight, fair-minded, honest men that would,” he
+paused to chuckle, “that would see one of their best friends knocked cold
+by a stranger in a fair sparring match and not want to kill him, men like
+that would be out of a job. Their families would go hungry. You know,
+about all they understand is salmon catching.”
+
+“And so?” Blackie prompted after a moment’s silence.
+
+“So the government and the canners got together on a conservation
+program; so many fish to be caught each year, the same number allowed to
+go up stream and spawn.
+
+“The plan was well worked out. We’ve put the salmon industry on a sound
+foundation. It will continue so for years unless—”
+
+“These Orientals are allowed to come over here and set three-mile-long
+nets across the bay,” suggested Blackie.
+
+“That’s just it!” McGee struck the table a resounding blow. “They’re
+taking advantage of a technicality of international law. And unless we
+drive them out—”
+
+“Not too loud,” Blackie cautioned. “There goes one of them now.”
+
+“What?” McGee sprang to his feet. A slender, dark-haired person was
+passing down the path before the cabin.
+
+“No,” he settled back in his place. “He’s not one of ’em. He’s one of our
+Eskimos. We have three of them down here. It’s a little off their regular
+beat. But they are keen at locating the runs of salmon. Inherited it from
+their fathers, I—
+
+“But say!” his voice rose. “He does look like one of those Orientals.”
+
+“Sure he does,” Blackie agreed.
+
+“We might use him for a sort of spy,” McGee’s voice dropped to a whisper.
+“His name’s Kopkina. Used to work in a restaurant. He picked up the
+Oriental lingo, at least enough to pass for one of ’em. If some of them
+come around here, we’ll have Kopkina mix in with them. He might find
+things out, important facts.”
+
+“It’s a good idea,” Blackie agreed.
+
+
+“Yes,” MacGregor was saying to Rusty, as he told more of his adventures
+in the very far north, “it was a bit peculiar goin’ up there like that,
+livin’ with the Eskimos. And me still a young fellow like Johnny Thompson
+now.” He shot her a look. She smiled at him in a peculiar way, but said
+never a word.
+
+“It was the food that was strange,” he went on after a chuckle. “Of
+course, you can chew polar bear steak if you’ve got uncommon good teeth.
+Seal steak’s not half-bad and reindeer makes a grand Mulligan stew.”
+
+“Yes, I know,” the girl agreed. “We have some reindeer meat sent down
+every season. Stay with us and you’ll have a taste of it.”
+
+“We’ll stay, all right,” MacGregor declared. “That’s what we’re here for
+to stay, hunting Orientals and shadows—shadows.” He repeated the word
+slowly. “Blackie believes in moving shadows in the fog on the sea.”
+
+“Shadows?” the girl stared at him.
+
+“Sure! He says they glide along across the sea with never a sound. Like
+some phantom schooner it was,” he said.
+
+“That’s strange.” The girl’s eyes shone. “There was a gill-net fisherman
+last season told something just like that. He was an Italian, sort of a
+dreamer. We didn’t believe him. But now—what do you think?”
+
+“I don’t know what to think,” MacGregor scratched his gray thatch.
+
+“But, Mr. MacGregor,” the girl said after a moment, “didn’t you have a
+thing to eat except Eskimo food?”
+
+“What? Oh, yes, up there, up there when I was a kid same as Johnny,”
+MacGregor laughed. “Sure—sure we did. It came on a sailin’ schooner all
+in cans.
+
+“We had evaporated potatoes and eggs in cans, butter pickled in cans, hot
+dogs in cans, everything. And the Eskimos,” he threw back his head and
+laughed. “They’d stand around watchin’ to see what we’d take out of a can
+next.
+
+“And then we got a phonograph,” he laughed again.
+
+“A phonograph?” Rusty said.
+
+“Sure. First one those little brown boys ever seen. Had a long tin horn
+to it, that phonograph did. The Eskimos looked at it and tapped the tin
+horn. They said, ‘_Suna una?_’ (What is it?) We didn’t tell ’em, so they
+tapped it some more and said, ‘All same tin can-_emuck_.’
+
+“Bye and bye we cranked it up and started it going. The record was a
+white man singin’ ‘Meet me in Saint Louis, Louie. Meet me at the Fair.’
+
+“Well, that was funny!” he chuckled. “The Eskimos just looked and
+listened for a long time. Then one of them looked at the others and said,
+‘Can you beat that! A white man in that tin can!’”
+
+The merry laugh that rang out from the kitchen was heard by those on the
+porch. Johnny heard it with the others and was glad—glad that that fine
+girl could laugh even if it wasn’t his joke.
+
+“See that cannery out there?” Red McGee was saying. “Cost a cool million
+dollars. Paying interest on the investment, too. Also it’s giving two
+thousand people a living. But these Orientals with their floating
+canneries—”
+
+“Floating canneries?” Lawrence broke in.
+
+“Sure! That’s what they’ve got. They pick up some big hulk of a ship
+cheap, install some canning equipment, load on a drove of cheap coolies
+and steam away. Pretty soon they’re over Bristol Bay, just off the shores
+of Alaska, but beyond the three-mile limit. Three miles! Bah!” he
+exploded.
+
+“I’m in favor of calling every square mile of Bristol Bay American
+waters,” Blackie replied.
+
+Red McGee stared at him with sudden approval. “Say!” he roared, “we must
+be brothers.”
+
+“We ought to run those Orientals off,” Blackie grinned. “We’re here to
+start just that. That boat of ours may not seem so hot, but she’s got
+speed and power, three airplane motors in her. Good ones, too. Once we
+sight an Oriental fishing boat setting nets too close behind the fog
+they’re coming ashore.”
+
+“To do a lot of explaining.”
+
+“Yes, and for quite a long visit.”
+
+“That’s the talk,” Red McGee stood up. “Here’s hoping the wind drops so
+you can get there. The fishing hasn’t really started. No foreign boats
+have been seen. But they’re there. They made a haul last year. We’re sure
+of that. So why shouldn’t they come back?”
+
+“Why not?” Blackie agreed.
+
+In all of this time neither Johnny nor Lawrence said a word. For all
+that, they were thinking hard and their young hearts were on fire with a
+desire to do their bit for the good old U. S. A. and Alaska, their
+present home.
+
+“Nice place you’ve got here,” said MacGregor, as he joined the party on
+the porch.
+
+“It will pass,” was Red McGee’s modest reply. “I built it for my wife.
+She loved these rugged hills and the smell of the sea. She—” his voice
+faltered. He looked away. “She left us a year and a half ago. But Rusty
+and I, we—we sort of carry on.
+
+“But if those Orientals—” his voice rose, “Oh! Well, enough of that for
+today. It’s good of you fellows to join us in a feast!”
+
+“It’s been swell!” said Blackie.
+
+“Swell! Grand! Mighty keen!” were the impulsive comments of the boys.
+
+“We know each other better,” said Blackie.
+
+“A whole lot better,” Red McGee agreed.
+
+“Goodbye, Rusty,” MacGregor called back through the house.
+
+“Goodbye! Goodbye! Come again soon,” came back in a girlish voice.
+
+“I wonder,” Johnny thought as he took the winding path leading down to
+the wharf. “Wonder if we’ll ever get to come back here?”
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER XIII
+                               THE SHADOW
+
+
+“Fog.” There was more than a suggestion of disgust in Johnny’s tone as he
+said this word. It was the next morning. After a good night’s sleep
+aboard the _Stormy Petrel_ he felt ready for anything. The moment he
+awoke he had listened for the pounding surf.
+
+“Gone!” He had leaped from his bunk. “Storm’s over. Now for a good look
+at Bristol Bay and perhaps, just perhaps, some of those Orientals.”
+
+“Here’s hoping,” Lawrence agreed.
+
+Yes, the storm was over, but here instead was a damp, chilling blanket of
+dull, gray fog.
+
+“Can’t see a hundred feet,” he grumbled.
+
+“You’ll get used to that, son.” It was Red McGee who spoke. He had been
+leaning on the rail talking to Blackie. “‘Men and Fog on the Bering Sea.’
+That’s the name of a book. And it’s a good name. There are always men and
+nearly always there is fog.
+
+“Fish are coming in,” he added as a cheering note. “Two boats are just in
+from a try at the gill-nets. They made a fair catch.”
+
+“But this fog,” Johnny insisted, “gives those Orientals a chance to slip
+in close, doesn’t it?”
+
+“It does!” Red agreed. “Blast their hides! That floatin’ factory of
+theirs comes in close to the three-mile limit. Then their other boats,
+small, fast ones, can come over the line and set nets. You couldn’t see
+them in the fog. They’d put ’em up early. Three miles of nets.
+
+“Claim they’re catchin’ crabs. Crabs, me eye!” he exploded. “Crab nets
+are set on the bottom. Salmon nets are set close to the top. Drift nets
+are what they use. We’ve never found one inside the three-mile line, but
+we think they’ve been there all the same.
+
+“If you ever do find one,” he turned to Blackie, “take it up and bring it
+in. We’ll can their fish an’ boil their nets.
+
+“Shouldn’t be any three-mile line,” he continued. “All our shore water
+belongs to us. So do the fish. It’s food, son! Food for the millions. And
+these Orientals would have had fish on their own shores if they hadn’t
+exterminated them.”
+
+“We’re going out right now,” said Blackie. “Going to have a look for that
+shadow that passes in the fog. We’ve got a nice swivel cannon up there
+forward. Don’t know whether you can hit a shadow, but it won’t do any
+harm to try.”
+
+“All the same, this _is_ a serious situation,” said Blackie as they
+headed out into the fog. “These Alaskans are a strange people. They are
+like the men of the old west, the west that’s gone forever; fearless men
+with hearts of gold, fighting devils when they know they’ve been wronged.
+And this Oriental raiding business is an outrage, providing it’s true.”
+
+“But is it true?” Johnny asked.
+
+“That,” said Blackie, “is what we’re going to find out.
+
+“Johnny,” he said after a moment, “go up forward and remove that box. Let
+our little brass messenger swing with the boat.”
+
+A moment later, up forward, a small swivel cannon swung from side to
+side. As it did so it seemed to point, first right, then left.
+
+“This way or that?” Johnny thought. “I wonder which it will be.”
+
+Hour after hour the fog hung on. Hour after hour Johnny squinted his eyes
+for some moving object in that blanket of gray fog. The cold, damp ocean
+air chilled him to the bone. Stamping his feet, he held doggedly to his
+post. When his watch was over he went below to soak in the heat of the
+stove that George, the colored cook, kept roaring hot. He drank two cups
+of scalding black coffee, downed a plate of beans and a whole pan of hot
+biscuits, then spread himself out on a cushioned seat to close his eyes
+and dream.
+
+In those dreams he saw creeping gray shadows, darting fish and a pair of
+laughing eyes. The eyes closed. When they opened the face wore a frown.
+
+“Rusty!” he whispered. “Wonder if she’ll ever forgive me?”
+
+All too soon his turn at the watch came. The days were long, twenty hours
+from dark to dawn. By nature a hard driver, inspired by his desire to
+help the Alaskans, Blackie steered his small craft endlessly through the
+gray murk.
+
+Then—of a sudden Johnny rubbed his eyes—stared away to the right—closed
+his eyes—snapped them open again to whisper hoarsely,
+
+“Blackie! The shadow passes.”
+
+“The shadow! Where?”
+
+The boy’s hand pointed.
+
+“As I live!” Blackie muttered.
+
+A short, slim line, little darker than the fog, moved slowly across the
+spot where sky and sea should meet.
+
+“Ahoy, there!” Blackie roared. “What boat goes there?”
+
+No answer.
+
+“I’ll show them!” Blackie put out a hand. Three powerful motors roared.
+The _Stormy Petrel_ lurched forward, all but throwing Johnny into the
+sea.
+
+Sudden as the movement was, it proved too slow. Like a true shadow, the
+thing vanished into the murk.
+
+“It—it went down,” Johnny stammered. “Must have been a whale.”
+
+“Or a submarine,” Lawrence suggested.
+
+“It did not go down,” said MacGregor. “It slid away into the fog. And it
+was not a whale. I’ve seen plenty of whales. They’re never like that.”
+
+“Wait!” Johnny sprang for the cannon. “I’ll give them a shot just to let
+them know we’re after them.”
+
+“No! No! Not that!” MacGregor waved him back. “‘Speak softly and carry a
+big stick.’ That was Teddy Roosevelt’s motto. The grandest president that
+ever lived. There’s time enough to make a noise after we’ve got ’em under
+our thumb.”
+
+“I—I’m sorry,” said Johnny.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER XIV
+                           A VOICE IN THE FOG
+
+
+Forty-eight long hours the _Stormy Petrel_ haunted the gray fog. During
+far more than his fair share of that time, eyes blinking but tireless,
+Johnny stood on deck studying the small circle of black waters.
+
+Three times his heart leaped as a dark bulk loomed before them. Three
+times he heaved a sigh of disappointment.
+
+“Only one of the gill-net boats returning to the cannery,” was the
+answer.
+
+“They’re running strong,” was the joyous report of one fisherman. “Full
+load first trip. Looks like a grand season.”
+
+“Poor luck,” came from the second. “We tried hard. Got only half a load.
+Have to come in anyway. It’s the rule. Fish must always be fresh.”
+
+The third boat had had even worse luck. It was going back all but empty.
+
+“No new calico dress for Nancy this time,” the youthful skipper groaned.
+
+“No gitta da dress,” his Italian companion agreed.
+
+At last, out of gas, with her crew half-blind from watching, the _Stormy
+Petrel_ headed for the harbor.
+
+“They’re out there somewhere,” Red McGee insisted, as he met them at the
+dock. “Must be anchored up north of here somewhere. It’s the boys who go
+up that way who come back half-empty.
+
+“But the wheels are turning,” he added with a touch of pride. “Ever see a
+cannery in operation?” he turned to the boys.
+
+“No, never have,” was the quick response.
+
+“Rusty,” said Red, turning to his daughter, “how’d you like to show these
+boys through our plant?”
+
+Did Johnny detect a frown on the girl’s face? If so, it was gone like the
+shadow of a summer cloud.
+
+“Sure! Come on!” she welcomed. They were away.
+
+Somewhere Johnny had heard that a fish cannery was a place of evil smells
+and revolting sights. Dirty coolies gouging into half-rotten fish—that
+was his mental picture.
+
+A surprise awaited him. Not a coolie was in sight. The place smelled as
+fresh as a May morning. To his ears came the sound of rushing water.
+
+“Where are the coolies?” he asked a man beside a machine.
+
+“This is him,” the man chuckled. “An iron coolie.”
+
+As the two boys watched they saw the machine seize a large salmon, sever
+its head and tail, remove the scales and fins, clean it and pass it on in
+a split second.
+
+“Jimminy crickets!” Lawrence exploded. “And I used to think I was the
+champion fish cleaner!”
+
+Rusty favored him with a gorgeous smile.
+
+When, a little later, Johnny made a try for that same young lady’s smile,
+the cloud once again passed over her face, but no smile. He was not,
+however, entirely discouraged. It was, he thought, more as if she could
+not forgive him than that she did not want to.
+
+“We saw the shadow pass,” Lawrence confided to the girl, as at last they
+stood before a canning machine.
+
+“Oh!” the girl breathed. “Did you? And what—”
+
+“It vanished into the fog.”
+
+“I have a small motor-boat,” the girl said, in evident excitement. “It’s
+the _Krazy Kat_. I—I’m going out to look for the shadow in the fog.”
+
+“You—you’d better not do that,” Johnny spoke before he thought. “You’d
+be—” He did not finish.
+
+“I was practically born and raised here.” She spoke to him, as an
+old-time Alaskan might to a newcomer.
+
+Johnny did not resent it. He had spoken out of turn. And yet he was
+disturbed. He did not care to think of this fine young creature out there
+in the fog alone. Supposing she did find the Orientals setting nets.
+Suppose they found her, alone out there in the fog?
+
+“None of my business,” he told himself fiercely. “Just none at all.”
+
+The _Stormy Petrel_ remained an entire day in port. Blackie spent his
+time listening to reports from the various fishing grounds. The shores of
+Bristol Bay are hundreds of miles long. Next time he went out he wanted
+to go to the right spot, if there were such a spot.
+
+Johnny made the acquaintance of Kopkino, the Eskimo. From him he learned
+much about salmon, Orientals and the shores of Bristol Bay. And then,
+just at midnight, he passed the sturdy little man standing beside a dark
+pathway. There were three little men with him and they were all talking.
+They were not Eskimos. He was sure of that. But they were Orientals. He
+had heard enough of the languages to know.
+
+At once his mind was filled with questions. Was Kopkino betraying his
+employer for Oriental gold, or was he acting as a spy for his big white
+brother? Who could say?
+
+“He’s an Oriental,” Johnny told himself. “All Eskimos are. But after
+all—” He came to no conclusion.
+
+Just before dawn the _Stormy Petrel_ crept out into the fog. She was
+bound for an unannounced destination.
+
+“Action,” Johnny said to Lawrence. “This time we are to have action. I
+feel it in my bones.”
+
+One thing puzzled Johnny not a little. They were provisioned as if for a
+long trip, two weeks or more.
+
+Several hours later the _Stormy Petrel_ was once again circling about in
+the fog.
+
+“Seems like it’ll never end, this fog,” MacGregor said to Johnny. They
+were on deck working out their watch. “Looks as if nature was on the side
+of those Orientals.
+
+“Orientals,” he continued musingly, “I don’t suppose they’re much
+different from the rest of us, only just some of them.”
+
+“Just some of them,” Johnny agreed, giving the wheel a turn.
+
+“Come to think of it,” MacGregor went on, “there are a few white men who
+are not so honorable.”
+
+“Quite a few,” Johnny agreed.
+
+Truth is, Johnny was dead tired. He wanted nothing quite so much as to
+crawl into some warm corner and sleep for hours and hours.
+
+“I don’t hate them all the same,” MacGregor squinted his eyes to look
+through the fog. Then he demanded low, “Hear anything, Johnny?”
+
+“Not a thing.”
+
+“Thought I heard a voice coming out of the fog.”
+
+For some time after that neither spoke. They were listening with all
+their ears for some sound that might tell them the mysterious moving
+shadow was about to pass.
+
+“What is this shadow?” Johnny asked himself. “Submarine, some fast,
+silent craft, or a whale?”
+
+He liked the idea of a submarine. The Orientals had them. Why not use
+them for laying nets? Easy enough to vanish when danger was near.
+
+“Hate, me lad, is destructive,” the aged man’s voice was solemn as he
+took up the thread of conversation he had dropped. “Hate destroys you as
+well as the people you hate.”
+
+He broke off short to cup a hand behind his ear.
+
+“There _was_ a voice,” he insisted in a hoarse whisper.
+
+“Yes, I heard it,” Johnny replied, tense with sudden excitement.
+
+Ten minutes had passed. They were beginning to relax when the sound came
+again.
+
+“Over to the right,” MacGregor shrilled. “Turn her about quarterin’ them.
+Give her top speed.”
+
+“Right.” Johnny twisted the wheel. The motors roared. It was a bold step
+that might have led to disaster. Should there be a boat out there setting
+nets, and should they crash at that speed, what would it mean? Johnny did
+not dare to think.
+
+“There!” MacGregor gripped the boy’s arm.
+
+“Oh—ah!” Johnny groaned. “We missed them.”
+
+It was true. Off to the left, for the space of seconds, they saw an
+unmistakable dark, gray bulk. And then it was gone.
+
+“Our own speed defeated us,” declared MacGregor. “Ah, well, better luck
+next time.”
+
+“Or worse,” Johnny grumbled.
+
+Had he but known it, it was to be worse, much worse.
+
+“As for me,” MacGregor said a half hour later, resuming his talk, “I
+don’t hate anybody. It’s not worth while. Sometimes I hate the things
+they do. Mostly, I try to think of good people and the good things they
+do.
+
+“And that,” his voice rose, “that’s what I like about this job of ours.
+If we can drive these Orientals from our shores we’ll be doing good to
+our own people, a whole lot of ’em.
+
+“Know what I see when I’m tired and I close my eyes?” he asked suddenly.
+
+“No. What?” Johnny grinned good-naturedly.
+
+“Children,” MacGregor said in a mellow tone. “Children playing before an
+open fire and their mother puttin’ the crust on an apple pie in the
+kitchen. And those, Johnny, are the children and wives of men way up here
+scoutin’ around in the cold and fog for salmon. We’re servin’ them,
+Johnny, or at least we’re trying to.”
+
+Just then Blackie’s head popped up out of the hatch.
+
+“See anything?” he demanded.
+
+“Plenty,” said Johnny.
+
+“Yes, an’ heard ’em,” MacGregor added.
+
+They told Blackie what had happened.
+
+“So you think you heard them?” he asked.
+
+“Think?” MacGregor roared. “We _know_ we heard ’em.”
+
+“Might have been a seal barking to his mate, or mebby a loon. You can’t
+be sure. Question is, if they’re here, where’s their nets?” Blackie came
+up on deck.
+
+“Turn the boat north by east,” he said to Johnny. “We’re going in for a
+rest.”
+
+“Rest? What’s that?” Johnny opened up a grand smile.
+
+“Something we don’t have much of,” said Blackie. “But this fog burns your
+eyes. You’re no good when you’ve been out too long.
+
+“There’s a cabin on shore if only we can find it,” he explained. “A
+trapper’s place, snug and warm. Red McGee told me about it. Trapper’s
+gone south with his furs. We’re to make ourselves at home.”
+
+Make themselves at home they did. After tying the _Stormy Petrel_ up at a
+narrow dock they helped George up to the cabin with kettles, pans and
+food supplies. Then, while a jolly wood fire roared in the huge stove
+made of a steel gasoline barrel, laid on ends, they sprawled out on
+rustic chairs to sniff the odor of roasting beef and baking pies and to
+dream dreams.
+
+With his eyes closed, MacGregor was seeing “children and their mothers
+putting the top crust on apple pies.” In his dream Blackie held a
+struggling Oriental by the collar of his coat and the seat of his
+trousers. As for Johnny, he was seeing a round, freckled face all rosy
+with smiles. Then, to his dismay he was seeing that same face take on a
+somber look.
+
+“Rusty,” he thought once again. “Will she ever forgive me?”
+
+The feast George had prepared was one fit for a king or even a big league
+baseball player, and the sleep they had in that cabin resting among the
+bleak Alaskan hills was the soundest Johnny had known for many a day.
+Well it was that this should be, for Fate had much in store for him.
+
+
+
+
+                               CHAPTER XV
+                          A ROAR FROM THE DEEP
+
+
+“It will be an hour or two before I can get out,” Blackie said next
+morning, standing up to stretch himself before the fire. “I want to go
+over some maps Red McGee gave me. Lawrence can draw up a simple chart
+that will keep us going right.
+
+“MacGregor,” he turned to the aged Scotchman. “How would you like to take
+Johnny for a circle or two in the fog? You might discover some evidence.
+It’s nets we want most. If we can discover some of those nets inside the
+three-mile limit it will help a lot.”
+
+“Like nothin’ better,” said MacGregor. “Come on, Johnny, let’s get
+goin’.”
+
+MacGregor had spoken for both of them. Johnny was fond of the engineer.
+He was old, mellow and kind, was MacGregor. This, he had confided to
+Johnny, was to be his last year with the service. Another twelve months
+and he would be pensioned. “And, Johnny,” he had added, “I’m as eager as
+any boy to have a part in something big before I am compelled to go.”
+
+“I hope you can have,” had been Johnny’s heartfelt wish.
+
+So now, with the sun still low and the fog, it seemed, thicker than ever
+before, they slipped out of the snug little natural harbor into the great
+unknown that is any sea in time of fog.
+
+Standing at the wheel, Johnny watched the dark circle of water about
+them. Ever they moved forward, yet never did this circle grow larger. It
+was strange.
+
+There was life at this circle. Now a whole fleet of eider-ducks, resting
+on their way north, came drifting into view. With a startled quack-quack
+they stirred up a great splatter, then went skimming away.
+
+And now a seal with small round head and whiskers like a cat came to the
+surface to stare at them.
+
+“Not worth much, that fellow,” was MacGregor’s comment. “Not much more
+hair than a pig.
+
+“But look, Johnny!” his voice rose. “There’s a real fur seal. His hide’s
+worth a pretty penny. Wouldn’t have it long either, if those Orientals
+sighted him. We used to have a hot time with ’em over the seals. Had to
+pay ’em to get ’em to leave the seals alone. That was a shame. Have to do
+the same with the salmon, like as not. We—
+
+“Look, Johnny! What’s that?” His voice suddenly dropped to a whisper, as
+if he believed the fog had ears. “Right over to the left, Johnny. Ease
+’er over that way.”
+
+“Another seal,” said Johnny.
+
+“It’s no seal,” MacGregor whispered. “Johnny!” His whisper rose. “We got
+’em. It’s a net marker. Inside the three-mile limit. An’ it’s none of Red
+McGee’s net markers either.”
+
+“That—that’s right,” the boy breathed.
+
+“And there’s the floats, Johnny! There they are!”
+
+Sure enough, leading away into the fog was a wavering line of dots.
+
+“We’ll follow it,” was MacGregor’s instant decision. “See how much net
+there is, then—”
+
+“I’ll follow it,” Johnny agreed.
+
+“Set the boat to go five miles an hour. I’ll time you.” MacGregor pulled
+out his large, old-fashioned watch. “Now we’ll see.”
+
+For a full ten minutes, in silence, the two of them watched the
+apparently never-ending line of net floats appear and disappear into the
+fog.
+
+“Near two miles of it,” MacGregor growled. “And yet no end. No wonder
+some of our fine boys come in with empty boats. These Orientals, they
+just find a place outside where the salmon run an’ head ’em off. They—
+
+“Slow up, Johnny!” he warned. “There’s the end. Shut off the motor.”
+
+The motor ceased to purr. Silence hung over the fog. A seal bobbed up his
+head, then ducked. A large salmon, caught in the net close to the
+surface, set up a feeble splatter.
+
+“Ease about,” said MacGregor. “I’ll pick up that net with this pike pole.
+
+“Now,” he breathed, leaning far out over the rail, “now I got her. Now—”
+
+He had succeeded in getting his hands on the marker when catastrophe came
+thundering up at them from the deep. A tremendous explosion sent the
+water rocketing toward the sky. The prow of the _Stormy Petrel_ rose
+until it seemed she would go completely over.
+
+Frantically Johnny gripped the wheel to save himself from being plunged
+into the icy water. But where was MacGregor?
+
+For ten tense seconds the boat stood with prow in air. Then with a slow,
+sickening swash, she came down.
+
+“MacGregor!” Johnny cried. “What happened? Where are you?”
+
+“Here—here I am!” MacGregor’s voice rose from the sea.
+
+“Johnny!” his voice was hoarse with emotion. “Shove off that life boat.
+Get her off just any way. There’s a terrible hole in the _Stormy’s_ side.
+She’ll sink in another minute. For God’s sake, be quick!”
+
+Johnny was quick and strong. If ever his strength stood him in good stead
+it was now.
+
+The life boat hung over the afterdeck. The knots of ropes that held it in
+place were wet and stiff with fog.
+
+“No time,” he muttered. With his knife he slashed away the ropes. The
+boat fell on deck with a thud. It was a heavy steel boat. To his
+consternation, he saw that it had fallen squarely between the heavy
+rails. The prow must be lifted. Creeping under it, he put all the
+strength of his back against it. It rose.
+
+“Now!” he breathed. “Now! And now!”
+
+The boat was on the rail. He could fairly feel the _Stormy’s_ deck
+sinking beneath him. She was doomed, there was no doubt of that. Those
+heavy motors would take her down fast.
+
+Once again he heaved. The life boat was now a quarter over the rail, now
+a third, now half.
+
+Leaping from beneath it, he executed a double movement, a shove and a
+leap. He was in the life boat. The life boat plunged, all but sank,
+swayed from side to side, then righted herself.
+
+There was a low, sickening rush of water. Johnny looked. The _Stormy_ was
+gone. In her place were swirling water and in the swirl an odd collection
+of articles; a coat, a cap, a pike pole, and MacGregor’s checkerboard.
+
+“MacGregor!” Johnny called hoarsely. “MacGregor! Where are you?”
+
+“Here! Over here!” was the cheering response. “I had to get away. She
+would have sucked me down.”
+
+Seizing an oar, Johnny began sculling the boat. In a moment he was
+alongside his companion. A brief struggle and MacGregor, watersoaked and
+shivering, tumbled into the boat.
+
+“John—Johnny,” his teeth were chattering. “There—there shou-should be
+d-d-dry clothes in the stern.”
+
+Dragging a half barrel from the prow, Johnny pulled out shirts,
+underclothing, trousers, socks and shoes.
+
+“Seems you were looking for this,” he chuckled as he watched the plucky
+old man disrobe himself.
+
+“Johnny,” said MacGregor. “In the Coast Guard service you are always
+looking for it an’ all too often you’re not disappointed.”
+
+When, a few minutes later, after a brisk rub-down, MacGregor had
+struggled into dry clothes and had succeeded in lighting his pipe, he
+said, “Well, me boy, we thought we had ’em an’ now they’ve got us. We’re
+miles from anywhere in a fog. And that’s bad! Mighty bad.”
+
+“Do you suppose Blackie heard it?”
+
+“What? The explosion? ’Tain’t likely. We’re all of four miles from there.
+Don’t forget, we followed that net two miles. An’ that explosion was
+muffled by the water.
+
+“An’ if he heard,” he added after a brief pause, “what could he do? He’s
+four miles away. No compass. An’ no boat except maybe a fishing skiff.
+No, Johnny,” his voice sounded out solemn on the silent sea. “For once in
+our lives we are strictly on our own, you and me.
+
+“Well, me lad,” he murmured a moment later. “They got us that time.
+Attached some sort of bomb to their net, that’s what they did. Safe
+enough in a way, too, for how you goin’ to prove it was their net? Yes,
+they got us. But you wait, me lad, we’ll be gettin’ them yet.”
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER XVI
+                             LOOMING PERIL
+
+
+Many times in his young life Johnny had been on his own, but never quite
+like this.
+
+“Not a bit of good to row,” was MacGregor’s decision. “We’ve not the
+least notion which way to go. If there was a breeze we might row by that.
+There’s no breeze.”
+
+“No sun, moon or stars, either,” Johnny agreed.
+
+For a full half hour they sat there in silence. Off in the distance a
+seal barked. Closer at hand an eider-duck quacked to his mate. A sudden
+scream, close at hand, startled them for an instant. It was followed by a
+wild laugh. They joined in the merriment. It was only a loon.
+
+There came a wild whir of wings. A flock of wild ducks, flying low and
+going like the wind, shot past them.
+
+“That’s north,” Johnny exclaimed. “They’re going due north to their
+nesting place. That’s east,” he pointed. “All we have to do is to row
+that way. We’ll come to land.”
+
+“If you kept your course, which you couldn’t,” MacGregor chuckled.
+
+“It’s worth trying. Anyway, I’m cold,” Johnny began to row. “There may be
+other bird flights to set me right.”
+
+There were not, at least not for fifteen minutes. When at last a pair of
+loons with long necks stretched straight before, passed them, to his
+disgust, Johnny saw that the boat was headed due north.
+
+“Well,” he sighed, dropping his oars, “At least I—”
+
+“Listen!” MacGregor put up a hand.
+
+Johnny listened. “Say! That’s no seal.”
+
+“Nor a bird either. That’s a human sound.”
+
+“Like someone trying to start a motor.”
+
+“Just that.”
+
+For a time the sound ceased. Then it began again.
+
+“Over to the left.” Once again Johnny took up the oars. This time he
+rowed slowly, silently. No telling whose motor had stalled. Fisherman,
+trapper, or Oriental? Who could tell?
+
+Four times the sound ceased. Four times Johnny’s oars rested on the
+surface of the water.
+
+When, at last, a small, dark spot appeared on the surface of the sea,
+Johnny fairly ceased to breathe.
+
+“Heck!” said a voice in that fog.
+
+“Doesn’t sound like an Oriental,” Johnny whispered.
+
+“Fisherman nor trapper either,” replied MacGregor.
+
+Leaning even more gently on his oars, Johnny sent his boat gliding
+forward. Then, of a sudden, he dropped his oars to stare.
+
+“It’s that girl, Rusty,” he whispered hoarsely.
+
+“The same,” MacGregor agreed.
+
+There could be no doubt about it. The girl was bending over to give her
+flywheel one more turn. Over her boy’s shirt, high boots and knickers she
+had drawn a suit of greasy coveralls. On her face, besides a look of grim
+determination, there was a long, black smudge.
+
+“Heck!” she exclaimed once more.
+
+“Havin’ motor trouble?” MacGregor spoke aloud.
+
+The girl started so suddenly that she all but lost her balance. Then,
+after a brief spell of unbelieving silence, she said, “It’s you, Mr.
+MacGregor! How glad I am to see you! I’ve been lost for hours. I—I went
+out to hunt the Shadow, that shadow you know. My motor’s stalled. But
+now—”
+
+“Now we’re all lost together,” MacGregor chuckled.
+
+To Johnny, the girl gave never a second look.
+
+“Do—do you suppose you could start it?” she said to MacGregor, nodding at
+her motor.
+
+“No harm to try. At least we’ll come aboard for a cup o’ tea,” MacGregor
+chuckled.
+
+Johnny rowed the lifeboat alongside the girl’s boat, the _Krazy Kat_, and
+they climbed aboard.
+
+“She’s not gittin’ gas,” said MacGregor, after he had turned the motor
+over twice.
+
+“I know,” the girl’s brow wrinkled.
+
+Without saying a word, Johnny scrambled back to the box covering the gas
+tank. After lifting the box off, he struck the tank a sharp rap. The tank
+gave off a hollow sound.
+
+“You might try putting some gas in your tank,” he said with a sly grin.
+
+“Oh, but there must be gas!” the girl exclaimed. “There must be.”
+
+“Perhaps,” said Johnny. “But it’s empty. May be a leak.” Drawing a small
+flashlight from his pocket, he bent over and examined the offending tank.
+
+“Yep,” he said, “there is a leak, a small hole, but big enough. Your gas
+is in the bottom of the boat, along with the bilge water. Any reserve
+supply?”
+
+“Not a bit.”
+
+“Well, then, here we are.” Johnny took a seat. “Now we have two boats and
+there are three of us. The motor-boat won’t go, but—”
+
+Suddenly he sprang to his feet. “You’d have a compass, wouldn’t you?”
+
+“Ye-es,” the girl replied with evident reluctance, “but it—it’s out of
+order. That’s why I got lost.”
+
+“Well, anyway,” Johnny said with forced cheerfulness, “now there are
+three of us. Two’s company and three’s a crowd. I always have liked
+crowds. Besides,” the corners of his mouth turned up, “you’ve got
+something of a cabin.”
+
+“Oh, yes.” The girl seemed, for the moment, to forget that she was
+speaking to one who had knocked her beloved daddy out. “Yes, there is a
+cabin. There’s a small stove and—and some wood. There’s tea and some
+pilot biscuits.”
+
+“A stove, wood, tea and pilot biscuits?” Suddenly MacGregor seized her
+and waltzed her about in a narrow circle. “Rusty, me child, you are an
+angel.”
+
+A half hour later found them comfortably crowded into Rusty’s small
+cabin. They were sipping tea and munching hard round crackers.
+
+“The fog’ll lift after a while,” MacGregor rumbled dreamily. “We lost our
+boat. That’s bad. But there’s marine insurance. That’s good. We’ll have
+another boat. I wonder,” he paused to meditate, “wonder what Blackie and
+the others are thinking by now.”
+
+“And doing,” Johnny suggested uneasily.
+
+“Yes, and doin’,” MacGregor agreed.
+
+A half hour later, growing restless, Johnny crept from his corner, opened
+the cabin door and disappeared up the narrow hatch.
+
+Ten seconds later he poked his head into the door to exclaim in a low,
+tense voice, “MacGregor, come up here quick.”
+
+MacGregor came. The girl came too. For a full half minute the three of
+them stood there speechless. They were looking up and away. Their eyes
+were wide and staring.
+
+“MacGregor,” Johnny asked, “what is it?”
+
+“A ship,” MacGregor whispered. “A thunderin’ big ship. She’s not two
+hundred leagues away. She’s not movin’, just driftin’. That’s how she
+came close to us.”
+
+“Wha-what ship is she?”
+
+“Who knows, son? But I’d lay a bet I could guess the country she came
+from.”
+
+“So—so could I.” Johnny’s throat was dry.
+
+“We—we,” Rusty pulled her old sou’wester down hard on her head, “we’d
+better get into the life boat and row away. It—it doesn’t matter about
+the _Krazy Kat_. It really doesn’t.” She swallowed hard.
+
+“We can try it,” MacGregor agreed. “But I’m afraid it’s too late.
+
+“Well,” he added with a low, rumbling laugh. “We were lookin’ for ’em.
+Now we found ’em, we don’t want ’em. Come on, an’ mind you, never a
+sound!”
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER XVII
+                                TRAPPED
+
+
+“It’s no use. We’re in for it.” Five minutes later MacGregor dropped his
+oars. From some spot close to that dark bulk against the sky had come the
+throb of a motor.
+
+“Rusty, me child,” the old man’s voice was very gentle. “Be sure those
+golden locks of yours are well tucked in. Whatever you do, don’t remove
+that sou’wester. For the present you are a boy. You must not forget.”
+
+“I—I won’t forget.” Rusty’s fingers were busy with her hair.
+
+“I only hope,” the old man added soberly, “that my guess is wrong.”
+
+Scarcely were the words out of his mouth when a smart little motor boat,
+bright with red and white paint, hove into view. And on the deck,
+scarcely less smart in brass buttons and braid, stood a small man with
+slanting eyes.
+
+Those eyes appeared a trifle startled at sight of MacGregor. “A thousand
+pardons.” The little man’s voice was smooth as oil. “What is that which
+you wish?”
+
+“Only a few gallons of gasoline,” said MacGregor.
+
+The lightning change on the little man’s face was startling. It was as if
+a dagger had suddenly flashed from his belt, yet his tone was smooth as
+before.
+
+“Ah! You are out of gas? Very unfortunate. Your line, please. We shall
+escort you to our ship.”
+
+“But we don’t want to go to your ship,” MacGregor protested. “All we want
+is gas.”
+
+“Ah, yes, a thousand apologies. But here there is no gasoline, only at
+the ship. Your line, please.”
+
+“Say, you—” Johnny’s angry voice was stopped by a heavy pressure on his
+arm.
+
+“Give him our line, son,” said MacGregor.
+
+Grudgingly Johnny obeyed. A moment later, with the two boats in tow, the
+bright, little craft went rolling back toward that broad, black bulk.
+
+“It’s no use to quarrel with ’em,” MacGregor said in a sober whisper.
+“We’ve fallen into their hands. I think that chap recognized me. I’ve
+been along the Pacific waterfronts for many years. So have these
+Orientals.”
+
+“But—but what will happen?” Rusty asked.
+
+“Who knows?” was MacGregor’s sober reply. “Let us hope for the best.
+They’ll not let us go now. When they’re well beyond the three-mile limit
+they may give us gas and let us go.
+
+“In the meantime, Rusty,” he warned, “don’t forget you’re a boy. It’s a
+good thing you’ve got on knickers instead of a dress.”
+
+They were brought alongside. A ladder was let down. They climbed aboard.
+There they were ushered before one more small man who wore even more
+brass and braid. Johnny thought with a touch of humor that he would make
+a very fine monkey if only he had a cap, a tin cup and a string.
+
+When MacGregor requested that they be given gasoline and allowed to
+leave, there were excuses, very profuse and polite, but quite formal.
+There were reasons, very unfortunate reasons; too much fog, a storm
+coming up, too few men to spare even one or two, to find the way alone
+quite impossible. Oh, quite!
+
+The man, who beyond doubt was the captain, talked on and on.
+
+It all ended by the _Krazy Kat’s_ being hoisted on board, by the little
+party drinking very black and very hot tea with the much adorned captain,
+and at last by their being escorted, for all the world as if they were
+embarking on a long voyage, to a pair of staterooms on the second deck.
+
+For a time after the stateroom doors had been closed the surprised trio
+stood staring first at one another and then at their surroundings.
+
+The two staterooms were joined by a door. There were two berths in each
+stateroom. There were round portholes, no other windows.
+
+“That will be your stateroom, Rusty,” MacGregor opened the door to the
+one beyond. “Keep your outside door locked.
+
+“One thing more,” hesitatingly he produced a pair of scissors, “I always
+carry them,” he explained. “A man doesn’t live everywhere as I have done,
+not in Alaska, without learning to cut hair. I’m a fair hand at it.
+Rusty, me child, those rusty red locks of yours have got to come off.”
+
+Without a word the girl dropped to a stool beside the berth.
+
+“Johnny,” said MacGregor, “I suggest that you step outside and stand
+guard. Don’t leave the door, not more than three steps. If anyone comes
+near, make some noise on the door.”
+
+“Right,” said Johnny.
+
+“Rusty,” said MacGregor, “do you ever box?”
+
+“Oh yes, often.” The girl’s face flushed. “Often. Daddy and I box by the
+hour.” She gave Johnny a strange, fleeting look.
+
+“Good!” MacGregor exclaimed low. “Tonight we’ll have an exhibition match,
+just you and Johnny. Two boys showing these Orientals how to play.
+
+“And now,” he nodded his head toward the door.
+
+Johnny opened it ever so softly, peered through the crack, and was gone.
+
+At the same moment the old man lifted the shabby sou’wester from the mass
+of lovely hair, blew on his scissors, heaved a heavy sigh, then slashed
+with apparent ruthlessness at a great handful of perfectly natural,
+copper-colored curls.
+
+A half hour later the door opened a crack.
+
+Taking the cue, Johnny stepped inside. He stopped short when he looked at
+Rusty.
+
+It was with the greatest difficulty that he suppressed a smile at what he
+saw. The sou’wester was no longer needed. Good old MacGregor had done his
+work well. Rusty’s hair looked like a real boy’s.
+
+“What a grand boy!” Johnny thought. And after that, “What a perfect brick
+of a girl she is!”
+
+“Mac,” he said a moment later, “there are twenty thousand fine big red
+salmon up forward. I stepped around a hatchway far enough to see.”
+
+“Twenty thousand,” the old man murmured. “Our boys get fourteen cents
+apiece just for catchin’ ’em. Twenty-eight hundred dollars. A grand
+livin’ for two happy families. And that’s the first haul. There’ll be
+many another unless someone stops ’em.
+
+“And we won’t stop ’em,” he added with a touch of sadness. “Not just yet.
+But you wait!” he sprang to his feet. “We’ll get a break yet.”
+
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER XVIII
+                        FIVE ROUNDS AND A FRIEND
+
+
+It may seem a little strange that MacGregor and his young companions
+accepted the whole situation so calmly. Yet the old man had lived long
+and in many places. He was wise in the ways of the world. He realized
+that they had already seen too much to be released at once. How long
+would they be detained? To this question he could form no answer. Perhaps
+until the end of the legal fishing season, twenty or more days away.
+Perhaps longer. They might even be taken to the Orient. After that some
+fantastic story might be told of their being picked up adrift on the high
+seas.
+
+Johnny was thinking along these same lines. But he, unlike MacGregor, was
+already laying plans for escape. For the present, however, he was willing
+to bide his time.
+
+Dinner was brought to them by a smiling little brown man. It was not a
+bad meal, as meals go on the sea—boiled rice, baked salmon and tea.
+
+When it was over, MacGregor slipped out into the gathering night. While
+he was gone not a word was spoken. Johnny was busy with his own thoughts.
+So, he supposed, was the girl who now looked so very much like a boy.
+
+He was thinking, “I wonder if there were shadows passing us in the fog.
+Or did we imagine them?” Certainly he had seen nothing resembling a
+shadow here. And this girl. Would she forgive him? Well enough he knew
+that in trying times such as these people were either drawn closer
+together or driven farther apart. He could only wait and see.
+
+“There’s hope in the airplane that young Dan MacMillan is bringing up,”
+he thought with fresh courage. “If only he’d arrive and fly over this
+ship we’d manage somehow to signal him and then the whole navy would be
+on this old freighter’s heels.”
+
+He was thinking now of something told to him in secret by Red McGee. He
+had been speaking of the cannery. It had been built by old Chad
+MacMillan. A crusty, honest, fair-dealing man, he had managed it for many
+years.
+
+“Then he died,” Red had gone on, “and young Dan MacMillan, just out of
+university and full of big ideas, inherited it. This winter I suggested
+that he hire a seaplane to go out scouting for these Oriental robbers.
+
+“‘It’s a fine idea,’ he said to me. ‘A grand idea. I’ll buy a seaplane
+and learn to pilot it. You’ll be seeing me up there scouting around as
+soon as the salmon season opens.’
+
+“That’s what he said to me,” Red McGee had drawn in a deep breath. “These
+wild young millionaires! What can you expect? He’s not here now and like
+as not won’t show up at all.”
+
+“What can you expect?” Johnny was thinking over his words now. “If only
+Dan MacMillan showed up over this old craft all these little brown men
+would be scared out of their skins.”
+
+But would he come? He dared not so much as hope.
+
+He wondered about Lawrence and Blackie. He suffered a pang because of
+Lawrence. What a shame that he had dragged the boy up here! He would be
+far better off in Matanuska valley planting turnips and potatoes, hunting
+wild geese, and, perhaps, catching a glacier bear way back in the
+mountains.
+
+But here was MacGregor. And he carried in his hands, of all things, two
+pairs of boxing gloves. Johnny had wondered where they were to come from,
+but now here they were.
+
+“These little brown boys go in strong for boxing,” the old man explained.
+
+“I told them,” continued MacGregor, “that you were one of America’s most
+promising young boxers, but a little out of training.”
+
+“Quite a little,” Johnny agreed.
+
+“I said you and your boy pal would put on an exhibition match on deck
+tonight.”
+
+Rusty shot him a look, but said never a word.
+
+“I hope you understand,” the old man said soberly, “that I am asking you
+to do this for your own good.” He was talking to Rusty.
+
+She bowed gravely. Then, of a sudden, her face brightened. “I hope they
+take us lightly,” she said. “That may give us a chance to escape.”
+
+“That’s what it will,” MacGregor agreed. “And this boxin’ stunt is just
+the thing to put them off their guard.”
+
+A half hour later, beneath a brilliant electric light, with a circle of
+dark faces about them, Johnny and Rusty shook hands for the first time in
+their lives, then drew on the gloves.
+
+Johnny had boxed strange people in many an out-of-the-way place. Never
+before had he boxed with a girl. He was not sure he was going to like it
+now. But with MacGregor as manager of the strange affair, there was no
+turning back.
+
+It _was_ strange, there was no getting around that. A swaying light, a
+host of sober, brown faces, the gray fog hanging over all, made it seem
+fantastic indeed.
+
+There were to be five short rounds with MacGregor keeping time.
+
+At the very beginning, Johnny discovered that his opponent was fast and
+skillful. Having no sons, Red McGee had taken it upon himself to train
+his daughter in the manly art of boxing. Life on the bleak Alaskan shore
+was often dull. The girl had welcomed each new lesson. And now Johnny was
+discovering that her punches that from time to time reached his cheek or
+chin, were far from love pats. They really stung, nor, try as he would,
+could he entirely escape them.
+
+“She’s taking it out on me because of her father,” he thought grimly.
+“Well, I can take it.”
+
+What did the audience think of this affair? Who could tell? They watched
+in silence. Once when Rusty was tossed into their midst they helped her
+to her feet and pushed her into place. Their movements were so gentle,
+the flitting smiles about their lips so friendly, that, for the moment,
+the girl forgot her role and said, “Thank you.”
+
+The rounds passed speedily. When the fourth and last was up, Johnny said
+in a whisper, “Come on, Rusty, let’s make this one snappy. Give them a
+real show.”
+
+Snappy it was. From the moment MacGregor gave them the signal they
+whipped into it with a wild swinging of gloves. Rusty’s footwork was
+perfect. Johnny found himself admiring the manner in which, hornet-like,
+she leaped at him for a sharp, stinging blow, then faded away.
+
+Perhaps he was admiring her too much. However that might be, in the last
+thirty seconds of the bout he stepped into something. Trying for a bit of
+reprisal in the way of a tap on her chin, he left an opening far too
+wide. Rusty’s eyes opened wide, her stout right arm shot out and up. It
+took Johnny squarely under the chin and, “believe it or not,” he went
+down and out like a match.
+
+He was not out long, perhaps eight seconds. When at last his stubborn
+eyelids opened he found himself looking at a circle of grinning brown men
+and at Rusty who stood staring at him, but not smiling at all.
+
+“Well,” he laughed, “that must square the McGee’s with Johnny Thompson.”
+
+“John—Johnny, please!” she cried. “I didn’t mean to. I truly didn’t.”
+
+“All right.” Johnny sprang to his feet. “Shake on it. Let’s always be
+friends.”
+
+The girl made no response. There was no need. She did clasp his hand in a
+grip that was friendly and strong.
+
+A half hour later they were having one more cup of tea in their
+staterooms and Johnny was thinking, “Life surely is strange. I wonder how
+this affair will end.”
+
+Before he fell asleep he went over it all again. Blackie and Lawrence,
+the silent, moving shadow, the hard-working men on shore, the airplane
+that might come. When he was too far gone in sleep to think clearly he
+fancied that he felt the ship’s propeller vibrating, that the ship was on
+the move. He was not sure. After all, what did it matter? There was
+nothing he could do about it. And so, he fell fast asleep.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER XIX
+                             ORDERED BELOW
+
+
+Back in the trapper’s cabin Blackie was in a rage. He stormed at the
+Orientals, at MacGregor, then at himself. From time to time he rushed out
+on the small dock in a vain attempt to pierce the thick fog and to listen
+with all his ears.
+
+“The robbers have got them,” he muttered. “I should have known. That
+shadow! It’s done for them and for the _Stormy Petrel_.”
+
+As night came on he settled down to sober thinking. “There’s a fishing
+skiff out there by the dock,” he said to Lawrence. “We’ll have to put it
+in the water and make a try for the mainland. This cabin is on an island.
+Mainland must be thirty miles away. We’ll make it. We’ll find some sort
+of power boat. And then, by thunder! Things will get to popping!”
+
+Lawrence, too, was disturbed in his own quiet way. He knew a great deal
+about Johnny. Many a time Johnny had been in a tight spot. Always,
+somehow, he had come out safely. MacGregor was old and wise. And, after
+all, this was not a time of war. Why need one worry too much?
+
+There were a number of tattered books on the shelf in the corner.
+Evidently this trapper was something of a naturalist, for five of these
+were about animals and birds. In browsing through these, the boy made a
+real find, a picture of a glacier bear, a brief description, and the
+history of the animal as far as known.
+
+It was with the feelings of a real discoverer that he read those words
+over and over. When he had finished he said to himself, “If ever I see
+one of those bears I’ll know him.”
+
+But would he? At the present moment those bears seemed as far away as the
+moon. And yet, who could tell?
+
+At dawn next morning the three of them, George, the cook, Blackie and
+Lawrence, carried their few supplies down to the dock, tacked a note on
+the door, climbed into the broad, clumsy skiff and rowed into the fog.
+
+“We’ll follow the shore as far as we can,” said Blackie. “We’ll have to
+cross a broad stretch of open water, but I think I can manage that with
+my pocket compass.”
+
+When at last Lawrence saw even the small island disappear from sight, he
+regretted the circumstances that appeared to make it necessary to leave
+that comfortable retreat.
+
+
+When Johnny and his friends came on board that same morning, they found
+the fog still with them, but it was thinner. There was a suggestion of a
+breeze in the air.
+
+“Going to clear,” was MacGregor’s prophecy. This, they were soon to
+discover, did not concern them too much, at least not in the immediate
+future.
+
+When they had eaten a strange mixture of rice and meat and had gulped
+down some very bitter coffee, a little man with neither gold nor braid on
+his uniform came up to them, saluted in a careless manner and said
+simply, “Come.”
+
+They followed him from one deck to another until they found themselves in
+a vast place of steam and evil smells.
+
+When their eyes had become accustomed to the light and steam, they saw
+long rows of men toiling and sweating over apparently endless tables.
+Before the tables, on a conveyor, thousands of large salmon moved slowly
+forward.
+
+“No iron coolie here,” Johnny chuckled. “Everything is done by hand.
+Heads off, tails, fins, all with big knives.”
+
+“Please,” said the little man. He was holding out a long, thin, oilskin
+coat. Understanding his wish, Johnny put it on. Still wondering, he
+watched MacGregor and the girl follow his example.
+
+“Please,” said the little man again. “A thousand apologies.” He was
+holding out three long, sharp knives, at the same time pointing with his
+other hand at a break in the solid line of salmon workers.
+
+“Why, the dirty little shrimp!” Johnny exploded. “He wants us to go to
+work.”
+
+“Steady, son,” MacGregor warned. “They understand English. I fancy there
+are worse places than this on the ship. We have no choice but to obey.”
+
+Johnny muttered, but dropped into place to slash off a large salmon’s
+head.
+
+He had worked in a rebellious humor for a quarter of an hour when, on
+looking up, he discovered that Rusty was performing the most disagreeable
+task in the salmon line. She was cleaning the fish. Shoving past
+MacGregor, he turned her half about as he muttered low, “You take my
+place.”
+
+To his great astonishment, he felt the girl whirl back to her place, give
+him a hard push, then saw her resume her work.
+
+For a space of seconds he stood there stunned. Then he laughed low. The
+girl was wise, much wiser than he had known. She was supposed to be a
+boy. Boys were not gallant to one another. She would play the part to the
+bitter end. Johnny returned to his task.
+
+“Mac,” he was able to whisper at last, “why would they do this to us?”
+
+“You answer,” was the old man’s reply. “Sh-sh—” he warned. “Here comes a
+big shot, one of the monkeys with gold buttons.”
+
+As he passed the “big shot” smiled suavely at them, but said never a
+word.
+
+
+
+
+                               CHAPTER XX
+                          A BATTLE IN THE DARK
+
+
+Even at lunch time the toiling trio, Rusty, Johnny and MacGregor, were
+not invited to have their lunch on deck. Instead, they were served, like
+the coolie with whom they toiled, with great bowls of some mixture that
+looked like soup.
+
+“Hm,” MacGregor sighed, “fish chowder. And not bad.”
+
+Rusty’s eyes shone. “What a lark!” She laughed outright. “I only wish we
+had a camera. My crowd down in Seattle won’t believe me.”
+
+Johnny looked at her in surprise and admiration. “Here’s one girl with a
+spirit that can’t be broken,” he thought.
+
+“Reminds me of a time I was on the Big Diomede Island on Bering Straits,”
+said MacGregor with a rumble of merriment. “We were cutting up a big
+walrus. I saw an old woman working over the stomach of that walrus. Know
+what the walrus lives on?” he demanded.
+
+“Clams,” said Johnny.
+
+“Right. Bright boy,” said MacGregor. “The thing that had happened was
+this. The walrus had been down to the bottom. He’d ripped up the sand at
+the bottom of the sea. He’d cracked a lot of clams and had swallowed ’em.
+He hadn’t digested ’em yet when we shot ’im. Know what that Eskimo woman
+was doing?”
+
+“Can’t guess.”
+
+“She had a white pan and was savin’ the clams from the walrus’ stomach.
+And that night,” there came a low rumble from deep down in MacGregor’s
+throat, “that night we had seal steak and clam chowder for supper. An’ I
+took seal steak.”
+
+“O-oh,” Johnny breathed.
+
+“Mr. MacGregor,” Rusty said with a gurgle, “you wouldn’t spoil anyone’s
+dinner, would you?”
+
+“Not for the world,” was the old man’s solemn avowal.
+
+“Listen,” MacGregor held up a hand. “I hear an electric generator going.
+It’s on this deck. I wonder why? I’m going for a little walk.”
+
+“They’ll chase you back.”
+
+“That’s all they can do.” He was away.
+
+“The ship’s beginning to sway a little,” Johnny said. “Shouldn’t wonder
+if we’d get a storm.” The girl could not suppress an involuntary shudder.
+
+“Johnny,” she leaned close to speak almost in a whisper. “When we used
+coolie labor I learned to talk with them a little. I’ve been talking to
+the coolie who cuts off fish’s heads next to me. He says they expect to
+have a boatload of fish in a week or ten days. Then they’ll go back to
+the Orient.”
+
+“And if we go with them?” Johnny breathed.
+
+“I’ve seen pictures of the Orient.” The girl’s eyes were closed. “It’s
+gorgeous. It truly must be.”
+
+“Do you think we’d get to see anything?”
+
+“Why not?” the girl laughed low. “It’s all there to see. At least they
+can’t keep us from dreaming.”
+
+“No, they surely cannot.” At that Johnny did some very choice dreaming,
+all his own.
+
+He was wakened from these dreams by the return of MacGregor. “It’s the
+strangest thing!” he exclaimed. “I got a look into that place. There’s a
+huge generator an’ it’s chargin’ batteries.”
+
+“Batteries!” Johnny exclaimed in surprise.
+
+“Sure! Banks and banks of large batteries.”
+
+“When submarines go under water,” Johnny spoke slowly, “they use
+batteries for power. What do you think?”
+
+“I don’t think,” said MacGregor. “Anyway, here’s our little boss. He
+wants us to resume our duties as first-class cleaners of sock-eyed
+salmon.”
+
+As the day wore on Johnny watched Rusty ever more closely. The heavy,
+unpleasant work, together with the ever-increasing roll of the ship, was
+telling. He was not surprised that, after the day was over and they were
+allowed to go to the upper deck, she took his arm to lean on it heavily.
+
+“Johnny, I won’t give up. Please help me not to give up.”
+
+Johnny looked down at her with a reassuring smile.
+
+As they stepped on deck they found themselves looking at a new world.
+Gone was the fog. In its place was racing blue waters, flecked with foam.
+
+“A storm!” the girl shuddered.
+
+“Just too dark to see land,” Johnny groaned. “If it wasn’t, we might get
+our location and then—”
+
+“Then what?” she whispered.
+
+“I have some plans. We—”
+
+“Sh—an officer!” she warned.
+
+At the evening meal Rusty ate hard, dry crackers and drank scalding tea.
+She was still putting up a brave struggle against being sea-sick.
+
+When darkness came they went below. Rusty retired at once. Johnny threw
+himself, all dressed, upon his berth, but did not sleep.
+
+An hour later a shadowy figure passed him. It was Rusty. She was carrying
+blankets. Without a sound, he followed her. Arrived on deck, he saw her
+at the rail. Understanding, he dropped down upon a wooden bench.
+
+After what seemed a long time, she turned and saw him. Swaying as she
+walked, she came toward him to drop down at his side. She did not say, “I
+am so sick!” She was too game for that and there was no need. He wrapped
+her in the blankets. Then they sat there in silence.
+
+The wind was rising steadily. It went whistling through the rigging.
+Ropes banged and yard-arms swayed. A shadow shot past them, a watch on
+duty. Lights shone on the blue-black sea. It was a truly wild night.
+
+Of a sudden a form stood before them. Clutching a steel cable, it clung
+there.
+
+“Thousand pardons,” it hissed. “Cannot stay here. It is forbidden.”
+
+“My friend is sick. We stay.” Johnny felt his anger rising.
+
+“Thousand pardons,” came once more. “Cannot stay.”
+
+“Million pardons,” Johnny half rose. “We stay.”
+
+A hand reached out. It touched Rusty’s shoulder. That was enough. Johnny
+leaped at the man. They went down in a heap. A second more and Johnny
+felt a steel clamp about his neck, or so it seemed.
+
+“Jujitsu,” he thought in sudden consternation. Throwing all his strength
+into an effort to break the man’s grip, he failed. Coughing, trying to
+breathe, failing, strangling, he felt his strength going when, of a
+sudden, he caught the sound of a blow, then felt the hated arm relax. Ten
+seconds more and he was free.
+
+“You—you hit him,” he managed to breathe. “Is he dead?”
+
+“No—no. Watch out!” the girl warned.
+
+Just in time Johnny caught the man. This time, gripping him by collar and
+trousers, he dragged him from the floor. And then, screaming like some
+wild thing, the brown man found himself hanging out over an angry sea.
+
+“Johnny, don’t!” The girl’s hand was on his arm.
+
+“Oh, all—all right.”
+
+Swinging the brown man in, he dropped him on the deck. Like a scared
+rabbit, the intruder went racing off on all fours.
+
+“Now I’ve done it,” Johnny groaned as he dropped back in his place.
+
+“Perhaps,” said Rusty. “Still, you can’t tell.”
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER XXI
+                             WALL OF GLASS
+
+
+Rusty was not the only one disturbed by this storm. At the very moment
+when Johnny was at grips with the Oriental on the ship’s deck, Lawrence,
+Blackie and George were battling for their very lives.
+
+What had happened? The distance from the trapper’s cabin to shore was,
+they had discovered, far greater than they had supposed. When at last the
+fog cleared they found themselves far from any shore on a black and
+threatening sea.
+
+“Might as well keep headed for the mainland,” was Blackie’s decision.
+
+Head for the mainland they did. After that, for hours, with the storm
+ever increasing in intensity, they rowed as never before.
+
+The clumsy oars were rough and hard to manage. Lawrence’s hands were soon
+blistered. Tearing strips from his shirt, he bound them up and rowed on.
+
+Fortune favored them in one thing. They were going with the wind. Had
+they been forced to face into the storm, their boat would have been
+swamped at once. As it was, just as darkness began to fall the skiff
+began to fill.
+
+“Lawrence, you start bailing,” Blackie commanded. “George and I will
+row.”
+
+“Ya-as, sir, we’ll row. Don’t nebber doubt dat,” George agreed. Then he
+began to sing,
+
+  “Roll, Jordan, roll.
+  Oh! Oh! Oh! I want to go dere
+  To hear old Jordan roll.”
+
+Lawrence thought with a shudder that he might be there to hear Jordan
+roll before day dawned.
+
+By constant bailing he was able to keep the skiff from swamping. So,
+chilled to the bone, hoping against hope, he labored on.
+
+When at last they found themselves near to some shore, his heart failed
+him.
+
+“Towering rocks,” he groaned.
+
+“There’s a break in those rocks,” said Blackie. “I saw it before dark.
+We’ll follow along and here’s hoping.” Once more he put his stout
+shoulders to the oars.
+
+A half hour passed, an hour, two hours. Numb with cold and ready to drop
+from exhaustion, Lawrence wondered if Blackie could have been wrong. Was
+there a break in that wall? And then—he saw it.
+
+“There!” he exclaimed. “There it is. Straight ahead!”
+
+He dared not add that it seemed a strange break. Not very deep, it
+appeared to give off an odd sort of glimmer at its back.
+
+Just as they were ready to enter the gap, a great cloud went over the
+moon and all was black.
+
+Steering more from instinct than sight, they rowed on. To Lawrence, at
+that moment, the suspense was all but overpowering. Where were they
+going? Could they find a landing? What was the end to be?
+
+One thing was encouraging, the waves in this place were not so wild. They
+no longer dashed into the boat. So with darkness hanging over them they
+rowed, for what seemed an endless time, but could have been only a few
+moments, straight on into the unknown.
+
+And then. “Man! Oh, man! What was that?” The boat had crashed into an
+invisible wall.
+
+Lawrence put out a hand. “Glass!” he exclaimed. “A wall of glass.”
+
+“Not glass, son,” Blackie’s voice was low. “A wall of ice. The end of a
+glacier. This is a spot where icebergs break off. If one of them had been
+jarred loose by the bang of our boat—and if they had been sent tumbling
+by the sound of a voice—man! Oh, man! We would be lost for good and all.”
+
+“Blackie, look!” Lawrence spoke in a hoarse whisper. “A light.”
+
+“It’s a star,” said Blackie.
+
+“A light,” Lawrence insisted.
+
+“Yas, man! A light,” George agreed.
+
+Just then the moon came out, revealing a sloping mountain side. And,
+close to a shelving beach was a cabin. The light shone from that cabin.
+
+“Oh! Oh! Lord be praised!” George whispered fervently.
+
+Ten minutes later, as they drew their boat up on the beach, the cabin
+door was thrown open and a man, holding a candle close to his face,
+peered into the darkness to call, “You all come right on up, whoever you
+all are.”
+
+“That,” said Lawrence in a surprised whisper, “is Smokey Joe.”
+
+“Smokey Joe, you old bear-cat!” Blackie shouted.
+
+The grizzled prospector let out a dry cackle. “Come on up an’ rest
+yerself,” he welcomed. “I got a Mulligan on a-cookin’.”
+
+At first Lawrence found it hard to believe that this was really Smokey
+Joe. “How,” he asked himself, “could he come all this way?” As he studied
+a faded map on the deserted cabin’s wall, however, he realized that the
+distance overland was short compared to the way they had traveled by
+water.
+
+Joe’s Mulligan stew proved a rich repast. He had killed a young caribou
+two days before. There had been bacon and hardtack in his kit. Besides
+these, he had found dried beans and seasoning in the cabin.
+
+“Yep,” he agreed, as Blackie complimented him after the meal was over,
+“hit’s plum grand livin’ when you sort of git the breaks.
+
+“An’ listen,” his voice dropped. “Hit’s plumb quare how things git to a
+comin’ yer way. Yesterday I found gold. Struck hit rich, you might say.”
+From a moose-hide sack he tumbled a handful of nuggets.
+
+“Gold!” Blackie exclaimed.
+
+“Yup. Hit’s might nigh pure gold,” the old man agreed. “Nuther thing
+that’s plumb quare. Hit’s nigh onto that little blue bear’s den.”
+
+“What?” Lawrence started up. “A blue bear! A—a glacier bear?”
+
+“Reckon you might call ’em that,” the old man agreed.
+
+“He’s been a-stayin’ in a sort of cave up thar fer a right smart spell.”
+
+“How—how far is it?” Lawrence asked almost in a whisper.
+
+“Hit—I reckon hit’s—” the old man studied for a moment. “Why, hit’s right
+about three peaks, a look an’ a right smart.”
+
+“What does that mean?” Blackie asked in a surprised tone.
+
+“Wall, you jest climb one of them thar least mounting peaks,” the old man
+explained. “Then another, an’ another.”
+
+“Three peaks,” said Blackie.
+
+“Fer startin’,” said Smokey Joe. “Arter that you take a look an’ hit’s a
+right smart furder than you can see.”
+
+“Perhaps about ten miles,” suggested Blackie after they had had a good
+laugh, which Smokey Joe took good-naturedly.
+
+“Near on to that,” the old man agreed.
+
+Long after the old man had rolled himself in his blankets and fallen
+asleep Lawrence and Blackie sat beside the cracked stove talking.
+
+“Blackie,” Lawrence said in a husky voice, “that little blue bear is
+worth a lot of money. The Professor told us he’d trade us a tractor for
+one. They’re rare, about the rarest animals on earth. There’s not one in
+captivity anywhere.”
+
+“That won’t help much,” Blackie grumbled. “If this wind goes down, we’ve
+got to get out of here at dawn. Something’s happened to Johnny and
+MacGregor. We’ve got to look for them.”
+
+“Yes,” Lawrence agreed. “But if the wind doesn’t go down?”
+
+“We’ll have to stay here,” said Blackie. “And,” with a low chuckle, “we
+might go ‘three peaks, a look and a right smart’ looking for your
+blue-eyed bear.”
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER XXII
+                                 DREAMS
+
+
+“Johnny,” Rusty’s voice was low, husky with strangely mingled emotions,
+“when we are back at the cottage, I’ll make a big pan of ice-box cookies.
+We’ll take them with a big bottle of hot cocoa. We’ll go out on a sunny
+rock and have a feast.” They were still on the deck of the rolling ship
+and it was still night.
+
+Rusty’s voice rose. “And such sunshine! Nowhere in the world is it so
+glorious.”
+
+“All right,” Johnny agreed. “Ice-box cookies, hot chocolate and sunshine.
+That will be keen.”
+
+“Dreams,” he was thinking. “How often when things are hard, very hard, we
+dream.” As he closed his eyes now he could see dead salmon in endless
+rows. He could hear the monotonous drone of brown men and the endless
+wash-wash of the sea. “How grand at times to dream of other things far
+away!” he said. “And what a joy to know of other places where we have
+been gloriously happy.”
+
+“Yes,” she agreed, “that is wonderful. And Johnny,” she went on, “we have
+a home in Seattle, father and I. It is small, but, oh, so beautiful!
+Climbing roses and pine trees. There’s a lake before it. There is a
+dancing pavilion not far away where the boys and girls I know best come.
+There they swing and sway to bewitching waltz time. _Over the Waves_,
+_Blue Danube_ and all the rest. Johnny, will you come sometime and join
+us there?” Her voice seemed dreamy and far away.
+
+“Yes,” said Johnny. “Some day I’ll come.”
+
+“But first,” he thought savagely, “I’ll see this infernal boat at the
+bottom of the sea.”
+
+For a time after that they were silent. Once again they heard the beating
+of ropes against spars, the wail of the wind and the dash of spray on the
+deck. How was all this to end?
+
+“Rusty,” Johnny said, “I would like to leave you for a while.”
+
+“Why?”
+
+“There’s something I want to do. You know,” he leaned close, speaking in
+a hoarse whisper, “there’s a hole in the gas tank of your boat.”
+
+“Yes, but—”
+
+“We may get a break. Your boat was put on deck after two others. That
+means they’ll have to put her in the water before taking the others off.
+If there was gas in her tank we might slip down to her and get away.”
+
+“But the gas, Johnny?”
+
+“There are two large cans in another boat. I saw them. I—I’m going to
+plug up that hole in your tank, then try to fill it from the cans.”
+
+“They—they may catch you.” Her voice trembled.
+
+“I’ll take a chance.” He rose without a sound. “I’m off. If I don’t come
+back, tell good old MacGregor.”
+
+“I—I’ll tell him.” Her whisper was lost in the wind. He was gone.
+
+Creeping along the swaying deck, dodging behind a lifeboat when the watch
+appeared, scooting forward, then pausing to listen, he at last reached
+the side of the _Krazy Kat_.
+
+After securing the cans of gasoline, he lifted them to the deck of
+Rusty’s small boat. Then, with a deft swing, he threw himself after the
+cans. The deck was wet with fog. Slipping, he went down in a heap, but
+made no sound.
+
+Feeling about in the dark, he found the tank and the leak. A sharpened
+splinter of wood stopped the hole.
+
+“Now the gas,” he whispered. This he knew would be most dangerous of all.
+Cans have a way of gurgling and popping in an alarming manner. The
+gurgle, he concluded, would not matter. It would not be heard above the
+roar of the wind and the wash of the sea. But the tinny bangs? Ah, well,
+he’d have to risk it.
+
+When one can was emptied into the _Krazy Kat’s_ tank, he heaved a sigh of
+relief. The second was half-emptied when he caught the sound of
+footsteps.
+
+“The watch!” Consternation seized him. Flattening himself on the deck, he
+clung to the still gurgling can.
+
+The sound of footsteps ceased. His heart pounded. Was he caught? Seconds
+seemed minutes. If the can popped he was lost. Ten seconds, twenty,
+thirty—again the footsteps. Then they grew indistinct in the distance.
+
+“Ah,” the boy breathed.
+
+Just then the all but empty can gave forth a loud bang!
+
+Johnny jumped, then lay flat, listening with all his ears. For at least
+two full minutes he remained there motionless. The watch did not return.
+
+With great care he lifted the empty cans from the deck of the _Krazy Kat_
+to toss them into the foaming sea. Then, stealthily as before, he made
+his way back to Rusty’s side.
+
+“I—I did it,” he shrilled. “Now for a good break and we’re away.”
+
+“Here—here’s hoping.” She drew her hand from beneath the blankets to grip
+his own.
+
+“MacGregor, what do you think they’ll do to me?” Johnny asked an hour
+later. The storm had partially subsided. Rusty was feeling better. They
+were back in their staterooms. Johnny had told the old man of the night’s
+adventure.
+
+“It’s my opinion,” said MacGregor, “that you’ll be shot at sunrise.”
+
+“That won’t be so bad,” said Johnny, joining in the joke.
+
+“Not half-bad,” MacGregor agreed. “I mind an Eskimo we shot up there in
+the far north. He’d killed a white man. The revenue cutter came along an’
+the judge tried him.
+
+“When the judge’s decision had been arrived at, they told this Eskimo to
+stand up.
+
+“Well, sir, he stood there stiff an’ straight as any soldier. He was sure
+he had been condemned to die and that he was to be shot. They’re a sturdy
+lot, those Eskimos.
+
+“Well,” MacGregor paused to laugh. “They set a thing up an’ aimed it at
+the Eskimo. Something clicked. The Eskimo blinked. But nothin’ else
+happened.
+
+“The white men folded things up and left. But the Eskimo still stood
+there, not knowin’, I suppose, whether he was dead or alive.
+
+“Know what happened?” he concluded. “He’d been found innocent and they
+had taken his picture.
+
+“For all I know,” he added, “he’s livin’ still an’ so’ll you be, me boy,
+forty years from today.
+
+“What can they do?” he demanded. “They don’t dare harm us.”
+
+“I wouldn’t trust them too far,” said Johnny.
+
+“Nor I,” Rusty agreed.
+
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER XXIII
+                        IN THE BLUE BEAR’S CAVE
+
+
+It was with a feeling of great uneasiness that Johnny came on deck next
+morning. What was to happen? Had that little brown man told the story of
+their struggle in the night? And if he had? He shuddered.
+
+Yet, strange to say, the day wore on in perfect peace. They were not even
+asked to go below and clean fish. The reason for this was apparent, the
+fish on deck had been taken care of. Since the storm was still roaring
+across the sea, no others could be brought in. During the forenoon two
+small, motor-driven crafts came close to stand by.
+
+“They belong to this outfit,” MacGregor declared. “They may have salmon
+below-deck. They’re afraid of the storm. That’s why they don’t come in.
+
+“Ah, well,” he sighed. “We’re here for the day at least. Even if your
+_Krazy Kat_ was in the water, Rusty, we couldn’t risk her in a storm like
+this.”
+
+“These Orientals are a queer lot,” Johnny mused.
+
+“Queer’s no name for it, me boy,” said MacGregor. “As for me, I don’t
+trust ’em. They’re like children, just when they’re makin’ the least
+noise is when you’re sure they’re up to some mischief.”
+
+Was this true? Johnny shuddered anew, but said never a word.
+
+They discovered during their lunch in their stateroom at noon that there
+was something vaguely familiar about the brown boy who brought the lunch.
+Johnny stared at him. But Rusty exclaimed in a whisper, “Kopkina! You
+here?”
+
+The boy made a motion for silence. “I am spy,” he whispered. “Red McGee
+good man. Me, I, Red McGee man.
+
+“You listen,” his voice dropped to a whisper. “I tell ’em, that one
+captain this ship, tell ’em you Red McGee boy.” He nodded to Rusty. “Tell
+’em Red McGee mebby plenty mad. Plenty ’fraid Red McGee. They not punish
+you for fight on deck last night. Must go now.” He disappeared through
+the door.
+
+“Boy!” Johnny breathed. “I’m feeling better already.”
+
+Two hours later they had added cause for feeling better. Just when the
+sea was beginning to calm a little they caught the drum of a motor. As
+Johnny heard it his heart stood still, then leaped.
+
+“A motor,” he breathed. “That’s a powerful motor. If only it’s Dan
+MacMillan and his seaplane.”
+
+“It is! It is!” Rusty’s voice rose to a high pitch. “There! There it is.
+See!”
+
+Johnny did see. He pointed it out to MacGregor. They all leaned on the
+rail watching the seaplane approach.
+
+“If it’s only Dan,” MacGregor breathed.
+
+There came the sound of rushing feet. Apparently every little brown man
+on the boat had heard those motors. They came swarming onto the deck.
+
+“If it’s Dan MacMillan,” said MacGregor, “there’s sure to be someone with
+him.”
+
+“They’ll be looking for us,” said Rusty.
+
+“Yes, and we’ll have to find a way to let them know we’re here,” Johnny
+added.
+
+“That,” said MacGregor, “is going to be hard, with all these.” His glance
+swept the brown throng.
+
+“Tell you what!” Johnny exclaimed. “Rusty and I might do a little boxing
+bout. There’s sure to be someone on the plane who knows us.”
+
+“And they’ll recognize you by your actions,” MacGregor agreed. “It’s a
+capital idea. I’ll go for the gloves.”
+
+And so it happened that, as the seaplane flew over the ship, circled,
+then dipping low, passed within a hundred feet, those in it witnessed a
+strange sight—two white youngsters staging a boxing match for the benefit
+of a host of little brown men, who, truth to tell, gave them scant
+attention.
+
+“I only hope they recognized us,” said Johnny, throwing his gloves on the
+deck.
+
+“You and me too,” said Rusty. “Anyway,” she laughed, “that’s one time I
+didn’t knock you out.”
+
+Whatever impression this little drama may have made upon the occupants of
+the seaplane, the effect of the appearance of the seaplane on the little
+brown men was apparent at once. On every face as the seaplane went
+winging away MacGregor read consternation.
+
+“They’re afraid,” he grumbled low to his young companions. “Down deep in
+their hearts they are afraid.”
+
+“What will they do now?” Rusty asked anxiously.
+
+“They’re already doin’ it,” said MacGregor, calling attention to the rush
+and bustle on board. “Puttin’ the ship in shape. It wouldn’t surprise me
+if they weighed anchor within the hour. And if they do, me lassie,” he
+added, “you may be lookin’ on them Oriental cities within a week, for
+they’ll be headin’ straight for home.”
+
+“Oh-o,” Rusty breathed. But she said never a word.
+
+
+On that same morning in Smokey Joe’s cabin Lawrence was up before the wee
+small hours had passed. After one good look at the sea, which was still
+rolling high, he dashed back into the cabin to find Blackie staring at
+him wide awake.
+
+“Black-Blackie,” he stammered. “I—I hate to disturb you. But—but that
+blue bear—”
+
+“I know.” Blackie sat up. “Three peaks, a look and a right smart ho,
+hum.”
+
+“Blackie! It’s terribly important. Just think! A little blue bear. The
+only one in captivity, if we get him.”
+
+“I know.” Blackie slid out of his bunk. “Get the fire going. Put the
+coffee pot on. We’ll be off in a half hour.”
+
+“Oh, think—”
+
+“Put the coffee on!” Blackie roared.
+
+After tacking an old shirt to a pole as a signal of distress to any boat
+that might pass and instructing Smokey Joe to be on the lookout, Blackie
+drew a rough map, showing where, according to Smokey’s direction, the
+bear’s cave might be found. After that he led the way over the first
+“peak.”
+
+These peaks were, they discovered, mere ridges. The distance was, in
+reality, much shorter than they had thought.
+
+“This is the place,” Lawrence said, an hour and a half later. “It must
+be.”
+
+“It is,” Blackie agreed. “There are the two scrub spruce trees with
+Smokey’s blaze on them.”
+
+“And there’s the cave!” Lawrence was greatly excited.
+
+“Not much of a cave,” said Blackie. “Might be quite some bear at that.
+Wait.”
+
+With a small hatchet he hacked away at a dry spruce knot until he had a
+pitch-filled torch. This, with the aid of some dry shavings, he lighted.
+
+“Now,” he breathed. “Give me one of the ropes. We’ll have to manage to
+tangle him up somehow. I’ll lead the way.”
+
+“Al-all right,” Lawrence’s tongue was dry.
+
+The floor of the dark grotto was strewn with pebbles. To walk without
+making a noise was impossible.
+
+“Wait! Listen!” Lawrence whispered when they had covered some twenty
+paces.
+
+As they paused, they caught a low hissing sound.
+
+“Snakes,” the boy suggested.
+
+“Not here. Too cold. It’s the bear. Get your rope ready.”
+
+Slowly, cautiously they moved forward.
+
+“There! There are his eyes.” Two balls of fire appeared directly before
+them.
+
+And then things began to happen. A low snarl was followed by the sound of
+scattered pebbles. Blackie was hit by the rushing bear and bowled over
+like a ten pin. But Lawrence, quick as a cat, saw a hairy head, aimed a
+short swing and let go his rope.
+
+Next instant he was shouting: “Blackie! Quick! Help! I got him! I got
+him!”
+
+The husky little blue bear dragged them both to the very entrance of the
+cave. There, panting and tearing at the rope, he paused to glare at them.
+The rope was drawn tight about his shoulders with one foreleg through the
+loop.
+
+Blackie, who was both fast and strong, made quick work of what remained
+to be done. Fifteen minutes later, carrying the live bear slung between
+them on a pole, they headed for the cabin.
+
+To their great joy, as they neared the cabin, they saw one of Red McGee’s
+gill-net boats awaiting them in the little bay. Smokey Joe had flagged it
+down.
+
+After a hasty, “Thank you and goodbye” to Smokey, they tossed their
+priceless captive into the after cabin of the stout, little motor-boat to
+head straight away over a rolling sea toward still more adventure, of
+quite a different nature.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER XXIV
+                          OVERTAKING A SHADOW
+
+
+Once again it was night. The wind had gone down with the sun. The sea was
+calm. On board the Oriental ship there was a strained air of tense
+expectancy.
+
+“I can’t understand what’s keepin’ ’em here,” MacGregor said in a low
+tone to his young companions. “It’s plain that they’re scared stiff of
+that seaplane. Looks like they’d heave anchor and be away any minute. And
+if they do—” There was no need to finish. Both Johnny and Rusty knew that
+this would mean a trip to the Orient under circumstances stranger than
+any fiction.
+
+“They seem to be waiting for something,” said Johnny.
+
+This was true. All the little brown men not stationed at posts of duty
+were standing along the rail looking away toward the distant shores that
+were lost in the night.
+
+“They’ll be back,” MacGregor said, thinking of the men on the seaplane.
+“Looks like it’s a race against time. But what are they waiting for?”
+
+It was not long until they should know. As they stood there, nerves
+a-tingle, listening, a distant confusion of noises came to them.
+
+“If there were a war,” said MacGregor, “I’d say it was rifle and
+machine-gun fire.”
+
+This notion was too fantastic to be seriously considered. But what was
+it?
+
+Second by second the sound increased in volume. “Can this be what they’re
+looking for?” Johnny asked.
+
+If so, these little men welcomed it in a strange manner. Short, sharp
+commands were given. Scores of men went into frenzied action.
+
+“Look!” Rusty gripped Johnny’s arm. “They’re lowering my boat into the
+water.”
+
+“And it’s got gas in the tank. All ready to turn over and start. If
+only—”
+
+“That’s motors we’re hearin’,” MacGregor broke in. “A thunderin’ lot of
+’em! I shouldn’t wonder—”
+
+“MacGregor,” Rusty seized his arm, “our boat is in the water. They are
+all crowding the rail again. This may be our chance.”
+
+“So it may,” the old man agreed. “Follow me. Not a sound!”
+
+“I’ll get Kopkina,” offered Johnny. “I just saw him on deck.”
+
+Dodging behind a life-raft Rusty and MacGregor went scurrying along in
+the dark and Johnny and Kopkina soon joined them.
+
+“It—it’s just here,” Rusty whispered.
+
+“We—we need a rope ladder,” Johnny exclaimed low.
+
+“Here’s one,” came in MacGregor’s cheering voice. “Let her over easy
+now.”
+
+“Now,” he breathed. “Over you go.”
+
+The speed with which they went down that ladder, all but treading on one
+another’s fingers, would have done credit to the U. S. Navy.
+
+“Now I’ll cut her loose,” said MacGregor. “All right, Rusty, turn her
+over.”
+
+The fly-wheel whirled. The splendid motor began a low put-put-put. They
+were away into the dark.
+
+“They’d have trouble findin’ us,” MacGregor murmured.
+
+“But listen!” Johnny exclaimed.
+
+The sound of many motors had doubled and redoubled. Just as they were
+about to swing around the prow of the ship, something long, dark and
+silent shot past them.
+
+“The Shadow!” Johnny exclaimed.
+
+It was true, this was the Shadow. But at last the Shadow was not going to
+escape. After it thundered a powerful speedboat and as she shot past them
+the excited trio saw a burst of flames and caught the rat-tat-tat of a
+machine gun.
+
+This was followed instantly by a wild scream from the Shadow which
+sounded very much like a sign of surrender. At the same time the sea
+seemed fairly ablaze with lights from many boats.
+
+Johnny’s head was in a whirl. What was happening? Without knowing why she
+did it, Rusty seized him by the arm and held him tight while she
+screamed, “Johnny! It’s wonderful! Wonderful!”
+
+What had happened may be quickly told. When Blackie and his crew failed
+to return, and Rusty as well, there had been consternation about the
+cannery. There was little use searching Bristol Bay in a fog. When,
+however, Dan MacMillan appeared in his seaplane, they went into action.
+Red McGee climbed into the cockpit and they were away. They had circled
+for an hour when they sighted the Oriental ship.
+
+As they flew over it Red McGee experienced no difficulty in getting the
+unusual signals Johnny and Rusty had set up for him. He recognized the
+boxing forms of both Rusty and Johnny.
+
+Realizing that his daughter would be on board that ship only against her
+will, he went into a wild rage. He demanded that the seaplane be landed
+close to the ship and that he be allowed to “tackle the whole lot of ’em
+single-handed.”
+
+To this young MacMillan, would not consent; for, in the first place, the
+sea was too rough for a landing and in the second, he was not willing as
+he later expressed it, “To see a good man commit suicide by tackling a
+hundred Orientals single-handed.”
+
+He had flown back to their base. By the time they reached the cannery,
+Red had cooled off.
+
+“I want every last boat gassed up for an emergency run,” he commanded.
+“Any of you men that have guns, get ’em loaded and ready. There’s a
+couple o’ whale-guns up at my cabin. You, Pete and Dan, get ’em an’ see
+that they’re loaded. We’ll show ’em.”
+
+They were about ready for a start when Blackie and his men arrived on the
+scene.
+
+“Blackie,” Red exploded, “they’ve got Rusty and your boy, Johnny. They’re
+holdin’ ’em captive. Come on! We’ll start a war!”
+
+For once, Blackie did not say, “No.” After they had turned the small,
+blue bear loose in a sheet-metal tool-shed he climbed into Dan
+MacMillan’s speed boat, dragging Red and Lawrence with him, and they were
+away.
+
+It was this speedboat that had spied the Shadow. They had given it chase
+and had, as you have seen, at last, after sending a volley of machine-gun
+bullets across its bow, overhauled it.
+
+The Shadow was the very craft that had been awaited by the Oriental ship.
+Had it put in an appearance two hours sooner, the ship must surely have
+weighed anchor and our story might have been much longer. As it was, the
+Orientals were destined to wait a long, long time before lifting the
+Shadow on deck, if at all.
+
+While Johnny and Rusty looked and listened, the whole cannery fleet,
+every small deck bristling with guns, surrounded the ship.
+
+Having overhauled the Shadow, Blackie placed it in charge of another
+craft, then came gliding in alongside the _Krazy Kat_.
+
+“MacGregor,” he said in a husky voice, “tell me what happened.” MacGregor
+told him. Hardly had he finished when a small motor launch carrying three
+little brown officers arrived. The officers were fairly aglow with gold
+and braid.
+
+“A thousand pardons,” their leader began. He was allowed to go no
+farther.
+
+“Listen!” Blackie stood up. He was dressed in corduroy trousers and a
+leather jacket. His face was working strangely.
+
+“Listen,” he repeated. “No apologies, not a thousand, nor even one. I’ll
+do the talking.” His voice was low. “I know why you’re here. To catch our
+fish. You sank our boat. You have an hour to get your ship headed out of
+Bristol Bay. We’ll take that Shadow of yours with us. We caught her
+lifting nets inside the three-mile limit. That makes her a fair prize.
+
+“As to the sinking of the _Stormy Petrel_, I shall make a complete
+report. The matter shall be taken up by our diplomats.
+
+“I might add, for your further information, that a law is now before our
+Congress making Bristol Bay United States waters, open to our fishermen
+alone. It will pass. If you care to come back next year we will meet you
+with three destroyers.
+
+“And now, gentlemen,” he doffed a ragged cap, “I bid you good-night.”
+
+Clicking their heels, without a single apology, the officers saluted,
+then the power boat lost itself in the shadows.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER XXV
+                             “BILL” RETURNS
+
+
+“Rusty, my child,” said Red McGee, springing aboard the _Krazy Kat_ as
+soon as the Orientals were gone, “are you all right?”
+
+“Never better,” Rusty laughed. “And never half so excited. I—I’m all
+right,” she added, “except that I’ll have to grow a new crop of curls.”
+
+“Curls,” Red chuckled. “They’re not very necessary. Not even for a girl.
+
+“Going back with us in the speed boat?” he asked.
+
+“No-o, if you don’t mind,” she hesitated. “We’ve been together so long,
+the three of us, MacGregor, Johnny, and I, that I—I think we’d like to
+follow you back in the _Krazy Kat_.”
+
+“O.K.,” Red agreed. “Kopkina, suppose you come with me. I want to thank
+you for what you’ve done for us. Now let’s get going.”
+
+Already the Oriental ship that had never been welcome was slipping out
+into the night.
+
+On the way back Johnny and Rusty spent most of their time studying the
+stars and the moon. Just what they read there only they will ever know.
+
+The secret of the Shadow was found to be quite simple, as most secrets
+are. It was a long, low craft without deck, cabins, rails or riggings.
+Powered by large storage batteries, it was able to slip in close to
+shore, set a three-mile-long net at night and lift it in the morning. The
+fish were rushed to other motor-boats outside the three-mile zone and
+were then carried to the floating cannery.
+
+After installing a gasoline motor, Blackie used the Shadow for sea
+patrol. No demand for the return of the craft was made. Needless to say,
+the duties of Blackie, MacGregor, Johnny and Lawrence were exceedingly
+light for the remainder of the season.
+
+The small blue bear throve on fish-cleanings and other scraps. He was fat
+and friendly when at last the boys headed for Seward and Matanuska
+Valley. At Seward they left him in the care of a friend until they could
+come in a small truck and cart him home.
+
+At the cabin in the valley Johnny and Lawrence were given an uproarious
+welcome.
+
+One thing surprised them—the Professor was back. “I am waiting for Bill,”
+he explained.
+
+“Bill! Who’s he?” Lawrence asked. “Oh!” he exclaimed. “He’s the man who
+built the shelter and left a note saying he was coming back. Let me see—”
+
+“Today,” said the Professor. “And here he is now.” A smiling young giant
+with a full red beard came tramping down the road.
+
+“Bill, did you get one?” the Professor demanded.
+
+“No,” Bill’s smile faded. “I did my best. I got the head and hide of one,
+that’s all. Had to kill him, or lose him. I—I’m sorry.”
+
+“A whole year,” the Professor groaned. “And never a bear.”
+
+“A bear!” Johnny exclaimed. “Surely there are bears a-plenty.”
+
+“Not that kind,” the Professor corrected. “I want the kind we talked
+about once, a glacier bear. Nothing else counts.”
+
+“Oh, a glacier bear!” Lawrence laughed happily. “Is that all you want? I
+have one coming up on a truck from Seward. It should be here any time.”
+
+“Just like that!” Bill dropped weakly down upon a stump. “A whole year.
+Ice, snow, blizzards, glaciers, hunger, a whole year. Never a bear. And
+now this boy calmly says, ‘I’ve got one coming up.’”
+
+“Such,” said the professor, “is the luck of the chase.”
+
+There was time for Bill to satisfy his craving for a “real feed.” Then
+the truck arrived.
+
+The Professor and Bill gave one look at the little blue glacier bear.
+Then, for sheer joy, they fell into each other’s arms.
+
+“What do you want for him?” the Professor demanded at last.
+
+“A tractor,” said Lawrence.
+
+“The best in the settlement!”
+
+“The Titan.”
+
+“Agreed and for good measure, a gang plow, a harrow, two drums of gas and
+three log chains.”
+
+Lawrence could not say a word. He could only stand and stare. All his
+dreams had come true in a moment.
+
+“I only wish we might do better,” the Professor half apologized. “But
+we’ve spent a great deal of money in the search. So-o, I—”
+
+“I think,” said Lawrence, “that you’re a very good sport. And—and we
+thank you.”
+
+Three days later Johnny and Lawrence were in Seward for a day with
+Blackie when a trim power boat glided up to the dock.
+
+“Hello, Johnny!” came in a girl’s voice. It was Rusty.
+
+“Come on down to Seattle with us,” Red McGee boomed.
+
+“We’ll show you a roarin’ good time, just to celebrate the finest salmon
+season ever known.”
+
+“What do you say?” Johnny turned to Lawrence.
+
+“You go,” said Lawrence. “I’m a farmer now. I’ve got to stay with my
+crops, and I’m anxious to get started with the new tractor.”
+
+Johnny went. If there were further adventures awaiting him at the end of
+that short journey you may find them recorded in a book called, _Sign of
+the Green Arrow_.
+
+
+
+
+                          Transcriber’s Notes
+
+
+--Copyright notice provided as in the original printed text—this e-text
+  is public domain in the country of publication.
+
+--Silently corrected palpable typos; left non-standard spellings and
+  dialect unchanged.
+
+--In the text versions, delimited italics text in _underscores_ (the HTML
+  version reproduces the font form of the printed book.)
+
+--Marked with ellipses the end of page 129, where the printed edition
+  apparently dropped a page or two from the manuscript.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Shadow Passes, by Roy J. Snell
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 44352 ***
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+<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 44352 ***</div>
+
+<div id="cover" class="img">
+<img id="coverpage" src="images/cover.jpg" alt="The Shadow Passes: A Mystery Story for Boys" width="500" height="726" />
+</div>
+<div class="box">
+<p class="center"><span class="large"><b><i><span class="u">A Mystery Story for Boys</span></i></b></span></p>
+<h1><i>The</i>
+<br />SHADOW PASSES</h1>
+<p class="center"><i>By</i>
+<br />ROY J. SNELL</p>
+<div class="img" id="logo"><img src="images/logo.jpg" alt="Author&rsquo;s Logo" width="200" height="91" /></div>
+<p class="tbcenter">The Reilly &amp; Lee Co.
+<br /><span class="small">Chicago</span></p>
+<p class="center"><span class="small">COPYRIGHT 1938
+<br />BY
+<br />THE REILLY &amp; LEE CO.
+<br />PRINTED IN THE U.S.A.</span></p>
+</div>
+<h2>CONTENTS</h2>
+<dl class="toc">
+<dt class="jr"><span class="jl"><span class="small">CHAPTER</span></span> <span class="small">PAGE</span></dt>
+<dt><a href="#c1">I The Silver Fox</a> 11</dt>
+<dt><a href="#c2">II Blackie&rsquo;s Story</a> 32</dt>
+<dt><a href="#c3">III Fat and Furious</a> 38</dt>
+<dt><a href="#c4">IV The Capture of Old Silver</a> 53</dt>
+<dt><a href="#c5">V Johnny Fights for Fun</a> 68</dt>
+<dt><a href="#c6">VI Smokey Joe&rsquo;s Blue Bears</a> 77</dt>
+<dt><a href="#c7">VII A Strange Battle</a> 85</dt>
+<dt><a href="#c8">VIII The Stormy Petrel&rsquo;s First Prize</a> 98</dt>
+<dt><a href="#c9">IX Fate Lends a Hand</a> 103</dt>
+<dt><a href="#c10">X A New World</a> 111</dt>
+<dt><a href="#c11">XI The Fall of Red McGee</a> 119</dt>
+<dt><a href="#c12">XII A Ptarmigan Feast</a> 128</dt>
+<dt><a href="#c13">XIII The Shadow</a> 141</dt>
+<dt><a href="#c14">XIV A Voice in the Fog</a> 147</dt>
+<dt><a href="#c15">XV A Roar from the Deep</a> 158</dt>
+<dt><a href="#c16">XVI Looming Peril</a> 166</dt>
+<dt><a href="#c17">XVII Trapped</a> 174</dt>
+<dt><a href="#c18">XVIII Five Rounds and a Friend</a> 181</dt>
+<dt><a href="#c19">XIX Ordered Below</a> 189</dt>
+<dt><a href="#c20">XX A Battle in the Dark</a> 194</dt>
+<dt><a href="#c21">XXI Wall of Glass</a> 201</dt>
+<dt><a href="#c22">XXII Dreams</a> 209</dt>
+<dt><a href="#c23">XXIII In the Blue Bear&rsquo;s Cave</a> 216</dt>
+<dt><a href="#c24">XXIV Overtaking a Shadow</a> 225</dt>
+<dt><a href="#c25">XXV &ldquo;Bill&rdquo; Returns</a> 233</dt>
+</dl>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_11">[11]</div>
+<h1 title="">THE SHADOW PASSES</h1>
+<h2 id="c1"><span class="small">CHAPTER I</span>
+<br />THE SILVER FOX</h2>
+<p>&ldquo;And then I saw it&mdash;the Shadow.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The speaker&rsquo;s eyes appeared to snap.
+Johnny Thompson leaned forward in his chair.
+&ldquo;It glided through the fog without a sound.&rdquo;
+The voice droned on, &ldquo;Not a sound, mind you!
+We had a small boat with powerful motors.
+I stepped on the gas. Our motors roared. We
+were after that shadow.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And then?&rdquo; Johnny Thompson whispered.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;For all I know,&rdquo; the black-eyed man murmured,
+leaning back in his chair, &ldquo;we might
+have cut that shadow square in two. Anyway,
+that&rsquo;s the last we saw of it for that day.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But think of it!&rdquo; he exclaimed after a second&rsquo;s
+pause. &rdquo;Think of the thing just disappearing
+in the fog like that!&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_12">[12]</div>
+<p>He was a romantic figure, this man Blackie.
+The boys of Matanuska Valley in Alaska loved
+this gathering of an evening about the red-hot
+stove in the store. And no part of the evening&rsquo;s
+entertainment was ever half so thrilling as
+Blackie&rsquo;s stories.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It was spring then,&rdquo; Blackie added, &ldquo;late
+May, when the salmon run was on.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It was a whale after salmon, that shadow,&rdquo;
+someone suggested.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, sir!&rdquo; Blackie fairly shouted. &ldquo;It was
+too fast for a whale! Some sort of Oriental
+craft, I shouldn&rsquo;t wonder. Though how they&rsquo;d
+make it go without a sound is beyond me.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah well,&rdquo; he sighed, &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll be rid of these
+by spring.&rdquo; He kicked at the crutches beside
+his chair. &ldquo;Then I&rsquo;ll be after &rsquo;em again, those
+bloomin&rsquo; Orientals and their gliding shadows.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You going back into the Coast Guard Service?&rdquo;
+Johnny asked eagerly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I sure am!&rdquo; Blackie agreed heartily.
+&ldquo;Boy! That&rsquo;s the life! A speedy boat with
+two or three airplane motors in her hull, a good
+crew, plenty of gas, the wide open sea and
+enough trouble to keep your eyes open day and
+night. Man! Oh, man!&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_13">[13]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Take me along,&rdquo; Johnny suggested impulsively.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Me too!&rdquo; put in Lawrence, his slim, bright-eyed
+cousin.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What do you know about boats?&rdquo; Blackie
+asked.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Plenty,&rdquo; was Johnny&rsquo;s prompt reply. &ldquo;Been
+on &rsquo;em all my life, power boats on the Great
+Lakes, Carib Indian sailboats in the Caribbean,
+skin-boats way up north. It&rsquo;s all the same.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And Lawrence here,&rdquo; he added after a brief
+pause, &ldquo;he knows about motors.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&mdash;I was assistant mechanic in an airplane
+hangar for a season,&rdquo; Lawrence agreed modestly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, it&mdash;might&mdash;be&mdash;arranged,&rdquo; Blackie
+replied slowly. &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t know about pay. You
+sort of have to be on regular for that. But up
+here in the north, things can&rsquo;t always be done
+according to department regulations. Anyway,
+it&rsquo;s worth thinking about.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_14">[14]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Thank&mdash;oh, thank you,&rdquo; Lawrence stammered.
+Johnny knew how he was feeling at
+that moment. He, Johnny, had met adventure
+in many climes. Lawrence had lived a quiet
+life. Really to sail on a coast guard boat in
+search of Orientals suspected of stealing salmon,
+smuggling or spying off the Alaskan
+shores, to chase gray shadows that pass in the
+fog! Worth thinking of? Well, you&rsquo;d just
+know it was!</p>
+<p>Johnny was still thinking of all this when
+two hours later, he crept beneath the blankets
+in the small log cabin room occupied by Lawrence
+and himself.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That would be great!&rdquo; he was telling himself.
+In fancy, he allowed his mind to wander.
+Bristol Bay, a hundred and fifty miles wide
+and a hundred and fifty long, fishing boats on
+the water, canneries on the shore and back
+behind all this in the fog somewhere, beyond
+the three-mile line, great dark bulks that were
+Oriental ships. Why these ships? No one
+knew exactly. &ldquo;Spying out our shore-line,&rdquo;
+some said, &ldquo;stealing our salmon,&rdquo; said others.
+And perhaps they were smugglers. It was
+known that these ships carried smaller crafts
+that could be lowered to the water. &ldquo;Could do
+anything, go anywhere, these small boats,&rdquo;
+Johnny assured himself.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_15">[15]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;And the Shadow, that mysterious gray
+form that goes streaking through the fog.
+What could it be?</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah, well,&ldquo; he settled deeper among the blankets.
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s a long time till spring, and here, right
+in Matanuska Valley is exciting adventure
+aplenty.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>As if reading his thoughts, Lawrence murmured
+dreamily, &ldquo;We&rsquo;ll go after him again
+tomorrow.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; Johnny agreed, &ldquo;tomorrow.&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="tb">&ldquo;Lawrence! Look! There he is!&rdquo; Johnny
+pointed excitedly up the glistening expanse of
+frozen river. Tomorrow had come. They
+were on the river.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Wh&mdash;where?&rdquo; Lawrence whispered.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You don&rsquo;t have to whisper.&rdquo; Johnny
+laughed low. &ldquo;He&rsquo;s way up there. I can scarcely
+see him with the glass. Here! Take it. See
+that pool of water on the right side?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes&mdash;yes, I see.&rdquo; Lawrence took the field
+glasses.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;At this end of that pool. I saw him move.
+Look quick!&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_16">[16]</div>
+<p>For a space of ten seconds Lawrence studied
+that pool. &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; he exclaimed at last, &ldquo;he <i>is</i>
+there! I saw him move over to the right.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Lawrence!&rdquo; Johnny&rsquo;s voice was tense with
+emotion. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m going after him!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Johnny bent over to tighten a skate strap.
+&ldquo;Here! Give me the bag. You follow me, but
+not too fast. You can keep the glasses. I
+won&rsquo;t need them.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Al&mdash;all right, Johnny. Be careful! You&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>But Johnny was away. Skating from the
+hips, scarcely lifting a foot from the ice, he
+appeared to glide without effort over the glass-like
+surface of the river.</p>
+<p>The boy&rsquo;s spirits rose. They were &ldquo;after
+him again.&rdquo; And &ldquo;he&rdquo; was a grand prize
+indeed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If only we can get him,&rdquo; Johnny was thinking.
+&ldquo;If we only can.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The distant future quite forgotten, Johnny
+was living intensely in the glorious present.
+Lawrence followed slowly. He, too, was a
+skillful skater. The river at this point was
+frozen solidly. No need for thought here.
+At once his mind was busy with memories of
+the not-too-distant past and plans for the future.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_17">[17]</div>
+<p>Life for him had been strange. Eight
+months before he had been on the broad, dry
+prairies of the Dakotas. Now he was skating
+on the Matanuska River in Alaska. Nor was
+this just an adventurous winter trip. The
+Matanuska Valley was his home and would be,
+he hoped, for years to come. Six miles back
+and up a half mile from the river was their
+claim and the sod-covered log cabin they
+called home.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We are pioneers!&rdquo; he whispered to himself.
+&ldquo;Pioneers!&rdquo; he repeated softly. How he loved
+that word. How much it meant to them all;
+freedom, new life, fresh hope and in the end
+a home all their own. &ldquo;And paid for,&rdquo; he declared
+sturdily.</p>
+<p>Yes, when the government had announced
+a resettlement project in this rich valley and
+the Lawsons who had been driven from their
+farm home by drouth and dust heard of it
+they had joined up. And here they were:
+father, mother and son, with cousin Johnny
+thrown in for good measure.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_18">[18]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Been here six months,&rdquo; Lawrence thought.
+&ldquo;Got a little start. And next year!&rdquo; Ah, yes,
+next year. His face sobered. So much depended
+on the future. And they needed so many
+things.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We&rsquo;ll not go in debt,&rdquo; his father had insisted
+stoutly. &ldquo;Not for a single thing we can
+do without.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>But now the boy&rsquo;s mind came back with a
+snap to the immediate present. As he looked
+ahead he saw nothing of Johnny. For a second
+his heart fluttered. Had his good pal come
+upon an unsuspected air-hole? Had he gone
+through? Was he, at this moment, caught by
+the swift current, shooting along rapidly beneath
+the ice?</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You have to know your river,&rdquo; an old-timer
+had said to them. &ldquo;Every foot of it.&rdquo;
+Did Johnny know it well enough, or&mdash;</p>
+<p>Of a sudden he let out a low, happy laugh.
+Some distance ahead, showing among the
+branches of a fallen fir tree, he had caught a
+glimpse of Johnny&rsquo;s plaid mackinaw.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He&mdash;he&rsquo;s all right,&rdquo; he breathed. &ldquo;Just
+getting a look.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_19">[19]</div>
+<p>Johnny was now within a hundred yards
+of that dark pool, where, he hoped, their prize
+still lurked.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He must see him with the naked eye,&rdquo;
+Lawrence murmured as he glided into the
+shadow of a shelving bank. Here, steadying
+himself with one hand, he held the glass to
+his eyes with the other.</p>
+<p>Then, with hand trembling so it seemed the
+glass would drop, he exclaimed, &ldquo;Man! Oh,
+man! It&rsquo;s a silver fox and a beauty! If only
+he gets him! If he does!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>They were hunters, these boys. &ldquo;Strange
+hunters!&rdquo; some might say. &ldquo;No guns! No
+traps!&rdquo; This valley was alive with rich, fur-bearing
+animals. With guns and traps one
+might reap a winter&rsquo;s harvest. Without guns
+or traps how was it to be done! This had
+been the question uppermost in their minds
+some weeks before. In the end they had found
+the answer, or thought they had. And a
+strange answer it was.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_20">[20]</div>
+<p>They had arrived, this little family of four
+homesteaders, along with hundreds of others
+in the Matanuska Valley, too late in the spring
+to clear land and raise a crop. They had been
+obliged to content themselves with a large
+garden and an acre of potatoes.</p>
+<p>Such potatoes as those had been! &ldquo;We&rsquo;ll
+sell two hundred bushels!&rdquo; Lawrence had
+exulted. &ldquo;That will go a long way toward
+buying a small tractor. Then just watch our
+smoke!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, no you won&rsquo;t!&rdquo; Jack Morgan, an old-time
+settler in the valley, had laughed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What? Why not?&rdquo; the boy demanded.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Who&rsquo;ll you sell &rsquo;em to?&rdquo; the old-timer
+asked in a kindly voice.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why, we&mdash;we&rsquo;ll ship &rsquo;em out.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You can&rsquo;t, son,&rdquo; Jack&rsquo;s voice rumbled.
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s the trouble. At present there&rsquo;s no
+market for farm products here. Never has
+been. That&rsquo;ll be worked out in time, now the
+government is interested. But just now we
+have to eat our own potatoes.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But how do you get any money?&rdquo; Lawrence
+had demanded.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Trap foxes, minks, martin. Good money
+in trappin&rsquo;,&rdquo; was the old-timer&rsquo;s reply.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_21">[21]</div>
+<p>Of course, the boys had come rushing home
+bursting with the news that they could make
+money all winter long trapping.</p>
+<p>To their surprise they saw Lawrence&rsquo;s father&rsquo;s
+smiling face draw into sober lines.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, boys,&rdquo; he said quietly. &ldquo;Not that. Anything
+but trapping. It&rsquo;s too cruel. I&rsquo;d rather
+you went out with a gun.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But we haven&rsquo;t a gun,&rdquo; Lawrence protested.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s right,&rdquo; the father agreed. &ldquo;And
+it&rsquo;s not to be regretted.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You see, boys,&rdquo; his face took on a strange
+look, &ldquo;when I was about ten years old I had
+a dog I thought the world and all of. He
+didn&rsquo;t cost a lot of money. Never won any
+prizes at dog shows. But his hair was kinky,
+his eyes alive with fun and his bark a joyous
+sound to hear. No boy ever had a more faithful
+friend than good old Bing.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And then,&rdquo; his voice grew husky, &ldquo;well,
+you see there was a man who lived all by himself
+down by the river, Skunk McGee they
+called him. Never amounted to much, he
+didn&rsquo;t. But he trapped enough skunks and
+muskrats to pay for his groceries.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_22">[22]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Our farm was along the river, on both
+sides. Father told him more than once not to
+set his traps on our farm.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;One time in the dead of winter, way down
+below zero, old Bing didn&rsquo;t come home. I was
+worried but father said, &lsquo;He&rsquo;s gone to the
+neighbors and they took him in on account of
+its being so cold.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But he hadn&rsquo;t,&rdquo; Mr. Lawson&rsquo;s tone
+changed abruptly. &ldquo;He was in one of Skunk
+McGee&rsquo;s traps. And when we found him he
+was dead, frozen hard as a rock.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And so you see, boys,&rdquo; he added quietly,
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve always hated traps. I never see one even
+now but I seem to see poor old Bing with
+one foot in it, whining and shivering out there
+all alone.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>From that day on the thought of traps was
+banished from their minds.</p>
+<p>But the foxes? Did they vanish? No indeed!
+The foxes saw to it that they were not
+forgotten.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_23">[23]</div>
+<p>Before the summer was at an end some
+families, unaccustomed to the pioneer life,
+lost courage and decided to return to their
+original homes. Among these were two families
+who had brought with them small flocks
+of chickens. By careful planning the Lawsons
+were able to buy the chickens. Having built
+a stout log henhouse and a small wire enclosure
+for sunny days, they felt better than
+ever prepared for the winter.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Chicken for Thanksgiving and Christmas
+and eggs all winter long! What luck!&rdquo; Lawrence
+rejoiced.</p>
+<p>The chickens, no doubt, were something of
+a surprise to the foxes. But had they not
+always preyed upon ptarmigan? And were
+not chickens just big plump ptarmigan? Perhaps
+this was the way they reasoned. At any
+rate, one night Lawrence heard a loud squawking
+and rushed out just in time to see a plump
+white hen vanish into the night. A fox had her
+by the neck.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Something must be done about that,&rdquo; he
+insisted at once. &ldquo;If we can&rsquo;t trap the foxes,
+what then?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Take them alive,&rdquo; was his father&rsquo;s prompt
+reply.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Alive! Alive!&rdquo; both boys cried.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_24">[24]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;I can&rsquo;t see why not,&rdquo; was Lawrence&rsquo;s father&rsquo;s
+quiet reply. &ldquo;Of course, you&rsquo;ll have to
+wear tough, moose-hide mittens and keep your
+noses out of reach, but&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We&rsquo;ll do it,&rdquo; Lawrence exclaimed. &ldquo;But
+then,&rdquo; his face sobered, &ldquo;how&rsquo;ll we ever catch
+up with a fox?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;When I was a boy,&rdquo; said his father, &ldquo;we
+used to catch muskrats on skates.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Muskrats on skates?&rdquo; Lawrence laughed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We were on the skates,&rdquo; his father corrected
+with a smile. &ldquo;The rats were on the ice,
+you see,&rdquo; he leaned forward. &ldquo;We worked it
+this way. We&rsquo;d watch until the muskrat
+came out of his hole to get a drink. He&rsquo;d go
+to an open pool of water at the edge of the
+ice. We&rsquo;d wait until he&rsquo;d started back across
+the ice. Then we&rsquo;d come swooping down on
+him. He&rsquo;d get frightened and sprawl all over
+the ice&mdash;no wild creature can handle himself
+well on the ice. So we had him.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_25">[25]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Once,&rdquo; he chuckled, &ldquo;Bob Barnett saw
+something moving on the ice. It was just getting
+dark. He thought it was a rat. He come
+swooping down upon it and&mdash;&rdquo; he paused to
+chuckle. &ldquo;Well, it turned out to be a skunk.
+The skunk objected to his intrusion. So Bob
+went home to bury his clothes&mdash;just for a
+scent.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The boys joined in the laugh that followed
+but they were not slow in following this suggestion.
+They found, however, that great skill
+and caution were needed in this type of hunting.</p>
+<p>They made progress slowly. After catching
+two muskrats, a snow-shoe rabbit and two
+ground-squirrels, they decided to start a small
+zoo all their own.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Who knows?&rdquo; Lawrence enthused. &ldquo;We
+may catch some truly rare creature. The keepers
+of zoos are always on the lookout for live
+specimens. We may sell enough to get that
+bright new tractor down at Palmer after all.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A tractor!&rdquo; Johnny doubted. &ldquo;Oh! No!
+Surely not that much!&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_26">[26]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;And yet,&rdquo; Lawrence now thought as he
+stood watching for Johnny&rsquo;s next move on the
+river ice, &ldquo;there he is creeping up on a silver
+fox. What is a real, live silver fox worth?&rdquo;
+To this exciting question he could form no
+accurate answer. He had a hazy recollection
+of reading somewhere about one that was sold
+for $3000.00.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No such luck as that,&rdquo; he whispered.</p>
+<p>Just now, however, his attention was directed
+toward the silver fox that, still very
+much at liberty, had taken a good drink from
+the pool and was standing, nose in air, apparently
+looking, listening, smelling. Had he
+smelled trouble? Would he drop into the pool
+to swim across and disappear on the farther
+bank, or would he start back across that glistening
+stretch of ice? Lawrence felt his heart
+leap as he saw the fox drop his head. The big
+moment was at hand.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He&mdash;he&rsquo;s going across!&rdquo; he exclaimed in
+a hoarse whisper. &ldquo;It means so much!&rdquo; His
+thoughts went into a tailspin. Not only would
+they possess a real, live silver fox for which,
+beyond doubt, some zoo would pay handsomely,
+but their flock of chickens would be
+safe, for they could tell by the size of the
+tracks that he was the one that was getting
+the chickens. He was a sly one, indeed, this
+fox. Three times in the last month, in spite
+of their every effort to prevent it, he had carried
+off a fat old hen.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_27">[27]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;He&mdash;Johnny&rsquo;s starting,&rdquo; Lawrence said,
+as, gliding silently from cover, he prepared to
+follow his cousin on his swift, silent, breathless
+quest.</p>
+<p>It was a truly wonderful sight, those two
+boys moving as if pushed by an unseen hand
+closer, ever closer to the unsuspecting fox.</p>
+<p>Moving swiftly, Johnny reached a fallen cottonwood
+tree. Just then the fox, pausing in
+his course, once more sniffed the air. &ldquo;I might
+get him if I rushed him now,&rdquo; he thought,
+&ldquo;and I might miss.&rdquo; This was true. The fox
+was but a third of the way across the ice. He
+was still too close to the pool. The plan was
+to allow him to reach the very center of the
+river, then to rush him. Startled, he would
+start quickly for some shore. Losing all sense
+of caution, he would begin to sprawl upon
+the ice. As the boy came rushing on with the
+speed of the wind, he would stoop over, snatch
+at the fox and speed on. He must seize the
+fox just back of his ears. Could he do it? As
+he stood there hidden his pulse pounded madly.
+He, too, had seen that it was a silver fox.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_28">[28]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;He&mdash;he&rsquo;s smelled me!&rdquo; The boy&rsquo;s voice
+rose in a sudden shrill shout. &ldquo;Come on, Lawrence!
+I&rsquo;m going after him! Bring the bag!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Gripping a large, moose-hide sack, Lawrence
+went speeding after him.</p>
+<p>As for Johnny, with breath-taking suddenness,
+he saw the distance between him and
+the fox fade. A hundred yards, fifty, twenty,
+and&mdash;&ldquo;Now!&rdquo; he breathed. &ldquo;Now!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The fox was not a foot from the edge of
+the pool when, still speeding wildly, the boy
+bent down and made one wild grab.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Got him!&rdquo; he shouted exultantly. But
+wait! Ten seconds more and the fox&rsquo;s ivory
+teeth were flashing in his very face. He seemed
+to feel them tearing at his nose. There was
+nothing to do but drop him. With a suddenness,
+startling even to the fox, the boy let go.</p>
+<p>Down dropped the fox. On sped the boy.
+When Lawrence reached the spot the fox
+had vanished into a hole and Johnny was
+skating slowly, mournfully back.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Never mind,&rdquo; Lawrence consoled. &ldquo;We&rsquo;ll
+get him another time.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_29">[29]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;But a silver fox and a beauty!&rdquo; Johnny
+exclaimed. &ldquo;Think of losing him!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I have thought.&rdquo; Lawrence was able to
+grin in spite of his disappointment. &ldquo;It would
+have meant a lot and now&mdash;&rdquo; he chuckled,
+&ldquo;now we know it&rsquo;s a real silver fox after our
+chickens. We&rsquo;ll have to lock them in a vault.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not as bad as that,&rdquo; said Johnny. &ldquo;But
+Lawrence,&rdquo; his voice dropped. &ldquo;This must remain
+a deep secret. Not a word to anyone.
+If Jim and Jack Mayhorn knew about this
+there&rsquo;d be a trap on every foot of the river.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Never a word,&rdquo; Lawrence agreed.</p>
+<p>They were a rather disconsolate pair as they
+pulled off their skates a half hour later.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;To think!&rdquo; Johnny groaned. &ldquo;I had my
+hands on five hundred dollars, perhaps a thousand
+dollars worth of fox and had to drop
+it because it was too hot.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The price of a tractor,&rdquo; Lawrence agreed.
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s too bad.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>It was too bad indeed. All day, five days
+in the week, they worked hard at clearing
+land. The trees were coming down. After
+the spring thaw thousands of stumps must
+be pulled. A tractor would do that work.
+After that it would draw the plows.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_30">[30]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;If only I hadn&rsquo;t lost him!&rdquo; Johnny groaned.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Aw! Forget it!&rdquo; Lawrence exclaimed.
+&ldquo;Come on! Let&rsquo;s go home by the camp.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The &ldquo;camp,&rdquo; as they had come to call it,
+was a three-sided shelter built on a corner of
+their forty-acre claim. It had been built, and
+apparently abandoned, only a few months before
+their arrival. Such a snug shelter was
+it that the boys had often sought its protection
+from storms. Once, with a roaring fire
+before its open side, they had spent a night
+sleeping on its bed of evergreen boughs.</p>
+<p>The place never lost its fascination. Who
+had built it? Trader, hunter, trapper or gold
+prospector? To this question they could form
+no answer. Would he some day return? To
+this, strangely enough on this very afternoon
+they were to discover the answer, at least that
+which appeared to be the answer. As they
+were looking it over for the twentieth time
+Lawrence suddenly exclaimed, &ldquo;Look! Here&rsquo;s
+a bit of cloth tacked to this post. And there&rsquo;s
+a note written on it in indelible ink!&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_31">[31]</div>
+<p>Johnny did look. &ldquo;Read it!&rdquo; he exclaimed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I will,&rdquo; Lawrence began to read. &ldquo;Can&rsquo;t
+quite make it out,&rdquo; he murmured. &ldquo;Oh, yes,
+this is it.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;I WILL BE BACK ON JULY 1st.
+BILL.&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So he&rsquo;s coming back,&rdquo; Johnny&rsquo;s tone was
+strange.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Coming back,&rdquo; Lawrence agreed. &ldquo;All
+right, Bill, old boy,&rdquo; he laughed. &ldquo;We&rsquo;ll keep
+your snug little camp ship-shape till you arrive.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>And for this bit of service, had they but
+known it, they were to receive a very unusual
+reward.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_32">[32]</div>
+<h2 id="c2"><span class="small">CHAPTER II</span>
+<br />BLACKIE&rsquo;S STORY</h2>
+<p>&ldquo;Tell us how you got that game leg of
+yours, Blackie,&rdquo; Joe Lawrence, the
+Palmer store-keeper, said to Blackie, as they
+all sat about the roaring steel-barrel stove
+three nights later.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, that&mdash;&rdquo; Blackie did not reply at once.</p>
+<p>Johnny and Lawrence were by the fire.
+They had walked in from the claim, a frosty
+three miles, with the thermometer at twenty-five
+degrees below. They were not the sort of
+boys who loaf about stores and pool halls, listening
+to cheap talk. Far from that. They
+had come to make a purchase or two and, in
+an hour, with the steel-blue stars above them
+would be on their way home. Just now the
+fire felt good.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Sure, tell us,&rdquo; Johnny encouraged.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_33">[33]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Hello! You here?&rdquo; Blackie demanded, as
+if he had not seen them before. &ldquo;What&rsquo;d you
+come in for on a night like this?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Wedges,&rdquo; said Johnny. &ldquo;Steel wedges for
+splitting logs.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Wedges.&rdquo; There came a hoarse laugh
+from the corner. It was Jack Mayhorn who
+spoke. &ldquo;Who wants wedges in this country?
+Do like I do. Cut down the trees that split
+easy.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They&rsquo;ve all got tough spots,&rdquo; Johnny replied
+quietly. &ldquo;Where the limbs have been
+cut off.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, the knotty pines!&rdquo; Jack laughed again.
+&ldquo;Roll &rsquo;em into the fence row an&rsquo; leave &rsquo;em.
+That&rsquo;s the way we do.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We don&rsquo;t,&rdquo; said Lawrence. &ldquo;We aim to
+take them as they come, tough or not tough,
+they&rsquo;ve got to bust.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why?&rdquo; Blackie fixed his piercing black
+eyes on the boy.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&mdash;I don&rsquo;t know why,&rdquo; was Lawrence&rsquo;s
+slow reply. &ldquo;I can&rsquo;t explain it right.&rdquo; The
+boy hesitated. &ldquo;But I&mdash;you know&mdash;I sort of
+hate being licked, even by a tough log. So I&mdash;we
+sort of take &rsquo;em as they come.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_34">[34]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s great!&rdquo; Blackie slapped his knee.
+&ldquo;And I suppose you feel the same way?&rdquo; he
+asked of Johnny.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Sure do,&rdquo; was Johnny&rsquo;s prompt reply.
+&ldquo;They can&rsquo;t come too tough for me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Can&rsquo;t come too tough for little old Johnny.&rdquo;
+There was a sneer in Jack Mayhorn&rsquo;s
+voice. &ldquo;But he&rsquo;s afraid to set traps or carry
+a rifle.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not afraid,&rdquo; Johnny replied quietly. &ldquo;Just
+don&rsquo;t want to.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Tell us, Blackie,&rdquo; Joe, the store-keeper,
+broke in, sensing a possible row, &ldquo;tell us how
+you got that leg.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Even then Blackie did not comply at once.
+Turning to the boys, he said in a low tone,
+&ldquo;You boys are dead right. No use letting a
+log or anything else lick you.&rdquo; Dropping his
+voice still lower he added, &ldquo;I might take you
+with me next spring on that coast guard boat.
+I just might, that is, if you still want to go.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Then in a changed voice he said, &ldquo;All right,
+Joe, I&rsquo;ll tell you all about that leg of mine,
+though I&rsquo;m not fond of doing it. It always
+makes me hopping mad, just thinking about it.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_35">[35]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;You see,&rdquo; he went on at once, &ldquo;I was up
+a river in Asia. Doesn&rsquo;t matter which river.
+I was in the navy. Less than six months ago,
+although it seems two years. I was on a small
+U. S. gunboat. What one? That doesn&rsquo;t matter,
+either. She&rsquo;s at the bottom of the river
+now.&rdquo; He paused to stare at the fire.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We were laying up the river. There was
+fighting down below. We&rsquo;d come up-river to
+get out of the way. The fighting was foolish
+enough, but none of our business.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We were there to protect American citizens.
+There were twenty or more of them on
+board, reporters and missionaries and the like.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;d just come on duty when a big bombing
+plane came hovering, like a vulture, over us.
+It circled off again. &lsquo;Good riddance,&rsquo; I said to
+my buddy.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I hadn&rsquo;t finished saying it when it came
+zooming back. This time higher up and&mdash;&rdquo;
+Blackie took a long breath. &ldquo;The bloomin&rsquo; infidels!
+What do you think? They let go a bomb
+that missed us by inches.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You should have seen us scatter,&rdquo; Blackie
+laughed in spite of himself.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_36">[36]</div>
+<p>And then, of a sudden, the lines between his
+eyes grew deep and long. &ldquo;They bombed us.
+They sank our ship. My buddy was killed. I
+caught it in the leg. I got a lifeboat off, doing
+what I could to save the women.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Me,&rdquo; he faltered. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m no sort of a story
+teller. But I hope I&rsquo;m something of a fighter.
+This old leg will be good as new next spring.
+And, sure&rsquo;s I&rsquo;m living, I&rsquo;m going hunting little
+brown men up there in Bristol Bay. They
+stole a cool million dollars&rsquo; worth of fish last
+season. How many&rsquo;ll they get this year? That
+depends on the Coast Guard men and, glory
+be! I&rsquo;m one of them. I&rsquo;m out of the navy,
+invalided home, back on the good old job, and
+there&rsquo;ll be plenty of things a-popping in May.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Er, excuse me, boys,&rdquo; he apologized. &ldquo;That
+sounds an awful lot like bragging. We didn&rsquo;t
+catch the Shadow that passes in the fog last
+season. We didn&rsquo;t do those Orientals much
+harm, either. Too slick for us, I guess. But
+wish me luck next time. The biggest industry
+in Alaska, the run of red salmon, depends on
+us.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_37">[37]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Here&rsquo;s luck,&rdquo; said Johnny, lifting a cup of
+coffee just poured by Joe&rsquo;s motherly wife.
+&ldquo;Here&rsquo;s luck to the service.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And may you be my buddy!&rdquo; Blackie added.</p>
+<p>That night Johnny and Lawrence walked
+home in silence. The great white world was
+all about them and the blue-white stars above.
+Their thoughts were long, long thoughts.</p>
+<p>Arrived at their log cabin home, they
+dragged out a tattered map of Alaska to study
+its shore-line and most of all the shores of
+Bristol Bay.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;May,&rdquo; Lawrence said at last. &ldquo;That&rsquo;s a
+long time yet.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; Johnny agreed, &ldquo;and there&rsquo;s plenty
+to get excited about tomorrow. What do you
+say we turn in?&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_38">[38]</div>
+<h2 id="c3"><span class="small">CHAPTER III</span>
+<br />FAT AND FURIOUS</h2>
+<p>Anyone who had watched the two boys
+skating slowly up the river next morning
+would surely have been puzzled. Before
+them, now darting up a steep bank and now
+scurrying along over the snow, were two
+brown, fur-clad creatures. Neither dogs nor
+cats, they still appeared quite domestic in their
+actions. Once when they had gone racing
+ahead too far Johnny let out a shrill whistle
+and they came dashing back to peer up into
+his face as if to say, &ldquo;Did you call me?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They&rsquo;re great!&rdquo; Lawrence chuckled. &ldquo;Got
+a dog beat a mile. They never bark.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And yet they can find where wild creatures
+live,&rdquo; Johnny agreed.</p>
+<p>Just now, as you no doubt have guessed,
+the boys were looking for the spot, under
+some great rock or at the foot of a tree, which
+the silver fox called his home.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_39">[39]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;We must find him,&rdquo; Johnny had exclaimed
+only an hour before.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We surely must,&rdquo; Lawrence had agreed.</p>
+<p>And indeed they must, for three principal
+reasons. Last night the fox had, by shrewd
+cunning, managed to pry the chicken coop
+door open and made off with a rooster. The
+fox was worth a lot of money&mdash;they were
+sure of this&mdash;dead or alive. They must get
+him before someone with a gun or with traps
+got sight of him. And they must take him
+alive, if possible&mdash;a very large contract.</p>
+<p>Their desires had been redoubled by something
+that had happened only the night before.
+Mack Gleason, the settler whose claim joined
+them on the west, had been in for a friendly
+chat.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Got your tractor yet?&rdquo; he had asked of Mr.
+Lawson.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not yet,&rdquo; had been the reply.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, you better hurry. They&rsquo;re going fast.
+May not be another shipment until it is too
+late for spring&rsquo;s work.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No money just now.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_40">[40]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Money!&rdquo; Mack exploded. &ldquo;Who said anything
+about money? Government gives &rsquo;em to
+you on time.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But time has a way of rolling around,&rdquo; Mr.
+Lawson had replied quietly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, the Government wouldn&rsquo;t be hard on
+you,&rdquo; Mack laughed. &ldquo;Look at us. We&rsquo;ve got
+a washing machine and a buzz-saw, and a motor
+to run &rsquo;em, a tractor, plow, harrow, everything,
+and all on time.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, I know,&rdquo; had come in the same slow,
+quiet tones. &ldquo;And I know the Government
+won&rsquo;t be hard on you. Still it will want its
+money, same as any loaning agency. It just
+has to be that way.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;This week,&rdquo; Mr. Lawson went on after a
+moment, &ldquo;I received a letter from an old friend
+of mine. Few years back he secured a government
+loan on his home. He didn&rsquo;t keep up the
+interest and payments. They took it from him.
+Now he&rsquo;s unhappy about it. But people who
+borrow must pay. That&rsquo;s why we&rsquo;re trying
+not to borrow.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And we won&rsquo;t, not if we can help it.&rdquo; Lawrence
+set his will hard as he now followed
+those dark brown creatures over the ice.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_41">[41]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Johnny,&rdquo; he said suddenly. &ldquo;Do you think
+father should let us use traps?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&mdash;I don&rsquo;t know,&rdquo; Johnny replied slowly.
+&ldquo;But that, for us, is not the question. Ours is,
+&lsquo;Have we a right to urge him to let us use
+them?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And the answer is, &lsquo;No,&rsquo;&rdquo; he chuckled. &ldquo;So
+we&rsquo;ll have to trust our little old otters to lead
+the way. When they find Mr. Silver Fox for
+us we&rsquo;ll have to grab him.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If only one of those trapping fellows
+doesn&rsquo;t get him first,&rdquo; Lawrence said, wrinkling
+his brow.</p>
+<p>Early in the season, as, with dreamy eyes,
+the boys wandered over the forty acres of land
+that was, they hoped, to be their home for
+years to come, they had caught the low, whining
+notes of some small creatures apparently
+in distress.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It comes from under that rock,&rdquo; Johnny
+had said.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, over here beneath this dead tree
+trunk,&rdquo; Lawrence insisted.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_42">[42]</div>
+<p>He was right. Having torn away the decayed
+stump, they had found two round,
+brown balls of fur. These balls were baby
+otters. Taking them home, they had raised
+them on a bottle. And now, here they were,
+paying their debt by scouting about in search
+of the silver fox.</p>
+<p>Pets they were, the grandest in all the world.
+The happiest moments of their young lives
+were these long hikes. Never once did it seem
+to occur to them that it might be nice to desert
+their young masters and answer the call
+of the wild.</p>
+<p>Now, as the boys followed them, they went
+gliding here and there peeking into every crack
+and crevice of ice or frozen shore. From time
+to time they poked their noses into some hole
+into which strange tracks had vanished. After
+a good sniff they put their heads together and
+uttered low whining noises. These noises varied
+with their opinions on the condition of
+each particular hole. At times they appeared
+to shake their heads and whine, &ldquo;Too bad. He
+was here three hours ago. Now he&rsquo;s gone.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>At other times they put their noses in the
+air and sang triumphantly, &ldquo;He&rsquo;s there. He&rsquo;s
+right in that hole this minute.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_43">[43]</div>
+<p>Had the boys been able to train their pets
+to go in the hole and frighten out the prey,
+they might have held a moose-hide sack at the
+entrance to each hole and added quite rapidly
+to their collection of living Arctic animals.
+This, however, the otters would not do. They
+were not looking for a fight. And indeed, why
+should they? They did not live upon squirrels
+and muskrats, but upon fish. &ldquo;We&rsquo;ll find &rsquo;em,
+you catch &rsquo;em,&rdquo; seemed to be their motto.</p>
+<p>For the boys, finding the lair of the silver
+fox would not insure his capture. It merely
+meant that they would know where he lived
+and would watch that spot in the hope that
+he might come out on the ice in search of food
+or a drink and that then they might come
+speeding in to grab him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Look!&rdquo; Lawrence exclaimed suddenly,
+&ldquo;there are Old Silver&rsquo;s tracks!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, sir! He just cut in from the hill to
+the river. He&mdash;&rdquo; Suddenly Johnny broke off
+to peer upstream.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Something moving up there,&rdquo; he whispered.
+&ldquo;Maybe&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_44">[44]</div>
+<p>But the otters had smelled the fox tracks
+and were off on swift tracking feet. Johnny
+bent over to examine those tracks.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s the old fellow or his brother,&rdquo; he murmured.
+&ldquo;No other fox around here has such
+large feet. Boy! He&rsquo;s a humdinger!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Once more his keen eyes swept the upper
+reaches of the river. &ldquo;Huh!&rdquo; he grunted.
+&ldquo;Whatever that was, it&rsquo;s vanished now.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Might as well follow the otters,&rdquo; Lawrence
+suggested.</p>
+<p>They did follow. Soft-footed in silence they
+tracked on for a mile. Up banks and down
+again, over a ridge, back to the river. &ldquo;Look
+at those feathers!&rdquo; Lawrence whispered.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Got a ptarmigan,&rdquo; said Johnny. &ldquo;After that
+he should have made a bee line for his lair.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>That was just what the fox had done.
+Straight as an arrow he had returned to the
+stream, then he had sped away along its course
+until he came to a huge gray rock. There the
+trail ended. And beneath this rock, according
+to the verdict of the two singing otters, he
+must still lie fast asleep.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Good old otters!&rdquo; Lawrence exclaimed in a
+hoarse whisper.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_45">[45]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;They&rsquo;ve found us his hiding place,&rdquo; Johnny
+agreed. &ldquo;And will we watch it? We&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Suddenly he broke off short to point excitedly
+upstream.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A bear cub!&rdquo; Lawrence exclaimed low.
+&ldquo;He&rsquo;s going to cross the river.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We&mdash;we&rsquo;ll get on our sk-ates,&rdquo; said Johnny
+excitedly. &ldquo;Then let&rsquo;s take him.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Can we?&rdquo; Lawrence was doubtful.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Sure! We&rsquo;ll lasso him and tie him up.
+He&rsquo;ll make a grand addition to our zoo. Come
+on!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Swinging out on the shining ice, skating
+silently from the hips, the boys glided like
+two dark ghosts toward the unsuspecting bear
+cub who, at that moment, had started to cross
+a broad stretch of slippery ice. Sly silence is,
+however, a game that two can play at. This
+the boys were to learn very soon and to their
+sorrow.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_46">[46]</div>
+<p>One day the boys had come, quite unexpectedly,
+upon a half-grown white caribou, or perhaps
+it had been a reindeer, that had wandered
+down from some far northern herd. However
+that might have been, they were filled with
+regret at the thought that they were not
+equipped for capturing it for their &ldquo;zoo.&rdquo;
+From that time on they had carried lariats
+and, by way of some added safety, short, stout
+spears. They were thus equipped today as
+they sped swiftly, silently toward the bear cub.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll toss the lasso over his head, then you
+watch the fun,&rdquo; Johnny chuckled.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll watch all right,&rdquo; Lawrence agreed. And
+he did.</p>
+<p>Slowly, clumsily, the young bear, no larger
+than a good-sized dog, made his way across
+the ice. The wind was away from him. He
+could not smell the intruders, nor was he
+aware of their presence until, with a sudden
+rush, Johnny was upon him.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_47">[47]</div>
+<p>Never will the boy forget the look of surprise
+that came over the young bear&rsquo;s comical
+face as he stared straight into his eyes. The
+whole affair was easy, too easy. He passed
+so close to the cub that he might have touched
+him. He did not. Instead, he dropped his noose
+over his head, pulled it tight, then, letting out
+slack, whirled about to face the cub. What
+would the cub do about that? He was to know
+instantly. Throwing himself back on his
+haunches, the cub began backing and pulling
+like a balky horse. On his skates, Johnny was
+no match for him. All he could do was to come
+along. To his further annoyance, he found
+that his lariat had whirled about his wrist
+and tied itself into a knot. As long as the cub
+kept the line tight he could not untie the knot.
+He did not quite relish the idea of dashing up
+to the cub and saying, &ldquo;By your leave, I&rsquo;ll untie
+this knot.&rdquo; So, for the moment, he played
+into the cub&rsquo;s hand.</p>
+<p>Then the unexpected happened. With a
+grunt and a snarl of rage, a huge black bear,
+the cub&rsquo;s mother beyond a possible doubt,
+dashed over a ridge to come charging straight
+at Johnny and the cub.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Hey! Hey! Look out!&rdquo; Lawrence shouted.
+&ldquo;Drop your rope and beat it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&mdash;I can&rsquo;t,&rdquo; Johnny cried in sudden consternation.
+&ldquo;He&mdash;he&rsquo;s got me tied.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Tied!&rdquo; Lawrence gasped.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_48">[48]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s &rsquo;round my wrist.&rdquo; Johnny watched
+wide-eyed while the huge mother bear came
+tobogganing down the high, steep river bank.
+She hit the ice like a bobsled and, dropping
+on hind legs and tail, came sliding straight on.</p>
+<p>Just in time, Johnny came to his senses and
+began doing a back-stroke. Only by inches did
+he miss the husky swing of the angry bear&rsquo;s
+paw.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Cut the rope,&rdquo; Lawrence shouted.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Al-all right, I&rsquo;ll&mdash;I&rsquo;ll cut it.&rdquo; Johnny dug
+into a pocket with his free hand. A pocket
+knife. It must be opened. With one eye on the
+cub, who for the moment sat whining, and the
+other upon the mother bear, who was scrambling
+awkwardly to her feet, he had no eyes
+left for his knife. Just as, having gripped the
+handle with one hand, the blade with the other,
+he managed to open the knife, the cub, going
+into frenzied action, gave him a sudden jerk
+that sent the knife spinning far out on the ice.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s gone,&rdquo; he groaned.</p>
+<p>No more time for this. Old mother bear was
+after him. Fortunately this old bear was
+heavy with fat. She had been preparing for a
+winter&rsquo;s sleep. Still she could travel and she
+was fat and furious. Her skill as a skater was
+something to marvel at.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_49">[49]</div>
+<p>Since he could not escape from the rope, the
+only thing for Johnny to do was circle. Circle
+he did. One time around with the bear at his
+heels; two times around he had gained a little;
+three times around he caught the gleam of his
+knife. Could he stoop and pick it up? He bent
+over, made a reach for it, struck a crack with
+his skate and all but fell.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&mdash;I&rsquo;ll get it next time,&rdquo; he breathed.</p>
+<p>To his surprise he found that next time the
+knife was well out of his reach. Then to his
+utter horror, he saw that the perverse cub was
+standing still, making an animated Maypole
+out of himself and that it would be no time at
+all until the rope would be all wound around
+him. They would meet face to face, cub, mother
+bear and boy. And after that? He shuddered
+as he sped along that ever-narrowing
+circle.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m coming in,&rdquo; Lawrence shouted.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, you&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Johnny could say no more. Lawrence was
+already in. Skating straight at the bear to
+attract her attention, Lawrence shot past her
+and slapped her sharply on the nose.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_50">[50]</div>
+<p>It was a daring and effective endeavor.
+Turning with a snarl, completely abandoning
+her cub at this fancied insult, the bear went
+after him with a rush.</p>
+<p>That was all right as far as it went. The
+skating was good. The bear was fast, but not
+fast enough to catch him. There is, however,
+an end to all things. There was an end to that
+stretch of ice. It ended in a series of rapids
+that were not frozen over.</p>
+<p>Lawrence groaned as he saw open water
+ahead. To his added terror, he saw that the
+river narrowed at that point. That the bear
+could outrun him on land he knew all too
+well.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Got to be an artful dodger,&rdquo; he told himself.</p>
+<p>At that moment how he rejoiced that he had
+trained himself as a hockey skater. Swinging
+about in a half circle, he sped toward the right-hand
+bank. But the bear was there ahead of
+him.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_51">[51]</div>
+<p>Just as she reared up for a sledge-hammer
+blow, the boy whirled squarely about and shot
+away to left. Again he was too late for a safe
+passage, but not so much too late. He was
+gaining. Three more times, then with a joyous
+intake of breath he shot past the bear and
+was away.</p>
+<p>In the meantime, Johnny, safe for the moment
+from the mother bear, had hastily unwound
+the surprised cub, then had rushed him
+with such speed that the rope was off his neck
+before he could lift a paw. The cub was free.
+So was Johnny. And there were no regrets.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Johnny,&rdquo; said Lawrence as he joined his
+companion five minutes later, &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t think
+we want any bears in our zoo. They&rsquo;re too
+playful.&rdquo; They were to change their minds
+about this, but that was to come sometime
+later.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That,&rdquo; said Johnny with a chuckle, &ldquo;was
+almost funny.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; Lawrence agreed, &ldquo;almost.&rdquo; He did
+not laugh. &ldquo;Almost, but not quite.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>A moment later he exclaimed, &ldquo;Johnny!
+Where are the otters? We can&rsquo;t lose them.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_52">[52]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;They&rsquo;ll probably hunt us up. They&mdash;&rdquo;
+Johnny broke off short. &ldquo;Look!&rdquo; he murmured
+low. &ldquo;Look! There&rsquo;s the silver fox.
+He&rsquo;s out of his hole. He&mdash;he&rsquo;s going to cross
+the ice.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Lawrence glanced back to the spot where
+the bears had been. They had vanished. &ldquo;This
+time,&rdquo; he whispered, &ldquo;we&rsquo;ll get that old silver
+fox. We simply must.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_53">[53]</div>
+<h2 id="c4"><span class="small">CHAPTER IV</span>
+<br />THE CAPTURE OF OLD SILVER</h2>
+<p>Johnny felt his pulse quicken as he sped
+along over the ice. The silver fox had
+come out of the hole. There could be no doubt
+of that. Would he dodge back in again or
+would he start across the ice?</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If he starts!&rdquo; the boy breathed.</p>
+<p>He must not be too fast nor too sure. Last
+time he had muffed a glorious chance. Slowing
+up, he slid in behind a clump of elders and
+came to a standstill. There, gripping a shrub,
+he stood trembling like a butterfly ready for
+flight.</p>
+<p>As for Lawrence, he was coming on more
+slowly. Naturally more cautious than his cousin,
+he had an eye out for trouble. That fat
+old mother bear might still be lurking among
+the ridges. He had not forgotten how she had
+come charging down upon them.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_54">[54]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Can&rsquo;t take unnecessary chances,&rdquo; he told
+himself. &ldquo;Life is wonderful. I am sure that
+taking unnecessary chances is wrong. It is
+making light of God&rsquo;s great gift to us&mdash;life.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Ah, yes, it was good to live just now. For
+the first time in their lives his little family felt
+sure of having a home of their own. As he
+glided slowly along he thought of the summer&rsquo;s
+struggle. At first it had been damp and
+bitterly cold. Then the sun had been hot and
+the mosquitoes had come in swarms.</p>
+<p>Through all this they had labored on; father,
+mother, and these two stout boys. It was said
+that gangs of men would be along to clear
+patches of land and build cabins. To this they
+had not listened. &ldquo;We came to make our own
+way,&rdquo; they insisted. &ldquo;We are pioneers. Pioneers
+must work.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>When garden and potato patches were
+planted they had started the cabin. Selecting,
+from near and far, trees that were dead
+but not decayed, they had built a cabin whose
+walls would not warp and shrink as would
+those built of green timber.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_55">[55]</div>
+<p>Later, in the autumn when sharp winds told
+of a long winter ahead, they had cut squares
+of tough sod and piled them about the cabin
+until it seemed a sod house. When the question
+of a heating stove had arisen, they had
+discovered an abandoned gasoline barrel, had
+cut one hole for a door, another for the stove-pipe,
+had done a little drilling and riveting,
+and thus had made a stove that, fed on crackling
+fir logs, laughed at the Arctic cold.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Pioneers!&rdquo; he whispered. &ldquo;We are pioneers.&rdquo;
+How he loved that thought.</p>
+<p>Of a sudden his attention was drawn from
+past to present by Johnny&rsquo;s beckoning hand.
+With a quick twisting glide, he moved silently
+forward until he was at his companion&rsquo;s
+side.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Look,&rdquo; Johnny gripped his arm. &ldquo;There is
+the fox. He hasn&rsquo;t started across yet and&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And there are the otters!&rdquo; Lawrence broke
+in with a shrill whisper.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; Johnny agreed. &ldquo;That&rsquo;s the queer
+part of it. They came just so close to the fox,
+then seemed to shout something at him.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Like one boy daring another to come out
+and fight,&rdquo; Lawrence laughed low.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_56">[56]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, or inviting him to a game of tag,&rdquo;
+whispered Johnny. &ldquo;And look! There he goes!
+There goes the fox! Good old otters! They
+are helping&mdash;helping a lot.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He had spoken the truth, the fox was after
+one of the otters.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Little good it will do him,&rdquo; Lawrence
+chuckled. &ldquo;Those otters are more at home on
+ice and in water than on land.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Listen!&rdquo; Johnny&rsquo;s voice was tense now.
+His figure stiffened. &ldquo;In a minute I&rsquo;m going
+after him. I&rsquo;ve got the bag. If I get him I&rsquo;ll
+pop him inside. I won&rsquo;t miss now. You just
+follow along slowly. I might need you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Al-all right,&rdquo; the younger boy agreed.</p>
+<p>There might have been boys who would
+have said, &ldquo;This is my turn. You muffed last
+time.&rdquo; Not so Lawrence. All too well he knew
+the skill and natural daring of his cousin. And,
+after all, in their little family the rule had ever
+been, &ldquo;Each for all and all for each.&rdquo; So he
+watched his cousin glide silently out for one
+more adventure.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_57">[57]</div>
+<p>Ten seconds later in watching the little
+drama of wild life being played there on the
+ice, he had all but forgotten Johnny. Never
+before had he seen the tame otters put on such
+a clever show. Just as the larger one had so
+far escaped the onrush of the fox that he was
+becoming discouraged, the small otter, with
+cunning and extreme daring, slipped up and
+all but shouted in the fox&rsquo;s ear. At once, the
+now thoroughly angered fox turned to dash
+after this second intruder.</p>
+<p>No sooner had the first otter been abandoned
+than he turned about to begin slipping
+up on the fox to dare him for one more race.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;For all the world like a game of tag!&rdquo;
+Lawrence murmured.</p>
+<p>All this was aiding Johnny, though it is to
+be doubted whether the otters knew the value
+of their antics. The fox was being led farther
+and farther out on the ice. At the same time
+his attention was so held by this strange game
+that he was almost certain to miss catching
+sight of the boy who now glided closer, ever
+closer to him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Good old otters!&rdquo; Johnny repeated in a
+whisper as, drawing his moose-hide mittens
+tight, he prepared for the final dash.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_58">[58]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;He&rsquo;s going after him,&rdquo; Lawrence thought
+as, with a thrill shooting up his spine, he
+glided from his sheltered spot, ready, if need
+be, to come in on the finish.</p>
+<p>With a suddenness that must have been
+startling to the keenest eyes, Johnny swept
+down upon the fox and the otters. Did the otters
+see him? Beyond doubt. They saw everything.
+But the fox? For once he was caught
+quite unawares. One startled look, a quick
+squatting down on the ground, and Johnny
+was at his side. Before the fox could relax
+from this stiff pose, Johnny&rsquo;s hands, like a
+brass collar, were about his neck.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You got him!&rdquo; Lawrence shouted, springing
+into action. &ldquo;You got him! Hurray!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Then a terrible thing happened. Overjoyed
+at their great good fortune, Lawrence for the
+moment lost his bearing. Of a sudden his
+skate struck ice that crunched ominously. He
+tripped to go plunging forward into the black
+waters of the racing river. He had fallen into
+an open pool.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_59">[59]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll drown,&rdquo; he thought, as, in an involuntary
+manner, he struck out with his hands in a
+swimming motion. All too late he saw ice
+ahead. Next instant he was beneath the river&rsquo;s
+ice.</p>
+<p>Johnny saw all this. With a gasp of terror
+he all but dropped the fox. Then, scarcely
+knowing what he did, he thrust the fox as if he
+were his mother&rsquo;s fur scarf, into the moose-hide
+bag, drew the strings tight, then shot
+away toward the spot from which his cousin
+had vanished.</p>
+<p>As Lawrence shot beneath the ice, life
+seemed near its end. Yet there had never been
+a time when life had seemed so real and so
+joyous as now. For a second panic gripped
+him. Holding his breath, he tried to think.</p>
+<p>In an instant his mind was clear. He knew
+what he should do. There were two open
+pools farther on. How far? He did not know
+exactly. Could he hold his breath till then?
+He must hope. And he must try to move over
+closer to the shelving bank. If he reached the
+pool he might then touch bottom.</p>
+<p>Desperately he struggled to draw himself
+over to the left. His head hummed. His lungs
+were bursting, his heart pounding.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_60">[60]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;It&mdash;it&rsquo;s the end,&rdquo; he thought.</p>
+<p>And then, up he popped. Just in time, as
+his feet touched, he gripped the edge of the
+ice and held there. Ten agonizing seconds he
+clung there, then a voice shouted, &ldquo;Hold on,
+I&rsquo;m coming.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Ten seconds more and Johnny, who had
+leaped to the bank and raced along it, reached
+out to grip his mackinaw.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Now!&rdquo; he shouted. &ldquo;Out you come.&rdquo; And
+out he came.</p>
+<p>Weak from excitement and exhaustion, he
+lay there for a time motionless.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;This won&rsquo;t do,&rdquo; Johnny exclaimed at last.
+&ldquo;We&rsquo;ve got to get going. Here,&rdquo; he dragged
+the sodden mackinaw from his cousin&rsquo;s shoulders,
+then put his own sheep-lined coat in its
+place. After putting his own dry mittens on
+Lawrence&rsquo;s hands, he pulled him to his feet.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s you for skates and the ice, then home
+as fast as ever you can.&rdquo; He pushed him on
+before him.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_61">[61]</div>
+<p>As his skates touched the ice Lawrence felt
+new warm blood racing through his veins. He
+was off with the speed of the wind. And after
+him, with a moose-hide sack dangling at his
+side and filled with one very angry silver fox,
+came his loyal, anxious yet joyous friend and
+cousin, Johnny.</p>
+<p>The day, for this part of the world, was not
+extremely cold. Lawrence&rsquo;s trousers froze into
+pipe-like forms, but his sturdy, youthful body
+resisted the cold and sent him speeding on his
+way.</p>
+<p>Dropping down on the river bank at last,
+they dragged off their skates to take the usual
+short cut through the timber.</p>
+<p>As he passed the carefully built shelter beside
+that narrow stream, Johnny recalled the
+note tacked to a post and wondered afresh
+whether the mysterious Bill would arrive, just
+as the note said he would, on July 1st.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Who do you suppose he left that note for?&rdquo;
+he exclaimed suddenly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Haven&rsquo;t&mdash;the&mdash;slightest-notion,&rdquo; Lawrence
+panted, still racing along. &ldquo;One&mdash;thing&mdash;is&mdash;sure.
+I&rsquo;m&mdash;going&mdash;to&mdash;be&mdash;there&mdash;when
+that day comes.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_62">[62]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;We&rsquo;ll both be there,&rdquo; Johnny agreed. Somehow,
+as he thought of it, in a strange way it
+seemed that Bill and the silver fox must in
+some way be associated with each other. &ldquo;Pure
+moonbeams,&rdquo; he assured himself, yet the
+thought remained in the back of his mind.</p>
+<p>There is something in the north that is
+called &ldquo;Grapevine telegraph.&rdquo; This name is
+given to the mysterious means by which, in a
+land devoid of telephone and telegraph, news
+travels fast and far. Was it this unreal telegraph
+that, six hours later, as Lawrence, none
+the worse for his experience, lay before the
+roaring fire, brought a stranger to their door?
+Who can say? Be that as it may, there he was.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Excuse me for intruding,&rdquo; said the tall,
+smiling stranger as he brushed the snow from
+his moccasins. &ldquo;I heard you&rsquo;d got a silver fox
+and I just had to have a look at him. It&rsquo;s been
+three years since I saw one. I&rsquo;m Jim Clem.
+Got a claim over on the other side of the settlement.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&mdash;you&rsquo;ve seen silver foxes.&rdquo; Johnny
+was on his feet.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Hundreds of &rsquo;em.&rdquo; The stranger smiled.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Hun-hundreds,&rdquo; Johnny stammered. &ldquo;I
+thought they were rare.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_63">[63]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Used to be,&rdquo; admitted Jim Clem. &ldquo;Still
+are, fairly so. Did you get a good one?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, I&mdash;well,&rdquo; Johnny whirled about. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll
+show you.&rdquo; Opening the back door, he dragged
+in a small wire cage. &ldquo;We just put him in this
+for a little while,&rdquo; he half apologized.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh! He&rsquo;s alive. Hurt much?&rdquo; Jim asked.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not hurt at all.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not hurt?&rdquo; Jim stared. &ldquo;How&rsquo;d you catch
+him?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;With my hands,&rdquo; Johnny chuckled. Then,
+seeing that this would not stand as a bare
+statement, he explained briefly their method of
+capture.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Say-ee,&rdquo; Jim exclaimed, dropping into a
+chair, &ldquo;you&rsquo;re regular natives. And that&rsquo;s a
+fine specimen. Time was when you&rsquo;d get two
+thousand dollars for him.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, we&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But not now,&rdquo; Jim broke in. &ldquo;Never again.
+Know much about foxes?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, we&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_64">[64]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Then, I&rsquo;ll tell you.&rdquo; Jim settled back in his
+chair. &ldquo;I worked on a silver fox farm for
+three years. &lsquo;Million Dollar Farm,&rsquo; they called
+it. And that&rsquo;s what it was. Raised only silver
+foxes.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But you don&rsquo;t get that way all at once,&rdquo; he
+laughed. &ldquo;Not by a great deal. Take that
+fellow you got there. Suppose you find him a
+mate and decide to start raising silver foxes.
+Pretty soon you&rsquo;d have a lovely lot of cute
+little fox cubs. But would they be silver foxes?
+Not one. That&rsquo;s almost certain.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not one?&rdquo; Lawrence sat up.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s it,&rdquo; Jim agreed. &ldquo;You&rsquo;d get two or
+three little red foxes and, with great luck, a
+cross fox, that&rsquo;s all.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You see,&rdquo; he leaned forward, &ldquo;a silver fox
+is a freak, just as a half-white robin is. If a
+half-white robin hatches his eggs his young
+ones are likely to be jolly little robin redbreasts,
+nothing more.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Only by keeping foxes for years and years
+can you at last hope to raise pure silver foxes.
+That takes thousands and thousands of dollars.
+Four brothers went in for that in a big
+way years ago. Last year they sold 13,000 pelts
+for more than $1,000,000. And that,&rdquo; he added,
+&ldquo;figures up to something like $77.00 apiece.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_65">[65]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s what our fox is worth,&rdquo; Lawrence
+groaned. &ldquo;And we&rsquo;d have to kill him to get
+that?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, sure,&rdquo; Jim grinned. &ldquo;But truly,&rdquo; his
+face sobered, &ldquo;that&rsquo;s the tough part about fox
+farming. In the end you&rsquo;ve got to kill &rsquo;em, so
+some fine lady can drape their skins about her
+neck.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;d never sell ours to a fox farm,&rdquo; Lawrence
+said with conviction.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;How about selling him alive to some zoo?&rdquo;
+Johnny asked hopefully.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t know very much about that,&rdquo; Jim
+replied slowly. &ldquo;I wouldn&rsquo;t hope too much.
+There are 5,000 fox farms these days. And
+they raise some beauties.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But if you mean to keep this fellow alive,&rdquo;
+he added, &ldquo;you want to get a wooden barrel
+and make it into a den for him. Pack it all
+&rsquo;round with chaff and moss to make it warm.
+Then build him a wire pen all about it. He&rsquo;ll
+get along fine if you do that.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_66">[66]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll have to trot along.&rdquo; He rose to go.
+&ldquo;Come and see me. I&rsquo;ll tell you more about
+&rsquo;em. They&rsquo;re interesting no end, foxes are.&rdquo;
+He bade them goodnight.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; Johnny drawled slowly, &ldquo;Old Silver
+won&rsquo;t buy us a tractor, that&rsquo;s sure.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No,&rdquo; said Lawrence. &ldquo;But we can learn a
+lot about him and we can at least keep him
+from eating our chickens. Don&rsquo;t give up the
+ship. We&rsquo;ll happen onto something yet.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>There are other rewards than money in this
+life of ours. Remarkable achievement of any
+sort usually brings us kind words of deserved
+praise from our fellowmen. It was so with
+Johnny and Lawrence. More than one settler
+had suffered from the night raids of Old Silver.
+Now that he was in prison his captors
+were highly praised.</p>
+<p>Still the problem remained; should they give
+up their dream of complete independence and
+go in debt for a tractor?</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I think you&rsquo;d better,&rdquo; said Johnny. &ldquo;There
+are only a few left and they are going fast.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;There&rsquo;ll always be the Titan,&rdquo; Lawrence
+laughed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, the Titan,&rdquo; Johnny agreed. &ldquo;But who
+could ever pay for that tractor?&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_67">[67]</div>
+<p>The Titan was a powerful new type of tractor.
+Only one had been brought on and that
+one was priced at a cool thousand dollars.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We&rsquo;ll wait a little longer,&rdquo; was Mr. Lawson&rsquo;s
+decision. &ldquo;The tide of fortune may turn
+our way.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_68">[68]</div>
+<h2 id="c5"><span class="small">CHAPTER V</span>
+<br />JOHNNY FIGHTS FOR FUN</h2>
+<p>News travels fast in the north. When
+the time came for the boys to make one
+more journey to the store at Palmer everyone
+had heard of their catch.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Here they come,&rdquo; someone shouted as,
+stamping the snow from their feet, they entered
+the smoke-filled room.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Here they come. They bring &rsquo;em back
+alive!&rdquo; someone else shouted.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; Lawrence drawled, &ldquo;we bring them
+anyway. Got two minks today. That&rsquo;s two
+more that won&rsquo;t carry off folks&rsquo; chickens.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I hear you boys got a silver fox.&rdquo; There
+was a suggestion of antagonism in Jack Mayhorn&rsquo;s
+voice as he said this.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; Johnny replied. &ldquo;And we&rsquo;ve still got
+him.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_69">[69]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Do you know, fellows,&rdquo; Jack gave vent to
+a chuckle that seemed a little strained, &ldquo;back
+in Michigan, where I lived on the shores of
+Lake Superior, there was a feller who used
+to go lake-trout fishin&rsquo;. He trolled with an
+out-board motor. Always got &rsquo;em, too, a
+whale of a fine catch.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But you know,&rdquo; he edged forward in his
+chair, &ldquo;there was net fishermen there, too.
+Fished fer a living. And one day when we
+was lookin&rsquo; over this sportin&rsquo; fellow&rsquo;s catch,
+the fish he claimed he&rsquo;d caught trollin&rsquo; we
+found had net marks on &rsquo;em.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Net marks?&rdquo; someone said.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Sure.&rdquo; There was a shifty look in Jack&rsquo;s
+eyes. &ldquo;He&rsquo;d been liftin&rsquo; nets an&rsquo; helping himself
+to the fish that didn&rsquo;t belong to him. And
+I was wonderin&rsquo;,&rdquo; he paused, &ldquo;just wonderin&rsquo;,
+Johnny, if that silver fox of yours mebby had
+a lame foot or&mdash;or somethin&rsquo;.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The silence that followed was painful.
+Johnny made no reply. His fingers worked
+along his palm, that was all.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_70">[70]</div>
+<p>It was Blackie Dawson who spoke at last.
+&ldquo;I take it, Jack,&rdquo; he spoke slowly, &ldquo;you are
+insinuating that these boys took the fox from
+your trap. Let me tell you, old man, that sort
+of thing calls for a fight; in the north it does.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Jack made no reply, but Johnny did.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m sorry,&rdquo; he said, speaking slowly. &ldquo;It
+doesn&rsquo;t mean a fight to me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You won&rsquo;t fight?&rdquo; Blackie stared at him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not to settle a personal grudge,&rdquo; Johnny
+replied slowly. &ldquo;If Jack wants to think we
+took the fox from his trap, that&rsquo;s his privilege.
+If he would like to examine the fox that&rsquo;s his
+privilege also. But I&rsquo;m not going to beat him
+up just to make him take back something he&rsquo;s
+said. That might seem to be a point of honor
+but we all have our own codes of honor. It
+may seem queer but I&rsquo;d rather take an insult
+than give someone a beating.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Take a beating you mean,&rdquo; Jack sneered.
+He was nearly twice Johnny&rsquo;s size.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Joe,&rdquo; said Johnny, turning to the store-keeper,
+&ldquo;you told me you got two pairs of boxing
+gloves through the mail.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Sure, Johnny, I did. Here they are.&rdquo;
+Reaching behind him the store-keeper drew
+out two pairs of gloves.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Put &rsquo;em on, Johnny,&rdquo; Blackie encouraged.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_71">[71]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Put &rsquo;em on! Put &rsquo;em on!&rdquo; came from all
+over the room. There was a stir of expectancy
+in the air.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Sure, I&rsquo;ll put them on,&rdquo; Johnny grinned.
+&ldquo;What do you say, Joe? I&rsquo;ll box you five
+rounds. Five friendly bouts for fun, money or
+marbles.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The crowd stared, Johnny was talking not
+to the man who had offered the insult but to
+his friend the store-keeper.</p>
+<p>For a moment Joe stood staring at him.
+Then, as the light of a smile spread over his
+face, he said, &ldquo;Sure, Johnny, I&rsquo;ll box you, not
+for money or marbles, but just, you might say,
+for fun.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>It will be a long time before the settlers of
+Matanuska Valley will again witness such a
+match as followed. Five rounds for fun, between
+friends? Yes, perhaps. And yet there
+were times when even Johnny doubted that.
+True, he was not angry for a moment, just in
+there doing his best. But Joe? He was wondering
+about him.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_72">[72]</div>
+<p>Though he had told no one in the valley
+about it, Joe had, only the year before, belonged
+to the U. S. Marines. The Marines
+neither give nor ask quarters. And Joe had
+been champion of his regiment. As for Johnny,
+well you know Johnny. If you don&rsquo;t, you
+should have been there that night.</p>
+<p>From the start it was leather against leather,
+a slap for the chin, a thrust at the heart,
+a bang on the side of the head, and after that
+a clinch.</p>
+<p>Seldom had men been more evenly matched.
+Joe was older, more experienced, Johnny
+younger, faster on his feet.</p>
+<p>They had not been going a minute when an
+involuntary ring had formed about them. In
+that ring, gaping open-mouthed was Jack
+Mayhorn.</p>
+<p>Twice Johnny was down on a knee. Each
+time he was up and at it. Once, backed into a
+corner, Joe tripped and fell. He, too, was up
+before the count of three.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_73">[73]</div>
+<p>The fifth round was wild. Had there been
+an announcer, he must surely have lost his
+mind calling, &ldquo;A right to Johnny&rsquo;s chin, a left
+to his ear. The ear is bleeding. Oh&mdash;a! A
+slam on the side of Joe&rsquo;s head that makes him
+slightly groggy. Johnny&rsquo;s following through.
+The clinch! The referee (Blackie) separates
+them. They are sparring now. Now! Oh,
+now! Johnny takes one on the chin. He&rsquo;s
+down. One&mdash;two&mdash;three&mdash;He&rsquo;s up again.&rdquo;
+So it went to the end.</p>
+<p>As the cowbell, rung by young Larry Hooker,
+announced the close of the round, the
+crowd went wild with enthusiasm, but Joe,
+seizing Johnny by the glove, dragged him into
+the kitchen at the back of the store.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Boy, you&rsquo;re a whiz!&rdquo; he exclaimed. &ldquo;There
+was a time or two when I thought you had
+me.&rdquo; He was mopping Johnny&rsquo;s face with a
+wet towel.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not a chance,&rdquo; Johnny laughed. &ldquo;I didn&rsquo;t
+know what I was stepping into but I did my
+best.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Listen,&rdquo; Joe held up a hand. The tumult
+in the outer room had died down. Blackie
+Dawson was about to make a short speech.
+&ldquo;Gentlemen,&rdquo; he was saying, &ldquo;the day after
+tomorrow at early candle light, there&rsquo;ll be another
+boxing bout in this room. It will be between&mdash;&rdquo;
+he paused&mdash;&ldquo;between Jack Mayhorn
+and&mdash;he&mdash;he has a choice&mdash;Johnny Thompson
+or Joe Lawrence.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_74">[74]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;No!&rdquo; a voice fairly roared after the shouts
+had subsided, &ldquo;I got a bad foot. My footwork,
+it ain&rsquo;t no good at all.&rdquo; It was Jack
+Mayhorn who spoke.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So it&rsquo;s <i>your</i> foot that&rsquo;s bad and not that
+silver fox&rsquo;s foot?&rdquo; Blackie bantered.</p>
+<p>The crowd let out a roar that could have
+been heard a mile.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;ll about fix Jack Mayhorn,&rdquo; said Joe.
+&ldquo;He&rsquo;s not likely to bother you much now.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>An hour later, when the customers had
+&ldquo;cleared out and gone home,&rdquo; Johnny and
+Lawrence found themselves in Joe&rsquo;s kitchen.
+Blackie and Joe were there. So was Mrs. Joe.
+They were all eating huckleberry pie and
+drinking hot chocolate.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Johnny,&rdquo; said Joe, feeling a plaster on his
+chin, &ldquo;why did you do it?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Do what?&rdquo; Johnny stared.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Pick on me for a fight. I never done you no
+wrong.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s why,&rdquo; was Johnny&rsquo;s astonishing reply.
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s an old Eskimo custom.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_75">[75]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;What is?&rdquo; They all stared at him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;According to the Eskimo law,&rdquo; Johnny
+went on soberly, &ldquo;if you are going to be killed
+it has to be done by a near relative or very
+close friend. So-o&mdash;&rdquo; he added with a spreading
+grin, &ldquo;I thought you&rsquo;d do as well as anyone.
+And you did&mdash;even better.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Anyway,&rdquo; Blackie supplemented after
+their laugh was over, &ldquo;folks in Matanuska Valley
+will know who among us can put up a
+good scrap and that always helps.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>When one is young he thinks only of the
+present and the future, never of the past. As
+the two boys walked home that night, they
+thought much of the future. The bond of
+friendship between them and Blackie Dawson
+was growing stronger every day. When spring
+came, would they go booming away with him
+on a Coast Guard boat in search of adventure
+in Bristol Bay? Who could tell?</p>
+<p>In the meantime there was work to be done,
+plenty of it. Some twenty acres of land was
+yet to be cleared. In the spring stumps must
+be pulled. Without a tractor this would mean
+back-breaking labor.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_76">[76]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Perhaps we can get more foxes?&rdquo; Lawrence
+said, thinking out loud.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, and other wild creatures,&rdquo; Johnny
+added. &ldquo;That country &lsquo;back of the beyond&rsquo; has
+never even been explored. There must be wild
+life back there that&rsquo;s never been seen. Peary
+found white reindeer on one of his expeditions.
+Who can tell what we&rsquo;ll come upon if
+we keep up our search?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Who, indeed? The boy had spoken more
+wisely than he knew.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_77">[77]</div>
+<h2 id="c6"><span class="small">CHAPTER VI</span>
+<br />SMOKEY JOE&rsquo;S BLUE BEARS</h2>
+<p>Johnny awoke with a start. What had
+wakened him? He could not say for sure.
+He had a feeling that it had been a human
+voice, perhaps a shout.</p>
+<p>Propping himself up on one elbow he listened
+intently. There came no sound save the
+long-drawn distant howl of a wolf. &ldquo;Must
+have dreamed it,&rdquo; he murmured as he drew
+deep into the caribou-skin bed.</p>
+<p>The night was cold, bitter cold. It was
+dark. Like chilled white diamonds, stars glistened
+in the sky. &ldquo;What a change a few hours
+can make,&rdquo; he thought. They were sleeping in
+the mysterious Bill&rsquo;s shelter, he and Lawrence.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_78">[78]</div>
+<p>Why were they sleeping in this cheerless
+shelter? Warm beds awaited them at home.
+When one is young he does not need too good
+an answer for the thing he does. Both Johnny
+and Lawrence were born scouts. They loved
+the sharp tang of cold on their cheeks, followed
+by the quick glow of a campfire. The
+smell of wood-smoke, deer steak broiled over
+coals, dreamy hours just sitting before the fire,
+not talking, just thinking, all these were a joy
+to them. So they liked to get away for a night.
+Bill&rsquo;s camp was a convenient place.</p>
+<p>Johnny did not fall asleep at once, instead
+his mind was crowded with dreamy thoughts.</p>
+<p>Perhaps Bill was a gold prospector. Perhaps
+he had discovered gold. Then when he
+returned to this camp, they might all go tramping
+away to find the spot and stake out claims.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That would ruin the settlement,&rdquo; he told
+himself. &ldquo;People would desert their dreams
+of making homes for brighter, more illusive
+dreams of wealth. And yet&mdash;&rdquo; What did he
+wish? He could not tell.</p>
+<p>When they had retired for the night the
+moon had been shining, a bright fire gleamed
+before their shelter. Now all was gloomy and
+cold. Should he rekindle the fire? &ldquo;No. Too
+chilly,&rdquo; he shuddered. &ldquo;Wait till morning.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_79">[79]</div>
+<p>The days that had gone before had been uneventful
+ones. More and more he had come
+to realize that they must have a tractor. Long
+hours they had worked clearing timber. Brush
+was burned. But wood must be saved for fires,
+for buildings and fences. Every day saw
+larger piles of wood on the cleared land.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;With a tractor and a stout sled we&rsquo;d have
+it hauled home in no time,&rdquo; Lawrence had
+said to his father. &ldquo;Without it&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Wait a little longer,&rdquo; his father had counseled.</p>
+<p>So they were waiting and tonight, sleeping
+in Bill&rsquo;s shelter, they were still waiting.</p>
+<p>So Johnny thought and dreamed until at
+last he fell asleep.</p>
+<p>Perhaps he slept an hour, perhaps less or
+more. Then he awoke with a suddenness that
+set his senses reeling.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Law-Lawrence!&rdquo; he shouted in wild consternation.
+&ldquo;The bear! The bear!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Something solid and heavy as a bear had
+landed with all but crushing weight on his
+chest. It still rested there but did not move.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_80">[80]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s no bear,&rdquo; said a gruff, good-natured
+voice. &ldquo;That&rsquo;s my pack. Sorry! Didn&rsquo;t know
+you was here.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Lawrence!&rdquo; Johnny exclaimed. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s Bill!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not Bill neither,&rdquo; the stranger disagreed.
+&ldquo;They call me Smokey Joe.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Smokey Joe!&rdquo; Johnny peered into the darkness,
+trying to get a look at the man&rsquo;s face.
+&ldquo;Smokey Joe. I&rsquo;ve heard of you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>And he surely had. Smokey was a well-known
+character in the valley. The old-timers
+told how he came and went. Always in search
+of gold, he would disappear for months.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Then,&rdquo; one of the motherly women added,
+&ldquo;just when we think he&rsquo;s gone for good, up
+he pops again. We feed him up and patch his
+clothes. Then, like some boy, he&rsquo;s off again.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But he&rsquo;s no boy,&rdquo; she added. &ldquo;He came to
+Alaska in the gold rush of &rsquo;97.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Eighteen-ninety-seven!&rdquo; Johnny had exclaimed.
+&ldquo;More than forty years ago!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He never left,&rdquo; the gray-haired lady had
+added. &ldquo;He came from the Cumberland Mountains
+somewhere and he still speaks in their
+queer way.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_81">[81]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;They say,&rdquo; she added with a lowered voice,
+&ldquo;that he struck it rich once, had nearly half
+a million dollars, and that he&rsquo;s got some of it
+hid away in the hills somewhere. But, then,&rdquo;
+she sighed, &ldquo;you can&rsquo;t believe anything you
+hear and only half you see in Alaska. Alaska
+is a place of wild dreams.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Johnny was recalling all this as he made
+haste to split dry wood into fine pieces, whittle
+some shavings, then light a blaze in their
+out-of-doors fireplace.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s about morning,&rdquo; he said, at last looking
+into Smokey Joe&rsquo;s seamed face. &ldquo;Did you
+come far?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Been travelin&rsquo; mighty nigh all night,&rdquo; the
+old man drawled. &ldquo;Me and my hounds here.&rdquo;
+He nodded at three powerful dogs, already
+curled up on the snow for a sleep. &ldquo;Right
+smart cold up yonder. Hit&rsquo;s a sight better here
+in the bottoms.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We&rsquo;ll have coffee before you know it,&rdquo;
+Johnny said cheerily. &ldquo;Coffee and sour-dough
+flap-jacks.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah,&rdquo; the old man sucked in his breath.
+&ldquo;Sour dough flap-jacks. They shore do stick
+to yer ribs. Reckon Smokey Joe&rsquo;s the flapjack
+eatinest feller you almost ever seed.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_82">[82]</div>
+<p>Lawrence grinned. This old man spoke a
+strange language.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A bear!&rdquo; Smokey chuckled. &ldquo;You all
+thought I were a bear! That&rsquo;s right smart
+quare.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We almost caught a cub,&rdquo; Johnny explained.
+&ldquo;Caught him alive, I mean.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Almost.&rdquo; Lawrence laughed. &ldquo;But his
+mother objected.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Bears,&rdquo; said the old man, blinking at the
+fire. &ldquo;Back thar in them thar glaciers thar&rsquo;s
+bears you might nigh wouldn&rsquo;t believe the
+plain truth about.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why?&rdquo; Johnny sat up. &ldquo;What&rsquo;s strange
+about them?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Might nigh everythin&rsquo;s quare, I reckon.
+Hm,&rdquo; the old man sniffed the coffee, &ldquo;smells
+powerful good.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;ll be boiled in a minute or two,&rdquo; said
+Johnny. &ldquo;But tell me about those bears.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_83">[83]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;They&rsquo;re blue, plumb blue, like a thin sky.&rdquo;
+The old man struggled for words. &ldquo;They&rsquo;re
+right smart woolly like sheep, I reckon. But
+they ain&rsquo;t sheep. God-a-mighty, narry a bit
+of it. One of them clawed my lead dog like
+tarnation. An&rsquo; they&rsquo;re the fish-eatinest critters
+you most ever seed.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Polar bears?&rdquo; Johnny suggested.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Polar bears, big as good-sized hounds!&rdquo;
+Smokey sniffed. &ldquo;Who&rsquo;s ever hearn tell of
+sech polar bears?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Who indeed? Johnny was growing excited
+and confused. &ldquo;Woolly, blue bears no bigger
+than dogs,&rdquo; he was thinking. &ldquo;What kind of
+bears could they be?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>In his confusion he upset the coffeepot and
+spilled half its contents. For all this, there
+was plenty left. Smokey Joe drank it piping
+hot, ate in a ravenous manner. Then, springing
+to his feet and calling to his dogs, declared
+he must get down to Palmer for a new pack of
+grub.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He&rsquo;s found a trace of color in some dashing
+stream that doesn&rsquo;t freeze, not even in winter,&rdquo;
+was Johnny&rsquo;s conclusion. &ldquo;He&rsquo;s going to
+hotfoot it right back and get rich&mdash;maybe.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But, Johnny,&rdquo; Lawrence was not smiling,
+&ldquo;do you really suppose there are any such
+bears as he described?&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_84">[84]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Of course not,&rdquo; was Johnny&rsquo;s prompt reply.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But, Johnny, if there were, if we caught
+one alive! No bigger than a dog. We could
+do it, Johnny. We could buy a tractor.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Forget it. It&rsquo;s all a pipe dream, I tell you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>But Lawrence did not forget Smokey Joe&rsquo;s
+blue bears, nor, in the end, did Johnny.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_85">[85]</div>
+<h2 id="c7"><span class="small">CHAPTER VII</span>
+<br />A STRANGE BATTLE</h2>
+<p>Shortly after noon of that same day a
+slim, bright-eyed man in a huge beaver
+overcoat drove up to the Lawson cabin. Johnny
+and Lawrence, who were about to go back
+to their wood cutting, stared at him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Hello, boys,&rdquo; was his surprising greeting.
+&ldquo;I hear you bring &rsquo;em back alive.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why, yes, we&mdash;Sometimes we do,&rdquo; Johnny
+replied in confusion.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Blackie Dawson told me about you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, Blackie.&rdquo; Johnny&rsquo;s face brightened.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I am in the animal business,&rdquo; the man explained,
+alighting from his hired sled and allowing
+Lawrence to lead his horse away. &ldquo;I
+thought you boys might help me a little.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Help you? Oh, sure!&rdquo; Things were looking
+better and better. &ldquo;Here&rsquo;s where we get a
+start,&rdquo; Johnny was thinking.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_86">[86]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;What have you?&rdquo; the man asked.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, er&mdash;mister&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They call me Professor Ormsby,&rdquo; said the
+stranger. &ldquo;You may call me what you please.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, then, Professor,&rdquo; Johnny went on,
+&ldquo;we have a silver fox, a perfectly keen fox.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Caught in a trap, I suppose?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No. By hand.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;By hand!&rdquo; The Professor stared. &ldquo;How
+do you do it?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Johnny told him in as few words as possible
+and with no dramatics at all, just how it was
+done.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, I say!&rdquo; the Professor exclaimed.
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s great! You took a chance with that
+fox. But, let me see&mdash;No-o, I can&rsquo;t use a
+silver fox. How about beavers?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We haven&rsquo;t taken any beaver. We&mdash;well,
+we were afraid it might be against the law
+even to catch them alive.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I have a government permit,&rdquo; said the Professor.
+&ldquo;But if you haven&rsquo;t any beaver&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Catching beaver would be easy. We have
+a grand colony not three miles away,&rdquo; Lawrence
+put in. &ldquo;We might&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_87">[87]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;How about mink?&rdquo; Johnny asked. &ldquo;We
+have some fine ones. Or snow-shoe rabbits?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I suggest that you eat the rabbits,&rdquo; the Professor
+laughed. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll have a look at your mink.
+But beaver! There&rsquo;s your main chance. Can&rsquo;t
+you get me some? Big ones, the bigger the
+better.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You see,&rdquo; he smiled, &ldquo;we think we&rsquo;re really
+doing good through this work. In the big cities,
+hot in summer and cold in winter and
+crowded always, there are hundreds of thousands
+of children who would never know what
+a woodchuck, a monkey, a beaver or a bear
+looked like if they didn&rsquo;t see them in a zoo.
+Brings real joy to them, I&rsquo;m sure. Many&rsquo;s the
+fellow who dates his first real interest in the
+wide out-of-doors to his visit at the zoo.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, I&mdash;&rdquo; Johnny had scarcely heard him.
+&ldquo;Could we do it?&rdquo; he was asking himself. He
+was thinking of beaver. &ldquo;Why not? Thousands
+and thousands of city children.&rdquo; His
+head was in a whirl.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I think,&rdquo; he tried to make his voice seem
+very cheerful, &ldquo;I think we can supply the beaver.
+Can&rsquo;t we, Lawrence?&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_88">[88]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;What? Yes. Oh, yes,&rdquo; Lawrence replied.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;One of them must be a big one, a real boss
+of the village,&rdquo; warned the Professor.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We&rsquo;ve got him,&rdquo; Johnny laughed uncertainly.
+&ldquo;Napoleon himself.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes. Oh, yes. We&rsquo;ve got him, all right,&rdquo;
+Lawrence did not laugh.</p>
+<p>Strangely enough, as a short time later the
+boys went away on one more &ldquo;Bring &rsquo;em back
+alive hunt&rdquo; there was no spring in their step.
+Their faces were sober. If they succeeded this
+one more time, the coveted tractor would be
+within their grasp, and yet they appeared anything
+but happy.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Might even get the Titan,&rdquo; Lawrence tried
+to tell himself. This boy loved fine machinery
+and that Titan tractor was a beauty. It had
+power, plenty of it. With it they could not
+only pull stumps and plow fields for themselves,
+but do work for other settlers on shares
+and, in quiet times, they could work on the
+road. &ldquo;Four live beavers,&rdquo; he thought. &ldquo;That&rsquo;s
+all it takes.&rdquo; Yes, that was all it took, and
+yet&mdash;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_89">[89]</div>
+<p>Up a small stream that flows into the Matanuska
+River early in the year the boys had discovered
+a beaver colony. Many an hour they
+had spent watching these busy beavers. Never
+in all their lives had they seen such feats of
+engineering done by creatures of the wild.</p>
+<p>There were at least sixty beavers in the
+group. One big fellow, weighing sixty pounds
+or more, was the leader. He was the boss contractor.
+And such a boss as he was!</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Napoleon,&rdquo; they had named him. He stood
+for hours, as the great little general is pictured,
+straight, stiff and soldier-like. To him came
+the others. Were there trees to be felled?
+Two lieutenants came marching soberly up to
+him. They talked earnestly, nodding their
+heads, like real people, then off they rushed
+to start a dozen beavers doing the work.</p>
+<p>It was so in everything. Most interesting of
+all had been the building of the big dam. This
+work, the boys understood, must be rushed.
+Winter would come. Ice would freeze two feet
+thick. The level of the stream must be raised
+to six feet so the beaver tribe could use the
+water beneath as a highway all winter long.
+The water must be dammed up.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_90">[90]</div>
+<p>This dam building, done under the wise direction
+of old Napoleon, had progressed rapidly
+for a time, then a sudden freshet of water
+loosened some of the beams and the whole affair
+threatened to go down stream.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What&rsquo;ll they do now?&rdquo; Lawrence had
+asked.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Wait and see,&rdquo; was Johnny&rsquo;s answer.</p>
+<p>Old Napoleon sent his men, like sub-engineers,
+all over the dam, making a study of
+conditions. Then, apparently abandoning all
+this work, he ordered a new dam built a hundred
+feet farther down stream.</p>
+<p>But did he truly abandon his first work?
+Not a bit of it. He and his crew built just
+enough of a dam below to raise the water and
+relieve the pressure from the original dam.
+Then, with an air of professional pride, Napoleon
+returned to his old post and the work
+was well completed before frost.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He,&rdquo; Johnny thought to himself, &ldquo;is the
+friend we mean to capture and sell into slavery,
+Old Napoleon.&rdquo; Little wonder that his
+heart was heavy. &ldquo;Old Napoleon,&rdquo; he whispered
+once again.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_91">[91]</div>
+<p>But what was this? As they neared the beaver
+colony where they were sure to find Napoleon
+out sunning himself, they caught sight
+of some creature skulking through the brush.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s a wolf,&rdquo; Johnny whispered. &ldquo;Let&rsquo;s follow
+him.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Follow him they did, and to their consternation
+saw that he was headed for the beaver
+colony.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We&rsquo;d better frighten him away,&rdquo; Lawrence
+whispered. &ldquo;He&rsquo;ll drive all the beavers beneath
+the ice. Then we won&rsquo;t be able to lasso
+a single one.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>This, Johnny knew, was good advice, but
+for some reason scarcely known to himself, he
+said, &ldquo;Let&rsquo;s wait.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>When at last they caught sight of the beaver
+village, they saw old Napoleon standing stiff
+and straight as ever in his place. He was having
+a sun bath.</p>
+<p>After sneaking along through the brush, the
+wolf made a dash at the beaver.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He&rsquo;ll kill him,&rdquo; Lawrence whispered.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_92">[92]</div>
+<p>Did he? Strange to say, as the wolf came
+near, the beaver did not stir from his place.
+This appeared to surprise the wolf, who did
+not at once rush in for the kill. Sneaking up
+close, he made a dash at the beaver, but
+stopped just short of his goal. Still the beaver
+did not move. To the boys this seemed strange.
+Their respect for the old fellow grew by leaps
+and bounds. He appeared to be saying,
+&ldquo;What&rsquo;s a wolf that one should fear him?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He&mdash;he&rsquo;s great!&rdquo; Johnny shrilled.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Magnificent,&rdquo; Lawrence agreed.</p>
+<p>Snarling low, the wolf began dashing and
+snapping at the beaver. Each snap made him
+bolder. Now his ugly jaws were three feet
+from the apparently defenseless hero of wild
+life, who had decided to give his life for his
+home and his people. Now he was only two
+feet away. And now only a foot.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We&mdash;we&rsquo;d better step in,&rdquo; came from Lawrence.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Wait,&rdquo; Johnny gripped his arm hard. Perhaps
+he should stop the wolf, but he waited,
+fascinated.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Now!&rdquo; Lawrence caught his breath. The
+end, he was sure, had come.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_93">[93]</div>
+<p>And then, of a sudden, things did happen,
+but not in accord with expectations. Old Napoleon
+had chisel-shaped teeth that cut wood
+like a hatchet. Without a sound, as the wolf,
+having grown bold, snapped in his very face,
+he shot forward to close those murderous teeth
+over the wolf&rsquo;s closed jaws.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Great Scott!&rdquo; Johnny muttered.</p>
+<p>The struggle that followed was fast and furious.
+Kicking and scratching, the wolf rolled
+over and over, but not once did Napoleon&rsquo;s
+locked grip loosen. It was only when his opponent,
+completely exhausted and all but
+smothered, lay limp at his side, that he at last
+pried his own jaws apart to climb awkwardly
+to his place in the sun. Instantly the wolf
+dragged himself to his feet, to go slinking
+away into the brush.</p>
+<p>For one full minute the boys stood there
+motionless. When Lawrence spoke his voice
+was husky. &ldquo;Johnny, I&rsquo;ve often suspected old
+Napoleon of being a tyrant. He&rsquo;s lazy, too.
+I&rsquo;ve never seen him do a lick of work. But he
+is one swell engineer and a grand boss.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What&rsquo;s more, he&rsquo;s no coward,&rdquo; Johnny
+added.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_94">[94]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Johnny, I can&rsquo;t do it,&rdquo; Lawrence dangled
+his lasso.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Neither can I,&rdquo; said Johnny. &ldquo;Let&rsquo;s go.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Turning, they made their way in silence
+down the narrow stream to its mouth. There
+they dropped down upon the snow to put on
+their skates.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Johnny,&rdquo; said Lawrence, &ldquo;we&rsquo;re a pair of
+old softies.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s right,&rdquo; said Johnny. &ldquo;But I don&rsquo;t
+mind, do you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not a bit. Let&rsquo;s go.&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="tb">&ldquo;Get &rsquo;em?&rdquo; the Professor asked as they
+came stamping into the cabin.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No&mdash;er, well, no we didn&rsquo;t,&rdquo; Johnny stammered.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;How come?&rdquo; the man&rsquo;s face sobered. &ldquo;That
+was your big moment.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Sensing the tenseness of the situation, Mrs.
+Lawson said, &ldquo;The coffee&rsquo;s hot. I have some
+spice cookies, just out of the oven. How would
+you like a bite to eat?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&mdash;that would be splendid!&rdquo; said the
+Professor.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_95">[95]</div>
+<p>When, over their cups of coffee, the boys
+had told the whole story, there was a strange
+look on the Professor&rsquo;s face as he said, &ldquo;Can&rsquo;t
+say that I blame you. Under the circumstances
+I should have done the same thing.
+We shall be obliged to get our beaver some
+other way. And as for your tractor&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We&mdash;we&rsquo;ll manage,&rdquo; Lawrence replied
+slowly. Then, &ldquo;By the way, Professor. You
+must know about bears. Are there any light
+blue bears?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Blue bears? Let me think! Oh, certainly!
+They belong up this way, too. Very rare they
+are, though.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Blue bears!&rdquo; Lawrence became greatly excited.
+&ldquo;Small blue bears, no larger than a
+good-sized dog, with woolly hair? They&mdash;they
+live on fish?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What?&rdquo; It was the Professor&rsquo;s turn to become
+excited. &ldquo;You haven&rsquo;t seen one? You&mdash;you
+couldn&rsquo;t catch one for me, could you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Sure&mdash;sure,&rdquo; Lawrence stammered. &ldquo;No,
+I mean we haven&rsquo;t. That is, we could, I&mdash;I&rsquo;m
+sure we could.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_96">[96]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;If you were to bring me one of those bears
+alive and in good condition,&rdquo; the Professor
+spoke in a deeply solemn voice, &ldquo;you might
+name your own price. Glacier bears, they are
+called. There is a stuffed specimen in the United
+States National Museum, but not a single
+living specimen in captivity anywhere.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We&mdash;we&rsquo;ll hunt up Smokey Joe tomorrow,&rdquo;
+Johnny said. &ldquo;He&rsquo;s seen them. He can tell us
+where they are. In fact, he told us all about
+them, only I thought it was all hooey.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Smokey Joe? Who is that?&rdquo; the Professor
+asked.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An old prospector,&rdquo; Johnny explained.
+&ldquo;He&rsquo;s been all over this country.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;In that case,&rdquo; said the Professor, &ldquo;much as
+I should like a glacier bear, I suggest that you
+postpone your search until late spring. Those
+rare creatures inhabit the wildest sort of country,
+rocks, cliffs and glaciers. They are worse
+than mountain goats. You would almost certainly
+perish. And besides, it is fairly certain
+that they, like most others of their kind, hibernate.
+And so&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So another bubble bursts,&rdquo; Johnny
+groaned.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_97">[97]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t be too pessimistic,&rdquo; the Professor
+smiled. &ldquo;I shall hope to hear from you sometime
+in June or early July. A single specimen
+will do.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And, by the way,&rdquo; he added as he rose,
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve decided to offer you a hundred dollars
+for your silver fox. That may not seem such
+a good price, but is really above the market.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Sold! Sold!&rdquo; the boys exclaimed in unison.
+And so it was that the boys collected
+their first real money. They were, however,
+still a long way from their goal.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_98">[98]</div>
+<h2 id="c8"><span class="small">CHAPTER VIII</span>
+<br />THE STORMY PETREL&rsquo;S FIRST PRIZE</h2>
+<p>As the winter wore on the cold grew more
+intense. Ice on the streams was thick.
+Wild animals appeared to vanish from the
+scene. Snow covered much of the river surfaces.
+All these things served to make &ldquo;bringing
+them home alive&rdquo; more difficult.</p>
+<p>At last the boys gave up this strange occupation
+and turned to the task of clearing the
+ten-acre tract.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If we can get that tract cleared we&rsquo;ll plant
+it in barley, oats and peas. When these are
+ground together they make excellent chicken
+feed. We&rsquo;ll go in for poultry. There&rsquo;s a steady
+market for dressed chickens and eggs at Fairbanks,&rdquo;
+said Mr. Lawson.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, if we get that tract cleared,&rdquo; Lawrence
+thought, but did not say. No further
+suggestion that they go into debt for a tractor
+was made by anyone.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_99">[99]</div>
+<p>The long Arctic evenings were divided between
+games and dreaming. The fame of Johnny&rsquo;s
+and Joe&rsquo;s boxing had traveled far. The
+recreation room at Palmer was given over to
+this excellent sport two nights a week.</p>
+<p>A boxing club was formed. Even Jack Mayhorn
+dropped his feud with Johnny and joined
+up. Members of a boxing club at Seward accepted
+an invitation for a contest. Johnny and
+Joe won this by a narrow margin.</p>
+<p>On the evenings when business or pleasure
+did not take them to town Johnny and Lawrence
+might often be found dreaming by their
+own hearth-fire.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;When the land is cleared and plowed, when
+the grain is sowed and we&rsquo;ve earned a breathing
+spell,&rdquo; Lawrence would say, &ldquo;then we&rsquo;ll
+hunt up old Smokey Joe and go out for one of
+those glacier bears.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If we can find Smokey Joe,&rdquo; Johnny would
+smilingly agree. &ldquo;And if they don&rsquo;t need us
+for service in Bristol Bay.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Bristol Bay,&rdquo; Lawrence would reply doubtfully.
+&ldquo;Seems as if I&rsquo;d rather catch animals
+alive than go after those Orientals.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_100">[100]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;We&rsquo;ll take them alive, too,&rdquo; Johnny chuckled.</p>
+<p>Lawrence was not so sure of this. Hour
+after hour Blackie Dawson, who had discarded
+his crutches, entertained them with stories
+of his adventures with the Orientals.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They want everything for themselves.
+They spoiled their own fishing by catching
+the salmon before they were half grown and
+canning them right on the ships. Now they
+want to come over here and do the same, right
+up there in Bristol Bay.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They catch our fish and can &rsquo;em, then they
+pop into Seattle or San Francisco and say,
+&lsquo;See all the fine fish we have canned for you.
+Come and buy them.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Think we&rsquo;ll do that?&rdquo; he would storm.
+&ldquo;Not on your life! We&rsquo;ll get &rsquo;em. You&rsquo;ll see.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But the Shadow,&rdquo; his voice would drop,
+&ldquo;that shadow that passes in the fog. How&rsquo;s
+a fellow to catch that? Who can tell? But
+we&rsquo;ll get it, too,&rdquo; he would add, striking the
+table a lusty blow.</p>
+<p>In March he received his appointment as
+Commander of the <i>Stormy Petrel</i>.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_101">[101]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;A swell boat.&rdquo; He was proud of her.
+&ldquo;Come on down with me and we&rsquo;ll turn her
+motors over once or twice just to get the rust
+out of &rsquo;em.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Johnny and Lawrence accepted his invitation.
+They did far more than turn the motors
+over. With Lawrence as engineer and Johnny
+as first mate, they cruised for three days along
+the Alaskan shores.</p>
+<p>On the third day, &ldquo;Just to get in practice,&rdquo;
+as Blackie put it, they hailed a suspicious-looking
+craft carrying no flag. When the
+skipper failed to heed Blackie&rsquo;s command to
+head around, they sent a ball from their shiny
+brass cannon over her bow and she promptly
+hove to.</p>
+<p>She was found to be carrying contraband
+drugs. &ldquo;A fair capture in a fair chase,&rdquo; as
+Blackie expressed it. &ldquo;A regular feather in
+our cap.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; said Johnny, &ldquo;how did you like it?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Those are glorious motors,&rdquo; Lawrence enthused.
+&ldquo;How I&rsquo;d love to be their master.
+But I hope&mdash;&rdquo; he hesitated. &ldquo;I rather hope we
+go after the glacier bears. That&rsquo;s the surest
+way to get a tractor. And a tractor&rsquo;s what
+we need most.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_102">[102]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Time and fate will decide,&rdquo; Johnny said
+soberly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Time and Blackie,&rdquo; Lawrence added with
+a laugh.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And Smokey Joe,&rdquo; Johnny amended.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_103">[103]</div>
+<h2 id="c9"><span class="small">CHAPTER IX</span>
+<br />FATE LENDS A HAND</h2>
+<p>Strangely enough it was Fate, in the
+form of an automobile accident in far
+away Seattle, that cast the final vote deciding
+their choice between the <i>Stormy Petrel</i> in
+Bristol Bay and a glacier bear hunt with
+Smokey Joe.</p>
+<p>Spring had come at last. Steadfastly refusing
+to go in debt, the Dawsons, with Johnny&rsquo;s
+help, were attempting to clear their land
+without the help of a tractor.</p>
+<p>At first it was fun. With blasting powder
+and dynamite they blew the larger stumps
+into shreds. The boom&mdash;boom&mdash;boom of
+blasts might be heard for miles.</p>
+<p>There remained thousands of smaller
+stumps. To force these from the tough sod
+and heavy black soil with pick, shovel and bar,
+was back-breaking labor.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_104">[104]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Give me time,&rdquo; Johnny would groan when
+morning came. &ldquo;There&rsquo;s a place in my back
+somewhere that bends. I&rsquo;ll find it. Just give
+me time.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Joke as they might, they could not but feel
+that progress was woefully slow and that seed-time
+would find them all unprepared.</p>
+<p>One bright day an automobile came bumping
+over the uneven road to pause before their
+field. Out from it popped an old friend.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Blackie!&rdquo; Johnny exclaimed. &ldquo;I thought
+you&rsquo;d be in Bristol Bay by now.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m on my way,&rdquo; Blackie puffed. &ldquo;And so
+are you.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Mr. Lawson,&rdquo; he exclaimed, &ldquo;I must draft
+your boys into my service.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What about these stumps,&rdquo; Mr. Lawson
+straightened his stiff back.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What&rsquo;ll it cost to have &rsquo;em out with a
+tractor?&rdquo; Blackie demanded.</p>
+<p>Both Johnny and Lawrence looked at him
+with gleaming eyes.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why do you need my boys?&rdquo; the man
+among the stumps demanded.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_105">[105]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Two of the men who were to accompany
+me have been crippled,&rdquo; Blackie explained.
+&ldquo;They were in an auto accident in Seattle. I
+had a wire this morning. They were so badly
+hurt they could not let me know sooner. And
+tomorrow we were to sail. Already there has
+been news of trouble in Bristol Bay.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I tell you, Mr. Lawson,&rdquo; Blackie was pleading
+now. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s for Alaska and her greatest
+enterprise I ask it. Yes, and for every humble
+American who makes a simple meal from a
+can of salmon. As I see it, it&rsquo;s your patriotic
+duty to let them go.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Then Blackie did a strange thing for him.
+He quoted poetry&mdash;</p>
+<div class="verse">
+<p class="t0">&ldquo;&lsquo;Not once nor twice in our fair Island&rsquo;s story</p>
+<p class="t0">Has the path of duty been the way to glory.&rsquo;</p>
+</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Mr. Lawson!&rdquo; he exploded, &ldquo;let them go.
+Here!&rdquo; he waved a roll of bills. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll pull your
+stumps. I&rsquo;ll plow your land and sow your
+seed. Let them go.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Who could have refused? Surely not a man
+with Tom Lawson&rsquo;s patriotic soul. &ldquo;Al-all
+right, boys,&rdquo; he said huskily. &ldquo;Go get your
+clothes. And&mdash;and Blackie, I must trust you
+to bring them safely home.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_106">[106]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;No need to worry,&rdquo; Blackie reassured him.
+&ldquo;We&rsquo;ll all be back to shoot fire-crackers with
+you on the Fourth of July. And may your
+fields be green by then.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Twenty-four hours later Johnny and Lawrence
+found themselves standing on the narrow
+deck of the <i>Stormy Petrel</i> watching a
+familiar shore-line fade from their sight.</p>
+<p>To Johnny this seemed just one more journey
+into the great unknown. To Lawrence it
+was something more, his first long trip away
+from his own family. Strange emotions stirred
+within him. Questions he could not answer
+crowded through his mind. How long was this
+journey to last? What strange, wild adventures
+would he meet? What would be the outcome?
+Would they be of some real service?</p>
+<p>Through his thoughts ran Blackie&rsquo;s two
+lines of verse,</p>
+<div class="verse">
+<p class="t0">&ldquo;&lsquo;Not once nor twice in our fair Island&rsquo;s story</p>
+<p class="t0">Has the path of duty been the way to glory.&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
+</div>
+<p>What did it mean? He had only a vague
+notion.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_107">[107]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;MacGregor,&rdquo; he said to the gray-haired engineer
+who thrust his head up from the engine
+room, &ldquo;what do these words mean?&rdquo; He repeated
+the lines.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, noo, me lad,&rdquo; said the friendly old
+Scotchman, &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve never been too good at
+poetry. But it seems to me it says if ye think
+first of yer country and her needs, ye&rsquo;ll be
+likely to get the things you want most fer
+yerself; that is, I meant to say, in the end.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Thanks.&rdquo; Once again the boy paced the
+deck. Was this true? He wanted a tractor, a
+humble, earth-digging, sod-plowing, stump-pulling
+tractor. It was a strange thing for a
+boy to want, he knew. Most boys would have
+wished for an automobile, but he wanted a
+tractor. Would he get it?</p>
+<p>As they left Seward behind and headed west
+to follow the Alaskan Peninsula until they
+could cross over into Bristol Bay, it seemed
+to him that they were heading directly away
+from his heart&rsquo;s desire. The pay they were to
+receive was small. It would help very little.
+&ldquo;And yet,&rdquo; he thought with a firm resolve to
+do his best in his strange new position, &ldquo;Sometimes
+fate does seem to take a hand in making
+things come out just right. Here&rsquo;s hoping.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_108">[108]</div>
+<p>The <i>Stormy Petrel</i> was a sturdy boat with
+powerful motors. She was small&mdash;little larger
+than a good-sized speed boat. But how she
+could go!</p>
+<p>There was a small after-cabin with six
+bunks ranged along the sides. Here George,
+the colored cook, presided over a small stove
+producing glorious things to eat. The coffee
+was always hot. And indeed it was needed,
+for, as a gray fog settled down upon them, the
+air became bitter cold.</p>
+<p>Johnny was to take watch for watch with
+Blackie as steersman. Lawrence was to exchange
+watches with MacGregor and preside
+over the motors. Had this been a week&rsquo;s
+cruise simply for pleasure, nothing could have
+been more delightful. Johnny loved boats.
+Lawrence listened to the steady roar of his
+motors and was joyously happy.</p>
+<p>And yet, there hung over them a sense of
+approaching danger.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Say-ee!&rdquo; Johnny exclaimed on the third
+day, after taking their position and studying
+the chart. &ldquo;We&rsquo;re closer to Asia than we are
+to Seattle.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_109">[109]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Aye, that we are, me lad,&rdquo; MacGregor
+agreed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, and that&rsquo;s why it&rsquo;s so easy for these
+Orientals to slip over here and trap our fish,&rdquo;
+Blackie exploded.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And that,&rdquo; he went on quietly, &ldquo;is why you
+settlers in Matanuska Valley are given so
+much financial aid. Your old Uncle Sam wants
+you there. He&rsquo;s going to locate more and
+more people along these Alaskan shores. You
+watch and see! Why? To give them homes?
+Not a bit of it. To have people here to watch
+those Orientals, that&rsquo;s why.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; said Johnny with a laugh. &ldquo;Looks
+like we&rsquo;d learn a lot of geography and current
+history on this trip.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No doubt about that, me lad,&rdquo; MacGregor
+agreed.</p>
+<p>They had been on the water for five days
+when, touching Johnny on the shoulder,
+Blackie pointed at two spots of white against
+the sky.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_110">[110]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s snow on two mountain peaks,&rdquo; he
+explained. &ldquo;The cannery we&rsquo;re heading for is
+built on the banks of a small river close to
+these mountains. We&rsquo;ll be there before dark.
+And after that,&rdquo; he took a deep breath. &ldquo;After
+that our real work begins.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A new world,&rdquo; Johnny murmured dreamily.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You don&rsquo;t know half of it,&rdquo; said Blackie.
+And Blackie was right.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_111">[111]</div>
+<h2 id="c10"><span class="small">CHAPTER X</span>
+<br />A NEW WORLD</h2>
+<p>Next morning Johnny and Blackie Dawson
+sat on the deck of the <i>Stormy Petrel</i>.
+A wild nor&rsquo;wester was whipping up the ocean
+spray. Even on the river well back from the
+narrow bay, little whitecaps came racing in.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No day for going out!&rdquo; Blackie grumbled.
+&ldquo;Pile up on the rocks, that&rsquo;s what we&rsquo;d do.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; Johnny agreed. Fact is, he at that
+moment was not thinking of the sea, but of
+the quiet Matanuska valley, of the snug home
+he and his people had built there. He wondered
+in a vague sort of way how far this,
+his latest venture, would lead him from that
+home. He was thinking not so much for himself
+as for his cousin Lawrence.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_112">[112]</div>
+<p>Strange as it might seem, the welcome
+given them by the people of the cannery had
+not come up to their expectations. Men had
+stared at them, had mumbled something under
+their breath, then gone about their work.</p>
+<p>Work there was to be done, too. There was
+a pleasant hum of expectancy about the place.
+Every motor, machine and conveyor in the
+place was being given the once-over. Power-boat
+motors thundered as they went through
+their testing. Johnny felt a desire to become
+a part of it all. And yet&mdash;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Fool sort of thing this rushing off after
+adventure,&rdquo; he told himself. But, had love of
+adventure alone brought them this far, hundreds
+of miles from his quiet valley? Love of
+home was one thing, love of one&rsquo;s country another.
+You didn&rsquo;t&mdash;</p>
+<p>His thoughts broke off short. There had
+come the sound of a loud voice. The <i>Stormy
+Petrel</i> was anchored on a narrow dock that
+ran along the side of a long, low building, the
+cannery. A window was open. The speaker
+was near. Johnny caught every word. As he
+listened his ears burned. But what could he
+do? He was on his own boat. People who do
+not mean to be heard too far must speak
+softly.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_113">[113]</div>
+<p>Perhaps the man meant to be heard. There
+was more than a suggestion of anger and
+threat in his voice as he said, &ldquo;Fine fix we&rsquo;re
+in! Huh! Here we are part of the biggest industry
+in Alaska. Fifteen million dollars a
+year. The Orientals start cuttin&rsquo; in on us. We
+call for help, for protection. And what do we
+get? A lousy tub no bigger than a gill-net
+boat. And how&rsquo;s she manned, I ask you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>A second voice rumbled words that could
+not be understood.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She&rsquo;s manned by a crippled young skipper,&rdquo;
+the first speaker growled. &ldquo;An old Scotch
+engineer and two kids. Protection! Bah!&rdquo;
+There came a grunt of disgust. &ldquo;We&rsquo;ll have to
+take things into our own hands.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>At that a door slammed and they heard no
+more.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well?&rdquo; Blackie tried to scare up a grin. It
+was not a huge success. &ldquo;Kids,&rdquo; he said.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We&rsquo;re not quite that,&rdquo; Johnny said quietly.
+&ldquo;We <i>are</i> pinch hitters.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Sure you are,&rdquo; Blackie agreed. &ldquo;But I
+wouldn&rsquo;t trade you for half the so-called men
+in the regular service.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_114">[114]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Say, Johnny!&rdquo; His voice dropped. &ldquo;Know
+who that was talking?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No-o.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It was Red McGee. He is the union agent
+that looks after the interests of these men
+working in the canneries. They say he&rsquo;s a
+good man and a fighter, but narrow. A&mdash;a
+fighter. Hm&rsquo;m&mdash;&rdquo; Blackie seemed to play
+with the words.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Johnny,&rdquo; his whisper sounded like an exploding
+steam valve. &ldquo;You <i>like</i> to box, don&rsquo;t
+you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Nothing I like better,&rdquo; Johnny grinned.
+&ldquo;Started when I was six and never stopped.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Red McGee&rsquo;s a boxer,&rdquo; Blackie said. &ldquo;Off
+times like this I&rsquo;m told these men up here go
+in for boxing bouts. Nothing savage, you understand,
+just a few friendly rounds. And
+Red&rsquo;s never been beaten by any of them.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And I suppose you expect me to trim him,
+at least to try it?&rdquo; Johnny&rsquo;s face was a study.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No-o, not just that, only a few friendly
+rounds. I&rsquo;d like you to represent the <i>Stormy
+Petrel</i>.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_115">[115]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;I think I get you,&rdquo; Johnny&rsquo;s lips moved in
+a quiet smile. &ldquo;You want this crowd to know
+that I&rsquo;m not a child.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Johnny,&rdquo; Blackie&rsquo;s tone was almost solemn,
+&ldquo;it&rsquo;s important. Mighty important! If this
+fishing mob gets started and if they find a ship
+out there in Bristol Bay catching fish contrary
+to law, there&rsquo;s going to be trouble. More trouble
+than all our diplomats can clear up in a
+year.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;There&rsquo;s no getting &rsquo;round it, this business
+has been slighted. But this much stands out
+like your nose&mdash;we&rsquo;ve got to do what we can.
+And we can&rsquo;t do much if these Alaskans sneer
+at us.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So-o, son,&rdquo; he drawled, &ldquo;if they give you
+a chance tonight you step in. And if a chance
+doesn&rsquo;t open up, I&rsquo;ll open one.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Come on,&rdquo; he sprang to his feet. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s time
+for chow.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Passionately fond of boxing as Johnny surely
+was, he found himself dreading the encounter
+Blackie had proposed for that night. Why?
+He could not have told.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_116">[116]</div>
+<p>A strange audience awaited him in the long,
+low-ceilinged room where, on working days
+cases of salmon were stored for shipping.
+Seated on empty packing boxes, the men
+formed a hollow circle. This circle was to be
+the ring for the evening&rsquo;s entertainment.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They&rsquo;re all here,&rdquo; Blackie grinned. &ldquo;A
+dozen nationalities: Italians, Finlanders,
+Swedes, down-east Yankees, an Eskimo or
+two and what have you.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;One thing they&rsquo;ve got in common,&rdquo; his
+voice rang true, &ldquo;they&rsquo;re all Alaskans at heart.
+Hard fighters, straight shooters, they look you
+square in the eye and treat you fair. But when
+anyone tries any dirty, underhanded work,
+you&rsquo;ll see sparks fly.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; Johnny smiled. &ldquo;Whatever else
+happens, there will be no crooked work tonight.
+I don&rsquo;t fight that way.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t I know it?&rdquo; Blackie agreed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, now, here we are,&rdquo; he chuckled a
+moment later. &ldquo;Reserved seats. Box seats,
+mind you. Who could ask for more?&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_117">[117]</div>
+<p>As Johnny sat, quite silent in his place,
+watching one short three-round match after
+another being fought in a good-natured rough-and-tumble
+fashion between boatmen, cannery
+workers, carpenters, engineer and blacksmith,
+he became more and more conscious of
+one fact&mdash;the crowd was holding back its enthusiasm.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s like the preliminary bouts in Madison
+Square Gardens,&rdquo; he said to Blackie at last.
+&ldquo;They seem to be waiting for the one big fight.
+What&rsquo;s coming?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Can&rsquo;t you guess?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No-o, I&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s you and Red McGee. They&rsquo;re waiting
+for that.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What?&rdquo; Johnny half rose to his feet.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Keep your seat.&rdquo; Blackie pulled him down.
+&ldquo;Ever hear of the grapevine telegraph?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, in&mdash;in a sort of way.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s the mysterious manner in which news
+travels up here. These fellows know about
+you. The minute I gave them your name they
+busted out, &lsquo;The kid that packs a wallop?&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And you&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I said, &lsquo;Sure! None other. But does Red
+McGee know it?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They said, &lsquo;Guess he doesn&rsquo;t. He&rsquo;s been in
+Seattle, just come up.&rsquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_118">[118]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Then I said, &lsquo;Mum&rsquo;s the word. We&rsquo;ll just
+ask him to give Johnny a few pointers in boxing.&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And they agreed?&rdquo; Johnny seemed ready
+to bolt from the room.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Sure. Why not?&rdquo; Blackie grinned. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s
+the grandest way to get in with all of &rsquo;em.
+They like a good joke. So does Red McGee.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Even if it&rsquo;s on him?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Even if it&rsquo;s on him. Absolutely.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Then he&rsquo;s a real sport,&rdquo; Johnny settled
+back in his place. &ldquo;It will be a real joy to box
+him a few rounds.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Okie doke,&rdquo; Blackie seemed relieved. &ldquo;But,
+Johnny,&rdquo; he added, &ldquo;pull your punches. Murder
+isn&rsquo;t legal in Alaska, not south of the Arctic
+Circle.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I only hope Red McGee remembers that,&rdquo;
+was Johnny&rsquo;s solemn reply.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_119">[119]</div>
+<h2 id="c11"><span class="small">CHAPTER XI</span>
+<br />THE FALL OF THE RED McGEE</h2>
+<p>When by popular request, emphasized
+by loud shouts, Red McGee was called
+upon to put on the gloves, he stepped forward
+smiling. Johnny slid to the very edge of his
+box for a good look. This was the first time
+he had seen the man. He was a little startled.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So that&rsquo;s what I&rsquo;m going up against?&rdquo; he
+murmured low.</p>
+<p>Six feet of man, broad shoulders, a shock of
+red hair that stood straight up, a square jaw
+and glittering eyes, this was Red McGee.</p>
+<p>And was he popular? The hoarse shouts of
+approval that made the rough rafters ring as
+he stepped out on the floor left no room for
+doubt.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_120">[120]</div>
+<p>Red was to box three rounds with a man
+named Tomingo, a dark-faced foreigner who
+piloted a gill-net boat. Johnny was thankful
+for this brief reprieve before he too should step
+into the ring.</p>
+<p>That Red McGee was no mean boxer he
+learned at once. He had a head on his shoulders
+and a remarkable eye.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He seems to anticipate every move this Tomingo
+makes,&rdquo; Johnny groaned in a whisper.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They have boxed together before,&rdquo; was
+Blackie&rsquo;s answer. &ldquo;Perhaps many times. When
+you play a game with a man many times, just
+any game, you come to know his tricks. But
+you, Johnny, he doesn&rsquo;t know you. It&rsquo;s an
+advantage.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But, Johnny,&rdquo; he cautioned after a moment&rsquo;s
+silence, &ldquo;don&rsquo;t let him get to you. Look
+at those arms! If he hits you just once, a good
+square one, you&rsquo;re sunk.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And, boy,&rdquo; his voice dropped, &ldquo;this is a
+big spot. It&rsquo;s important, mighty important.
+These fellows must respect us, have faith in
+the <i>Stormy Petrel</i> and her crew. If they don&rsquo;t,
+they&rsquo;ll go storming out there six hundred
+strong, looking for trouble. And if they find
+it! Oh, man! They might start a war.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_121">[121]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;There!&rdquo; Johnny breathed. &ldquo;There&rsquo;s the
+bell. That match is over. And Red McGee is
+just nicely warmed up.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The tall, lanky boatman who acted as referee
+shuffled off the floor.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Who&rsquo;s next?&rdquo; Red McGee invited with a
+broad smile.</p>
+<p>It was evident at once that few of the men
+cared to take him on. Tomingo was wearing
+a flaming patch where Red&rsquo;s glove had raked
+his chin.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Red,&rdquo; one of his own men volunteered,
+&ldquo;there&rsquo;s one of them kids from the <i>Stormy
+Petrel</i> who&rsquo;d like to learn a little about boxing.
+Would y&rsquo; mind a teachin&rsquo; him?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;One of those boys?&rdquo; Red looked squarely
+at Johnny. Johnny flinched. Did Red know?
+&ldquo;Oh, sure!&rdquo; Red&rsquo;s lips spread in a broad smile.
+&ldquo;I like boys, always have. Sure I&rsquo;ll show him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Look, Tom,&rdquo; he turned to the referee.
+&ldquo;Help the boy on with his gloves. Be sure he
+gets &rsquo;em on the right hands. It&rsquo;s awkward
+boxing if you don&rsquo;t.&rdquo; He let out a low chuckle.</p>
+<p>Once again Johnny flinched. What did Red
+know? Probably nothing. This was just his
+way of poking fun at the <i>Stormy Petrel&rsquo;s</i> crew.
+This made Johnny a little angry, but not too
+much.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_122">[122]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Show &rsquo;em, Johnny,&rdquo; Blackie hissed in his
+ear. Next Johnny found himself shaking the
+great paw of Red McGee. And so the fight
+began.</p>
+<p>Nothing had been said about the number of
+rounds, nor their length. Johnny was a little
+taken back when the referee settled himself
+on a box in a corner.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But then,&rdquo; it came to him with a sudden
+shock, &ldquo;I&rsquo;m supposed to be a learner. When
+you&rsquo;re taking lessons there are no rounds.
+Well, I&rsquo;ll be a learner, for a while.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He carried out his plan to the letter, almost.
+After giving him a few words of instruction,
+Red invited him to &ldquo;Sail right in. Hit me if
+you can.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The boy did not exactly &ldquo;sail in.&rdquo; Instead,
+he danced about the big man in an awkward
+but tantalizing fashion. There is nothing more
+irritating than a fly buzzing around one&rsquo;s head.
+Johnny was, for the moment, Red McGee&rsquo;s
+fly. He was here, there and everywhere. At
+times he appeared to leave himself wide open
+to one of Red&rsquo;s sledge-hammer blows, but none
+of these really connected.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_123">[123]</div>
+<p>All the time Johnny was thinking, &ldquo;How
+long will he stand this? How long? How&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The answer came sooner than he expected.
+His arms were all but at his side, he was looking
+Red squarely in the eyes when he saw
+those eyes change. It was like the change of
+a traffic light from green to red. Of a sudden,
+a huge gloved paw came squarely at the side
+of his head.</p>
+<p>No one will ever know what that blow
+might have done had it arrived at its proposed
+destination. It did not arrive. Johnny&rsquo;s head
+was not there. Instead, it was Red who, to his
+vast surprise, received the lightest of taps on
+the tip of his chin.</p>
+<p>The crowd saw and roared. There were
+men, plenty of them, who knew that, had Johnny
+not pulled that punch, Red would have hit
+the floor.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_124">[124]</div>
+<p>Did Red know? For the life of him Johnny
+could not tell. One thing he did know, this
+was no longer a boxing lesson, nor was it to
+be a sparring match. It was instead to resemble
+an old-fashioned fight with no gong, no
+referee and no time out. Red McGee was
+aroused. There could be no doubt about that.</p>
+<p>Johnny kept his opponent going about the
+ring in a whirl. Twice he stopped and all but
+fell into Red&rsquo;s waiting fists. Twice he heard
+the whistle of a glove as it brushed his ear.</p>
+<p>Once, when he was in Blackie&rsquo;s corner, he
+heard a hoarse whisper, &ldquo;Steady, there, boy.
+I can&rsquo;t afford to lose you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Once, in a mad rush, Red McGee tripped,
+falling to his knees. Backing away into a corner,
+Johnny gave him time to regain his feet.
+Gladly would the boy have remained in that
+corner for the count of a hundred. All too soon
+he caught Red&rsquo;s challenge.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Come out an&rsquo; box.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Red&rsquo;s in a tight place,&rdquo; Blackie said in a
+low tone to Lawrence. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m almost sorry I
+got him into it. He&rsquo;s got a bull by the tail and
+can&rsquo;t let go. If he quits now he&rsquo;s afraid he&rsquo;ll
+lose the respect of his men. If he goes on,
+well, anything may happen.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>In the end two things happened. Both were
+surprises to Johnny.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_125">[125]</div>
+<p>The older man was tiring. Johnny found
+that by using a little strategy he could tap the
+man&rsquo;s chin at will. Be it said to his credit, he
+tapped that round red chin only twice. There
+is little to be gained by an unnecessarily large
+score.</p>
+<p>Those two taps, little heavier than love pats,
+stirred up something deep in Red&rsquo;s nature.
+His men were looking on a new man. Not that
+they thought the less of him for it. Rough and
+ready men of the northern wilds, they understood
+as few ever do.</p>
+<p>Then things began to happen fast. Red
+lunged at Johnny. The boy dodged. The man
+came at him again. In one of those seconds
+when reason goes on a vacation, Johnny tried
+one more pulled punch to the chin. He did
+not pull it fast enough. Red McGee fell upon
+that punch as a polar bear falls upon a spear.</p>
+<p>There came a resounding thwack. Then,
+doubling up like an empty sack, Red McGee
+spread himself neatly on the floor. He was out
+for much more than the count of ten.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_126">[126]</div>
+<p>The hush that followed was appalling. But
+the shout that followed! Nothing Johnny had
+ever before heard even remotely resembled it.
+Perhaps a gladiator in the Roman Arena, had
+he returned from the dead, might have recognized
+it with joy or fear.</p>
+<p>In vain did Johnny try to analyze that
+sound. Was it a cheer? Or was it a curse?
+Should he be carried out like a football hero
+or crushed by an infuriated mob?</p>
+<p>Strangely enough, as he stood there half
+paralyzed by the sudden shock of it all, he
+was conscious of one voice. Above the shout
+had risen a woman&rsquo;s scream. And he had not
+known there was a woman in the place. Who
+was she? Where had she come from? Why
+was she here?</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s all right, boys,&rdquo; he heard a big voice
+boom. &ldquo;He didn&rsquo;t aim to do it. He pulled his
+punch. Twice he did it. He&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_127">[127]</div>
+<p>The speaker broke off short. There was a
+girl at his side, or perhaps a young lady. Johnny
+was not sure. A round, freckled face and
+angry eyes, that was all he saw. In another
+second she would have been at him, tooth and
+nail. But the big foreman, who had done the
+talking, wrapped a long arm about her waist
+as he said, &ldquo;It&rsquo;s all right, Rusty. Everything
+is O. K., child. He didn&rsquo;t aim to do it. An&rsquo;
+your daddy ain&rsquo;t hurt none to speak of. It&rsquo;s
+what they call a knockout. He&rsquo;ll be &rsquo;round in
+a twinkle.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>At that the girl hid her face in the foreman&rsquo;s
+jacket to murmur fiercely, &ldquo;The brute! The
+ugly little brute!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>And Johnny knew she meant him. Because
+she was a girl, because he had hurt her and he
+felt miserable, he slipped back into the outer
+fringe of the milling throng.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_128">[128]</div>
+<h2 id="c12"><span class="small">CHAPTER XII</span>
+<br />A PTARMIGAN FEAST</h2>
+<p>As Red McGee opened his eyes he found the
+foreman, Dan Weston and his daughter,
+Rusty, bending over him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Wh-what!&rdquo; he exclaimed, struggling to
+a sitting position, &ldquo;what in the name of&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You fell into a fast one, Red.&rdquo; The foreman
+laughed. The crowd joined in this laugh
+but not the girl. Sober of face, she stood looking
+down at her father.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Daddy,&rdquo; she began, &ldquo;are you&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Do you mean to say that kid from the
+<i>Stormy Petrel</i> put me out?&rdquo; Red McGee interrupted.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, you went out,&rdquo; the foreman drawled.
+&ldquo;The boy was the only one near you so I
+reckon&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He was not allowed to finish for at that Red
+McGee let out a tremendous roar of laughter.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_129">[129]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Ho! Ho! Ha-ha-ha!&rdquo; he roared. &ldquo;That&rsquo;s
+one on Red McGee.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But, boys!&rdquo; he struggled to his feet. &ldquo;I
+want to admit right here. There might be
+something to that <i>Stormy Petrel</i> crew after all.
+Give &rsquo;em a chance, I say.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Sure! Sure!&rdquo; the crowd boomed. &ldquo;Give
+&rsquo;em a chance.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Where&rsquo;s that young roughneck?&rdquo; Red demanded,
+staring about him. &ldquo;I want to shake
+his hand.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Here&mdash;here he is!&rdquo; Blackie pushed Johnny
+forward.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&mdash;I&rsquo;m sorry&mdash;&rdquo; Johnny began.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Young man,&rdquo; Red McGee broke in, &ldquo;never
+apologize. Your enemies don&rsquo;t deserve it, and
+your friends don&rsquo;t demand it. From now on
+we&rsquo;re pals. Shake on it.&rdquo; Their hands met in
+the clasp of a grizzly and a bear cub.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What&rsquo;s more,&rdquo; Red went on, &ldquo;the treat&rsquo;s
+on me. You&rsquo;re coming up to dinner with me,
+all four of you fellows from the <i>Stormy Petrel</i>.
+Ever eat ptarmigan pot pie?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Never have,&rdquo; said Johnny.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, you&rsquo;re going to before this day is ...&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_130">[130]</div>
+<p class="center"><span class="gs">* * * * * * * *</span></p><p>... look into her eyes, he found himself seeing
+cold, blue-gray circles expressing as near as
+he could tell, undying hate.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Of course,&rdquo; he said to Blackie, &ldquo;you can&rsquo;t
+expect a girl to understand about boxing, with
+all of its ups and downs. But it does seem she
+might give a fellow the benefit of the doubt.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She will, son. She will,&rdquo; Blackie reassured
+him. &ldquo;Perhaps sooner than you think.&rdquo; Was
+this prophesy or a guess? Time would tell.</p>
+<p>Rusty McGee was the type of girl any real
+boy might be proud to call a pal. With an
+easy smile, a freckled face and a mass of wavy,
+rust-colored hair, she caught your interest at
+a glance. The strong, elastic, healthy spring
+of her whole self kept you looking.</p>
+<p>More than once during his visit to the
+McGee summer home, a stout log cabin nestling
+among the barren Alaskan hills, Johnny
+found his eyes following her movements as
+she glided from room to room.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Boy, she can cook!&rdquo; Blackie exclaimed as
+he set his teeth into the juicy breast of
+&ldquo;mountain quail,&rdquo; as ptarmigan are often
+called. And Johnny did not disagree.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_131">[131]</div>
+<p>Since the crew of the <i>Stormy Petrel</i> were her
+father&rsquo;s friends, it was evident that Rusty meant
+to do her best as a hostess. But to Johnny
+she gave never a smile.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;How she must love that old dad of hers!&rdquo;
+Blackie whispered once. Johnny&rsquo;s only answer
+was a scowl.</p>
+<p>Yes, Johnny was shunned and slighted by
+this youthful &ldquo;queen of the canneries,&rdquo; as she
+had once been called, but the <i>Stormy Petrel&rsquo;s</i>
+engineer, old Hugh MacGregor, came in for
+more than his full share of interest.</p>
+<p>Hugh MacGregor was truly old. His thatch
+of gray told that. With grandchildren of his
+own he was just a big-hearted old man. Rusty
+was not long in sensing that.</p>
+<p>When the dinner, a truly grand feast, was
+over, the others, Blackie, Red McGee, Lawrence
+and Johnny retired to the glassed-in
+porch where they might have a look at the barren
+hills of Alaska and the wide, foam-flecked
+sweep of Bristol Bay, and, at the same time,
+talk of fish, Oriental raiders and the sea.</p>
+<p>MacGregor remained behind to &ldquo;help with
+the dishes.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_132">[132]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Do you like Alaska?&rdquo; Rusty asked him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, sure I do!&rdquo; was the old man&rsquo;s quick
+response. &ldquo;I spent a winter much further north
+than this many years ago. I was quite young
+then. It was thrilling, truly it was. Cape
+Prince of Wales on Bering Straits&mdash;&rdquo; his voice
+trailed off dreamily.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Way up there?&rdquo; the girl exclaimed. &ldquo;What
+were you doing?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Herdin&rsquo; reindeer and Eskimo,&rdquo; he laughed.
+&ldquo;I crossed the straits in a skin boat with the
+Eskimo and lived a while in Russia without a
+passport. You do things like that when you
+are young.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah yes,&rdquo; he sighed, &ldquo;youth is impulsive,
+and often wrong.&rdquo; He was thinking of Johnny.
+He knew how Johnny felt about things.
+He had become very fond of the boy.</p>
+<p>Did Rusty understand? Who could tell?
+Burying her hands in foamy suds, she washed
+dishes furiously. Nor did she speak again for
+some time.</p>
+<p>Meanwhile, over their pipes, Red McGee and
+Blackie were discussing the task that lay before
+them.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_133">[133]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;I suppose you know all about this Oriental
+fishing business,&rdquo; Red suggested.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m not sure that I do know all about it,&rdquo;
+was Blackie&rsquo;s modest reply. &ldquo;Suppose you tell
+me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s like this,&rdquo; Red cleared his throat.
+&ldquo;There was a time when we thought the salmon
+supply off these shores was inexhaustible.
+We caught them in nets and traps just as we
+pleased.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Then,&rdquo; he blew out a cloud of smoke, &ldquo;there
+came a time when we woke up to the fact that
+the whole run of salmon might vanish. You
+know what that would mean?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, I know,&rdquo; Blackie agreed. &ldquo;The little
+man in Hoboken, Omaha and Detroit who
+hasn&rsquo;t much pay and has a big family could
+no longer feed the children on a fifteen-cent
+can of salmon.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_134">[134]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Right,&rdquo; McGee agreed. &ldquo;More than that,
+thousands of fine fellows, just such men as
+you saw tonight, fair-minded, honest men that
+would,&rdquo; he paused to chuckle, &ldquo;that would see
+one of their best friends knocked cold by a
+stranger in a fair sparring match and not want
+to kill him, men like that would be out of a
+job. Their families would go hungry. You
+know, about all they understand is salmon
+catching.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And so?&rdquo; Blackie prompted after a moment&rsquo;s
+silence.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So the government and the canners got
+together on a conservation program; so many
+fish to be caught each year, the same number
+allowed to go up stream and spawn.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The plan was well worked out. We&rsquo;ve put
+the salmon industry on a sound foundation.
+It will continue so for years unless&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;These Orientals are allowed to come over
+here and set three-mile-long nets across the
+bay,&rdquo; suggested Blackie.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s just it!&rdquo; McGee struck the table a
+resounding blow. &ldquo;They&rsquo;re taking advantage
+of a technicality of international law. And
+unless we drive them out&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not too loud,&rdquo; Blackie cautioned. &ldquo;There
+goes one of them now.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What?&rdquo; McGee sprang to his feet. A slender,
+dark-haired person was passing down the
+path before the cabin.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_135">[135]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;No,&rdquo; he settled back in his place. &ldquo;He&rsquo;s
+not one of &rsquo;em. He&rsquo;s one of our Eskimos. We
+have three of them down here. It&rsquo;s a little off
+their regular beat. But they are keen at locating
+the runs of salmon. Inherited it from their
+fathers, I&mdash;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But say!&rdquo; his voice rose. &ldquo;He does look
+like one of those Orientals.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Sure he does,&rdquo; Blackie agreed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We might use him for a sort of spy,&rdquo; McGee&rsquo;s
+voice dropped to a whisper. &ldquo;His name&rsquo;s
+Kopkina. Used to work in a restaurant. He
+picked up the Oriental lingo, at least enough
+to pass for one of &rsquo;em. If some of them come
+around here, we&rsquo;ll have Kopkina mix in with
+them. He might find things out, important
+facts.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s a good idea,&rdquo; Blackie agreed.</p>
+<p class="tb">&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; MacGregor was saying to Rusty, as
+he told more of his adventures in the very far
+north, &ldquo;it was a bit peculiar goin&rsquo; up there
+like that, livin&rsquo; with the Eskimos. And me
+still a young fellow like Johnny Thompson
+now.&rdquo; He shot her a look. She smiled at him
+in a peculiar way, but said never a word.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_136">[136]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;It was the food that was strange,&rdquo; he went
+on after a chuckle. &ldquo;Of course, you can chew
+polar bear steak if you&rsquo;ve got uncommon good
+teeth. Seal steak&rsquo;s not half-bad and reindeer
+makes a grand Mulligan stew.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, I know,&rdquo; the girl agreed. &ldquo;We have
+some reindeer meat sent down every season.
+Stay with us and you&rsquo;ll have a taste of it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We&rsquo;ll stay, all right,&rdquo; MacGregor declared.
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s what we&rsquo;re here for to stay, hunting
+Orientals and shadows&mdash;shadows.&rdquo; He repeated
+the word slowly. &ldquo;Blackie believes in
+moving shadows in the fog on the sea.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Shadows?&rdquo; the girl stared at him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Sure! He says they glide along across the
+sea with never a sound. Like some phantom
+schooner it was,&rdquo; he said.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s strange.&rdquo; The girl&rsquo;s eyes shone.
+&ldquo;There was a gill-net fisherman last season
+told something just like that. He was an Italian,
+sort of a dreamer. We didn&rsquo;t believe him.
+But now&mdash;what do you think?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know what to think,&rdquo; MacGregor
+scratched his gray thatch.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_137">[137]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;But, Mr. MacGregor,&rdquo; the girl said after
+a moment, &ldquo;didn&rsquo;t you have a thing to eat except
+Eskimo food?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What? Oh, yes, up there, up there when
+I was a kid same as Johnny,&rdquo; MacGregor
+laughed. &ldquo;Sure&mdash;sure we did. It came on a
+sailin&rsquo; schooner all in cans.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We had evaporated potatoes and eggs in
+cans, butter pickled in cans, hot dogs in cans,
+everything. And the Eskimos,&rdquo; he threw back
+his head and laughed. &ldquo;They&rsquo;d stand around
+watchin&rsquo; to see what we&rsquo;d take out of a can
+next.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And then we got a phonograph,&rdquo; he
+laughed again.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A phonograph?&rdquo; Rusty said.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Sure. First one those little brown boys ever
+seen. Had a long tin horn to it, that phonograph
+did. The Eskimos looked at it and
+tapped the tin horn. They said, &lsquo;<i>Suna una?</i>&rsquo;
+(What is it?) We didn&rsquo;t tell &rsquo;em, so they
+tapped it some more and said, &lsquo;All same tin
+can-<i>emuck</i>.&rsquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_138">[138]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Bye and bye we cranked it up and started
+it going. The record was a white man singin&rsquo;
+&lsquo;Meet me in Saint Louis, Louie. Meet me at
+the Fair.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, that was funny!&rdquo; he chuckled. &ldquo;The
+Eskimos just looked and listened for a long
+time. Then one of them looked at the others
+and said, &lsquo;Can you beat that! A white man
+in that tin can!&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The merry laugh that rang out from the
+kitchen was heard by those on the porch.
+Johnny heard it with the others and was glad&mdash;glad
+that that fine girl could laugh even if
+it wasn&rsquo;t his joke.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;See that cannery out there?&rdquo; Red McGee
+was saying. &ldquo;Cost a cool million dollars. Paying
+interest on the investment, too. Also it&rsquo;s
+giving two thousand people a living. But these
+Orientals with their floating canneries&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Floating canneries?&rdquo; Lawrence broke in.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Sure! That&rsquo;s what they&rsquo;ve got. They pick
+up some big hulk of a ship cheap, install some
+canning equipment, load on a drove of cheap
+coolies and steam away. Pretty soon they&rsquo;re
+over Bristol Bay, just off the shores of Alaska,
+but beyond the three-mile limit. Three miles!
+Bah!&rdquo; he exploded.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_139">[139]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m in favor of calling every square mile
+of Bristol Bay American waters,&rdquo; Blackie replied.</p>
+<p>Red McGee stared at him with sudden approval.
+&ldquo;Say!&rdquo; he roared, &ldquo;we must be brothers.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We ought to run those Orientals off,&rdquo;
+Blackie grinned. &ldquo;We&rsquo;re here to start just
+that. That boat of ours may not seem so hot,
+but she&rsquo;s got speed and power, three airplane
+motors in her. Good ones, too. Once we sight
+an Oriental fishing boat setting nets too close
+behind the fog they&rsquo;re coming ashore.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;To do a lot of explaining.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, and for quite a long visit.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s the talk,&rdquo; Red McGee stood up.
+&ldquo;Here&rsquo;s hoping the wind drops so you can get
+there. The fishing hasn&rsquo;t really started. No
+foreign boats have been seen. But they&rsquo;re
+there. They made a haul last year. We&rsquo;re sure
+of that. So why shouldn&rsquo;t they come back?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why not?&rdquo; Blackie agreed.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_140">[140]</div>
+<p>In all of this time neither Johnny nor Lawrence
+said a word. For all that, they were
+thinking hard and their young hearts were
+on fire with a desire to do their bit for the good
+old U. S. A. and Alaska, their present home.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Nice place you&rsquo;ve got here,&rdquo; said MacGregor,
+as he joined the party on the porch.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It will pass,&rdquo; was Red McGee&rsquo;s modest reply.
+&ldquo;I built it for my wife. She loved these
+rugged hills and the smell of the sea. She&mdash;&rdquo;
+his voice faltered. He looked away. &ldquo;She left
+us a year and a half ago. But Rusty and I,
+we&mdash;we sort of carry on.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But if those Orientals&mdash;&rdquo; his voice rose,
+&ldquo;Oh! Well, enough of that for today. It&rsquo;s
+good of you fellows to join us in a feast!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s been swell!&rdquo; said Blackie.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Swell! Grand! Mighty keen!&rdquo; were the
+impulsive comments of the boys.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We know each other better,&rdquo; said Blackie.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A whole lot better,&rdquo; Red McGee agreed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Goodbye, Rusty,&rdquo; MacGregor called back
+through the house.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Goodbye! Goodbye! Come again soon,&rdquo;
+came back in a girlish voice.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I wonder,&rdquo; Johnny thought as he took the
+winding path leading down to the wharf.
+&ldquo;Wonder if we&rsquo;ll ever get to come back here?&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_141">[141]</div>
+<h2 id="c13"><span class="small">CHAPTER XIII</span>
+<br />THE SHADOW</h2>
+<p>&ldquo;Fog.&rdquo; There was more than a suggestion
+of disgust in Johnny&rsquo;s tone as he
+said this word. It was the next morning.
+After a good night&rsquo;s sleep aboard the <i>Stormy
+Petrel</i> he felt ready for anything. The moment
+he awoke he had listened for the pounding
+surf.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Gone!&rdquo; He had leaped from his bunk.
+&ldquo;Storm&rsquo;s over. Now for a good look at Bristol
+Bay and perhaps, just perhaps, some of those
+Orientals.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Here&rsquo;s hoping,&rdquo; Lawrence agreed.</p>
+<p>Yes, the storm was over, but here instead
+was a damp, chilling blanket of dull, gray fog.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Can&rsquo;t see a hundred feet,&rdquo; he grumbled.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_142">[142]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;ll get used to that, son.&rdquo; It was Red
+McGee who spoke. He had been leaning on
+the rail talking to Blackie. &ldquo;&lsquo;Men and Fog on
+the Bering Sea.&rsquo; That&rsquo;s the name of a book.
+And it&rsquo;s a good name. There are always men
+and nearly always there is fog.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Fish are coming in,&rdquo; he added as a cheering
+note. &ldquo;Two boats are just in from a try
+at the gill-nets. They made a fair catch.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But this fog,&rdquo; Johnny insisted, &ldquo;gives those
+Orientals a chance to slip in close, doesn&rsquo;t it?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It does!&rdquo; Red agreed. &ldquo;Blast their hides!
+That floatin&rsquo; factory of theirs comes in close
+to the three-mile limit. Then their other boats,
+small, fast ones, can come over the line and
+set nets. You couldn&rsquo;t see them in the fog.
+They&rsquo;d put &rsquo;em up early. Three miles of nets.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Claim they&rsquo;re catchin&rsquo; crabs. Crabs, me
+eye!&rdquo; he exploded. &ldquo;Crab nets are set on the
+bottom. Salmon nets are set close to the top.
+Drift nets are what they use. We&rsquo;ve never
+found one inside the three-mile line, but we
+think they&rsquo;ve been there all the same.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If you ever do find one,&rdquo; he turned to
+Blackie, &ldquo;take it up and bring it in. We&rsquo;ll can
+their fish an&rsquo; boil their nets.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_143">[143]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Shouldn&rsquo;t be any three-mile line,&rdquo; he continued.
+&ldquo;All our shore water belongs to us.
+So do the fish. It&rsquo;s food, son! Food for the
+millions. And these Orientals would have had
+fish on their own shores if they hadn&rsquo;t exterminated
+them.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We&rsquo;re going out right now,&rdquo; said Blackie.
+&ldquo;Going to have a look for that shadow that
+passes in the fog. We&rsquo;ve got a nice swivel
+cannon up there forward. Don&rsquo;t know whether
+you can hit a shadow, but it won&rsquo;t do any
+harm to try.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;All the same, this <i>is</i> a serious situation,&rdquo;
+said Blackie as they headed out into the fog.
+&ldquo;These Alaskans are a strange people. They
+are like the men of the old west, the west that&rsquo;s
+gone forever; fearless men with hearts of gold,
+fighting devils when they know they&rsquo;ve been
+wronged. And this Oriental raiding business
+is an outrage, providing it&rsquo;s true.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But is it true?&rdquo; Johnny asked.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That,&rdquo; said Blackie, &ldquo;is what we&rsquo;re going
+to find out.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Johnny,&rdquo; he said after a moment, &ldquo;go up
+forward and remove that box. Let our little
+brass messenger swing with the boat.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_144">[144]</div>
+<p>A moment later, up forward, a small swivel
+cannon swung from side to side. As it did so
+it seemed to point, first right, then left.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;This way or that?&rdquo; Johnny thought. &ldquo;I
+wonder which it will be.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Hour after hour the fog hung on. Hour
+after hour Johnny squinted his eyes for some
+moving object in that blanket of gray fog.
+The cold, damp ocean air chilled him to the
+bone. Stamping his feet, he held doggedly to
+his post. When his watch was over he went
+below to soak in the heat of the stove that
+George, the colored cook, kept roaring hot. He
+drank two cups of scalding black coffee,
+downed a plate of beans and a whole pan of
+hot biscuits, then spread himself out on a cushioned
+seat to close his eyes and dream.</p>
+<p>In those dreams he saw creeping gray shadows,
+darting fish and a pair of laughing eyes.
+The eyes closed. When they opened the face
+wore a frown.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Rusty!&rdquo; he whispered. &ldquo;Wonder if she&rsquo;ll
+ever forgive me?&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_145">[145]</div>
+<p>All too soon his turn at the watch came.
+The days were long, twenty hours from dark
+to dawn. By nature a hard driver, inspired by
+his desire to help the Alaskans, Blackie steered
+his small craft endlessly through the gray
+murk.</p>
+<p>Then&mdash;of a sudden Johnny rubbed his eyes&mdash;stared
+away to the right&mdash;closed his eyes&mdash;snapped
+them open again to whisper hoarsely,</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Blackie! The shadow passes.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The shadow! Where?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The boy&rsquo;s hand pointed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;As I live!&rdquo; Blackie muttered.</p>
+<p>A short, slim line, little darker than the fog,
+moved slowly across the spot where sky and
+sea should meet.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ahoy, there!&rdquo; Blackie roared. &ldquo;What boat
+goes there?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>No answer.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll show them!&rdquo; Blackie put out a hand.
+Three powerful motors roared. The <i>Stormy
+Petrel</i> lurched forward, all but throwing Johnny
+into the sea.</p>
+<p>Sudden as the movement was, it proved too
+slow. Like a true shadow, the thing vanished
+into the murk.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&mdash;it went down,&rdquo; Johnny stammered.
+&ldquo;Must have been a whale.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_146">[146]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Or a submarine,&rdquo; Lawrence suggested.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It did not go down,&rdquo; said MacGregor. &ldquo;It
+slid away into the fog. And it was not a whale.
+I&rsquo;ve seen plenty of whales. They&rsquo;re never like
+that.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Wait!&rdquo; Johnny sprang for the cannon.
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll give them a shot just to let them know
+we&rsquo;re after them.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No! No! Not that!&rdquo; MacGregor waved
+him back. &ldquo;&lsquo;Speak softly and carry a big
+stick.&rsquo; That was Teddy Roosevelt&rsquo;s motto.
+The grandest president that ever lived. There&rsquo;s
+time enough to make a noise after we&rsquo;ve got
+&rsquo;em under our thumb.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&mdash;I&rsquo;m sorry,&rdquo; said Johnny.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_147">[147]</div>
+<h2 id="c14"><span class="small">CHAPTER XIV</span>
+<br />A VOICE IN THE FOG</h2>
+<p>Forty-eight long hours the <i>Stormy
+Petrel</i> haunted the gray fog. During far
+more than his fair share of that time, eyes
+blinking but tireless, Johnny stood on deck
+studying the small circle of black waters.</p>
+<p>Three times his heart leaped as a dark bulk
+loomed before them. Three times he heaved a
+sigh of disappointment.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Only one of the gill-net boats returning to
+the cannery,&rdquo; was the answer.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They&rsquo;re running strong,&rdquo; was the joyous
+report of one fisherman. &ldquo;Full load first trip.
+Looks like a grand season.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Poor luck,&rdquo; came from the second. &ldquo;We
+tried hard. Got only half a load. Have to
+come in anyway. It&rsquo;s the rule. Fish must always
+be fresh.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The third boat had had even worse luck. It
+was going back all but empty.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_148">[148]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;No new calico dress for Nancy this time,&rdquo;
+the youthful skipper groaned.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No gitta da dress,&rdquo; his Italian companion
+agreed.</p>
+<p>At last, out of gas, with her crew half-blind
+from watching, the <i>Stormy Petrel</i> headed for
+the harbor.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They&rsquo;re out there somewhere,&rdquo; Red McGee
+insisted, as he met them at the dock.
+&ldquo;Must be anchored up north of here somewhere.
+It&rsquo;s the boys who go up that way who
+come back half-empty.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But the wheels are turning,&rdquo; he added with
+a touch of pride. &ldquo;Ever see a cannery in operation?&rdquo;
+he turned to the boys.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, never have,&rdquo; was the quick response.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Rusty,&rdquo; said Red, turning to his daughter,
+&ldquo;how&rsquo;d you like to show these boys through
+our plant?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Did Johnny detect a frown on the girl&rsquo;s
+face? If so, it was gone like the shadow of a
+summer cloud.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Sure! Come on!&rdquo; she welcomed. They
+were away.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_149">[149]</div>
+<p>Somewhere Johnny had heard that a fish
+cannery was a place of evil smells and revolting
+sights. Dirty coolies gouging into half-rotten
+fish&mdash;that was his mental picture.</p>
+<p>A surprise awaited him. Not a coolie was
+in sight. The place smelled as fresh as a May
+morning. To his ears came the sound of rushing
+water.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Where are the coolies?&rdquo; he asked a man
+beside a machine.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;This is him,&rdquo; the man chuckled. &ldquo;An iron
+coolie.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>As the two boys watched they saw the machine
+seize a large salmon, sever its head and
+tail, remove the scales and fins, clean it and
+pass it on in a split second.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Jimminy crickets!&rdquo; Lawrence exploded.
+&ldquo;And I used to think I was the champion fish
+cleaner!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Rusty favored him with a gorgeous smile.</p>
+<p>When, a little later, Johnny made a try for
+that same young lady&rsquo;s smile, the cloud once
+again passed over her face, but no smile. He
+was not, however, entirely discouraged. It
+was, he thought, more as if she could not forgive
+him than that she did not want to.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_150">[150]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;We saw the shadow pass,&rdquo; Lawrence confided
+to the girl, as at last they stood before a
+canning machine.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh!&rdquo; the girl breathed. &ldquo;Did you? And
+what&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It vanished into the fog.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I have a small motor-boat,&rdquo; the girl said,
+in evident excitement. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s the <i>Krazy Kat</i>.
+I&mdash;I&rsquo;m going out to look for the shadow in the
+fog.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&mdash;you&rsquo;d better not do that,&rdquo; Johnny
+spoke before he thought. &ldquo;You&rsquo;d be&mdash;&rdquo; He
+did not finish.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I was practically born and raised here.&rdquo;
+She spoke to him, as an old-time Alaskan
+might to a newcomer.</p>
+<p>Johnny did not resent it. He had spoken
+out of turn. And yet he was disturbed. He
+did not care to think of this fine young creature
+out there in the fog alone. Supposing she
+did find the Orientals setting nets. Suppose
+they found her, alone out there in the fog?</p>
+<p>&ldquo;None of my business,&rdquo; he told himself
+fiercely. &ldquo;Just none at all.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_151">[151]</div>
+<p>The <i>Stormy Petrel</i> remained an entire day in
+port. Blackie spent his time listening to reports
+from the various fishing grounds. The
+shores of Bristol Bay are hundreds of miles
+long. Next time he went out he wanted to go
+to the right spot, if there were such a spot.</p>
+<p>Johnny made the acquaintance of Kopkino,
+the Eskimo. From him he learned much about
+salmon, Orientals and the shores of Bristol
+Bay. And then, just at midnight, he passed
+the sturdy little man standing beside a dark
+pathway. There were three little men with
+him and they were all talking. They were not
+Eskimos. He was sure of that. But they were
+Orientals. He had heard enough of the languages
+to know.</p>
+<p>At once his mind was filled with questions.
+Was Kopkino betraying his employer for Oriental
+gold, or was he acting as a spy for his
+big white brother? Who could say?</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He&rsquo;s an Oriental,&rdquo; Johnny told himself.
+&ldquo;All Eskimos are. But after all&mdash;&rdquo; He came
+to no conclusion.</p>
+<p>Just before dawn the <i>Stormy Petrel</i> crept out
+into the fog. She was bound for an unannounced
+destination.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_152">[152]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Action,&rdquo; Johnny said to Lawrence. &ldquo;This
+time we are to have action. I feel it in my
+bones.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>One thing puzzled Johnny not a little. They
+were provisioned as if for a long trip, two
+weeks or more.</p>
+<p>Several hours later the <i>Stormy Petrel</i> was
+once again circling about in the fog.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Seems like it&rsquo;ll never end, this fog,&rdquo; MacGregor
+said to Johnny. They were on deck
+working out their watch. &ldquo;Looks as if nature
+was on the side of those Orientals.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Orientals,&rdquo; he continued musingly, &ldquo;I
+don&rsquo;t suppose they&rsquo;re much different from the
+rest of us, only just some of them.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Just some of them,&rdquo; Johnny agreed, giving
+the wheel a turn.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Come to think of it,&rdquo; MacGregor went on,
+&ldquo;there are a few white men who are not so
+honorable.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Quite a few,&rdquo; Johnny agreed.</p>
+<p>Truth is, Johnny was dead tired. He wanted
+nothing quite so much as to crawl into some
+warm corner and sleep for hours and hours.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_153">[153]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t hate them all the same,&rdquo; MacGregor
+squinted his eyes to look through the fog.
+Then he demanded low, &ldquo;Hear anything,
+Johnny?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not a thing.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Thought I heard a voice coming out of the
+fog.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>For some time after that neither spoke.
+They were listening with all their ears for
+some sound that might tell them the mysterious
+moving shadow was about to pass.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What is this shadow?&rdquo; Johnny asked himself.
+&ldquo;Submarine, some fast, silent craft, or a
+whale?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He liked the idea of a submarine. The Orientals
+had them. Why not use them for laying
+nets? Easy enough to vanish when danger
+was near.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Hate, me lad, is destructive,&rdquo; the aged
+man&rsquo;s voice was solemn as he took up the
+thread of conversation he had dropped. &ldquo;Hate
+destroys you as well as the people you hate.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He broke off short to cup a hand behind his
+ear.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;There <i>was</i> a voice,&rdquo; he insisted in a hoarse
+whisper.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_154">[154]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, I heard it,&rdquo; Johnny replied, tense with
+sudden excitement.</p>
+<p>Ten minutes had passed. They were beginning
+to relax when the sound came again.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Over to the right,&rdquo; MacGregor shrilled.
+&ldquo;Turn her about quarterin&rsquo; them. Give her top
+speed.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Right.&rdquo; Johnny twisted the wheel. The
+motors roared. It was a bold step that might
+have led to disaster. Should there be a boat
+out there setting nets, and should they crash
+at that speed, what would it mean? Johnny
+did not dare to think.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;There!&rdquo; MacGregor gripped the boy&rsquo;s
+arm.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh&mdash;ah!&rdquo; Johnny groaned. &ldquo;We missed
+them.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>It was true. Off to the left, for the space of
+seconds, they saw an unmistakable dark, gray
+bulk. And then it was gone.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Our own speed defeated us,&rdquo; declared MacGregor.
+&ldquo;Ah, well, better luck next time.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Or worse,&rdquo; Johnny grumbled.</p>
+<p>Had he but known it, it was to be worse,
+much worse.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_155">[155]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;As for me,&rdquo; MacGregor said a half hour
+later, resuming his talk, &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t hate anybody.
+It&rsquo;s not worth while. Sometimes I hate the
+things they do. Mostly, I try to think of good
+people and the good things they do.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And that,&rdquo; his voice rose, &ldquo;that&rsquo;s what I
+like about this job of ours. If we can drive
+these Orientals from our shores we&rsquo;ll be doing
+good to our own people, a whole lot of &rsquo;em.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Know what I see when I&rsquo;m tired and I
+close my eyes?&rdquo; he asked suddenly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No. What?&rdquo; Johnny grinned good-naturedly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Children,&rdquo; MacGregor said in a mellow
+tone. &ldquo;Children playing before an open fire
+and their mother puttin&rsquo; the crust on an apple
+pie in the kitchen. And those, Johnny, are the
+children and wives of men way up here scoutin&rsquo;
+around in the cold and fog for salmon.
+We&rsquo;re servin&rsquo; them, Johnny, or at least we&rsquo;re
+trying to.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Just then Blackie&rsquo;s head popped up out of
+the hatch.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;See anything?&rdquo; he demanded.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Plenty,&rdquo; said Johnny.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_156">[156]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, an&rsquo; heard &rsquo;em,&rdquo; MacGregor added.</p>
+<p>They told Blackie what had happened.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So you think you heard them?&rdquo; he asked.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Think?&rdquo; MacGregor roared. &ldquo;We <i>know</i>
+we heard &rsquo;em.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Might have been a seal barking to his mate,
+or mebby a loon. You can&rsquo;t be sure. Question
+is, if they&rsquo;re here, where&rsquo;s their nets?&rdquo;
+Blackie came up on deck.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Turn the boat north by east,&rdquo; he said to
+Johnny. &ldquo;We&rsquo;re going in for a rest.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Rest? What&rsquo;s that?&rdquo; Johnny opened up a
+grand smile.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Something we don&rsquo;t have much of,&rdquo; said
+Blackie. &ldquo;But this fog burns your eyes. You&rsquo;re
+no good when you&rsquo;ve been out too long.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;There&rsquo;s a cabin on shore if only we can
+find it,&rdquo; he explained. &ldquo;A trapper&rsquo;s place, snug
+and warm. Red McGee told me about it.
+Trapper&rsquo;s gone south with his furs. We&rsquo;re to
+make ourselves at home.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_157">[157]</div>
+<p>Make themselves at home they did. After
+tying the <i>Stormy Petrel</i> up at a narrow dock
+they helped George up to the cabin with kettles,
+pans and food supplies. Then, while a
+jolly wood fire roared in the huge stove made
+of a steel gasoline barrel, laid on ends, they
+sprawled out on rustic chairs to sniff the odor
+of roasting beef and baking pies and to dream
+dreams.</p>
+<p>With his eyes closed, MacGregor was seeing
+&ldquo;children and their mothers putting the
+top crust on apple pies.&rdquo; In his dream Blackie
+held a struggling Oriental by the collar of his
+coat and the seat of his trousers. As for Johnny,
+he was seeing a round, freckled face all
+rosy with smiles. Then, to his dismay he was
+seeing that same face take on a somber look.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Rusty,&rdquo; he thought once again. &ldquo;Will she
+ever forgive me?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The feast George had prepared was one fit
+for a king or even a big league baseball player,
+and the sleep they had in that cabin resting
+among the bleak Alaskan hills was the soundest
+Johnny had known for many a day. Well
+it was that this should be, for Fate had much
+in store for him.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_158">[158]</div>
+<h2 id="c15"><span class="small">CHAPTER XV</span>
+<br />A ROAR FROM THE DEEP</h2>
+<p>&ldquo;It will be an hour or two before I can get
+out,&rdquo; Blackie said next morning, standing
+up to stretch himself before the fire. &ldquo;I
+want to go over some maps Red McGee gave
+me. Lawrence can draw up a simple chart that
+will keep us going right.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;MacGregor,&rdquo; he turned to the aged Scotchman.
+&ldquo;How would you like to take Johnny
+for a circle or two in the fog? You might discover
+some evidence. It&rsquo;s nets we want most.
+If we can discover some of those nets inside
+the three-mile limit it will help a lot.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Like nothin&rsquo; better,&rdquo; said MacGregor.
+&ldquo;Come on, Johnny, let&rsquo;s get goin&rsquo;.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_159">[159]</div>
+<p>MacGregor had spoken for both of them.
+Johnny was fond of the engineer. He was old,
+mellow and kind, was MacGregor. This, he
+had confided to Johnny, was to be his last year
+with the service. Another twelve months and
+he would be pensioned. &ldquo;And, Johnny,&rdquo; he
+had added, &ldquo;I&rsquo;m as eager as any boy to have a
+part in something big before I am compelled
+to go.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I hope you can have,&rdquo; had been Johnny&rsquo;s
+heartfelt wish.</p>
+<p>So now, with the sun still low and the fog,
+it seemed, thicker than ever before, they
+slipped out of the snug little natural harbor
+into the great unknown that is any sea in time
+of fog.</p>
+<p>Standing at the wheel, Johnny watched the
+dark circle of water about them. Ever they
+moved forward, yet never did this circle grow
+larger. It was strange.</p>
+<p>There was life at this circle. Now a whole
+fleet of eider-ducks, resting on their way north,
+came drifting into view. With a startled
+quack-quack they stirred up a great splatter,
+then went skimming away.</p>
+<p>And now a seal with small round head and
+whiskers like a cat came to the surface to
+stare at them.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_160">[160]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Not worth much, that fellow,&rdquo; was MacGregor&rsquo;s
+comment. &ldquo;Not much more hair than
+a pig.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But look, Johnny!&rdquo; his voice rose. &ldquo;There&rsquo;s
+a real fur seal. His hide&rsquo;s worth a pretty penny.
+Wouldn&rsquo;t have it long either, if those
+Orientals sighted him. We used to have a hot
+time with &rsquo;em over the seals. Had to pay &rsquo;em
+to get &rsquo;em to leave the seals alone. That was
+a shame. Have to do the same with the salmon,
+like as not. We&mdash;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Look, Johnny! What&rsquo;s that?&rdquo; His voice
+suddenly dropped to a whisper, as if he believed
+the fog had ears. &ldquo;Right over to the
+left, Johnny. Ease &rsquo;er over that way.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Another seal,&rdquo; said Johnny.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s no seal,&rdquo; MacGregor whispered. &ldquo;Johnny!&rdquo;
+His whisper rose. &ldquo;We got &rsquo;em. It&rsquo;s a
+net marker. Inside the three-mile limit. An&rsquo;
+it&rsquo;s none of Red McGee&rsquo;s net markers either.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&mdash;that&rsquo;s right,&rdquo; the boy breathed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And there&rsquo;s the floats, Johnny! There they
+are!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Sure enough, leading away into the fog was
+a wavering line of dots.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_161">[161]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;We&rsquo;ll follow it,&rdquo; was MacGregor&rsquo;s instant
+decision. &ldquo;See how much net there is, then&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll follow it,&rdquo; Johnny agreed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Set the boat to go five miles an hour. I&rsquo;ll
+time you.&rdquo; MacGregor pulled out his large,
+old-fashioned watch. &ldquo;Now we&rsquo;ll see.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>For a full ten minutes, in silence, the two of
+them watched the apparently never-ending
+line of net floats appear and disappear into the
+fog.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Near two miles of it,&rdquo; MacGregor growled.
+&ldquo;And yet no end. No wonder some of our fine
+boys come in with empty boats. These Orientals,
+they just find a place outside where the
+salmon run an&rsquo; head &rsquo;em off. They&mdash;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Slow up, Johnny!&rdquo; he warned. &ldquo;There&rsquo;s
+the end. Shut off the motor.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The motor ceased to purr. Silence hung
+over the fog. A seal bobbed up his head, then
+ducked. A large salmon, caught in the net
+close to the surface, set up a feeble splatter.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ease about,&rdquo; said MacGregor. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll pick up
+that net with this pike pole.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Now,&rdquo; he breathed, leaning far out over
+the rail, &ldquo;now I got her. Now&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_162">[162]</div>
+<p>He had succeeded in getting his hands on
+the marker when catastrophe came thundering
+up at them from the deep. A tremendous explosion
+sent the water rocketing toward the
+sky. The prow of the <i>Stormy Petrel</i> rose until
+it seemed she would go completely over.</p>
+<p>Frantically Johnny gripped the wheel to
+save himself from being plunged into the icy
+water. But where was MacGregor?</p>
+<p>For ten tense seconds the boat stood with
+prow in air. Then with a slow, sickening
+swash, she came down.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;MacGregor!&rdquo; Johnny cried. &ldquo;What happened?
+Where are you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Here&mdash;here I am!&rdquo; MacGregor&rsquo;s voice rose
+from the sea.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Johnny!&rdquo; his voice was hoarse with emotion.
+&ldquo;Shove off that life boat. Get her off
+just any way. There&rsquo;s a terrible hole in the
+<i>Stormy&rsquo;s</i> side. She&rsquo;ll sink in another minute.
+For God&rsquo;s sake, be quick!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Johnny was quick and strong. If ever his
+strength stood him in good stead it was now.</p>
+<p>The life boat hung over the afterdeck. The
+knots of ropes that held it in place were wet
+and stiff with fog.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_163">[163]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;No time,&rdquo; he muttered. With his knife he
+slashed away the ropes. The boat fell on deck
+with a thud. It was a heavy steel boat. To
+his consternation, he saw that it had fallen
+squarely between the heavy rails. The prow
+must be lifted. Creeping under it, he put all
+the strength of his back against it. It rose.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Now!&rdquo; he breathed. &ldquo;Now! And now!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The boat was on the rail. He could fairly
+feel the <i>Stormy&rsquo;s</i> deck sinking beneath him.
+She was doomed, there was no doubt of that.
+Those heavy motors would take her down fast.</p>
+<p>Once again he heaved. The life boat was
+now a quarter over the rail, now a third, now
+half.</p>
+<p>Leaping from beneath it, he executed a double
+movement, a shove and a leap. He was
+in the life boat. The life boat plunged, all but
+sank, swayed from side to side, then righted
+herself.</p>
+<p>There was a low, sickening rush of water.
+Johnny looked. The <i>Stormy</i> was gone. In her
+place were swirling water and in the swirl an
+odd collection of articles; a coat, a cap, a pike
+pole, and MacGregor&rsquo;s checkerboard.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_164">[164]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;MacGregor!&rdquo; Johnny called hoarsely.
+&ldquo;MacGregor! Where are you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Here! Over here!&rdquo; was the cheering response.
+&ldquo;I had to get away. She would have
+sucked me down.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Seizing an oar, Johnny began sculling the
+boat. In a moment he was alongside his companion.
+A brief struggle and MacGregor,
+watersoaked and shivering, tumbled into the
+boat.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;John&mdash;Johnny,&rdquo; his teeth were chattering.
+&ldquo;There&mdash;there shou-should be d-d-dry clothes
+in the stern.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Dragging a half barrel from the prow, Johnny
+pulled out shirts, underclothing, trousers,
+socks and shoes.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Seems you were looking for this,&rdquo; he
+chuckled as he watched the plucky old man
+disrobe himself.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Johnny,&rdquo; said MacGregor. &ldquo;In the Coast
+Guard service you are always looking for it an&rsquo;
+all too often you&rsquo;re not disappointed.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_165">[165]</div>
+<p>When, a few minutes later, after a brisk
+rub-down, MacGregor had struggled into dry
+clothes and had succeeded in lighting his pipe,
+he said, &ldquo;Well, me boy, we thought we had &rsquo;em
+an&rsquo; now they&rsquo;ve got us. We&rsquo;re miles from
+anywhere in a fog. And that&rsquo;s bad! Mighty
+bad.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Do you suppose Blackie heard it?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What? The explosion? &rsquo;Tain&rsquo;t likely.
+We&rsquo;re all of four miles from there. Don&rsquo;t forget,
+we followed that net two miles. An&rsquo; that
+explosion was muffled by the water.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An&rsquo; if he heard,&rdquo; he added after a brief
+pause, &ldquo;what could he do? He&rsquo;s four miles
+away. No compass. An&rsquo; no boat except maybe
+a fishing skiff. No, Johnny,&rdquo; his voice
+sounded out solemn on the silent sea. &ldquo;For
+once in our lives we are strictly on our own,
+you and me.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, me lad,&rdquo; he murmured a moment
+later. &ldquo;They got us that time. Attached some
+sort of bomb to their net, that&rsquo;s what they did.
+Safe enough in a way, too, for how you goin&rsquo;
+to prove it was their net? Yes, they got us.
+But you wait, me lad, we&rsquo;ll be gettin&rsquo; them
+yet.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_166">[166]</div>
+<h2 id="c16"><span class="small">CHAPTER XVI</span>
+<br />LOOMING PERIL</h2>
+<p>Many times in his young life Johnny
+had been on his own, but never quite
+like this.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not a bit of good to row,&rdquo; was MacGregor&rsquo;s
+decision. &ldquo;We&rsquo;ve not the least notion
+which way to go. If there was a breeze we
+might row by that. There&rsquo;s no breeze.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No sun, moon or stars, either,&rdquo; Johnny
+agreed.</p>
+<p>For a full half hour they sat there in silence.
+Off in the distance a seal barked. Closer at
+hand an eider-duck quacked to his mate. A
+sudden scream, close at hand, startled them
+for an instant. It was followed by a wild laugh.
+They joined in the merriment. It was only a
+loon.</p>
+<p>There came a wild whir of wings. A flock
+of wild ducks, flying low and going like the
+wind, shot past them.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_167">[167]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s north,&rdquo; Johnny exclaimed. &ldquo;They&rsquo;re
+going due north to their nesting place. That&rsquo;s
+east,&rdquo; he pointed. &ldquo;All we have to do is to row
+that way. We&rsquo;ll come to land.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If you kept your course, which you
+couldn&rsquo;t,&rdquo; MacGregor chuckled.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s worth trying. Anyway, I&rsquo;m cold,&rdquo;
+Johnny began to row. &ldquo;There may be other
+bird flights to set me right.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>There were not, at least not for fifteen minutes.
+When at last a pair of loons with long
+necks stretched straight before, passed them,
+to his disgust, Johnny saw that the boat was
+headed due north.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; he sighed, dropping his oars, &ldquo;At
+least I&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Listen!&rdquo; MacGregor put up a hand.</p>
+<p>Johnny listened. &ldquo;Say! That&rsquo;s no seal.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Nor a bird either. That&rsquo;s a human sound.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Like someone trying to start a motor.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Just that.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>For a time the sound ceased. Then it began
+again.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_168">[168]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Over to the left.&rdquo; Once again Johnny took
+up the oars. This time he rowed slowly, silently.
+No telling whose motor had stalled. Fisherman,
+trapper, or Oriental? Who could tell?</p>
+<p>Four times the sound ceased. Four times
+Johnny&rsquo;s oars rested on the surface of the
+water.</p>
+<p>When, at last, a small, dark spot appeared
+on the surface of the sea, Johnny fairly ceased
+to breathe.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Heck!&rdquo; said a voice in that fog.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Doesn&rsquo;t sound like an Oriental,&rdquo; Johnny
+whispered.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Fisherman nor trapper either,&rdquo; replied
+MacGregor.</p>
+<p>Leaning even more gently on his oars, Johnny
+sent his boat gliding forward. Then, of a
+sudden, he dropped his oars to stare.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s that girl, Rusty,&rdquo; he whispered hoarsely.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The same,&rdquo; MacGregor agreed.</p>
+<p>There could be no doubt about it. The girl
+was bending over to give her flywheel one
+more turn. Over her boy&rsquo;s shirt, high boots
+and knickers she had drawn a suit of greasy
+coveralls. On her face, besides a look of grim
+determination, there was a long, black smudge.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_169">[169]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Heck!&rdquo; she exclaimed once more.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Havin&rsquo; motor trouble?&rdquo; MacGregor spoke
+aloud.</p>
+<p>The girl started so suddenly that she all but
+lost her balance. Then, after a brief spell of
+unbelieving silence, she said, &ldquo;It&rsquo;s you, Mr.
+MacGregor! How glad I am to see you! I&rsquo;ve
+been lost for hours. I&mdash;I went out to hunt the
+Shadow, that shadow you know. My motor&rsquo;s
+stalled. But now&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Now we&rsquo;re all lost together,&rdquo; MacGregor
+chuckled.</p>
+<p>To Johnny, the girl gave never a second
+look.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Do&mdash;do you suppose you could start it?&rdquo;
+she said to MacGregor, nodding at her motor.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No harm to try. At least we&rsquo;ll come aboard
+for a cup o&rsquo; tea,&rdquo; MacGregor chuckled.</p>
+<p>Johnny rowed the lifeboat alongside the
+girl&rsquo;s boat, the <i>Krazy Kat</i>, and they climbed
+aboard.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She&rsquo;s not gittin&rsquo; gas,&rdquo; said MacGregor,
+after he had turned the motor over twice.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I know,&rdquo; the girl&rsquo;s brow wrinkled.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_170">[170]</div>
+<p>Without saying a word, Johnny scrambled
+back to the box covering the gas tank. After
+lifting the box off, he struck the tank a sharp
+rap. The tank gave off a hollow sound.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You might try putting some gas in your
+tank,&rdquo; he said with a sly grin.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, but there must be gas!&rdquo; the girl exclaimed.
+&ldquo;There must be.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Perhaps,&rdquo; said Johnny. &ldquo;But it&rsquo;s empty.
+May be a leak.&rdquo; Drawing a small flashlight
+from his pocket, he bent over and examined
+the offending tank.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yep,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;there is a leak, a small hole,
+but big enough. Your gas is in the bottom of
+the boat, along with the bilge water. Any
+reserve supply?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not a bit.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, then, here we are.&rdquo; Johnny took a
+seat. &ldquo;Now we have two boats and there are
+three of us. The motor-boat won&rsquo;t go, but&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Suddenly he sprang to his feet. &ldquo;You&rsquo;d have
+a compass, wouldn&rsquo;t you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ye-es,&rdquo; the girl replied with evident reluctance,
+&ldquo;but it&mdash;it&rsquo;s out of order. That&rsquo;s why
+I got lost.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_171">[171]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, anyway,&rdquo; Johnny said with forced
+cheerfulness, &ldquo;now there are three of us.
+Two&rsquo;s company and three&rsquo;s a crowd. I always
+have liked crowds. Besides,&rdquo; the corners of his
+mouth turned up, &ldquo;you&rsquo;ve got something of a
+cabin.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, yes.&rdquo; The girl seemed, for the moment,
+to forget that she was speaking to one
+who had knocked her beloved daddy out. &ldquo;Yes,
+there is a cabin. There&rsquo;s a small stove and&mdash;and
+some wood. There&rsquo;s tea and some pilot
+biscuits.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A stove, wood, tea and pilot biscuits?&rdquo;
+Suddenly MacGregor seized her and waltzed
+her about in a narrow circle. &ldquo;Rusty, me child,
+you are an angel.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>A half hour later found them comfortably
+crowded into Rusty&rsquo;s small cabin. They were
+sipping tea and munching hard round crackers.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The fog&rsquo;ll lift after a while,&rdquo; MacGregor
+rumbled dreamily. &ldquo;We lost our boat. That&rsquo;s
+bad. But there&rsquo;s marine insurance. That&rsquo;s
+good. We&rsquo;ll have another boat. I wonder,&rdquo;
+he paused to meditate, &ldquo;wonder what Blackie
+and the others are thinking by now.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And doing,&rdquo; Johnny suggested uneasily.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_172">[172]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, and doin&rsquo;,&rdquo; MacGregor agreed.</p>
+<p>A half hour later, growing restless, Johnny
+crept from his corner, opened the cabin door
+and disappeared up the narrow hatch.</p>
+<p>Ten seconds later he poked his head into the
+door to exclaim in a low, tense voice, &ldquo;MacGregor,
+come up here quick.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>MacGregor came. The girl came too. For
+a full half minute the three of them stood there
+speechless. They were looking up and away.
+Their eyes were wide and staring.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;MacGregor,&rdquo; Johnny asked, &ldquo;what is it?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A ship,&rdquo; MacGregor whispered. &ldquo;A thunderin&rsquo;
+big ship. She&rsquo;s not two hundred leagues
+away. She&rsquo;s not movin&rsquo;, just driftin&rsquo;. That&rsquo;s
+how she came close to us.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Wha-what ship is she?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Who knows, son? But I&rsquo;d lay a bet I could
+guess the country she came from.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So&mdash;so could I.&rdquo; Johnny&rsquo;s throat was dry.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We&mdash;we,&rdquo; Rusty pulled her old sou&rsquo;wester
+down hard on her head, &ldquo;we&rsquo;d better get into
+the life boat and row away. It&mdash;it doesn&rsquo;t matter
+about the <i>Krazy Kat</i>. It really doesn&rsquo;t.&rdquo;
+She swallowed hard.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_173">[173]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;We can try it,&rdquo; MacGregor agreed. &ldquo;But
+I&rsquo;m afraid it&rsquo;s too late.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; he added with a low, rumbling
+laugh. &ldquo;We were lookin&rsquo; for &rsquo;em. Now we
+found &rsquo;em, we don&rsquo;t want &rsquo;em. Come on, an&rsquo;
+mind you, never a sound!&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_174">[174]</div>
+<h2 id="c17"><span class="small">CHAPTER XVII</span>
+<br />TRAPPED</h2>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s no use. We&rsquo;re in for it.&rdquo; Five minutes
+later MacGregor dropped his oars.
+From some spot close to that dark bulk against
+the sky had come the throb of a motor.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Rusty, me child,&rdquo; the old man&rsquo;s voice was
+very gentle. &ldquo;Be sure those golden locks of
+yours are well tucked in. Whatever you do,
+don&rsquo;t remove that sou&rsquo;wester. For the present
+you are a boy. You must not forget.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&mdash;I won&rsquo;t forget.&rdquo; Rusty&rsquo;s fingers were
+busy with her hair.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I only hope,&rdquo; the old man added soberly,
+&ldquo;that my guess is wrong.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Scarcely were the words out of his mouth
+when a smart little motor boat, bright with
+red and white paint, hove into view. And on
+the deck, scarcely less smart in brass buttons
+and braid, stood a small man with slanting
+eyes.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_175">[175]</div>
+<p>Those eyes appeared a trifle startled at sight
+of MacGregor. &ldquo;A thousand pardons.&rdquo; The
+little man&rsquo;s voice was smooth as oil. &ldquo;What
+is that which you wish?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Only a few gallons of gasoline,&rdquo; said MacGregor.</p>
+<p>The lightning change on the little man&rsquo;s
+face was startling. It was as if a dagger had
+suddenly flashed from his belt, yet his tone
+was smooth as before.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah! You are out of gas? Very unfortunate.
+Your line, please. We shall escort you
+to our ship.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But we don&rsquo;t want to go to your ship,&rdquo;
+MacGregor protested. &ldquo;All we want is gas.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah, yes, a thousand apologies. But here
+there is no gasoline, only at the ship. Your
+line, please.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Say, you&mdash;&rdquo; Johnny&rsquo;s angry voice was
+stopped by a heavy pressure on his arm.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Give him our line, son,&rdquo; said MacGregor.</p>
+<p>Grudgingly Johnny obeyed. A moment
+later, with the two boats in tow, the bright,
+little craft went rolling back toward that
+broad, black bulk.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_176">[176]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s no use to quarrel with &rsquo;em,&rdquo; MacGregor
+said in a sober whisper. &ldquo;We&rsquo;ve fallen
+into their hands. I think that chap recognized
+me. I&rsquo;ve been along the Pacific waterfronts
+for many years. So have these Orientals.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But&mdash;but what will happen?&rdquo; Rusty asked.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Who knows?&rdquo; was MacGregor&rsquo;s sober reply.
+&ldquo;Let us hope for the best. They&rsquo;ll not let
+us go now. When they&rsquo;re well beyond the
+three-mile limit they may give us gas and let
+us go.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;In the meantime, Rusty,&rdquo; he warned, &ldquo;don&rsquo;t
+forget you&rsquo;re a boy. It&rsquo;s a good thing you&rsquo;ve
+got on knickers instead of a dress.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>They were brought alongside. A ladder was
+let down. They climbed aboard. There they
+were ushered before one more small man who
+wore even more brass and braid. Johnny
+thought with a touch of humor that he would
+make a very fine monkey if only he had a cap,
+a tin cup and a string.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_177">[177]</div>
+<p>When MacGregor requested that they be
+given gasoline and allowed to leave, there were
+excuses, very profuse and polite, but quite formal.
+There were reasons, very unfortunate
+reasons; too much fog, a storm coming up, too
+few men to spare even one or two, to find the
+way alone quite impossible. Oh, quite!</p>
+<p>The man, who beyond doubt was the captain,
+talked on and on.</p>
+<p>It all ended by the <i>Krazy Kat&rsquo;s</i> being hoisted
+on board, by the little party drinking very
+black and very hot tea with the much adorned
+captain, and at last by their being escorted,
+for all the world as if they were embarking on
+a long voyage, to a pair of staterooms on the
+second deck.</p>
+<p>For a time after the stateroom doors had
+been closed the surprised trio stood staring
+first at one another and then at their surroundings.</p>
+<p>The two staterooms were joined by a door.
+There were two berths in each stateroom.
+There were round portholes, no other windows.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That will be your stateroom, Rusty,&rdquo; MacGregor
+opened the door to the one beyond.
+&ldquo;Keep your outside door locked.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_178">[178]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;One thing more,&rdquo; hesitatingly he produced
+a pair of scissors, &ldquo;I always carry them,&rdquo; he
+explained. &ldquo;A man doesn&rsquo;t live everywhere as
+I have done, not in Alaska, without learning
+to cut hair. I&rsquo;m a fair hand at it. Rusty, me
+child, those rusty red locks of yours have got
+to come off.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Without a word the girl dropped to a stool
+beside the berth.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Johnny,&rdquo; said MacGregor, &ldquo;I suggest that
+you step outside and stand guard. Don&rsquo;t leave
+the door, not more than three steps. If anyone
+comes near, make some noise on the door.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Right,&rdquo; said Johnny.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Rusty,&rdquo; said MacGregor, &ldquo;do you ever
+box?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh yes, often.&rdquo; The girl&rsquo;s face flushed.
+&ldquo;Often. Daddy and I box by the hour.&rdquo; She
+gave Johnny a strange, fleeting look.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Good!&rdquo; MacGregor exclaimed low. &ldquo;Tonight
+we&rsquo;ll have an exhibition match, just you
+and Johnny. Two boys showing these Orientals
+how to play.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And now,&rdquo; he nodded his head toward the
+door.</p>
+<p>Johnny opened it ever so softly, peered
+through the crack, and was gone.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_179">[179]</div>
+<p>At the same moment the old man lifted the
+shabby sou&rsquo;wester from the mass of lovely
+hair, blew on his scissors, heaved a heavy sigh,
+then slashed with apparent ruthlessness at a
+great handful of perfectly natural, copper-colored
+curls.</p>
+<p>A half hour later the door opened a crack.</p>
+<p>Taking the cue, Johnny stepped inside. He
+stopped short when he looked at Rusty.</p>
+<p>It was with the greatest difficulty that he
+suppressed a smile at what he saw. The sou&rsquo;wester
+was no longer needed. Good old MacGregor
+had done his work well. Rusty&rsquo;s hair
+looked like a real boy&rsquo;s.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What a grand boy!&rdquo; Johnny thought. And
+after that, &ldquo;What a perfect brick of a girl she
+is!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Mac,&rdquo; he said a moment later, &ldquo;there are
+twenty thousand fine big red salmon up forward.
+I stepped around a hatchway far
+enough to see.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_180">[180]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Twenty thousand,&rdquo; the old man murmured.
+&ldquo;Our boys get fourteen cents apiece just for
+catchin&rsquo; &rsquo;em. Twenty-eight hundred dollars.
+A grand livin&rsquo; for two happy families. And
+that&rsquo;s the first haul. There&rsquo;ll be many another
+unless someone stops &rsquo;em.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And we won&rsquo;t stop &rsquo;em,&rdquo; he added with a
+touch of sadness. &ldquo;Not just yet. But you
+wait!&rdquo; he sprang to his feet. &ldquo;We&rsquo;ll get a
+break yet.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_181">[181]</div>
+<h2 id="c18"><span class="small">CHAPTER XVIII</span>
+<br />FIVE ROUNDS AND A FRIEND</h2>
+<p>It may seem a little strange that MacGregor
+and his young companions accepted the
+whole situation so calmly. Yet the old man
+had lived long and in many places. He was
+wise in the ways of the world. He realized
+that they had already seen too much to be
+released at once. How long would they be
+detained? To this question he could form no
+answer. Perhaps until the end of the legal
+fishing season, twenty or more days away.
+Perhaps longer. They might even be taken to
+the Orient. After that some fantastic story
+might be told of their being picked up adrift
+on the high seas.</p>
+<p>Johnny was thinking along these same lines.
+But he, unlike MacGregor, was already laying
+plans for escape. For the present, however,
+he was willing to bide his time.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_182">[182]</div>
+<p>Dinner was brought to them by a smiling
+little brown man. It was not a bad meal, as
+meals go on the sea&mdash;boiled rice, baked salmon
+and tea.</p>
+<p>When it was over, MacGregor slipped out
+into the gathering night. While he was gone
+not a word was spoken. Johnny was busy with
+his own thoughts. So, he supposed, was the
+girl who now looked so very much like a boy.</p>
+<p>He was thinking, &ldquo;I wonder if there were
+shadows passing us in the fog. Or did we
+imagine them?&rdquo; Certainly he had seen nothing
+resembling a shadow here. And this girl.
+Would she forgive him? Well enough he knew
+that in trying times such as these people were
+either drawn closer together or driven farther
+apart. He could only wait and see.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;There&rsquo;s hope in the airplane that young
+Dan MacMillan is bringing up,&rdquo; he thought
+with fresh courage. &ldquo;If only he&rsquo;d arrive and
+fly over this ship we&rsquo;d manage somehow to
+signal him and then the whole navy would be
+on this old freighter&rsquo;s heels.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_183">[183]</div>
+<p>He was thinking now of something told to
+him in secret by Red McGee. He had been
+speaking of the cannery. It had been built by
+old Chad MacMillan. A crusty, honest, fair-dealing
+man, he had managed it for many
+years.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Then he died,&rdquo; Red had gone on, &ldquo;and
+young Dan MacMillan, just out of university
+and full of big ideas, inherited it. This winter
+I suggested that he hire a seaplane to go out
+scouting for these Oriental robbers.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;It&rsquo;s a fine idea,&rsquo; he said to me. &lsquo;A grand
+idea. I&rsquo;ll buy a seaplane and learn to pilot it.
+You&rsquo;ll be seeing me up there scouting around
+as soon as the salmon season opens.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s what he said to me,&rdquo; Red McGee
+had drawn in a deep breath. &ldquo;These wild
+young millionaires! What can you expect?
+He&rsquo;s not here now and like as not won&rsquo;t show
+up at all.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What can you expect?&rdquo; Johnny was thinking
+over his words now. &ldquo;If only Dan MacMillan
+showed up over this old craft all these
+little brown men would be scared out of their
+skins.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>But would he come? He dared not so much
+as hope.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_184">[184]</div>
+<p>He wondered about Lawrence and Blackie.
+He suffered a pang because of Lawrence.
+What a shame that he had dragged the boy
+up here! He would be far better off in Matanuska
+valley planting turnips and potatoes,
+hunting wild geese, and, perhaps, catching a
+glacier bear way back in the mountains.</p>
+<p>But here was MacGregor. And he carried
+in his hands, of all things, two pairs of boxing
+gloves. Johnny had wondered where they were
+to come from, but now here they were.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;These little brown boys go in strong for
+boxing,&rdquo; the old man explained.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I told them,&rdquo; continued MacGregor, &ldquo;that
+you were one of America&rsquo;s most promising
+young boxers, but a little out of training.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Quite a little,&rdquo; Johnny agreed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I said you and your boy pal would put on
+an exhibition match on deck tonight.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Rusty shot him a look, but said never a
+word.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I hope you understand,&rdquo; the old man said
+soberly, &ldquo;that I am asking you to do this for
+your own good.&rdquo; He was talking to Rusty.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_185">[185]</div>
+<p>She bowed gravely. Then, of a sudden, her
+face brightened. &ldquo;I hope they take us lightly,&rdquo;
+she said. &ldquo;That may give us a chance to escape.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s what it will,&rdquo; MacGregor agreed.
+&ldquo;And this boxin&rsquo; stunt is just the thing to put
+them off their guard.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>A half hour later, beneath a brilliant electric
+light, with a circle of dark faces about them,
+Johnny and Rusty shook hands for the first
+time in their lives, then drew on the gloves.</p>
+<p>Johnny had boxed strange people in many
+an out-of-the-way place. Never before had he
+boxed with a girl. He was not sure he was
+going to like it now. But with MacGregor as
+manager of the strange affair, there was no
+turning back.</p>
+<p>It <i>was</i> strange, there was no getting around
+that. A swaying light, a host of sober, brown
+faces, the gray fog hanging over all, made it
+seem fantastic indeed.</p>
+<p>There were to be five short rounds with
+MacGregor keeping time.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_186">[186]</div>
+<p>At the very beginning, Johnny discovered
+that his opponent was fast and skillful. Having
+no sons, Red McGee had taken it upon
+himself to train his daughter in the manly art
+of boxing. Life on the bleak Alaskan shore
+was often dull. The girl had welcomed each
+new lesson. And now Johnny was discovering
+that her punches that from time to time
+reached his cheek or chin, were far from love
+pats. They really stung, nor, try as he would,
+could he entirely escape them.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She&rsquo;s taking it out on me because of her
+father,&rdquo; he thought grimly. &ldquo;Well, I can take
+it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>What did the audience think of this affair?
+Who could tell? They watched in silence.
+Once when Rusty was tossed into their midst
+they helped her to her feet and pushed her
+into place. Their movements were so gentle,
+the flitting smiles about their lips so friendly,
+that, for the moment, the girl forgot her role
+and said, &ldquo;Thank you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The rounds passed speedily. When the
+fourth and last was up, Johnny said in a whisper,
+&ldquo;Come on, Rusty, let&rsquo;s make this one
+snappy. Give them a real show.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_187">[187]</div>
+<p>Snappy it was. From the moment MacGregor
+gave them the signal they whipped
+into it with a wild swinging of gloves. Rusty&rsquo;s
+footwork was perfect. Johnny found himself
+admiring the manner in which, hornet-like,
+she leaped at him for a sharp, stinging blow,
+then faded away.</p>
+<p>Perhaps he was admiring her too much.
+However that might be, in the last thirty seconds
+of the bout he stepped into something.
+Trying for a bit of reprisal in the way of a
+tap on her chin, he left an opening far too
+wide. Rusty&rsquo;s eyes opened wide, her stout
+right arm shot out and up. It took Johnny
+squarely under the chin and, &ldquo;believe it or
+not,&rdquo; he went down and out like a match.</p>
+<p>He was not out long, perhaps eight seconds.
+When at last his stubborn eyelids opened he
+found himself looking at a circle of grinning
+brown men and at Rusty who stood staring
+at him, but not smiling at all.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; he laughed, &ldquo;that must square the
+McGee&rsquo;s with Johnny Thompson.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;John&mdash;Johnny, please!&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;I didn&rsquo;t
+mean to. I truly didn&rsquo;t.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;All right.&rdquo; Johnny sprang to his feet.
+&ldquo;Shake on it. Let&rsquo;s always be friends.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_188">[188]</div>
+<p>The girl made no response. There was no
+need. She did clasp his hand in a grip that
+was friendly and strong.</p>
+<p>A half hour later they were having one
+more cup of tea in their staterooms and Johnny
+was thinking, &ldquo;Life surely is strange. I
+wonder how this affair will end.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Before he fell asleep he went over it all
+again. Blackie and Lawrence, the silent, moving
+shadow, the hard-working men on shore,
+the airplane that might come. When he was
+too far gone in sleep to think clearly he fancied
+that he felt the ship&rsquo;s propeller vibrating, that
+the ship was on the move. He was not sure.
+After all, what did it matter? There was nothing
+he could do about it. And so, he fell fast
+asleep.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_189">[189]</div>
+<h2 id="c19"><span class="small">CHAPTER XIX</span>
+<br />ORDERED BELOW</h2>
+<p>Back in the trapper&rsquo;s cabin Blackie was
+in a rage. He stormed at the Orientals,
+at MacGregor, then at himself. From time to
+time he rushed out on the small dock in a vain
+attempt to pierce the thick fog and to listen
+with all his ears.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The robbers have got them,&rdquo; he muttered.
+&ldquo;I should have known. That shadow! It&rsquo;s
+done for them and for the <i>Stormy Petrel</i>.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>As night came on he settled down to sober
+thinking. &ldquo;There&rsquo;s a fishing skiff out there by
+the dock,&rdquo; he said to Lawrence. &ldquo;We&rsquo;ll have
+to put it in the water and make a try for the
+mainland. This cabin is on an island. Mainland
+must be thirty miles away. We&rsquo;ll make
+it. We&rsquo;ll find some sort of power boat. And
+then, by thunder! Things will get to popping!&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_190">[190]</div>
+<p>Lawrence, too, was disturbed in his own
+quiet way. He knew a great deal about Johnny.
+Many a time Johnny had been in a tight
+spot. Always, somehow, he had come out safely.
+MacGregor was old and wise. And, after
+all, this was not a time of war. Why need one
+worry too much?</p>
+<p>There were a number of tattered books on
+the shelf in the corner. Evidently this trapper
+was something of a naturalist, for five of these
+were about animals and birds. In browsing
+through these, the boy made a real find, a picture
+of a glacier bear, a brief description, and
+the history of the animal as far as known.</p>
+<p>It was with the feelings of a real discoverer
+that he read those words over and over. When
+he had finished he said to himself, &ldquo;If ever I
+see one of those bears I&rsquo;ll know him.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>But would he? At the present moment
+those bears seemed as far away as the moon.
+And yet, who could tell?</p>
+<p>At dawn next morning the three of them,
+George, the cook, Blackie and Lawrence, carried
+their few supplies down to the dock,
+tacked a note on the door, climbed into the
+broad, clumsy skiff and rowed into the fog.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_191">[191]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;We&rsquo;ll follow the shore as far as we can,&rdquo;
+said Blackie. &ldquo;We&rsquo;ll have to cross a broad
+stretch of open water, but I think I can manage
+that with my pocket compass.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>When at last Lawrence saw even the small
+island disappear from sight, he regretted the
+circumstances that appeared to make it necessary
+to leave that comfortable retreat.</p>
+<p class="tb">When Johnny and his friends came on board
+that same morning, they found the fog still
+with them, but it was thinner. There was a
+suggestion of a breeze in the air.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Going to clear,&rdquo; was MacGregor&rsquo;s prophecy.
+This, they were soon to discover, did not
+concern them too much, at least not in the
+immediate future.</p>
+<p>When they had eaten a strange mixture of
+rice and meat and had gulped down some very
+bitter coffee, a little man with neither gold nor
+braid on his uniform came up to them, saluted
+in a careless manner and said simply, &ldquo;Come.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>They followed him from one deck to another
+until they found themselves in a vast place of
+steam and evil smells.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_192">[192]</div>
+<p>When their eyes had become accustomed to
+the light and steam, they saw long rows of
+men toiling and sweating over apparently endless
+tables. Before the tables, on a conveyor,
+thousands of large salmon moved slowly forward.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No iron coolie here,&rdquo; Johnny chuckled.
+&ldquo;Everything is done by hand. Heads off, tails,
+fins, all with big knives.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Please,&rdquo; said the little man. He was holding
+out a long, thin, oilskin coat. Understanding
+his wish, Johnny put it on. Still wondering,
+he watched MacGregor and the girl follow
+his example.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Please,&rdquo; said the little man again. &ldquo;A thousand
+apologies.&rdquo; He was holding out three
+long, sharp knives, at the same time pointing
+with his other hand at a break in the solid
+line of salmon workers.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why, the dirty little shrimp!&rdquo; Johnny exploded.
+&ldquo;He wants us to go to work.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Steady, son,&rdquo; MacGregor warned. &ldquo;They
+understand English. I fancy there are worse
+places than this on the ship. We have no
+choice but to obey.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_193">[193]</div>
+<p>Johnny muttered, but dropped into place to
+slash off a large salmon&rsquo;s head.</p>
+<p>He had worked in a rebellious humor for a
+quarter of an hour when, on looking up, he
+discovered that Rusty was performing the
+most disagreeable task in the salmon line. She
+was cleaning the fish. Shoving past MacGregor,
+he turned her half about as he muttered
+low, &ldquo;You take my place.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>To his great astonishment, he felt the girl
+whirl back to her place, give him a hard push,
+then saw her resume her work.</p>
+<p>For a space of seconds he stood there
+stunned. Then he laughed low. The girl was
+wise, much wiser than he had known. She was
+supposed to be a boy. Boys were not gallant
+to one another. She would play the part to
+the bitter end. Johnny returned to his task.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Mac,&rdquo; he was able to whisper at last, &ldquo;why
+would they do this to us?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You answer,&rdquo; was the old man&rsquo;s reply.
+&ldquo;Sh-sh&mdash;&rdquo; he warned. &ldquo;Here comes a big shot,
+one of the monkeys with gold buttons.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>As he passed the &ldquo;big shot&rdquo; smiled suavely
+at them, but said never a word.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_194">[194]</div>
+<h2 id="c20"><span class="small">CHAPTER XX</span>
+<br />A BATTLE IN THE DARK</h2>
+<p>Even at lunch time the toiling trio, Rusty,
+Johnny and MacGregor, were not invited
+to have their lunch on deck. Instead,
+they were served, like the coolie with whom
+they toiled, with great bowls of some mixture
+that looked like soup.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Hm,&rdquo; MacGregor sighed, &ldquo;fish chowder.
+And not bad.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Rusty&rsquo;s eyes shone. &ldquo;What a lark!&rdquo; She
+laughed outright. &ldquo;I only wish we had a camera.
+My crowd down in Seattle won&rsquo;t believe
+me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Johnny looked at her in surprise and admiration.
+&ldquo;Here&rsquo;s one girl with a spirit that can&rsquo;t
+be broken,&rdquo; he thought.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_195">[195]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Reminds me of a time I was on the Big
+Diomede Island on Bering Straits,&rdquo; said MacGregor
+with a rumble of merriment. &ldquo;We were
+cutting up a big walrus. I saw an old woman
+working over the stomach of that walrus.
+Know what the walrus lives on?&rdquo; he demanded.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Clams,&rdquo; said Johnny.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Right. Bright boy,&rdquo; said MacGregor. &ldquo;The
+thing that had happened was this. The walrus
+had been down to the bottom. He&rsquo;d ripped
+up the sand at the bottom of the sea. He&rsquo;d
+cracked a lot of clams and had swallowed &rsquo;em.
+He hadn&rsquo;t digested &rsquo;em yet when we shot &rsquo;im.
+Know what that Eskimo woman was doing?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Can&rsquo;t guess.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She had a white pan and was savin&rsquo; the
+clams from the walrus&rsquo; stomach. And that
+night,&rdquo; there came a low rumble from deep
+down in MacGregor&rsquo;s throat, &ldquo;that night we
+had seal steak and clam chowder for supper.
+An&rsquo; I took seal steak.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O-oh,&rdquo; Johnny breathed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Mr. MacGregor,&rdquo; Rusty said with a gurgle,
+&ldquo;you wouldn&rsquo;t spoil anyone&rsquo;s dinner,
+would you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not for the world,&rdquo; was the old man&rsquo;s solemn
+avowal.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_196">[196]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Listen,&rdquo; MacGregor held up a hand. &ldquo;I
+hear an electric generator going. It&rsquo;s on this
+deck. I wonder why? I&rsquo;m going for a little
+walk.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They&rsquo;ll chase you back.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s all they can do.&rdquo; He was away.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The ship&rsquo;s beginning to sway a little,&rdquo;
+Johnny said. &ldquo;Shouldn&rsquo;t wonder if we&rsquo;d get
+a storm.&rdquo; The girl could not suppress an involuntary
+shudder.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Johnny,&rdquo; she leaned close to speak almost
+in a whisper. &ldquo;When we used coolie labor I
+learned to talk with them a little. I&rsquo;ve been
+talking to the coolie who cuts off fish&rsquo;s heads
+next to me. He says they expect to have a
+boatload of fish in a week or ten days. Then
+they&rsquo;ll go back to the Orient.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And if we go with them?&rdquo; Johnny breathed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve seen pictures of the Orient.&rdquo; The
+girl&rsquo;s eyes were closed. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s gorgeous. It
+truly must be.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Do you think we&rsquo;d get to see anything?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why not?&rdquo; the girl laughed low. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s all
+there to see. At least they can&rsquo;t keep us from
+dreaming.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_197">[197]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;No, they surely cannot.&rdquo; At that Johnny
+did some very choice dreaming, all his own.</p>
+<p>He was wakened from these dreams by the
+return of MacGregor. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s the strangest
+thing!&rdquo; he exclaimed. &ldquo;I got a look into that
+place. There&rsquo;s a huge generator an&rsquo; it&rsquo;s chargin&rsquo;
+batteries.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Batteries!&rdquo; Johnny exclaimed in surprise.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Sure! Banks and banks of large batteries.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;When submarines go under water,&rdquo; Johnny
+spoke slowly, &ldquo;they use batteries for power.
+What do you think?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t think,&rdquo; said MacGregor. &ldquo;Anyway,
+here&rsquo;s our little boss. He wants us to resume
+our duties as first-class cleaners of sock-eyed
+salmon.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>As the day wore on Johnny watched Rusty
+ever more closely. The heavy, unpleasant
+work, together with the ever-increasing roll
+of the ship, was telling. He was not surprised
+that, after the day was over and they were
+allowed to go to the upper deck, she took his
+arm to lean on it heavily.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Johnny, I won&rsquo;t give up. Please help me
+not to give up.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_198">[198]</div>
+<p>Johnny looked down at her with a reassuring
+smile.</p>
+<p>As they stepped on deck they found themselves
+looking at a new world. Gone was the
+fog. In its place was racing blue waters,
+flecked with foam.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A storm!&rdquo; the girl shuddered.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Just too dark to see land,&rdquo; Johnny groaned.
+&ldquo;If it wasn&rsquo;t, we might get our location and
+then&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Then what?&rdquo; she whispered.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I have some plans. We&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Sh&mdash;an officer!&rdquo; she warned.</p>
+<p>At the evening meal Rusty ate hard, dry
+crackers and drank scalding tea. She was still
+putting up a brave struggle against being sea-sick.</p>
+<p>When darkness came they went below.
+Rusty retired at once. Johnny threw himself,
+all dressed, upon his berth, but did not sleep.</p>
+<p>An hour later a shadowy figure passed him.
+It was Rusty. She was carrying blankets.
+Without a sound, he followed her. Arrived
+on deck, he saw her at the rail. Understanding,
+he dropped down upon a wooden bench.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_199">[199]</div>
+<p>After what seemed a long time, she turned
+and saw him. Swaying as she walked, she
+came toward him to drop down at his side.
+She did not say, &ldquo;I am so sick!&rdquo; She was too
+game for that and there was no need. He
+wrapped her in the blankets. Then they sat
+there in silence.</p>
+<p>The wind was rising steadily. It went whistling
+through the rigging. Ropes banged and
+yard-arms swayed. A shadow shot past them,
+a watch on duty. Lights shone on the blue-black
+sea. It was a truly wild night.</p>
+<p>Of a sudden a form stood before them.
+Clutching a steel cable, it clung there.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Thousand pardons,&rdquo; it hissed. &ldquo;Cannot
+stay here. It is forbidden.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;My friend is sick. We stay.&rdquo; Johnny felt
+his anger rising.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Thousand pardons,&rdquo; came once more.
+&ldquo;Cannot stay.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Million pardons,&rdquo; Johnny half rose. &ldquo;We
+stay.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_200">[200]</div>
+<p>A hand reached out. It touched Rusty&rsquo;s
+shoulder. That was enough. Johnny leaped
+at the man. They went down in a heap. A
+second more and Johnny felt a steel clamp
+about his neck, or so it seemed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Jujitsu,&rdquo; he thought in sudden consternation.
+Throwing all his strength into an effort
+to break the man&rsquo;s grip, he failed. Coughing,
+trying to breathe, failing, strangling, he felt
+his strength going when, of a sudden, he
+caught the sound of a blow, then felt the hated
+arm relax. Ten seconds more and he was free.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&mdash;you hit him,&rdquo; he managed to breathe.
+&ldquo;Is he dead?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No&mdash;no. Watch out!&rdquo; the girl warned.</p>
+<p>Just in time Johnny caught the man. This
+time, gripping him by collar and trousers, he
+dragged him from the floor. And then, screaming
+like some wild thing, the brown man found
+himself hanging out over an angry sea.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Johnny, don&rsquo;t!&rdquo; The girl&rsquo;s hand was on his
+arm.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, all&mdash;all right.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Swinging the brown man in, he dropped him
+on the deck. Like a scared rabbit, the intruder
+went racing off on all fours.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Now I&rsquo;ve done it,&rdquo; Johnny groaned as he
+dropped back in his place.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Perhaps,&rdquo; said Rusty. &ldquo;Still, you can&rsquo;t tell.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_201">[201]</div>
+<h2 id="c21"><span class="small">CHAPTER XXI</span>
+<br />WALL OF GLASS</h2>
+<p>Rusty was not the only one disturbed
+by this storm. At the very moment
+when Johnny was at grips with the Oriental
+on the ship&rsquo;s deck, Lawrence, Blackie and
+George were battling for their very lives.</p>
+<p>What had happened? The distance from
+the trapper&rsquo;s cabin to shore was, they had discovered,
+far greater than they had supposed.
+When at last the fog cleared they found themselves
+far from any shore on a black and
+threatening sea.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Might as well keep headed for the mainland,&rdquo;
+was Blackie&rsquo;s decision.</p>
+<p>Head for the mainland they did. After that,
+for hours, with the storm ever increasing in
+intensity, they rowed as never before.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_202">[202]</div>
+<p>The clumsy oars were rough and hard to
+manage. Lawrence&rsquo;s hands were soon blistered.
+Tearing strips from his shirt, he bound
+them up and rowed on.</p>
+<p>Fortune favored them in one thing. They
+were going with the wind. Had they been
+forced to face into the storm, their boat would
+have been swamped at once. As it was, just
+as darkness began to fall the skiff began to fill.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Lawrence, you start bailing,&rdquo; Blackie commanded.
+&ldquo;George and I will row.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ya-as, sir, we&rsquo;ll row. Don&rsquo;t nebber doubt
+dat,&rdquo; George agreed. Then he began to sing,</p>
+<div class="verse">
+<p class="t0">&ldquo;Roll, Jordan, roll.</p>
+<p class="t0">Oh! Oh! Oh! I want to go dere</p>
+<p class="t0">To hear old Jordan roll.&rdquo;</p>
+</div>
+<p>Lawrence thought with a shudder that he
+might be there to hear Jordan roll before day
+dawned.</p>
+<p>By constant bailing he was able to keep the
+skiff from swamping. So, chilled to the bone,
+hoping against hope, he labored on.</p>
+<p>When at last they found themselves near to
+some shore, his heart failed him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Towering rocks,&rdquo; he groaned.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_203">[203]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;There&rsquo;s a break in those rocks,&rdquo; said
+Blackie. &ldquo;I saw it before dark. We&rsquo;ll follow
+along and here&rsquo;s hoping.&rdquo; Once more he put
+his stout shoulders to the oars.</p>
+<p>A half hour passed, an hour, two hours.
+Numb with cold and ready to drop from exhaustion,
+Lawrence wondered if Blackie could
+have been wrong. Was there a break in that
+wall? And then&mdash;he saw it.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;There!&rdquo; he exclaimed. &ldquo;There it is. Straight
+ahead!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He dared not add that it seemed a strange
+break. Not very deep, it appeared to give off
+an odd sort of glimmer at its back.</p>
+<p>Just as they were ready to enter the gap, a
+great cloud went over the moon and all was
+black.</p>
+<p>Steering more from instinct than sight, they
+rowed on. To Lawrence, at that moment, the
+suspense was all but overpowering. Where
+were they going? Could they find a landing?
+What was the end to be?</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_204">[204]</div>
+<p>One thing was encouraging, the waves in
+this place were not so wild. They no longer
+dashed into the boat. So with darkness hanging
+over them they rowed, for what seemed
+an endless time, but could have been only a
+few moments, straight on into the unknown.</p>
+<p>And then. &ldquo;Man! Oh, man! What was
+that?&rdquo; The boat had crashed into an invisible
+wall.</p>
+<p>Lawrence put out a hand. &ldquo;Glass!&rdquo; he exclaimed.
+&ldquo;A wall of glass.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not glass, son,&rdquo; Blackie&rsquo;s voice was low.
+&ldquo;A wall of ice. The end of a glacier. This is
+a spot where icebergs break off. If one of
+them had been jarred loose by the bang of
+our boat&mdash;and if they had been sent tumbling
+by the sound of a voice&mdash;man! Oh, man! We
+would be lost for good and all.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Blackie, look!&rdquo; Lawrence spoke in a hoarse
+whisper. &ldquo;A light.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s a star,&rdquo; said Blackie.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A light,&rdquo; Lawrence insisted.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yas, man! A light,&rdquo; George agreed.</p>
+<p>Just then the moon came out, revealing a
+sloping mountain side. And, close to a shelving
+beach was a cabin. The light shone from
+that cabin.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh! Oh! Lord be praised!&rdquo; George whispered
+fervently.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_205">[205]</div>
+<p>Ten minutes later, as they drew their boat
+up on the beach, the cabin door was thrown
+open and a man, holding a candle close to his
+face, peered into the darkness to call, &ldquo;You all
+come right on up, whoever you all are.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That,&rdquo; said Lawrence in a surprised whisper,
+&ldquo;is Smokey Joe.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Smokey Joe, you old bear-cat!&rdquo; Blackie
+shouted.</p>
+<p>The grizzled prospector let out a dry cackle.
+&ldquo;Come on up an&rsquo; rest yerself,&rdquo; he welcomed.
+&ldquo;I got a Mulligan on a-cookin&rsquo;.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>At first Lawrence found it hard to believe
+that this was really Smokey Joe. &ldquo;How,&rdquo; he
+asked himself, &ldquo;could he come all this way?&rdquo;
+As he studied a faded map on the deserted
+cabin&rsquo;s wall, however, he realized that the distance
+overland was short compared to the way
+they had traveled by water.</p>
+<p>Joe&rsquo;s Mulligan stew proved a rich repast.
+He had killed a young caribou two days before.
+There had been bacon and hardtack in
+his kit. Besides these, he had found dried
+beans and seasoning in the cabin.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_206">[206]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Yep,&rdquo; he agreed, as Blackie complimented
+him after the meal was over, &ldquo;hit&rsquo;s plum grand
+livin&rsquo; when you sort of git the breaks.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An&rsquo; listen,&rdquo; his voice dropped. &ldquo;Hit&rsquo;s plumb
+quare how things git to a comin&rsquo; yer way. Yesterday
+I found gold. Struck hit rich, you
+might say.&rdquo; From a moose-hide sack he tumbled
+a handful of nuggets.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Gold!&rdquo; Blackie exclaimed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yup. Hit&rsquo;s might nigh pure gold,&rdquo; the old
+man agreed. &ldquo;Nuther thing that&rsquo;s plumb
+quare. Hit&rsquo;s nigh onto that little blue bear&rsquo;s
+den.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What?&rdquo; Lawrence started up. &ldquo;A blue
+bear! A&mdash;a glacier bear?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Reckon you might call &rsquo;em that,&rdquo; the old
+man agreed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He&rsquo;s been a-stayin&rsquo; in a sort of cave up thar
+fer a right smart spell.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;How&mdash;how far is it?&rdquo; Lawrence asked almost
+in a whisper.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Hit&mdash;I reckon hit&rsquo;s&mdash;&rdquo; the old man studied
+for a moment. &ldquo;Why, hit&rsquo;s right about three
+peaks, a look an&rsquo; a right smart.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What does that mean?&rdquo; Blackie asked in a
+surprised tone.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_207">[207]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Wall, you jest climb one of them thar least
+mounting peaks,&rdquo; the old man explained.
+&ldquo;Then another, an&rsquo; another.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Three peaks,&rdquo; said Blackie.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Fer startin&rsquo;,&rdquo; said Smokey Joe. &ldquo;Arter that
+you take a look an&rsquo; hit&rsquo;s a right smart furder
+than you can see.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Perhaps about ten miles,&rdquo; suggested
+Blackie after they had had a good laugh,
+which Smokey Joe took good-naturedly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Near on to that,&rdquo; the old man agreed.</p>
+<p>Long after the old man had rolled himself
+in his blankets and fallen asleep Lawrence and
+Blackie sat beside the cracked stove talking.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Blackie,&rdquo; Lawrence said in a husky voice,
+&ldquo;that little blue bear is worth a lot of money.
+The Professor told us he&rsquo;d trade us a tractor
+for one. They&rsquo;re rare, about the rarest animals
+on earth. There&rsquo;s not one in captivity
+anywhere.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That won&rsquo;t help much,&rdquo; Blackie grumbled.
+&ldquo;If this wind goes down, we&rsquo;ve got to get out
+of here at dawn. Something&rsquo;s happened to
+Johnny and MacGregor. We&rsquo;ve got to look
+for them.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_208">[208]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; Lawrence agreed. &ldquo;But if the wind
+doesn&rsquo;t go down?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We&rsquo;ll have to stay here,&rdquo; said Blackie.
+&ldquo;And,&rdquo; with a low chuckle, &ldquo;we might go
+&lsquo;three peaks, a look and a right smart&rsquo; looking
+for your blue-eyed bear.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_209">[209]</div>
+<h2 id="c22"><span class="small">CHAPTER XXII</span>
+<br />DREAMS</h2>
+<p>&ldquo;Johnny,&rdquo; Rusty&rsquo;s voice was low, husky
+with strangely mingled emotions, &ldquo;when
+we are back at the cottage, I&rsquo;ll make a big pan
+of ice-box cookies. We&rsquo;ll take them with a big
+bottle of hot cocoa. We&rsquo;ll go out on a sunny
+rock and have a feast.&rdquo; They were still on
+the deck of the rolling ship and it was still
+night.</p>
+<p>Rusty&rsquo;s voice rose. &ldquo;And such sunshine!
+Nowhere in the world is it so glorious.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;All right,&rdquo; Johnny agreed. &ldquo;Ice-box cookies,
+hot chocolate and sunshine. That will be
+keen.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_210">[210]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Dreams,&rdquo; he was thinking. &ldquo;How often
+when things are hard, very hard, we dream.&rdquo;
+As he closed his eyes now he could see dead
+salmon in endless rows. He could hear the
+monotonous drone of brown men and the endless
+wash-wash of the sea. &ldquo;How grand at
+times to dream of other things far away!&rdquo; he
+said. &ldquo;And what a joy to know of other places
+where we have been gloriously happy.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; she agreed, &ldquo;that is wonderful. And
+Johnny,&rdquo; she went on, &ldquo;we have a home in
+Seattle, father and I. It is small, but, oh, so
+beautiful! Climbing roses and pine trees.
+There&rsquo;s a lake before it. There is a dancing
+pavilion not far away where the boys and
+girls I know best come. There they swing and
+sway to bewitching waltz time. <i>Over the
+Waves</i>, <i>Blue Danube</i> and all the rest. Johnny,
+will you come sometime and join us there?&rdquo;
+Her voice seemed dreamy and far away.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Johnny. &ldquo;Some day I&rsquo;ll come.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But first,&rdquo; he thought savagely, &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll see
+this infernal boat at the bottom of the sea.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>For a time after that they were silent. Once
+again they heard the beating of ropes against
+spars, the wail of the wind and the dash of
+spray on the deck. How was all this to end?</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Rusty,&rdquo; Johnny said, &ldquo;I would like to leave
+you for a while.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why?&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_211">[211]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;There&rsquo;s something I want to do. You
+know,&rdquo; he leaned close, speaking in a hoarse
+whisper, &ldquo;there&rsquo;s a hole in the gas tank of your
+boat.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, but&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We may get a break. Your boat was put
+on deck after two others. That means they&rsquo;ll
+have to put her in the water before taking the
+others off. If there was gas in her tank we
+might slip down to her and get away.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But the gas, Johnny?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;There are two large cans in another boat.
+I saw them. I&mdash;I&rsquo;m going to plug up that hole
+in your tank, then try to fill it from the cans.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They&mdash;they may catch you.&rdquo; Her voice
+trembled.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll take a chance.&rdquo; He rose without a
+sound. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m off. If I don&rsquo;t come back, tell good
+old MacGregor.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&mdash;I&rsquo;ll tell him.&rdquo; Her whisper was lost in
+the wind. He was gone.</p>
+<p>Creeping along the swaying deck, dodging
+behind a lifeboat when the watch appeared,
+scooting forward, then pausing to listen, he at
+last reached the side of the <i>Krazy Kat</i>.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_212">[212]</div>
+<p>After securing the cans of gasoline, he lifted
+them to the deck of Rusty&rsquo;s small boat. Then,
+with a deft swing, he threw himself after the
+cans. The deck was wet with fog. Slipping,
+he went down in a heap, but made no sound.</p>
+<p>Feeling about in the dark, he found the tank
+and the leak. A sharpened splinter of wood
+stopped the hole.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Now the gas,&rdquo; he whispered. This he knew
+would be most dangerous of all. Cans have a
+way of gurgling and popping in an alarming
+manner. The gurgle, he concluded, would not
+matter. It would not be heard above the roar
+of the wind and the wash of the sea. But the
+tinny bangs? Ah, well, he&rsquo;d have to risk it.</p>
+<p>When one can was emptied into the <i>Krazy
+Kat&rsquo;s</i> tank, he heaved a sigh of relief. The second
+was half-emptied when he caught the
+sound of footsteps.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The watch!&rdquo; Consternation seized him.
+Flattening himself on the deck, he clung to
+the still gurgling can.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_213">[213]</div>
+<p>The sound of footsteps ceased. His heart
+pounded. Was he caught? Seconds seemed
+minutes. If the can popped he was lost. Ten
+seconds, twenty, thirty&mdash;again the footsteps.
+Then they grew indistinct in the distance.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah,&rdquo; the boy breathed.</p>
+<p>Just then the all but empty can gave forth
+a loud bang!</p>
+<p>Johnny jumped, then lay flat, listening with
+all his ears. For at least two full minutes he
+remained there motionless. The watch did not
+return.</p>
+<p>With great care he lifted the empty cans
+from the deck of the <i>Krazy Kat</i> to toss them
+into the foaming sea. Then, stealthily as before,
+he made his way back to Rusty&rsquo;s side.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&mdash;I did it,&rdquo; he shrilled. &ldquo;Now for a good
+break and we&rsquo;re away.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Here&mdash;here&rsquo;s hoping.&rdquo; She drew her hand
+from beneath the blankets to grip his own.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;MacGregor, what do you think they&rsquo;ll do
+to me?&rdquo; Johnny asked an hour later. The
+storm had partially subsided. Rusty was feeling
+better. They were back in their staterooms.
+Johnny had told the old man of the
+night&rsquo;s adventure.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s my opinion,&rdquo; said MacGregor, &ldquo;that
+you&rsquo;ll be shot at sunrise.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_214">[214]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;That won&rsquo;t be so bad,&rdquo; said Johnny, joining
+in the joke.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not half-bad,&rdquo; MacGregor agreed. &ldquo;I mind
+an Eskimo we shot up there in the far north.
+He&rsquo;d killed a white man. The revenue cutter
+came along an&rsquo; the judge tried him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;When the judge&rsquo;s decision had been arrived
+at, they told this Eskimo to stand up.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, sir, he stood there stiff an&rsquo; straight
+as any soldier. He was sure he had been condemned
+to die and that he was to be shot.
+They&rsquo;re a sturdy lot, those Eskimos.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; MacGregor paused to laugh. &ldquo;They
+set a thing up an&rsquo; aimed it at the Eskimo.
+Something clicked. The Eskimo blinked. But
+nothin&rsquo; else happened.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The white men folded things up and left.
+But the Eskimo still stood there, not knowin&rsquo;,
+I suppose, whether he was dead or alive.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Know what happened?&rdquo; he concluded.
+&ldquo;He&rsquo;d been found innocent and they had taken
+his picture.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;For all I know,&rdquo; he added, &ldquo;he&rsquo;s livin&rsquo; still
+an&rsquo; so&rsquo;ll you be, me boy, forty years from
+today.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_215">[215]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;What can they do?&rdquo; he demanded. &ldquo;They
+don&rsquo;t dare harm us.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I wouldn&rsquo;t trust them too far,&rdquo; said Johnny.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Nor I,&rdquo; Rusty agreed.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_216">[216]</div>
+<h2 id="c23"><span class="small">CHAPTER XXIII</span>
+<br />IN THE BLUE BEAR&rsquo;S CAVE</h2>
+<p>It was with a feeling of great uneasiness
+that Johnny came on deck next morning.
+What was to happen? Had that little brown
+man told the story of their struggle in the
+night? And if he had? He shuddered.</p>
+<p>Yet, strange to say, the day wore on in perfect
+peace. They were not even asked to go
+below and clean fish. The reason for this was
+apparent, the fish on deck had been taken
+care of. Since the storm was still roaring
+across the sea, no others could be brought in.
+During the forenoon two small, motor-driven
+crafts came close to stand by.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They belong to this outfit,&rdquo; MacGregor declared.
+&ldquo;They may have salmon below-deck.
+They&rsquo;re afraid of the storm. That&rsquo;s why they
+don&rsquo;t come in.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_217">[217]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah, well,&rdquo; he sighed. &ldquo;We&rsquo;re here for the
+day at least. Even if your <i>Krazy Kat</i> was in
+the water, Rusty, we couldn&rsquo;t risk her in a
+storm like this.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;These Orientals are a queer lot,&rdquo; Johnny
+mused.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Queer&rsquo;s no name for it, me boy,&rdquo; said MacGregor.
+&ldquo;As for me, I don&rsquo;t trust &rsquo;em. They&rsquo;re
+like children, just when they&rsquo;re makin&rsquo; the
+least noise is when you&rsquo;re sure they&rsquo;re up to
+some mischief.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Was this true? Johnny shuddered anew,
+but said never a word.</p>
+<p>They discovered during their lunch in their
+stateroom at noon that there was something
+vaguely familiar about the brown boy who
+brought the lunch. Johnny stared at him. But
+Rusty exclaimed in a whisper, &ldquo;Kopkina! You
+here?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The boy made a motion for silence. &ldquo;I am
+spy,&rdquo; he whispered. &ldquo;Red McGee good man.
+Me, I, Red McGee man.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_218">[218]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;You listen,&rdquo; his voice dropped to a whisper.
+&ldquo;I tell &rsquo;em, that one captain this ship, tell &rsquo;em
+you Red McGee boy.&rdquo; He nodded to Rusty.
+&ldquo;Tell &rsquo;em Red McGee mebby plenty mad.
+Plenty &rsquo;fraid Red McGee. They not punish
+you for fight on deck last night. Must go
+now.&rdquo; He disappeared through the door.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Boy!&rdquo; Johnny breathed. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m feeling better
+already.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Two hours later they had added cause for
+feeling better. Just when the sea was beginning
+to calm a little they caught the drum of
+a motor. As Johnny heard it his heart stood
+still, then leaped.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A motor,&rdquo; he breathed. &ldquo;That&rsquo;s a powerful
+motor. If only it&rsquo;s Dan MacMillan and his
+seaplane.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It is! It is!&rdquo; Rusty&rsquo;s voice rose to a high
+pitch. &ldquo;There! There it is. See!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Johnny did see. He pointed it out to MacGregor.
+They all leaned on the rail watching
+the seaplane approach.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If it&rsquo;s only Dan,&rdquo; MacGregor breathed.</p>
+<p>There came the sound of rushing feet. Apparently
+every little brown man on the boat
+had heard those motors. They came swarming
+onto the deck.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If it&rsquo;s Dan MacMillan,&rdquo; said MacGregor,
+&ldquo;there&rsquo;s sure to be someone with him.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_219">[219]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;They&rsquo;ll be looking for us,&rdquo; said Rusty.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, and we&rsquo;ll have to find a way to let
+them know we&rsquo;re here,&rdquo; Johnny added.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That,&rdquo; said MacGregor, &ldquo;is going to be
+hard, with all these.&rdquo; His glance swept the
+brown throng.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Tell you what!&rdquo; Johnny exclaimed. &ldquo;Rusty
+and I might do a little boxing bout. There&rsquo;s
+sure to be someone on the plane who knows
+us.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And they&rsquo;ll recognize you by your actions,&rdquo;
+MacGregor agreed. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s a capital idea. I&rsquo;ll
+go for the gloves.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>And so it happened that, as the seaplane
+flew over the ship, circled, then dipping low,
+passed within a hundred feet, those in it witnessed
+a strange sight&mdash;two white youngsters
+staging a boxing match for the benefit of a
+host of little brown men, who, truth to tell,
+gave them scant attention.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I only hope they recognized us,&rdquo; said Johnny,
+throwing his gloves on the deck.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You and me too,&rdquo; said Rusty. &ldquo;Anyway,&rdquo;
+she laughed, &ldquo;that&rsquo;s one time I didn&rsquo;t knock
+you out.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_220">[220]</div>
+<p>Whatever impression this little drama may
+have made upon the occupants of the seaplane,
+the effect of the appearance of the seaplane on
+the little brown men was apparent at once.
+On every face as the seaplane went winging
+away MacGregor read consternation.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They&rsquo;re afraid,&rdquo; he grumbled low to his
+young companions. &ldquo;Down deep in their hearts
+they are afraid.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What will they do now?&rdquo; Rusty asked
+anxiously.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They&rsquo;re already doin&rsquo; it,&rdquo; said MacGregor,
+calling attention to the rush and bustle on
+board. &ldquo;Puttin&rsquo; the ship in shape. It wouldn&rsquo;t
+surprise me if they weighed anchor within the
+hour. And if they do, me lassie,&rdquo; he added,
+&ldquo;you may be lookin&rsquo; on them Oriental cities
+within a week, for they&rsquo;ll be headin&rsquo; straight
+for home.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh-o,&rdquo; Rusty breathed. But she said never
+a word.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_221">[221]</div>
+<p class="tb">On that same morning in Smokey Joe&rsquo;s
+cabin Lawrence was up before the wee small
+hours had passed. After one good look at the
+sea, which was still rolling high, he dashed
+back into the cabin to find Blackie staring at
+him wide awake.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Black-Blackie,&rdquo; he stammered. &ldquo;I&mdash;I hate
+to disturb you. But&mdash;but that blue bear&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I know.&rdquo; Blackie sat up. &ldquo;Three peaks, a
+look and a right smart ho, hum.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Blackie! It&rsquo;s terribly important. Just think!
+A little blue bear. The only one in captivity,
+if we get him.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I know.&rdquo; Blackie slid out of his bunk.
+&ldquo;Get the fire going. Put the coffee pot on.
+We&rsquo;ll be off in a half hour.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, think&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Put the coffee on!&rdquo; Blackie roared.</p>
+<p>After tacking an old shirt to a pole as a
+signal of distress to any boat that might pass
+and instructing Smokey Joe to be on the lookout,
+Blackie drew a rough map, showing
+where, according to Smokey&rsquo;s direction, the
+bear&rsquo;s cave might be found. After that he led
+the way over the first &ldquo;peak.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>These peaks were, they discovered, mere
+ridges. The distance was, in reality, much
+shorter than they had thought.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_222">[222]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;This is the place,&rdquo; Lawrence said, an hour
+and a half later. &ldquo;It must be.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It is,&rdquo; Blackie agreed. &ldquo;There are the two
+scrub spruce trees with Smokey&rsquo;s blaze on
+them.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And there&rsquo;s the cave!&rdquo; Lawrence was
+greatly excited.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not much of a cave,&rdquo; said Blackie. &ldquo;Might
+be quite some bear at that. Wait.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>With a small hatchet he hacked away at a
+dry spruce knot until he had a pitch-filled
+torch. This, with the aid of some dry shavings,
+he lighted.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Now,&rdquo; he breathed. &ldquo;Give me one of the
+ropes. We&rsquo;ll have to manage to tangle him
+up somehow. I&rsquo;ll lead the way.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Al-all right,&rdquo; Lawrence&rsquo;s tongue was dry.</p>
+<p>The floor of the dark grotto was strewn
+with pebbles. To walk without making a noise
+was impossible.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Wait! Listen!&rdquo; Lawrence whispered
+when they had covered some twenty paces.</p>
+<p>As they paused, they caught a low hissing
+sound.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Snakes,&rdquo; the boy suggested.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_223">[223]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Not here. Too cold. It&rsquo;s the bear. Get
+your rope ready.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Slowly, cautiously they moved forward.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;There! There are his eyes.&rdquo; Two balls of
+fire appeared directly before them.</p>
+<p>And then things began to happen. A low
+snarl was followed by the sound of scattered
+pebbles. Blackie was hit by the rushing bear
+and bowled over like a ten pin. But Lawrence,
+quick as a cat, saw a hairy head, aimed a short
+swing and let go his rope.</p>
+<p>Next instant he was shouting: &ldquo;Blackie!
+Quick! Help! I got him! I got him!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The husky little blue bear dragged them
+both to the very entrance of the cave. There,
+panting and tearing at the rope, he paused to
+glare at them. The rope was drawn tight
+about his shoulders with one foreleg through
+the loop.</p>
+<p>Blackie, who was both fast and strong,
+made quick work of what remained to be
+done. Fifteen minutes later, carrying the live
+bear slung between them on a pole, they headed
+for the cabin.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_224">[224]</div>
+<p>To their great joy, as they neared the cabin,
+they saw one of Red McGee&rsquo;s gill-net boats
+awaiting them in the little bay. Smokey Joe
+had flagged it down.</p>
+<p>After a hasty, &ldquo;Thank you and goodbye&rdquo; to
+Smokey, they tossed their priceless captive
+into the after cabin of the stout, little motor-boat
+to head straight away over a rolling sea
+toward still more adventure, of quite a different
+nature.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_225">[225]</div>
+<h2 id="c24"><span class="small">CHAPTER XXIV</span>
+<br />OVERTAKING A SHADOW</h2>
+<p>Once again it was night. The wind had
+gone down with the sun. The sea was
+calm. On board the Oriental ship there was a
+strained air of tense expectancy.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I can&rsquo;t understand what&rsquo;s keepin&rsquo; &rsquo;em
+here,&rdquo; MacGregor said in a low tone to his
+young companions. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s plain that they&rsquo;re
+scared stiff of that seaplane. Looks like they&rsquo;d
+heave anchor and be away any minute. And
+if they do&mdash;&rdquo; There was no need to finish.
+Both Johnny and Rusty knew that this would
+mean a trip to the Orient under circumstances
+stranger than any fiction.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They seem to be waiting for something,&rdquo;
+said Johnny.</p>
+<p>This was true. All the little brown men not
+stationed at posts of duty were standing along
+the rail looking away toward the distant
+shores that were lost in the night.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_226">[226]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;They&rsquo;ll be back,&rdquo; MacGregor said, thinking
+of the men on the seaplane. &ldquo;Looks like
+it&rsquo;s a race against time. But what are they
+waiting for?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>It was not long until they should know. As
+they stood there, nerves a-tingle, listening, a
+distant confusion of noises came to them.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If there were a war,&rdquo; said MacGregor, &ldquo;I&rsquo;d
+say it was rifle and machine-gun fire.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>This notion was too fantastic to be seriously
+considered. But what was it?</p>
+<p>Second by second the sound increased in
+volume. &ldquo;Can this be what they&rsquo;re looking
+for?&rdquo; Johnny asked.</p>
+<p>If so, these little men welcomed it in a
+strange manner. Short, sharp commands were
+given. Scores of men went into frenzied action.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Look!&rdquo; Rusty gripped Johnny&rsquo;s arm.
+&ldquo;They&rsquo;re lowering my boat into the water.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And it&rsquo;s got gas in the tank. All ready to
+turn over and start. If only&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s motors we&rsquo;re hearin&rsquo;,&rdquo; MacGregor
+broke in. &ldquo;A thunderin&rsquo; lot of &rsquo;em! I shouldn&rsquo;t
+wonder&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_227">[227]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;MacGregor,&rdquo; Rusty seized his arm, &ldquo;our
+boat is in the water. They are all crowding
+the rail again. This may be our chance.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So it may,&rdquo; the old man agreed. &ldquo;Follow
+me. Not a sound!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll get Kopkina,&rdquo; offered Johnny. &ldquo;I just
+saw him on deck.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Dodging behind a life-raft Rusty and MacGregor
+went scurrying along in the dark and
+Johnny and Kopkina soon joined them.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&mdash;it&rsquo;s just here,&rdquo; Rusty whispered.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We&mdash;we need a rope ladder,&rdquo; Johnny exclaimed
+low.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Here&rsquo;s one,&rdquo; came in MacGregor&rsquo;s cheering
+voice. &ldquo;Let her over easy now.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Now,&rdquo; he breathed. &ldquo;Over you go.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The speed with which they went down that
+ladder, all but treading on one another&rsquo;s fingers,
+would have done credit to the U. S.
+Navy.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Now I&rsquo;ll cut her loose,&rdquo; said MacGregor.
+&ldquo;All right, Rusty, turn her over.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The fly-wheel whirled. The splendid motor
+began a low put-put-put. They were away
+into the dark.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_228">[228]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;They&rsquo;d have trouble findin&rsquo; us,&rdquo; MacGregor
+murmured.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But listen!&rdquo; Johnny exclaimed.</p>
+<p>The sound of many motors had doubled and
+redoubled. Just as they were about to swing
+around the prow of the ship, something long,
+dark and silent shot past them.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The Shadow!&rdquo; Johnny exclaimed.</p>
+<p>It was true, this was the Shadow. But at
+last the Shadow was not going to escape.
+After it thundered a powerful speedboat and
+as she shot past them the excited trio saw a
+burst of flames and caught the rat-tat-tat of a
+machine gun.</p>
+<p>This was followed instantly by a wild
+scream from the Shadow which sounded very
+much like a sign of surrender. At the same
+time the sea seemed fairly ablaze with lights
+from many boats.</p>
+<p>Johnny&rsquo;s head was in a whirl. What was
+happening? Without knowing why she did
+it, Rusty seized him by the arm and held him
+tight while she screamed, &ldquo;Johnny! It&rsquo;s wonderful!
+Wonderful!&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_229">[229]</div>
+<p>What had happened may be quickly told.
+When Blackie and his crew failed to return,
+and Rusty as well, there had been consternation
+about the cannery. There was little use
+searching Bristol Bay in a fog. When, however,
+Dan MacMillan appeared in his seaplane,
+they went into action. Red McGee climbed
+into the cockpit and they were away. They
+had circled for an hour when they sighted the
+Oriental ship.</p>
+<p>As they flew over it Red McGee experienced
+no difficulty in getting the unusual signals
+Johnny and Rusty had set up for him. He
+recognized the boxing forms of both Rusty
+and Johnny.</p>
+<p>Realizing that his daughter would be on
+board that ship only against her will, he went
+into a wild rage. He demanded that the seaplane
+be landed close to the ship and that he
+be allowed to &ldquo;tackle the whole lot of &rsquo;em
+single-handed.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_230">[230]</div>
+<p>To this young MacMillan, would not consent;
+for, in the first place, the sea was too
+rough for a landing and in the second, he was
+not willing as he later expressed it, &ldquo;To see a
+good man commit suicide by tackling a hundred
+Orientals single-handed.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He had flown back to their base. By the
+time they reached the cannery, Red had cooled
+off.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I want every last boat gassed up for an
+emergency run,&rdquo; he commanded. &ldquo;Any of you
+men that have guns, get &rsquo;em loaded and ready.
+There&rsquo;s a couple o&rsquo; whale-guns up at my cabin.
+You, Pete and Dan, get &rsquo;em an&rsquo; see that
+they&rsquo;re loaded. We&rsquo;ll show &rsquo;em.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>They were about ready for a start when
+Blackie and his men arrived on the scene.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Blackie,&rdquo; Red exploded, &ldquo;they&rsquo;ve got Rusty
+and your boy, Johnny. They&rsquo;re holdin&rsquo; &rsquo;em
+captive. Come on! We&rsquo;ll start a war!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>For once, Blackie did not say, &ldquo;No.&rdquo; After
+they had turned the small, blue bear loose in
+a sheet-metal tool-shed he climbed into Dan
+MacMillan&rsquo;s speed boat, dragging Red and
+Lawrence with him, and they were away.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_231">[231]</div>
+<p>It was this speedboat that had spied the
+Shadow. They had given it chase and had,
+as you have seen, at last, after sending a volley
+of machine-gun bullets across its bow,
+overhauled it.</p>
+<p>The Shadow was the very craft that had
+been awaited by the Oriental ship. Had it put
+in an appearance two hours sooner, the ship
+must surely have weighed anchor and our
+story might have been much longer. As it was,
+the Orientals were destined to wait a long,
+long time before lifting the Shadow on deck,
+if at all.</p>
+<p>While Johnny and Rusty looked and listened,
+the whole cannery fleet, every small
+deck bristling with guns, surrounded the ship.</p>
+<p>Having overhauled the Shadow, Blackie
+placed it in charge of another craft, then came
+gliding in alongside the <i>Krazy Kat</i>.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;MacGregor,&rdquo; he said in a husky voice,
+&ldquo;tell me what happened.&rdquo; MacGregor told
+him. Hardly had he finished when a small
+motor launch carrying three little brown officers
+arrived. The officers were fairly aglow
+with gold and braid.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A thousand pardons,&rdquo; their leader began.
+He was allowed to go no farther.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_232">[232]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Listen!&rdquo; Blackie stood up. He was dressed
+in corduroy trousers and a leather jacket. His
+face was working strangely.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Listen,&rdquo; he repeated. &ldquo;No apologies, not
+a thousand, nor even one. I&rsquo;ll do the talking.&rdquo;
+His voice was low. &ldquo;I know why you&rsquo;re here.
+To catch our fish. You sank our boat. You
+have an hour to get your ship headed out of
+Bristol Bay. We&rsquo;ll take that Shadow of yours
+with us. We caught her lifting nets inside the
+three-mile limit. That makes her a fair prize.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;As to the sinking of the <i>Stormy Petrel</i>, I
+shall make a complete report. The matter shall
+be taken up by our diplomats.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I might add, for your further information,
+that a law is now before our Congress making
+Bristol Bay United States waters, open to our
+fishermen alone. It will pass. If you care to
+come back next year we will meet you with
+three destroyers.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And now, gentlemen,&rdquo; he doffed a ragged
+cap, &ldquo;I bid you good-night.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Clicking their heels, without a single apology,
+the officers saluted, then the power boat
+lost itself in the shadows.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_233">[233]</div>
+<h2 id="c25"><span class="small">CHAPTER XXV</span>
+<br />&ldquo;BILL&rdquo; RETURNS</h2>
+<p>&ldquo;Rusty, my child,&rdquo; said Red McGee,
+springing aboard the <i>Krazy Kat</i> as soon
+as the Orientals were gone, &ldquo;are you all
+right?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Never better,&rdquo; Rusty laughed. &ldquo;And never
+half so excited. I&mdash;I&rsquo;m all right,&rdquo; she added,
+&ldquo;except that I&rsquo;ll have to grow a new crop of
+curls.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Curls,&rdquo; Red chuckled. &ldquo;They&rsquo;re not very
+necessary. Not even for a girl.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Going back with us in the speed boat?&rdquo; he
+asked.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No-o, if you don&rsquo;t mind,&rdquo; she hesitated.
+&ldquo;We&rsquo;ve been together so long, the three of us,
+MacGregor, Johnny, and I, that I&mdash;I think
+we&rsquo;d like to follow you back in the <i>Krazy Kat</i>.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O.K.,&rdquo; Red agreed. &ldquo;Kopkina, suppose you
+come with me. I want to thank you for what
+you&rsquo;ve done for us. Now let&rsquo;s get going.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_234">[234]</div>
+<p>Already the Oriental ship that had never
+been welcome was slipping out into the night.</p>
+<p>On the way back Johnny and Rusty spent
+most of their time studying the stars and the
+moon. Just what they read there only they
+will ever know.</p>
+<p>The secret of the Shadow was found to be
+quite simple, as most secrets are. It was a
+long, low craft without deck, cabins, rails or
+riggings. Powered by large storage batteries,
+it was able to slip in close to shore, set a three-mile-long
+net at night and lift it in the morning.
+The fish were rushed to other motor-boats
+outside the three-mile zone and were
+then carried to the floating cannery.</p>
+<p>After installing a gasoline motor, Blackie
+used the Shadow for sea patrol. No demand
+for the return of the craft was made. Needless
+to say, the duties of Blackie, MacGregor,
+Johnny and Lawrence were exceedingly light
+for the remainder of the season.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_235">[235]</div>
+<p>The small blue bear throve on fish-cleanings
+and other scraps. He was fat and friendly
+when at last the boys headed for Seward and
+Matanuska Valley. At Seward they left him
+in the care of a friend until they could come in
+a small truck and cart him home.</p>
+<p>At the cabin in the valley Johnny and Lawrence
+were given an uproarious welcome.</p>
+<p>One thing surprised them&mdash;the Professor
+was back. &ldquo;I am waiting for Bill,&rdquo; he explained.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Bill! Who&rsquo;s he?&rdquo; Lawrence asked. &ldquo;Oh!&rdquo;
+he exclaimed. &ldquo;He&rsquo;s the man who built the
+shelter and left a note saying he was coming
+back. Let me see&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Today,&rdquo; said the Professor. &ldquo;And here he
+is now.&rdquo; A smiling young giant with a full
+red beard came tramping down the road.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Bill, did you get one?&rdquo; the Professor demanded.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No,&rdquo; Bill&rsquo;s smile faded. &ldquo;I did my best. I
+got the head and hide of one, that&rsquo;s all. Had
+to kill him, or lose him. I&mdash;I&rsquo;m sorry.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A whole year,&rdquo; the Professor groaned.
+&ldquo;And never a bear.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A bear!&rdquo; Johnny exclaimed. &ldquo;Surely there
+are bears a-plenty.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_236">[236]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Not that kind,&rdquo; the Professor corrected.
+&ldquo;I want the kind we talked about once, a glacier
+bear. Nothing else counts.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, a glacier bear!&rdquo; Lawrence laughed
+happily. &ldquo;Is that all you want? I have one
+coming up on a truck from Seward. It should
+be here any time.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Just like that!&rdquo; Bill dropped weakly down
+upon a stump. &ldquo;A whole year. Ice, snow,
+blizzards, glaciers, hunger, a whole year. Never
+a bear. And now this boy calmly says, &lsquo;I&rsquo;ve
+got one coming up.&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Such,&rdquo; said the professor, &ldquo;is the luck of
+the chase.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>There was time for Bill to satisfy his craving
+for a &ldquo;real feed.&rdquo; Then the truck arrived.</p>
+<p>The Professor and Bill gave one look at the
+little blue glacier bear. Then, for sheer joy,
+they fell into each other&rsquo;s arms.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What do you want for him?&rdquo; the Professor
+demanded at last.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A tractor,&rdquo; said Lawrence.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The best in the settlement!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The Titan.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_237">[237]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Agreed and for good measure, a gang
+plow, a harrow, two drums of gas and three
+log chains.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Lawrence could not say a word. He could
+only stand and stare. All his dreams had come
+true in a moment.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I only wish we might do better,&rdquo; the Professor
+half apologized. &ldquo;But we&rsquo;ve spent a
+great deal of money in the search. So-o, I&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I think,&rdquo; said Lawrence, &ldquo;that you&rsquo;re a
+very good sport. And&mdash;and we thank you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Three days later Johnny and Lawrence
+were in Seward for a day with Blackie when
+a trim power boat glided up to the dock.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Hello, Johnny!&rdquo; came in a girl&rsquo;s voice. It
+was Rusty.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Come on down to Seattle with us,&rdquo; Red
+McGee boomed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We&rsquo;ll show you a roarin&rsquo; good time, just to
+celebrate the finest salmon season ever
+known.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What do you say?&rdquo; Johnny turned to
+Lawrence.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_238">[238]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;You go,&rdquo; said Lawrence. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m a farmer
+now. I&rsquo;ve got to stay with my crops, and I&rsquo;m
+anxious to get started with the new tractor.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Johnny went. If there were further adventures
+awaiting him at the end of that short
+journey you may find them recorded in a book
+called, <i>Sign of the Green Arrow</i>.</p>
+<div class="img"><img src="images/jacket.jpg" alt="The Shadow Passes: A Mystery Story for Boys" width="500" height="313" /></div>
+<h2><span class="small">Transcriber&rsquo;s Notes</span></h2>
+<ul><li>Copyright notice provided as in the original printed text&mdash;this e-text is public domain in the country of publication.</li>
+<li>Silently corrected palpable typos; left non-standard spellings and dialect unchanged.</li>
+<li>In the text versions, delimited italics text in _underscores_ (the HTML version reproduces the font form of the printed book.)</li>
+<li>Marked with ellipses the end of page 129, where the printed edition apparently dropped a page or two from the manuscript.</li></ul>
+
+<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 44352 ***</div>
+</body>
+</html>
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+
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+Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for
+eBook #44352 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/44352)
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Shadow Passes, by Roy J. Snell
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Shadow Passes
+       A Mystery Story for Boys
+
+Author: Roy J. Snell
+
+Release Date: December 5, 2013 [EBook #44352]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SHADOW PASSES ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Stephen Hutcheson, Rod Crawford, Dave Morgan
+and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
+http://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+                       _A Mystery Story for Boys_
+
+
+
+
+                                 _The_
+                             SHADOW PASSES
+
+
+                                  _By_
+                              ROY J. SNELL
+
+
+                          The Reilly & Lee Co.
+                                Chicago
+
+                             COPYRIGHT 1938
+                                   BY
+                          THE REILLY & LEE CO.
+                         PRINTED IN THE U.S.A.
+
+
+
+
+                                CONTENTS
+
+
+  CHAPTER                                                           PAGE
+  I The Silver Fox                                                    11
+  II Blackie’s Story                                                  32
+  III Fat and Furious                                                 38
+  IV The Capture of Old Silver                                        53
+  V Johnny Fights for Fun                                             68
+  VI Smokey Joe’s Blue Bears                                          77
+  VII A Strange Battle                                                85
+  VIII The Stormy Petrel’s First Prize                                98
+  IX Fate Lends a Hand                                               103
+  X A New World                                                      111
+  XI The Fall of Red McGee                                           119
+  XII A Ptarmigan Feast                                              128
+  XIII The Shadow                                                    141
+  XIV A Voice in the Fog                                             147
+  XV A Roar from the Deep                                            158
+  XVI Looming Peril                                                  166
+  XVII Trapped                                                       174
+  XVIII Five Rounds and a Friend                                     181
+  XIX Ordered Below                                                  189
+  XX A Battle in the Dark                                            194
+  XXI Wall of Glass                                                  201
+  XXII Dreams                                                        209
+  XXIII In the Blue Bear’s Cave                                      216
+  XXIV Overtaking a Shadow                                           225
+  XXV “Bill” Returns                                                 233
+
+
+
+
+                           THE SHADOW PASSES
+
+
+
+
+                               CHAPTER I
+                             THE SILVER FOX
+
+
+“And then I saw it—the Shadow.”
+
+The speaker’s eyes appeared to snap. Johnny Thompson leaned forward in
+his chair. “It glided through the fog without a sound.” The voice droned
+on, “Not a sound, mind you! We had a small boat with powerful motors. I
+stepped on the gas. Our motors roared. We were after that shadow.”
+
+“And then?” Johnny Thompson whispered.
+
+“For all I know,” the black-eyed man murmured, leaning back in his chair,
+“we might have cut that shadow square in two. Anyway, that’s the last we
+saw of it for that day.
+
+“But think of it!” he exclaimed after a second’s pause. ”Think of the
+thing just disappearing in the fog like that!”
+
+He was a romantic figure, this man Blackie. The boys of Matanuska Valley
+in Alaska loved this gathering of an evening about the red-hot stove in
+the store. And no part of the evening’s entertainment was ever half so
+thrilling as Blackie’s stories.
+
+“It was spring then,” Blackie added, “late May, when the salmon run was
+on.”
+
+“It was a whale after salmon, that shadow,” someone suggested.
+
+“No, sir!” Blackie fairly shouted. “It was too fast for a whale! Some
+sort of Oriental craft, I shouldn’t wonder. Though how they’d make it go
+without a sound is beyond me.
+
+“Ah well,” he sighed, “I’ll be rid of these by spring.” He kicked at the
+crutches beside his chair. “Then I’ll be after ’em again, those bloomin’
+Orientals and their gliding shadows.”
+
+“You going back into the Coast Guard Service?” Johnny asked eagerly.
+
+“I sure am!” Blackie agreed heartily. “Boy! That’s the life! A speedy
+boat with two or three airplane motors in her hull, a good crew, plenty
+of gas, the wide open sea and enough trouble to keep your eyes open day
+and night. Man! Oh, man!”
+
+“Take me along,” Johnny suggested impulsively.
+
+“Me too!” put in Lawrence, his slim, bright-eyed cousin.
+
+“What do you know about boats?” Blackie asked.
+
+“Plenty,” was Johnny’s prompt reply. “Been on ’em all my life, power
+boats on the Great Lakes, Carib Indian sailboats in the Caribbean,
+skin-boats way up north. It’s all the same.
+
+“And Lawrence here,” he added after a brief pause, “he knows about
+motors.”
+
+“I—I was assistant mechanic in an airplane hangar for a season,” Lawrence
+agreed modestly.
+
+“Well, it—might—be—arranged,” Blackie replied slowly. “Don’t know about
+pay. You sort of have to be on regular for that. But up here in the
+north, things can’t always be done according to department regulations.
+Anyway, it’s worth thinking about.”
+
+“Thank—oh, thank you,” Lawrence stammered. Johnny knew how he was feeling
+at that moment. He, Johnny, had met adventure in many climes. Lawrence
+had lived a quiet life. Really to sail on a coast guard boat in search of
+Orientals suspected of stealing salmon, smuggling or spying off the
+Alaskan shores, to chase gray shadows that pass in the fog! Worth
+thinking of? Well, you’d just know it was!
+
+Johnny was still thinking of all this when two hours later, he crept
+beneath the blankets in the small log cabin room occupied by Lawrence and
+himself.
+
+“That would be great!” he was telling himself. In fancy, he allowed his
+mind to wander. Bristol Bay, a hundred and fifty miles wide and a hundred
+and fifty long, fishing boats on the water, canneries on the shore and
+back behind all this in the fog somewhere, beyond the three-mile line,
+great dark bulks that were Oriental ships. Why these ships? No one knew
+exactly. “Spying out our shore-line,” some said, “stealing our salmon,”
+said others. And perhaps they were smugglers. It was known that these
+ships carried smaller crafts that could be lowered to the water. “Could
+do anything, go anywhere, these small boats,” Johnny assured himself.
+
+“And the Shadow, that mysterious gray form that goes streaking through
+the fog. What could it be?
+
+“Ah, well,“ he settled deeper among the blankets. “It’s a long time till
+spring, and here, right in Matanuska Valley is exciting adventure
+aplenty.”
+
+As if reading his thoughts, Lawrence murmured dreamily, “We’ll go after
+him again tomorrow.”
+
+“Yes,” Johnny agreed, “tomorrow.”
+
+
+“Lawrence! Look! There he is!” Johnny pointed excitedly up the glistening
+expanse of frozen river. Tomorrow had come. They were on the river.
+
+“Wh—where?” Lawrence whispered.
+
+“You don’t have to whisper.” Johnny laughed low. “He’s way up there. I
+can scarcely see him with the glass. Here! Take it. See that pool of
+water on the right side?”
+
+“Yes—yes, I see.” Lawrence took the field glasses.
+
+“At this end of that pool. I saw him move. Look quick!”
+
+For a space of ten seconds Lawrence studied that pool. “Yes,” he
+exclaimed at last, “he _is_ there! I saw him move over to the right.”
+
+“Lawrence!” Johnny’s voice was tense with emotion. “I’m going after him!”
+
+Johnny bent over to tighten a skate strap. “Here! Give me the bag. You
+follow me, but not too fast. You can keep the glasses. I won’t need
+them.”
+
+“Al—all right, Johnny. Be careful! You—”
+
+But Johnny was away. Skating from the hips, scarcely lifting a foot from
+the ice, he appeared to glide without effort over the glass-like surface
+of the river.
+
+The boy’s spirits rose. They were “after him again.” And “he” was a grand
+prize indeed.
+
+“If only we can get him,” Johnny was thinking. “If we only can.”
+
+The distant future quite forgotten, Johnny was living intensely in the
+glorious present. Lawrence followed slowly. He, too, was a skillful
+skater. The river at this point was frozen solidly. No need for thought
+here. At once his mind was busy with memories of the not-too-distant past
+and plans for the future.
+
+Life for him had been strange. Eight months before he had been on the
+broad, dry prairies of the Dakotas. Now he was skating on the Matanuska
+River in Alaska. Nor was this just an adventurous winter trip. The
+Matanuska Valley was his home and would be, he hoped, for years to come.
+Six miles back and up a half mile from the river was their claim and the
+sod-covered log cabin they called home.
+
+“We are pioneers!” he whispered to himself. “Pioneers!” he repeated
+softly. How he loved that word. How much it meant to them all; freedom,
+new life, fresh hope and in the end a home all their own. “And paid for,”
+he declared sturdily.
+
+Yes, when the government had announced a resettlement project in this
+rich valley and the Lawsons who had been driven from their farm home by
+drouth and dust heard of it they had joined up. And here they were:
+father, mother and son, with cousin Johnny thrown in for good measure.
+
+“Been here six months,” Lawrence thought. “Got a little start. And next
+year!” Ah, yes, next year. His face sobered. So much depended on the
+future. And they needed so many things.
+
+“We’ll not go in debt,” his father had insisted stoutly. “Not for a
+single thing we can do without.”
+
+But now the boy’s mind came back with a snap to the immediate present. As
+he looked ahead he saw nothing of Johnny. For a second his heart
+fluttered. Had his good pal come upon an unsuspected air-hole? Had he
+gone through? Was he, at this moment, caught by the swift current,
+shooting along rapidly beneath the ice?
+
+“You have to know your river,” an old-timer had said to them. “Every foot
+of it.” Did Johnny know it well enough, or—
+
+Of a sudden he let out a low, happy laugh. Some distance ahead, showing
+among the branches of a fallen fir tree, he had caught a glimpse of
+Johnny’s plaid mackinaw.
+
+“He—he’s all right,” he breathed. “Just getting a look.”
+
+Johnny was now within a hundred yards of that dark pool, where, he hoped,
+their prize still lurked.
+
+“He must see him with the naked eye,” Lawrence murmured as he glided into
+the shadow of a shelving bank. Here, steadying himself with one hand, he
+held the glass to his eyes with the other.
+
+Then, with hand trembling so it seemed the glass would drop, he
+exclaimed, “Man! Oh, man! It’s a silver fox and a beauty! If only he gets
+him! If he does!”
+
+They were hunters, these boys. “Strange hunters!” some might say. “No
+guns! No traps!” This valley was alive with rich, fur-bearing animals.
+With guns and traps one might reap a winter’s harvest. Without guns or
+traps how was it to be done! This had been the question uppermost in
+their minds some weeks before. In the end they had found the answer, or
+thought they had. And a strange answer it was.
+
+They had arrived, this little family of four homesteaders, along with
+hundreds of others in the Matanuska Valley, too late in the spring to
+clear land and raise a crop. They had been obliged to content themselves
+with a large garden and an acre of potatoes.
+
+Such potatoes as those had been! “We’ll sell two hundred bushels!”
+Lawrence had exulted. “That will go a long way toward buying a small
+tractor. Then just watch our smoke!”
+
+“Oh, no you won’t!” Jack Morgan, an old-time settler in the valley, had
+laughed.
+
+“What? Why not?” the boy demanded.
+
+“Who’ll you sell ’em to?” the old-timer asked in a kindly voice.
+
+“Why, we—we’ll ship ’em out.”
+
+“You can’t, son,” Jack’s voice rumbled. “That’s the trouble. At present
+there’s no market for farm products here. Never has been. That’ll be
+worked out in time, now the government is interested. But just now we
+have to eat our own potatoes.”
+
+“But how do you get any money?” Lawrence had demanded.
+
+“Trap foxes, minks, martin. Good money in trappin’,” was the old-timer’s
+reply.
+
+Of course, the boys had come rushing home bursting with the news that
+they could make money all winter long trapping.
+
+To their surprise they saw Lawrence’s father’s smiling face draw into
+sober lines.
+
+“No, boys,” he said quietly. “Not that. Anything but trapping. It’s too
+cruel. I’d rather you went out with a gun.”
+
+“But we haven’t a gun,” Lawrence protested.
+
+“That’s right,” the father agreed. “And it’s not to be regretted.
+
+“You see, boys,” his face took on a strange look, “when I was about ten
+years old I had a dog I thought the world and all of. He didn’t cost a
+lot of money. Never won any prizes at dog shows. But his hair was kinky,
+his eyes alive with fun and his bark a joyous sound to hear. No boy ever
+had a more faithful friend than good old Bing.
+
+“And then,” his voice grew husky, “well, you see there was a man who
+lived all by himself down by the river, Skunk McGee they called him.
+Never amounted to much, he didn’t. But he trapped enough skunks and
+muskrats to pay for his groceries.
+
+“Our farm was along the river, on both sides. Father told him more than
+once not to set his traps on our farm.
+
+“One time in the dead of winter, way down below zero, old Bing didn’t
+come home. I was worried but father said, ‘He’s gone to the neighbors and
+they took him in on account of its being so cold.’
+
+“But he hadn’t,” Mr. Lawson’s tone changed abruptly. “He was in one of
+Skunk McGee’s traps. And when we found him he was dead, frozen hard as a
+rock.
+
+“And so you see, boys,” he added quietly, “I’ve always hated traps. I
+never see one even now but I seem to see poor old Bing with one foot in
+it, whining and shivering out there all alone.”
+
+From that day on the thought of traps was banished from their minds.
+
+But the foxes? Did they vanish? No indeed! The foxes saw to it that they
+were not forgotten.
+
+Before the summer was at an end some families, unaccustomed to the
+pioneer life, lost courage and decided to return to their original homes.
+Among these were two families who had brought with them small flocks of
+chickens. By careful planning the Lawsons were able to buy the chickens.
+Having built a stout log henhouse and a small wire enclosure for sunny
+days, they felt better than ever prepared for the winter.
+
+“Chicken for Thanksgiving and Christmas and eggs all winter long! What
+luck!” Lawrence rejoiced.
+
+The chickens, no doubt, were something of a surprise to the foxes. But
+had they not always preyed upon ptarmigan? And were not chickens just big
+plump ptarmigan? Perhaps this was the way they reasoned. At any rate, one
+night Lawrence heard a loud squawking and rushed out just in time to see
+a plump white hen vanish into the night. A fox had her by the neck.
+
+“Something must be done about that,” he insisted at once. “If we can’t
+trap the foxes, what then?”
+
+“Take them alive,” was his father’s prompt reply.
+
+“Alive! Alive!” both boys cried.
+
+“I can’t see why not,” was Lawrence’s father’s quiet reply. “Of course,
+you’ll have to wear tough, moose-hide mittens and keep your noses out of
+reach, but—”
+
+“We’ll do it,” Lawrence exclaimed. “But then,” his face sobered, “how’ll
+we ever catch up with a fox?”
+
+“When I was a boy,” said his father, “we used to catch muskrats on
+skates.”
+
+“Muskrats on skates?” Lawrence laughed.
+
+“We were on the skates,” his father corrected with a smile. “The rats
+were on the ice, you see,” he leaned forward. “We worked it this way.
+We’d watch until the muskrat came out of his hole to get a drink. He’d go
+to an open pool of water at the edge of the ice. We’d wait until he’d
+started back across the ice. Then we’d come swooping down on him. He’d
+get frightened and sprawl all over the ice—no wild creature can handle
+himself well on the ice. So we had him.
+
+“Once,” he chuckled, “Bob Barnett saw something moving on the ice. It was
+just getting dark. He thought it was a rat. He come swooping down upon it
+and—” he paused to chuckle. “Well, it turned out to be a skunk. The skunk
+objected to his intrusion. So Bob went home to bury his clothes—just for
+a scent.”
+
+The boys joined in the laugh that followed but they were not slow in
+following this suggestion. They found, however, that great skill and
+caution were needed in this type of hunting.
+
+They made progress slowly. After catching two muskrats, a snow-shoe
+rabbit and two ground-squirrels, they decided to start a small zoo all
+their own.
+
+“Who knows?” Lawrence enthused. “We may catch some truly rare creature.
+The keepers of zoos are always on the lookout for live specimens. We may
+sell enough to get that bright new tractor down at Palmer after all.”
+
+“A tractor!” Johnny doubted. “Oh! No! Surely not that much!”
+
+“And yet,” Lawrence now thought as he stood watching for Johnny’s next
+move on the river ice, “there he is creeping up on a silver fox. What is
+a real, live silver fox worth?” To this exciting question he could form
+no accurate answer. He had a hazy recollection of reading somewhere about
+one that was sold for $3000.00.
+
+“No such luck as that,” he whispered.
+
+Just now, however, his attention was directed toward the silver fox that,
+still very much at liberty, had taken a good drink from the pool and was
+standing, nose in air, apparently looking, listening, smelling. Had he
+smelled trouble? Would he drop into the pool to swim across and disappear
+on the farther bank, or would he start back across that glistening
+stretch of ice? Lawrence felt his heart leap as he saw the fox drop his
+head. The big moment was at hand.
+
+“He—he’s going across!” he exclaimed in a hoarse whisper. “It means so
+much!” His thoughts went into a tailspin. Not only would they possess a
+real, live silver fox for which, beyond doubt, some zoo would pay
+handsomely, but their flock of chickens would be safe, for they could
+tell by the size of the tracks that he was the one that was getting the
+chickens. He was a sly one, indeed, this fox. Three times in the last
+month, in spite of their every effort to prevent it, he had carried off a
+fat old hen.
+
+“He—Johnny’s starting,” Lawrence said, as, gliding silently from cover,
+he prepared to follow his cousin on his swift, silent, breathless quest.
+
+It was a truly wonderful sight, those two boys moving as if pushed by an
+unseen hand closer, ever closer to the unsuspecting fox.
+
+Moving swiftly, Johnny reached a fallen cottonwood tree. Just then the
+fox, pausing in his course, once more sniffed the air. “I might get him
+if I rushed him now,” he thought, “and I might miss.” This was true. The
+fox was but a third of the way across the ice. He was still too close to
+the pool. The plan was to allow him to reach the very center of the
+river, then to rush him. Startled, he would start quickly for some shore.
+Losing all sense of caution, he would begin to sprawl upon the ice. As
+the boy came rushing on with the speed of the wind, he would stoop over,
+snatch at the fox and speed on. He must seize the fox just back of his
+ears. Could he do it? As he stood there hidden his pulse pounded madly.
+He, too, had seen that it was a silver fox.
+
+“He—he’s smelled me!” The boy’s voice rose in a sudden shrill shout.
+“Come on, Lawrence! I’m going after him! Bring the bag!”
+
+Gripping a large, moose-hide sack, Lawrence went speeding after him.
+
+As for Johnny, with breath-taking suddenness, he saw the distance between
+him and the fox fade. A hundred yards, fifty, twenty, and—“Now!” he
+breathed. “Now!”
+
+The fox was not a foot from the edge of the pool when, still speeding
+wildly, the boy bent down and made one wild grab.
+
+“Got him!” he shouted exultantly. But wait! Ten seconds more and the
+fox’s ivory teeth were flashing in his very face. He seemed to feel them
+tearing at his nose. There was nothing to do but drop him. With a
+suddenness, startling even to the fox, the boy let go.
+
+Down dropped the fox. On sped the boy. When Lawrence reached the spot the
+fox had vanished into a hole and Johnny was skating slowly, mournfully
+back.
+
+“Never mind,” Lawrence consoled. “We’ll get him another time.”
+
+“But a silver fox and a beauty!” Johnny exclaimed. “Think of losing him!”
+
+“I have thought.” Lawrence was able to grin in spite of his
+disappointment. “It would have meant a lot and now—” he chuckled, “now we
+know it’s a real silver fox after our chickens. We’ll have to lock them
+in a vault.”
+
+“Not as bad as that,” said Johnny. “But Lawrence,” his voice dropped.
+“This must remain a deep secret. Not a word to anyone. If Jim and Jack
+Mayhorn knew about this there’d be a trap on every foot of the river.”
+
+“Never a word,” Lawrence agreed.
+
+They were a rather disconsolate pair as they pulled off their skates a
+half hour later.
+
+“To think!” Johnny groaned. “I had my hands on five hundred dollars,
+perhaps a thousand dollars worth of fox and had to drop it because it was
+too hot.”
+
+“The price of a tractor,” Lawrence agreed. “It’s too bad.”
+
+It was too bad indeed. All day, five days in the week, they worked hard
+at clearing land. The trees were coming down. After the spring thaw
+thousands of stumps must be pulled. A tractor would do that work. After
+that it would draw the plows.
+
+“If only I hadn’t lost him!” Johnny groaned.
+
+“Aw! Forget it!” Lawrence exclaimed. “Come on! Let’s go home by the
+camp.”
+
+The “camp,” as they had come to call it, was a three-sided shelter built
+on a corner of their forty-acre claim. It had been built, and apparently
+abandoned, only a few months before their arrival. Such a snug shelter
+was it that the boys had often sought its protection from storms. Once,
+with a roaring fire before its open side, they had spent a night sleeping
+on its bed of evergreen boughs.
+
+The place never lost its fascination. Who had built it? Trader, hunter,
+trapper or gold prospector? To this question they could form no answer.
+Would he some day return? To this, strangely enough on this very
+afternoon they were to discover the answer, at least that which appeared
+to be the answer. As they were looking it over for the twentieth time
+Lawrence suddenly exclaimed, “Look! Here’s a bit of cloth tacked to this
+post. And there’s a note written on it in indelible ink!”
+
+Johnny did look. “Read it!” he exclaimed.
+
+“I will,” Lawrence began to read. “Can’t quite make it out,” he murmured.
+“Oh, yes, this is it.
+
+“‘I WILL BE BACK ON JULY 1st. BILL.’”
+
+“So he’s coming back,” Johnny’s tone was strange.
+
+“Coming back,” Lawrence agreed. “All right, Bill, old boy,” he laughed.
+“We’ll keep your snug little camp ship-shape till you arrive.”
+
+And for this bit of service, had they but known it, they were to receive
+a very unusual reward.
+
+
+
+
+                               CHAPTER II
+                            BLACKIE’S STORY
+
+
+“Tell us how you got that game leg of yours, Blackie,” Joe Lawrence, the
+Palmer store-keeper, said to Blackie, as they all sat about the roaring
+steel-barrel stove three nights later.
+
+“Oh, that—” Blackie did not reply at once.
+
+Johnny and Lawrence were by the fire. They had walked in from the claim,
+a frosty three miles, with the thermometer at twenty-five degrees below.
+They were not the sort of boys who loaf about stores and pool halls,
+listening to cheap talk. Far from that. They had come to make a purchase
+or two and, in an hour, with the steel-blue stars above them would be on
+their way home. Just now the fire felt good.
+
+“Sure, tell us,” Johnny encouraged.
+
+“Hello! You here?” Blackie demanded, as if he had not seen them before.
+“What’d you come in for on a night like this?”
+
+“Wedges,” said Johnny. “Steel wedges for splitting logs.”
+
+“Wedges.” There came a hoarse laugh from the corner. It was Jack Mayhorn
+who spoke. “Who wants wedges in this country? Do like I do. Cut down the
+trees that split easy.”
+
+“They’ve all got tough spots,” Johnny replied quietly. “Where the limbs
+have been cut off.”
+
+“Oh, the knotty pines!” Jack laughed again. “Roll ’em into the fence row
+an’ leave ’em. That’s the way we do.”
+
+“We don’t,” said Lawrence. “We aim to take them as they come, tough or
+not tough, they’ve got to bust.”
+
+“Why?” Blackie fixed his piercing black eyes on the boy.
+
+“I—I don’t know why,” was Lawrence’s slow reply. “I can’t explain it
+right.” The boy hesitated. “But I—you know—I sort of hate being licked,
+even by a tough log. So I—we sort of take ’em as they come.”
+
+“That’s great!” Blackie slapped his knee. “And I suppose you feel the
+same way?” he asked of Johnny.
+
+“Sure do,” was Johnny’s prompt reply. “They can’t come too tough for me.”
+
+“Can’t come too tough for little old Johnny.” There was a sneer in Jack
+Mayhorn’s voice. “But he’s afraid to set traps or carry a rifle.”
+
+“Not afraid,” Johnny replied quietly. “Just don’t want to.”
+
+“Tell us, Blackie,” Joe, the store-keeper, broke in, sensing a possible
+row, “tell us how you got that leg.”
+
+Even then Blackie did not comply at once. Turning to the boys, he said in
+a low tone, “You boys are dead right. No use letting a log or anything
+else lick you.” Dropping his voice still lower he added, “I might take
+you with me next spring on that coast guard boat. I just might, that is,
+if you still want to go.”
+
+Then in a changed voice he said, “All right, Joe, I’ll tell you all about
+that leg of mine, though I’m not fond of doing it. It always makes me
+hopping mad, just thinking about it.
+
+“You see,” he went on at once, “I was up a river in Asia. Doesn’t matter
+which river. I was in the navy. Less than six months ago, although it
+seems two years. I was on a small U. S. gunboat. What one? That doesn’t
+matter, either. She’s at the bottom of the river now.” He paused to stare
+at the fire.
+
+“We were laying up the river. There was fighting down below. We’d come
+up-river to get out of the way. The fighting was foolish enough, but none
+of our business.
+
+“We were there to protect American citizens. There were twenty or more of
+them on board, reporters and missionaries and the like.
+
+“I’d just come on duty when a big bombing plane came hovering, like a
+vulture, over us. It circled off again. ‘Good riddance,’ I said to my
+buddy.
+
+“I hadn’t finished saying it when it came zooming back. This time higher
+up and—” Blackie took a long breath. “The bloomin’ infidels! What do you
+think? They let go a bomb that missed us by inches.
+
+“You should have seen us scatter,” Blackie laughed in spite of himself.
+
+And then, of a sudden, the lines between his eyes grew deep and long.
+“They bombed us. They sank our ship. My buddy was killed. I caught it in
+the leg. I got a lifeboat off, doing what I could to save the women.
+
+“Me,” he faltered. “I’m no sort of a story teller. But I hope I’m
+something of a fighter. This old leg will be good as new next spring.
+And, sure’s I’m living, I’m going hunting little brown men up there in
+Bristol Bay. They stole a cool million dollars’ worth of fish last
+season. How many’ll they get this year? That depends on the Coast Guard
+men and, glory be! I’m one of them. I’m out of the navy, invalided home,
+back on the good old job, and there’ll be plenty of things a-popping in
+May.
+
+“Er, excuse me, boys,” he apologized. “That sounds an awful lot like
+bragging. We didn’t catch the Shadow that passes in the fog last season.
+We didn’t do those Orientals much harm, either. Too slick for us, I
+guess. But wish me luck next time. The biggest industry in Alaska, the
+run of red salmon, depends on us.”
+
+“Here’s luck,” said Johnny, lifting a cup of coffee just poured by Joe’s
+motherly wife. “Here’s luck to the service.”
+
+“And may you be my buddy!” Blackie added.
+
+That night Johnny and Lawrence walked home in silence. The great white
+world was all about them and the blue-white stars above. Their thoughts
+were long, long thoughts.
+
+Arrived at their log cabin home, they dragged out a tattered map of
+Alaska to study its shore-line and most of all the shores of Bristol Bay.
+
+“May,” Lawrence said at last. “That’s a long time yet.”
+
+“Yes,” Johnny agreed, “and there’s plenty to get excited about tomorrow.
+What do you say we turn in?”
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER III
+                            FAT AND FURIOUS
+
+
+Anyone who had watched the two boys skating slowly up the river next
+morning would surely have been puzzled. Before them, now darting up a
+steep bank and now scurrying along over the snow, were two brown,
+fur-clad creatures. Neither dogs nor cats, they still appeared quite
+domestic in their actions. Once when they had gone racing ahead too far
+Johnny let out a shrill whistle and they came dashing back to peer up
+into his face as if to say, “Did you call me?”
+
+“They’re great!” Lawrence chuckled. “Got a dog beat a mile. They never
+bark.”
+
+“And yet they can find where wild creatures live,” Johnny agreed.
+
+Just now, as you no doubt have guessed, the boys were looking for the
+spot, under some great rock or at the foot of a tree, which the silver
+fox called his home.
+
+“We must find him,” Johnny had exclaimed only an hour before.
+
+“We surely must,” Lawrence had agreed.
+
+And indeed they must, for three principal reasons. Last night the fox
+had, by shrewd cunning, managed to pry the chicken coop door open and
+made off with a rooster. The fox was worth a lot of money—they were sure
+of this—dead or alive. They must get him before someone with a gun or
+with traps got sight of him. And they must take him alive, if possible—a
+very large contract.
+
+Their desires had been redoubled by something that had happened only the
+night before. Mack Gleason, the settler whose claim joined them on the
+west, had been in for a friendly chat.
+
+“Got your tractor yet?” he had asked of Mr. Lawson.
+
+“Not yet,” had been the reply.
+
+“Well, you better hurry. They’re going fast. May not be another shipment
+until it is too late for spring’s work.”
+
+“No money just now.”
+
+“Money!” Mack exploded. “Who said anything about money? Government gives
+’em to you on time.”
+
+“But time has a way of rolling around,” Mr. Lawson had replied quietly.
+
+“Oh, the Government wouldn’t be hard on you,” Mack laughed. “Look at us.
+We’ve got a washing machine and a buzz-saw, and a motor to run ’em, a
+tractor, plow, harrow, everything, and all on time.”
+
+“Yes, I know,” had come in the same slow, quiet tones. “And I know the
+Government won’t be hard on you. Still it will want its money, same as
+any loaning agency. It just has to be that way.
+
+“This week,” Mr. Lawson went on after a moment, “I received a letter from
+an old friend of mine. Few years back he secured a government loan on his
+home. He didn’t keep up the interest and payments. They took it from him.
+Now he’s unhappy about it. But people who borrow must pay. That’s why
+we’re trying not to borrow.”
+
+“And we won’t, not if we can help it.” Lawrence set his will hard as he
+now followed those dark brown creatures over the ice.
+
+“Johnny,” he said suddenly. “Do you think father should let us use
+traps?”
+
+“I—I don’t know,” Johnny replied slowly. “But that, for us, is not the
+question. Ours is, ‘Have we a right to urge him to let us use them?’
+
+“And the answer is, ‘No,’” he chuckled. “So we’ll have to trust our
+little old otters to lead the way. When they find Mr. Silver Fox for us
+we’ll have to grab him.”
+
+“If only one of those trapping fellows doesn’t get him first,” Lawrence
+said, wrinkling his brow.
+
+Early in the season, as, with dreamy eyes, the boys wandered over the
+forty acres of land that was, they hoped, to be their home for years to
+come, they had caught the low, whining notes of some small creatures
+apparently in distress.
+
+“It comes from under that rock,” Johnny had said.
+
+“No, over here beneath this dead tree trunk,” Lawrence insisted.
+
+He was right. Having torn away the decayed stump, they had found two
+round, brown balls of fur. These balls were baby otters. Taking them
+home, they had raised them on a bottle. And now, here they were, paying
+their debt by scouting about in search of the silver fox.
+
+Pets they were, the grandest in all the world. The happiest moments of
+their young lives were these long hikes. Never once did it seem to occur
+to them that it might be nice to desert their young masters and answer
+the call of the wild.
+
+Now, as the boys followed them, they went gliding here and there peeking
+into every crack and crevice of ice or frozen shore. From time to time
+they poked their noses into some hole into which strange tracks had
+vanished. After a good sniff they put their heads together and uttered
+low whining noises. These noises varied with their opinions on the
+condition of each particular hole. At times they appeared to shake their
+heads and whine, “Too bad. He was here three hours ago. Now he’s gone.”
+
+At other times they put their noses in the air and sang triumphantly,
+“He’s there. He’s right in that hole this minute.”
+
+Had the boys been able to train their pets to go in the hole and frighten
+out the prey, they might have held a moose-hide sack at the entrance to
+each hole and added quite rapidly to their collection of living Arctic
+animals. This, however, the otters would not do. They were not looking
+for a fight. And indeed, why should they? They did not live upon
+squirrels and muskrats, but upon fish. “We’ll find ’em, you catch ’em,”
+seemed to be their motto.
+
+For the boys, finding the lair of the silver fox would not insure his
+capture. It merely meant that they would know where he lived and would
+watch that spot in the hope that he might come out on the ice in search
+of food or a drink and that then they might come speeding in to grab him.
+
+“Look!” Lawrence exclaimed suddenly, “there are Old Silver’s tracks!”
+
+“Yes, sir! He just cut in from the hill to the river. He—” Suddenly
+Johnny broke off to peer upstream.
+
+“Something moving up there,” he whispered. “Maybe—”
+
+But the otters had smelled the fox tracks and were off on swift tracking
+feet. Johnny bent over to examine those tracks.
+
+“It’s the old fellow or his brother,” he murmured. “No other fox around
+here has such large feet. Boy! He’s a humdinger!”
+
+Once more his keen eyes swept the upper reaches of the river. “Huh!” he
+grunted. “Whatever that was, it’s vanished now.”
+
+“Might as well follow the otters,” Lawrence suggested.
+
+They did follow. Soft-footed in silence they tracked on for a mile. Up
+banks and down again, over a ridge, back to the river. “Look at those
+feathers!” Lawrence whispered.
+
+“Got a ptarmigan,” said Johnny. “After that he should have made a bee
+line for his lair.”
+
+That was just what the fox had done. Straight as an arrow he had returned
+to the stream, then he had sped away along its course until he came to a
+huge gray rock. There the trail ended. And beneath this rock, according
+to the verdict of the two singing otters, he must still lie fast asleep.
+
+“Good old otters!” Lawrence exclaimed in a hoarse whisper.
+
+“They’ve found us his hiding place,” Johnny agreed. “And will we watch
+it? We—”
+
+Suddenly he broke off short to point excitedly upstream.
+
+“A bear cub!” Lawrence exclaimed low. “He’s going to cross the river.”
+
+“We—we’ll get on our sk-ates,” said Johnny excitedly. “Then let’s take
+him.”
+
+“Can we?” Lawrence was doubtful.
+
+“Sure! We’ll lasso him and tie him up. He’ll make a grand addition to our
+zoo. Come on!”
+
+Swinging out on the shining ice, skating silently from the hips, the boys
+glided like two dark ghosts toward the unsuspecting bear cub who, at that
+moment, had started to cross a broad stretch of slippery ice. Sly silence
+is, however, a game that two can play at. This the boys were to learn
+very soon and to their sorrow.
+
+One day the boys had come, quite unexpectedly, upon a half-grown white
+caribou, or perhaps it had been a reindeer, that had wandered down from
+some far northern herd. However that might have been, they were filled
+with regret at the thought that they were not equipped for capturing it
+for their “zoo.” From that time on they had carried lariats and, by way
+of some added safety, short, stout spears. They were thus equipped today
+as they sped swiftly, silently toward the bear cub.
+
+“I’ll toss the lasso over his head, then you watch the fun,” Johnny
+chuckled.
+
+“I’ll watch all right,” Lawrence agreed. And he did.
+
+Slowly, clumsily, the young bear, no larger than a good-sized dog, made
+his way across the ice. The wind was away from him. He could not smell
+the intruders, nor was he aware of their presence until, with a sudden
+rush, Johnny was upon him.
+
+Never will the boy forget the look of surprise that came over the young
+bear’s comical face as he stared straight into his eyes. The whole affair
+was easy, too easy. He passed so close to the cub that he might have
+touched him. He did not. Instead, he dropped his noose over his head,
+pulled it tight, then, letting out slack, whirled about to face the cub.
+What would the cub do about that? He was to know instantly. Throwing
+himself back on his haunches, the cub began backing and pulling like a
+balky horse. On his skates, Johnny was no match for him. All he could do
+was to come along. To his further annoyance, he found that his lariat had
+whirled about his wrist and tied itself into a knot. As long as the cub
+kept the line tight he could not untie the knot. He did not quite relish
+the idea of dashing up to the cub and saying, “By your leave, I’ll untie
+this knot.” So, for the moment, he played into the cub’s hand.
+
+Then the unexpected happened. With a grunt and a snarl of rage, a huge
+black bear, the cub’s mother beyond a possible doubt, dashed over a ridge
+to come charging straight at Johnny and the cub.
+
+“Hey! Hey! Look out!” Lawrence shouted. “Drop your rope and beat it.”
+
+“I—I can’t,” Johnny cried in sudden consternation. “He—he’s got me tied.”
+
+“Tied!” Lawrence gasped.
+
+“It’s ’round my wrist.” Johnny watched wide-eyed while the huge mother
+bear came tobogganing down the high, steep river bank. She hit the ice
+like a bobsled and, dropping on hind legs and tail, came sliding straight
+on.
+
+Just in time, Johnny came to his senses and began doing a back-stroke.
+Only by inches did he miss the husky swing of the angry bear’s paw.
+
+“Cut the rope,” Lawrence shouted.
+
+“Al-all right, I’ll—I’ll cut it.” Johnny dug into a pocket with his free
+hand. A pocket knife. It must be opened. With one eye on the cub, who for
+the moment sat whining, and the other upon the mother bear, who was
+scrambling awkwardly to her feet, he had no eyes left for his knife. Just
+as, having gripped the handle with one hand, the blade with the other, he
+managed to open the knife, the cub, going into frenzied action, gave him
+a sudden jerk that sent the knife spinning far out on the ice.
+
+“It’s gone,” he groaned.
+
+No more time for this. Old mother bear was after him. Fortunately this
+old bear was heavy with fat. She had been preparing for a winter’s sleep.
+Still she could travel and she was fat and furious. Her skill as a skater
+was something to marvel at.
+
+Since he could not escape from the rope, the only thing for Johnny to do
+was circle. Circle he did. One time around with the bear at his heels;
+two times around he had gained a little; three times around he caught the
+gleam of his knife. Could he stoop and pick it up? He bent over, made a
+reach for it, struck a crack with his skate and all but fell.
+
+“I—I’ll get it next time,” he breathed.
+
+To his surprise he found that next time the knife was well out of his
+reach. Then to his utter horror, he saw that the perverse cub was
+standing still, making an animated Maypole out of himself and that it
+would be no time at all until the rope would be all wound around him.
+They would meet face to face, cub, mother bear and boy. And after that?
+He shuddered as he sped along that ever-narrowing circle.
+
+“I’m coming in,” Lawrence shouted.
+
+“No, you—”
+
+Johnny could say no more. Lawrence was already in. Skating straight at
+the bear to attract her attention, Lawrence shot past her and slapped her
+sharply on the nose.
+
+It was a daring and effective endeavor. Turning with a snarl, completely
+abandoning her cub at this fancied insult, the bear went after him with a
+rush.
+
+That was all right as far as it went. The skating was good. The bear was
+fast, but not fast enough to catch him. There is, however, an end to all
+things. There was an end to that stretch of ice. It ended in a series of
+rapids that were not frozen over.
+
+Lawrence groaned as he saw open water ahead. To his added terror, he saw
+that the river narrowed at that point. That the bear could outrun him on
+land he knew all too well.
+
+“Got to be an artful dodger,” he told himself.
+
+At that moment how he rejoiced that he had trained himself as a hockey
+skater. Swinging about in a half circle, he sped toward the right-hand
+bank. But the bear was there ahead of him.
+
+Just as she reared up for a sledge-hammer blow, the boy whirled squarely
+about and shot away to left. Again he was too late for a safe passage,
+but not so much too late. He was gaining. Three more times, then with a
+joyous intake of breath he shot past the bear and was away.
+
+In the meantime, Johnny, safe for the moment from the mother bear, had
+hastily unwound the surprised cub, then had rushed him with such speed
+that the rope was off his neck before he could lift a paw. The cub was
+free. So was Johnny. And there were no regrets.
+
+“Johnny,” said Lawrence as he joined his companion five minutes later, “I
+don’t think we want any bears in our zoo. They’re too playful.” They were
+to change their minds about this, but that was to come sometime later.
+
+“That,” said Johnny with a chuckle, “was almost funny.”
+
+“Yes,” Lawrence agreed, “almost.” He did not laugh. “Almost, but not
+quite.”
+
+A moment later he exclaimed, “Johnny! Where are the otters? We can’t lose
+them.”
+
+“They’ll probably hunt us up. They—” Johnny broke off short. “Look!” he
+murmured low. “Look! There’s the silver fox. He’s out of his hole.
+He—he’s going to cross the ice.”
+
+Lawrence glanced back to the spot where the bears had been. They had
+vanished. “This time,” he whispered, “we’ll get that old silver fox. We
+simply must.”
+
+
+
+
+                               CHAPTER IV
+                       THE CAPTURE OF OLD SILVER
+
+
+Johnny felt his pulse quicken as he sped along over the ice. The silver
+fox had come out of the hole. There could be no doubt of that. Would he
+dodge back in again or would he start across the ice?
+
+“If he starts!” the boy breathed.
+
+He must not be too fast nor too sure. Last time he had muffed a glorious
+chance. Slowing up, he slid in behind a clump of elders and came to a
+standstill. There, gripping a shrub, he stood trembling like a butterfly
+ready for flight.
+
+As for Lawrence, he was coming on more slowly. Naturally more cautious
+than his cousin, he had an eye out for trouble. That fat old mother bear
+might still be lurking among the ridges. He had not forgotten how she had
+come charging down upon them.
+
+“Can’t take unnecessary chances,” he told himself. “Life is wonderful. I
+am sure that taking unnecessary chances is wrong. It is making light of
+God’s great gift to us—life.”
+
+Ah, yes, it was good to live just now. For the first time in their lives
+his little family felt sure of having a home of their own. As he glided
+slowly along he thought of the summer’s struggle. At first it had been
+damp and bitterly cold. Then the sun had been hot and the mosquitoes had
+come in swarms.
+
+Through all this they had labored on; father, mother, and these two stout
+boys. It was said that gangs of men would be along to clear patches of
+land and build cabins. To this they had not listened. “We came to make
+our own way,” they insisted. “We are pioneers. Pioneers must work.”
+
+When garden and potato patches were planted they had started the cabin.
+Selecting, from near and far, trees that were dead but not decayed, they
+had built a cabin whose walls would not warp and shrink as would those
+built of green timber.
+
+Later, in the autumn when sharp winds told of a long winter ahead, they
+had cut squares of tough sod and piled them about the cabin until it
+seemed a sod house. When the question of a heating stove had arisen, they
+had discovered an abandoned gasoline barrel, had cut one hole for a door,
+another for the stove-pipe, had done a little drilling and riveting, and
+thus had made a stove that, fed on crackling fir logs, laughed at the
+Arctic cold.
+
+“Pioneers!” he whispered. “We are pioneers.” How he loved that thought.
+
+Of a sudden his attention was drawn from past to present by Johnny’s
+beckoning hand. With a quick twisting glide, he moved silently forward
+until he was at his companion’s side.
+
+“Look,” Johnny gripped his arm. “There is the fox. He hasn’t started
+across yet and—”
+
+“And there are the otters!” Lawrence broke in with a shrill whisper.
+
+“Yes,” Johnny agreed. “That’s the queer part of it. They came just so
+close to the fox, then seemed to shout something at him.”
+
+“Like one boy daring another to come out and fight,” Lawrence laughed
+low.
+
+“Yes, or inviting him to a game of tag,” whispered Johnny. “And look!
+There he goes! There goes the fox! Good old otters! They are
+helping—helping a lot.”
+
+He had spoken the truth, the fox was after one of the otters.
+
+“Little good it will do him,” Lawrence chuckled. “Those otters are more
+at home on ice and in water than on land.”
+
+“Listen!” Johnny’s voice was tense now. His figure stiffened. “In a
+minute I’m going after him. I’ve got the bag. If I get him I’ll pop him
+inside. I won’t miss now. You just follow along slowly. I might need
+you.”
+
+“Al-all right,” the younger boy agreed.
+
+There might have been boys who would have said, “This is my turn. You
+muffed last time.” Not so Lawrence. All too well he knew the skill and
+natural daring of his cousin. And, after all, in their little family the
+rule had ever been, “Each for all and all for each.” So he watched his
+cousin glide silently out for one more adventure.
+
+Ten seconds later in watching the little drama of wild life being played
+there on the ice, he had all but forgotten Johnny. Never before had he
+seen the tame otters put on such a clever show. Just as the larger one
+had so far escaped the onrush of the fox that he was becoming
+discouraged, the small otter, with cunning and extreme daring, slipped up
+and all but shouted in the fox’s ear. At once, the now thoroughly angered
+fox turned to dash after this second intruder.
+
+No sooner had the first otter been abandoned than he turned about to
+begin slipping up on the fox to dare him for one more race.
+
+“For all the world like a game of tag!” Lawrence murmured.
+
+All this was aiding Johnny, though it is to be doubted whether the otters
+knew the value of their antics. The fox was being led farther and farther
+out on the ice. At the same time his attention was so held by this
+strange game that he was almost certain to miss catching sight of the boy
+who now glided closer, ever closer to him.
+
+“Good old otters!” Johnny repeated in a whisper as, drawing his
+moose-hide mittens tight, he prepared for the final dash.
+
+“He’s going after him,” Lawrence thought as, with a thrill shooting up
+his spine, he glided from his sheltered spot, ready, if need be, to come
+in on the finish.
+
+With a suddenness that must have been startling to the keenest eyes,
+Johnny swept down upon the fox and the otters. Did the otters see him?
+Beyond doubt. They saw everything. But the fox? For once he was caught
+quite unawares. One startled look, a quick squatting down on the ground,
+and Johnny was at his side. Before the fox could relax from this stiff
+pose, Johnny’s hands, like a brass collar, were about his neck.
+
+“You got him!” Lawrence shouted, springing into action. “You got him!
+Hurray!”
+
+Then a terrible thing happened. Overjoyed at their great good fortune,
+Lawrence for the moment lost his bearing. Of a sudden his skate struck
+ice that crunched ominously. He tripped to go plunging forward into the
+black waters of the racing river. He had fallen into an open pool.
+
+“I’ll drown,” he thought, as, in an involuntary manner, he struck out
+with his hands in a swimming motion. All too late he saw ice ahead. Next
+instant he was beneath the river’s ice.
+
+Johnny saw all this. With a gasp of terror he all but dropped the fox.
+Then, scarcely knowing what he did, he thrust the fox as if he were his
+mother’s fur scarf, into the moose-hide bag, drew the strings tight, then
+shot away toward the spot from which his cousin had vanished.
+
+As Lawrence shot beneath the ice, life seemed near its end. Yet there had
+never been a time when life had seemed so real and so joyous as now. For
+a second panic gripped him. Holding his breath, he tried to think.
+
+In an instant his mind was clear. He knew what he should do. There were
+two open pools farther on. How far? He did not know exactly. Could he
+hold his breath till then? He must hope. And he must try to move over
+closer to the shelving bank. If he reached the pool he might then touch
+bottom.
+
+Desperately he struggled to draw himself over to the left. His head
+hummed. His lungs were bursting, his heart pounding.
+
+“It—it’s the end,” he thought.
+
+And then, up he popped. Just in time, as his feet touched, he gripped the
+edge of the ice and held there. Ten agonizing seconds he clung there,
+then a voice shouted, “Hold on, I’m coming.”
+
+Ten seconds more and Johnny, who had leaped to the bank and raced along
+it, reached out to grip his mackinaw.
+
+“Now!” he shouted. “Out you come.” And out he came.
+
+Weak from excitement and exhaustion, he lay there for a time motionless.
+
+“This won’t do,” Johnny exclaimed at last. “We’ve got to get going.
+Here,” he dragged the sodden mackinaw from his cousin’s shoulders, then
+put his own sheep-lined coat in its place. After putting his own dry
+mittens on Lawrence’s hands, he pulled him to his feet.
+
+“It’s you for skates and the ice, then home as fast as ever you can.” He
+pushed him on before him.
+
+As his skates touched the ice Lawrence felt new warm blood racing through
+his veins. He was off with the speed of the wind. And after him, with a
+moose-hide sack dangling at his side and filled with one very angry
+silver fox, came his loyal, anxious yet joyous friend and cousin, Johnny.
+
+The day, for this part of the world, was not extremely cold. Lawrence’s
+trousers froze into pipe-like forms, but his sturdy, youthful body
+resisted the cold and sent him speeding on his way.
+
+Dropping down on the river bank at last, they dragged off their skates to
+take the usual short cut through the timber.
+
+As he passed the carefully built shelter beside that narrow stream,
+Johnny recalled the note tacked to a post and wondered afresh whether the
+mysterious Bill would arrive, just as the note said he would, on July
+1st.
+
+“Who do you suppose he left that note for?” he exclaimed suddenly.
+
+“Haven’t—the—slightest-notion,” Lawrence panted, still racing along.
+“One—thing—is—sure. I’m—going—to—be—there—when that day comes.”
+
+“We’ll both be there,” Johnny agreed. Somehow, as he thought of it, in a
+strange way it seemed that Bill and the silver fox must in some way be
+associated with each other. “Pure moonbeams,” he assured himself, yet the
+thought remained in the back of his mind.
+
+There is something in the north that is called “Grapevine telegraph.”
+This name is given to the mysterious means by which, in a land devoid of
+telephone and telegraph, news travels fast and far. Was it this unreal
+telegraph that, six hours later, as Lawrence, none the worse for his
+experience, lay before the roaring fire, brought a stranger to their
+door? Who can say? Be that as it may, there he was.
+
+“Excuse me for intruding,” said the tall, smiling stranger as he brushed
+the snow from his moccasins. “I heard you’d got a silver fox and I just
+had to have a look at him. It’s been three years since I saw one. I’m Jim
+Clem. Got a claim over on the other side of the settlement.”
+
+“You—you’ve seen silver foxes.” Johnny was on his feet.
+
+“Hundreds of ’em.” The stranger smiled.
+
+“Hun-hundreds,” Johnny stammered. “I thought they were rare.”
+
+“Used to be,” admitted Jim Clem. “Still are, fairly so. Did you get a
+good one?”
+
+“Yes, I—well,” Johnny whirled about. “I’ll show you.” Opening the back
+door, he dragged in a small wire cage. “We just put him in this for a
+little while,” he half apologized.
+
+“Oh! He’s alive. Hurt much?” Jim asked.
+
+“Not hurt at all.”
+
+“Not hurt?” Jim stared. “How’d you catch him?”
+
+“With my hands,” Johnny chuckled. Then, seeing that this would not stand
+as a bare statement, he explained briefly their method of capture.
+
+“Say-ee,” Jim exclaimed, dropping into a chair, “you’re regular natives.
+And that’s a fine specimen. Time was when you’d get two thousand dollars
+for him.”
+
+“Yes, we—”
+
+“But not now,” Jim broke in. “Never again. Know much about foxes?”
+
+“No, we—”
+
+“Then, I’ll tell you.” Jim settled back in his chair. “I worked on a
+silver fox farm for three years. ‘Million Dollar Farm,’ they called it.
+And that’s what it was. Raised only silver foxes.
+
+“But you don’t get that way all at once,” he laughed. “Not by a great
+deal. Take that fellow you got there. Suppose you find him a mate and
+decide to start raising silver foxes. Pretty soon you’d have a lovely lot
+of cute little fox cubs. But would they be silver foxes? Not one. That’s
+almost certain.”
+
+“Not one?” Lawrence sat up.
+
+“That’s it,” Jim agreed. “You’d get two or three little red foxes and,
+with great luck, a cross fox, that’s all.”
+
+“You see,” he leaned forward, “a silver fox is a freak, just as a
+half-white robin is. If a half-white robin hatches his eggs his young
+ones are likely to be jolly little robin redbreasts, nothing more.
+
+“Only by keeping foxes for years and years can you at last hope to raise
+pure silver foxes. That takes thousands and thousands of dollars. Four
+brothers went in for that in a big way years ago. Last year they sold
+13,000 pelts for more than $1,000,000. And that,” he added, “figures up
+to something like $77.00 apiece.”
+
+“That’s what our fox is worth,” Lawrence groaned. “And we’d have to kill
+him to get that?”
+
+“Oh, sure,” Jim grinned. “But truly,” his face sobered, “that’s the tough
+part about fox farming. In the end you’ve got to kill ’em, so some fine
+lady can drape their skins about her neck.”
+
+“I’d never sell ours to a fox farm,” Lawrence said with conviction.
+
+“How about selling him alive to some zoo?” Johnny asked hopefully.
+
+“Don’t know very much about that,” Jim replied slowly. “I wouldn’t hope
+too much. There are 5,000 fox farms these days. And they raise some
+beauties.
+
+“But if you mean to keep this fellow alive,” he added, “you want to get a
+wooden barrel and make it into a den for him. Pack it all ’round with
+chaff and moss to make it warm. Then build him a wire pen all about it.
+He’ll get along fine if you do that.
+
+“I’ll have to trot along.” He rose to go. “Come and see me. I’ll tell you
+more about ’em. They’re interesting no end, foxes are.” He bade them
+goodnight.
+
+“Well,” Johnny drawled slowly, “Old Silver won’t buy us a tractor, that’s
+sure.”
+
+“No,” said Lawrence. “But we can learn a lot about him and we can at
+least keep him from eating our chickens. Don’t give up the ship. We’ll
+happen onto something yet.”
+
+There are other rewards than money in this life of ours. Remarkable
+achievement of any sort usually brings us kind words of deserved praise
+from our fellowmen. It was so with Johnny and Lawrence. More than one
+settler had suffered from the night raids of Old Silver. Now that he was
+in prison his captors were highly praised.
+
+Still the problem remained; should they give up their dream of complete
+independence and go in debt for a tractor?
+
+“I think you’d better,” said Johnny. “There are only a few left and they
+are going fast.”
+
+“There’ll always be the Titan,” Lawrence laughed.
+
+“Yes, the Titan,” Johnny agreed. “But who could ever pay for that
+tractor?”
+
+The Titan was a powerful new type of tractor. Only one had been brought
+on and that one was priced at a cool thousand dollars.
+
+“We’ll wait a little longer,” was Mr. Lawson’s decision. “The tide of
+fortune may turn our way.”
+
+
+
+
+                               CHAPTER V
+                         JOHNNY FIGHTS FOR FUN
+
+
+News travels fast in the north. When the time came for the boys to make
+one more journey to the store at Palmer everyone had heard of their
+catch.
+
+“Here they come,” someone shouted as, stamping the snow from their feet,
+they entered the smoke-filled room.
+
+“Here they come. They bring ’em back alive!” someone else shouted.
+
+“Well,” Lawrence drawled, “we bring them anyway. Got two minks today.
+That’s two more that won’t carry off folks’ chickens.”
+
+“I hear you boys got a silver fox.” There was a suggestion of antagonism
+in Jack Mayhorn’s voice as he said this.
+
+“Yes,” Johnny replied. “And we’ve still got him.”
+
+“Do you know, fellows,” Jack gave vent to a chuckle that seemed a little
+strained, “back in Michigan, where I lived on the shores of Lake
+Superior, there was a feller who used to go lake-trout fishin’. He
+trolled with an out-board motor. Always got ’em, too, a whale of a fine
+catch.
+
+“But you know,” he edged forward in his chair, “there was net fishermen
+there, too. Fished fer a living. And one day when we was lookin’ over
+this sportin’ fellow’s catch, the fish he claimed he’d caught trollin’ we
+found had net marks on ’em.”
+
+“Net marks?” someone said.
+
+“Sure.” There was a shifty look in Jack’s eyes. “He’d been liftin’ nets
+an’ helping himself to the fish that didn’t belong to him. And I was
+wonderin’,” he paused, “just wonderin’, Johnny, if that silver fox of
+yours mebby had a lame foot or—or somethin’.”
+
+The silence that followed was painful. Johnny made no reply. His fingers
+worked along his palm, that was all.
+
+It was Blackie Dawson who spoke at last. “I take it, Jack,” he spoke
+slowly, “you are insinuating that these boys took the fox from your trap.
+Let me tell you, old man, that sort of thing calls for a fight; in the
+north it does.”
+
+Jack made no reply, but Johnny did.
+
+“I’m sorry,” he said, speaking slowly. “It doesn’t mean a fight to me.”
+
+“You won’t fight?” Blackie stared at him.
+
+“Not to settle a personal grudge,” Johnny replied slowly. “If Jack wants
+to think we took the fox from his trap, that’s his privilege. If he would
+like to examine the fox that’s his privilege also. But I’m not going to
+beat him up just to make him take back something he’s said. That might
+seem to be a point of honor but we all have our own codes of honor. It
+may seem queer but I’d rather take an insult than give someone a
+beating.”
+
+“Take a beating you mean,” Jack sneered. He was nearly twice Johnny’s
+size.
+
+“Joe,” said Johnny, turning to the store-keeper, “you told me you got two
+pairs of boxing gloves through the mail.”
+
+“Sure, Johnny, I did. Here they are.” Reaching behind him the
+store-keeper drew out two pairs of gloves.
+
+“Put ’em on, Johnny,” Blackie encouraged.
+
+“Put ’em on! Put ’em on!” came from all over the room. There was a stir
+of expectancy in the air.
+
+“Sure, I’ll put them on,” Johnny grinned. “What do you say, Joe? I’ll box
+you five rounds. Five friendly bouts for fun, money or marbles.”
+
+The crowd stared, Johnny was talking not to the man who had offered the
+insult but to his friend the store-keeper.
+
+For a moment Joe stood staring at him. Then, as the light of a smile
+spread over his face, he said, “Sure, Johnny, I’ll box you, not for money
+or marbles, but just, you might say, for fun.”
+
+It will be a long time before the settlers of Matanuska Valley will again
+witness such a match as followed. Five rounds for fun, between friends?
+Yes, perhaps. And yet there were times when even Johnny doubted that.
+True, he was not angry for a moment, just in there doing his best. But
+Joe? He was wondering about him.
+
+Though he had told no one in the valley about it, Joe had, only the year
+before, belonged to the U. S. Marines. The Marines neither give nor ask
+quarters. And Joe had been champion of his regiment. As for Johnny, well
+you know Johnny. If you don’t, you should have been there that night.
+
+From the start it was leather against leather, a slap for the chin, a
+thrust at the heart, a bang on the side of the head, and after that a
+clinch.
+
+Seldom had men been more evenly matched. Joe was older, more experienced,
+Johnny younger, faster on his feet.
+
+They had not been going a minute when an involuntary ring had formed
+about them. In that ring, gaping open-mouthed was Jack Mayhorn.
+
+Twice Johnny was down on a knee. Each time he was up and at it. Once,
+backed into a corner, Joe tripped and fell. He, too, was up before the
+count of three.
+
+The fifth round was wild. Had there been an announcer, he must surely
+have lost his mind calling, “A right to Johnny’s chin, a left to his ear.
+The ear is bleeding. Oh—a! A slam on the side of Joe’s head that makes
+him slightly groggy. Johnny’s following through. The clinch! The referee
+(Blackie) separates them. They are sparring now. Now! Oh, now! Johnny
+takes one on the chin. He’s down. One—two—three—He’s up again.” So it
+went to the end.
+
+As the cowbell, rung by young Larry Hooker, announced the close of the
+round, the crowd went wild with enthusiasm, but Joe, seizing Johnny by
+the glove, dragged him into the kitchen at the back of the store.
+
+“Boy, you’re a whiz!” he exclaimed. “There was a time or two when I
+thought you had me.” He was mopping Johnny’s face with a wet towel.
+
+“Not a chance,” Johnny laughed. “I didn’t know what I was stepping into
+but I did my best.”
+
+“Listen,” Joe held up a hand. The tumult in the outer room had died down.
+Blackie Dawson was about to make a short speech. “Gentlemen,” he was
+saying, “the day after tomorrow at early candle light, there’ll be
+another boxing bout in this room. It will be between—” he paused—“between
+Jack Mayhorn and—he—he has a choice—Johnny Thompson or Joe Lawrence.”
+
+“No!” a voice fairly roared after the shouts had subsided, “I got a bad
+foot. My footwork, it ain’t no good at all.” It was Jack Mayhorn who
+spoke.
+
+“So it’s _your_ foot that’s bad and not that silver fox’s foot?” Blackie
+bantered.
+
+The crowd let out a roar that could have been heard a mile.
+
+“That’ll about fix Jack Mayhorn,” said Joe. “He’s not likely to bother
+you much now.”
+
+An hour later, when the customers had “cleared out and gone home,” Johnny
+and Lawrence found themselves in Joe’s kitchen. Blackie and Joe were
+there. So was Mrs. Joe. They were all eating huckleberry pie and drinking
+hot chocolate.
+
+“Johnny,” said Joe, feeling a plaster on his chin, “why did you do it?”
+
+“Do what?” Johnny stared.
+
+“Pick on me for a fight. I never done you no wrong.”
+
+“That’s why,” was Johnny’s astonishing reply. “It’s an old Eskimo
+custom.”
+
+“What is?” They all stared at him.
+
+“According to the Eskimo law,” Johnny went on soberly, “if you are going
+to be killed it has to be done by a near relative or very close friend.
+So-o—” he added with a spreading grin, “I thought you’d do as well as
+anyone. And you did—even better.”
+
+“Anyway,” Blackie supplemented after their laugh was over, “folks in
+Matanuska Valley will know who among us can put up a good scrap and that
+always helps.”
+
+When one is young he thinks only of the present and the future, never of
+the past. As the two boys walked home that night, they thought much of
+the future. The bond of friendship between them and Blackie Dawson was
+growing stronger every day. When spring came, would they go booming away
+with him on a Coast Guard boat in search of adventure in Bristol Bay? Who
+could tell?
+
+In the meantime there was work to be done, plenty of it. Some twenty
+acres of land was yet to be cleared. In the spring stumps must be pulled.
+Without a tractor this would mean back-breaking labor.
+
+“Perhaps we can get more foxes?” Lawrence said, thinking out loud.
+
+“Yes, and other wild creatures,” Johnny added. “That country ‘back of the
+beyond’ has never even been explored. There must be wild life back there
+that’s never been seen. Peary found white reindeer on one of his
+expeditions. Who can tell what we’ll come upon if we keep up our search?”
+
+Who, indeed? The boy had spoken more wisely than he knew.
+
+
+
+
+                               CHAPTER VI
+                        SMOKEY JOE’S BLUE BEARS
+
+
+Johnny awoke with a start. What had wakened him? He could not say for
+sure. He had a feeling that it had been a human voice, perhaps a shout.
+
+Propping himself up on one elbow he listened intently. There came no
+sound save the long-drawn distant howl of a wolf. “Must have dreamed it,”
+he murmured as he drew deep into the caribou-skin bed.
+
+The night was cold, bitter cold. It was dark. Like chilled white
+diamonds, stars glistened in the sky. “What a change a few hours can
+make,” he thought. They were sleeping in the mysterious Bill’s shelter,
+he and Lawrence.
+
+Why were they sleeping in this cheerless shelter? Warm beds awaited them
+at home. When one is young he does not need too good an answer for the
+thing he does. Both Johnny and Lawrence were born scouts. They loved the
+sharp tang of cold on their cheeks, followed by the quick glow of a
+campfire. The smell of wood-smoke, deer steak broiled over coals, dreamy
+hours just sitting before the fire, not talking, just thinking, all these
+were a joy to them. So they liked to get away for a night. Bill’s camp
+was a convenient place.
+
+Johnny did not fall asleep at once, instead his mind was crowded with
+dreamy thoughts.
+
+Perhaps Bill was a gold prospector. Perhaps he had discovered gold. Then
+when he returned to this camp, they might all go tramping away to find
+the spot and stake out claims.
+
+“That would ruin the settlement,” he told himself. “People would desert
+their dreams of making homes for brighter, more illusive dreams of
+wealth. And yet—” What did he wish? He could not tell.
+
+When they had retired for the night the moon had been shining, a bright
+fire gleamed before their shelter. Now all was gloomy and cold. Should he
+rekindle the fire? “No. Too chilly,” he shuddered. “Wait till morning.”
+
+The days that had gone before had been uneventful ones. More and more he
+had come to realize that they must have a tractor. Long hours they had
+worked clearing timber. Brush was burned. But wood must be saved for
+fires, for buildings and fences. Every day saw larger piles of wood on
+the cleared land.
+
+“With a tractor and a stout sled we’d have it hauled home in no time,”
+Lawrence had said to his father. “Without it—”
+
+“Wait a little longer,” his father had counseled.
+
+So they were waiting and tonight, sleeping in Bill’s shelter, they were
+still waiting.
+
+So Johnny thought and dreamed until at last he fell asleep.
+
+Perhaps he slept an hour, perhaps less or more. Then he awoke with a
+suddenness that set his senses reeling.
+
+“Law-Lawrence!” he shouted in wild consternation. “The bear! The bear!”
+
+Something solid and heavy as a bear had landed with all but crushing
+weight on his chest. It still rested there but did not move.
+
+“That’s no bear,” said a gruff, good-natured voice. “That’s my pack.
+Sorry! Didn’t know you was here.”
+
+“Lawrence!” Johnny exclaimed. “It’s Bill!”
+
+“Not Bill neither,” the stranger disagreed. “They call me Smokey Joe.”
+
+“Smokey Joe!” Johnny peered into the darkness, trying to get a look at
+the man’s face. “Smokey Joe. I’ve heard of you.”
+
+And he surely had. Smokey was a well-known character in the valley. The
+old-timers told how he came and went. Always in search of gold, he would
+disappear for months.
+
+“Then,” one of the motherly women added, “just when we think he’s gone
+for good, up he pops again. We feed him up and patch his clothes. Then,
+like some boy, he’s off again.
+
+“But he’s no boy,” she added. “He came to Alaska in the gold rush of
+’97.”
+
+“Eighteen-ninety-seven!” Johnny had exclaimed. “More than forty years
+ago!”
+
+“He never left,” the gray-haired lady had added. “He came from the
+Cumberland Mountains somewhere and he still speaks in their queer way.
+
+“They say,” she added with a lowered voice, “that he struck it rich once,
+had nearly half a million dollars, and that he’s got some of it hid away
+in the hills somewhere. But, then,” she sighed, “you can’t believe
+anything you hear and only half you see in Alaska. Alaska is a place of
+wild dreams.”
+
+Johnny was recalling all this as he made haste to split dry wood into
+fine pieces, whittle some shavings, then light a blaze in their
+out-of-doors fireplace.
+
+“It’s about morning,” he said, at last looking into Smokey Joe’s seamed
+face. “Did you come far?”
+
+“Been travelin’ mighty nigh all night,” the old man drawled. “Me and my
+hounds here.” He nodded at three powerful dogs, already curled up on the
+snow for a sleep. “Right smart cold up yonder. Hit’s a sight better here
+in the bottoms.”
+
+“We’ll have coffee before you know it,” Johnny said cheerily. “Coffee and
+sour-dough flap-jacks.”
+
+“Ah,” the old man sucked in his breath. “Sour dough flap-jacks. They
+shore do stick to yer ribs. Reckon Smokey Joe’s the flapjack eatinest
+feller you almost ever seed.”
+
+Lawrence grinned. This old man spoke a strange language.
+
+“A bear!” Smokey chuckled. “You all thought I were a bear! That’s right
+smart quare.”
+
+“We almost caught a cub,” Johnny explained. “Caught him alive, I mean.”
+
+“Almost.” Lawrence laughed. “But his mother objected.”
+
+“Bears,” said the old man, blinking at the fire. “Back thar in them thar
+glaciers thar’s bears you might nigh wouldn’t believe the plain truth
+about.”
+
+“Why?” Johnny sat up. “What’s strange about them?”
+
+“Might nigh everythin’s quare, I reckon. Hm,” the old man sniffed the
+coffee, “smells powerful good.”
+
+“It’ll be boiled in a minute or two,” said Johnny. “But tell me about
+those bears.”
+
+“They’re blue, plumb blue, like a thin sky.” The old man struggled for
+words. “They’re right smart woolly like sheep, I reckon. But they ain’t
+sheep. God-a-mighty, narry a bit of it. One of them clawed my lead dog
+like tarnation. An’ they’re the fish-eatinest critters you most ever
+seed.”
+
+“Polar bears?” Johnny suggested.
+
+“Polar bears, big as good-sized hounds!” Smokey sniffed. “Who’s ever
+hearn tell of sech polar bears?”
+
+Who indeed? Johnny was growing excited and confused. “Woolly, blue bears
+no bigger than dogs,” he was thinking. “What kind of bears could they
+be?”
+
+In his confusion he upset the coffeepot and spilled half its contents.
+For all this, there was plenty left. Smokey Joe drank it piping hot, ate
+in a ravenous manner. Then, springing to his feet and calling to his
+dogs, declared he must get down to Palmer for a new pack of grub.
+
+“He’s found a trace of color in some dashing stream that doesn’t freeze,
+not even in winter,” was Johnny’s conclusion. “He’s going to hotfoot it
+right back and get rich—maybe.”
+
+“But, Johnny,” Lawrence was not smiling, “do you really suppose there are
+any such bears as he described?”
+
+“Of course not,” was Johnny’s prompt reply.
+
+“But, Johnny, if there were, if we caught one alive! No bigger than a
+dog. We could do it, Johnny. We could buy a tractor.”
+
+“Forget it. It’s all a pipe dream, I tell you.”
+
+But Lawrence did not forget Smokey Joe’s blue bears, nor, in the end, did
+Johnny.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER VII
+                            A STRANGE BATTLE
+
+
+Shortly after noon of that same day a slim, bright-eyed man in a huge
+beaver overcoat drove up to the Lawson cabin. Johnny and Lawrence, who
+were about to go back to their wood cutting, stared at him.
+
+“Hello, boys,” was his surprising greeting. “I hear you bring ’em back
+alive.”
+
+“Why, yes, we—Sometimes we do,” Johnny replied in confusion.
+
+“Blackie Dawson told me about you.”
+
+“Oh, Blackie.” Johnny’s face brightened.
+
+“I am in the animal business,” the man explained, alighting from his
+hired sled and allowing Lawrence to lead his horse away. “I thought you
+boys might help me a little.”
+
+“Help you? Oh, sure!” Things were looking better and better. “Here’s
+where we get a start,” Johnny was thinking.
+
+“What have you?” the man asked.
+
+“Well, er—mister—”
+
+“They call me Professor Ormsby,” said the stranger. “You may call me what
+you please.”
+
+“Well, then, Professor,” Johnny went on, “we have a silver fox, a
+perfectly keen fox.”
+
+“Caught in a trap, I suppose?”
+
+“No. By hand.”
+
+“By hand!” The Professor stared. “How do you do it?”
+
+Johnny told him in as few words as possible and with no dramatics at all,
+just how it was done.
+
+“Oh, I say!” the Professor exclaimed. “That’s great! You took a chance
+with that fox. But, let me see—No-o, I can’t use a silver fox. How about
+beavers?”
+
+“We haven’t taken any beaver. We—well, we were afraid it might be against
+the law even to catch them alive.”
+
+“I have a government permit,” said the Professor. “But if you haven’t any
+beaver—”
+
+“Catching beaver would be easy. We have a grand colony not three miles
+away,” Lawrence put in. “We might—”
+
+“How about mink?” Johnny asked. “We have some fine ones. Or snow-shoe
+rabbits?”
+
+“I suggest that you eat the rabbits,” the Professor laughed. “I’ll have a
+look at your mink. But beaver! There’s your main chance. Can’t you get me
+some? Big ones, the bigger the better.
+
+“You see,” he smiled, “we think we’re really doing good through this
+work. In the big cities, hot in summer and cold in winter and crowded
+always, there are hundreds of thousands of children who would never know
+what a woodchuck, a monkey, a beaver or a bear looked like if they didn’t
+see them in a zoo. Brings real joy to them, I’m sure. Many’s the fellow
+who dates his first real interest in the wide out-of-doors to his visit
+at the zoo.”
+
+“Yes, I—” Johnny had scarcely heard him. “Could we do it?” he was asking
+himself. He was thinking of beaver. “Why not? Thousands and thousands of
+city children.” His head was in a whirl.
+
+“I think,” he tried to make his voice seem very cheerful, “I think we can
+supply the beaver. Can’t we, Lawrence?”
+
+“What? Yes. Oh, yes,” Lawrence replied.
+
+“One of them must be a big one, a real boss of the village,” warned the
+Professor.
+
+“We’ve got him,” Johnny laughed uncertainly. “Napoleon himself.”
+
+“Yes. Oh, yes. We’ve got him, all right,” Lawrence did not laugh.
+
+Strangely enough, as a short time later the boys went away on one more
+“Bring ’em back alive hunt” there was no spring in their step. Their
+faces were sober. If they succeeded this one more time, the coveted
+tractor would be within their grasp, and yet they appeared anything but
+happy.
+
+“Might even get the Titan,” Lawrence tried to tell himself. This boy
+loved fine machinery and that Titan tractor was a beauty. It had power,
+plenty of it. With it they could not only pull stumps and plow fields for
+themselves, but do work for other settlers on shares and, in quiet times,
+they could work on the road. “Four live beavers,” he thought. “That’s all
+it takes.” Yes, that was all it took, and yet—
+
+Up a small stream that flows into the Matanuska River early in the year
+the boys had discovered a beaver colony. Many an hour they had spent
+watching these busy beavers. Never in all their lives had they seen such
+feats of engineering done by creatures of the wild.
+
+There were at least sixty beavers in the group. One big fellow, weighing
+sixty pounds or more, was the leader. He was the boss contractor. And
+such a boss as he was!
+
+“Napoleon,” they had named him. He stood for hours, as the great little
+general is pictured, straight, stiff and soldier-like. To him came the
+others. Were there trees to be felled? Two lieutenants came marching
+soberly up to him. They talked earnestly, nodding their heads, like real
+people, then off they rushed to start a dozen beavers doing the work.
+
+It was so in everything. Most interesting of all had been the building of
+the big dam. This work, the boys understood, must be rushed. Winter would
+come. Ice would freeze two feet thick. The level of the stream must be
+raised to six feet so the beaver tribe could use the water beneath as a
+highway all winter long. The water must be dammed up.
+
+This dam building, done under the wise direction of old Napoleon, had
+progressed rapidly for a time, then a sudden freshet of water loosened
+some of the beams and the whole affair threatened to go down stream.
+
+“What’ll they do now?” Lawrence had asked.
+
+“Wait and see,” was Johnny’s answer.
+
+Old Napoleon sent his men, like sub-engineers, all over the dam, making a
+study of conditions. Then, apparently abandoning all this work, he
+ordered a new dam built a hundred feet farther down stream.
+
+But did he truly abandon his first work? Not a bit of it. He and his crew
+built just enough of a dam below to raise the water and relieve the
+pressure from the original dam. Then, with an air of professional pride,
+Napoleon returned to his old post and the work was well completed before
+frost.
+
+“He,” Johnny thought to himself, “is the friend we mean to capture and
+sell into slavery, Old Napoleon.” Little wonder that his heart was heavy.
+“Old Napoleon,” he whispered once again.
+
+But what was this? As they neared the beaver colony where they were sure
+to find Napoleon out sunning himself, they caught sight of some creature
+skulking through the brush.
+
+“It’s a wolf,” Johnny whispered. “Let’s follow him.”
+
+Follow him they did, and to their consternation saw that he was headed
+for the beaver colony.
+
+“We’d better frighten him away,” Lawrence whispered. “He’ll drive all the
+beavers beneath the ice. Then we won’t be able to lasso a single one.”
+
+This, Johnny knew, was good advice, but for some reason scarcely known to
+himself, he said, “Let’s wait.”
+
+When at last they caught sight of the beaver village, they saw old
+Napoleon standing stiff and straight as ever in his place. He was having
+a sun bath.
+
+After sneaking along through the brush, the wolf made a dash at the
+beaver.
+
+“He’ll kill him,” Lawrence whispered.
+
+Did he? Strange to say, as the wolf came near, the beaver did not stir
+from his place. This appeared to surprise the wolf, who did not at once
+rush in for the kill. Sneaking up close, he made a dash at the beaver,
+but stopped just short of his goal. Still the beaver did not move. To the
+boys this seemed strange. Their respect for the old fellow grew by leaps
+and bounds. He appeared to be saying, “What’s a wolf that one should fear
+him?”
+
+“He—he’s great!” Johnny shrilled.
+
+“Magnificent,” Lawrence agreed.
+
+Snarling low, the wolf began dashing and snapping at the beaver. Each
+snap made him bolder. Now his ugly jaws were three feet from the
+apparently defenseless hero of wild life, who had decided to give his
+life for his home and his people. Now he was only two feet away. And now
+only a foot.
+
+“We—we’d better step in,” came from Lawrence.
+
+“Wait,” Johnny gripped his arm hard. Perhaps he should stop the wolf, but
+he waited, fascinated.
+
+“Now!” Lawrence caught his breath. The end, he was sure, had come.
+
+And then, of a sudden, things did happen, but not in accord with
+expectations. Old Napoleon had chisel-shaped teeth that cut wood like a
+hatchet. Without a sound, as the wolf, having grown bold, snapped in his
+very face, he shot forward to close those murderous teeth over the wolf’s
+closed jaws.
+
+“Great Scott!” Johnny muttered.
+
+The struggle that followed was fast and furious. Kicking and scratching,
+the wolf rolled over and over, but not once did Napoleon’s locked grip
+loosen. It was only when his opponent, completely exhausted and all but
+smothered, lay limp at his side, that he at last pried his own jaws apart
+to climb awkwardly to his place in the sun. Instantly the wolf dragged
+himself to his feet, to go slinking away into the brush.
+
+For one full minute the boys stood there motionless. When Lawrence spoke
+his voice was husky. “Johnny, I’ve often suspected old Napoleon of being
+a tyrant. He’s lazy, too. I’ve never seen him do a lick of work. But he
+is one swell engineer and a grand boss.”
+
+“What’s more, he’s no coward,” Johnny added.
+
+“Johnny, I can’t do it,” Lawrence dangled his lasso.
+
+“Neither can I,” said Johnny. “Let’s go.”
+
+Turning, they made their way in silence down the narrow stream to its
+mouth. There they dropped down upon the snow to put on their skates.
+
+“Johnny,” said Lawrence, “we’re a pair of old softies.”
+
+“That’s right,” said Johnny. “But I don’t mind, do you?”
+
+“Not a bit. Let’s go.”
+
+
+“Get ’em?” the Professor asked as they came stamping into the cabin.
+
+“No—er, well, no we didn’t,” Johnny stammered.
+
+“How come?” the man’s face sobered. “That was your big moment.”
+
+Sensing the tenseness of the situation, Mrs. Lawson said, “The coffee’s
+hot. I have some spice cookies, just out of the oven. How would you like
+a bite to eat?”
+
+“That—that would be splendid!” said the Professor.
+
+When, over their cups of coffee, the boys had told the whole story, there
+was a strange look on the Professor’s face as he said, “Can’t say that I
+blame you. Under the circumstances I should have done the same thing. We
+shall be obliged to get our beaver some other way. And as for your
+tractor—”
+
+“We—we’ll manage,” Lawrence replied slowly. Then, “By the way, Professor.
+You must know about bears. Are there any light blue bears?”
+
+“Blue bears? Let me think! Oh, certainly! They belong up this way, too.
+Very rare they are, though.”
+
+“Blue bears!” Lawrence became greatly excited. “Small blue bears, no
+larger than a good-sized dog, with woolly hair? They—they live on fish?”
+
+“What?” It was the Professor’s turn to become excited. “You haven’t seen
+one? You—you couldn’t catch one for me, could you?”
+
+“Sure—sure,” Lawrence stammered. “No, I mean we haven’t. That is, we
+could, I—I’m sure we could.”
+
+“If you were to bring me one of those bears alive and in good condition,”
+the Professor spoke in a deeply solemn voice, “you might name your own
+price. Glacier bears, they are called. There is a stuffed specimen in the
+United States National Museum, but not a single living specimen in
+captivity anywhere.”
+
+“We—we’ll hunt up Smokey Joe tomorrow,” Johnny said. “He’s seen them. He
+can tell us where they are. In fact, he told us all about them, only I
+thought it was all hooey.”
+
+“Smokey Joe? Who is that?” the Professor asked.
+
+“An old prospector,” Johnny explained. “He’s been all over this country.”
+
+“In that case,” said the Professor, “much as I should like a glacier
+bear, I suggest that you postpone your search until late spring. Those
+rare creatures inhabit the wildest sort of country, rocks, cliffs and
+glaciers. They are worse than mountain goats. You would almost certainly
+perish. And besides, it is fairly certain that they, like most others of
+their kind, hibernate. And so—”
+
+“So another bubble bursts,” Johnny groaned.
+
+“Don’t be too pessimistic,” the Professor smiled. “I shall hope to hear
+from you sometime in June or early July. A single specimen will do.
+
+“And, by the way,” he added as he rose, “I’ve decided to offer you a
+hundred dollars for your silver fox. That may not seem such a good price,
+but is really above the market.”
+
+“Sold! Sold!” the boys exclaimed in unison. And so it was that the boys
+collected their first real money. They were, however, still a long way
+from their goal.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER VIII
+                    THE STORMY PETREL’S FIRST PRIZE
+
+
+As the winter wore on the cold grew more intense. Ice on the streams was
+thick. Wild animals appeared to vanish from the scene. Snow covered much
+of the river surfaces. All these things served to make “bringing them
+home alive” more difficult.
+
+At last the boys gave up this strange occupation and turned to the task
+of clearing the ten-acre tract.
+
+“If we can get that tract cleared we’ll plant it in barley, oats and
+peas. When these are ground together they make excellent chicken feed.
+We’ll go in for poultry. There’s a steady market for dressed chickens and
+eggs at Fairbanks,” said Mr. Lawson.
+
+“Yes, if we get that tract cleared,” Lawrence thought, but did not say.
+No further suggestion that they go into debt for a tractor was made by
+anyone.
+
+The long Arctic evenings were divided between games and dreaming. The
+fame of Johnny’s and Joe’s boxing had traveled far. The recreation room
+at Palmer was given over to this excellent sport two nights a week.
+
+A boxing club was formed. Even Jack Mayhorn dropped his feud with Johnny
+and joined up. Members of a boxing club at Seward accepted an invitation
+for a contest. Johnny and Joe won this by a narrow margin.
+
+On the evenings when business or pleasure did not take them to town
+Johnny and Lawrence might often be found dreaming by their own
+hearth-fire.
+
+“When the land is cleared and plowed, when the grain is sowed and we’ve
+earned a breathing spell,” Lawrence would say, “then we’ll hunt up old
+Smokey Joe and go out for one of those glacier bears.”
+
+“If we can find Smokey Joe,” Johnny would smilingly agree. “And if they
+don’t need us for service in Bristol Bay.”
+
+“Bristol Bay,” Lawrence would reply doubtfully. “Seems as if I’d rather
+catch animals alive than go after those Orientals.”
+
+“We’ll take them alive, too,” Johnny chuckled.
+
+Lawrence was not so sure of this. Hour after hour Blackie Dawson, who had
+discarded his crutches, entertained them with stories of his adventures
+with the Orientals.
+
+“They want everything for themselves. They spoiled their own fishing by
+catching the salmon before they were half grown and canning them right on
+the ships. Now they want to come over here and do the same, right up
+there in Bristol Bay.
+
+“They catch our fish and can ’em, then they pop into Seattle or San
+Francisco and say, ‘See all the fine fish we have canned for you. Come
+and buy them.’
+
+“Think we’ll do that?” he would storm. “Not on your life! We’ll get ’em.
+You’ll see.
+
+“But the Shadow,” his voice would drop, “that shadow that passes in the
+fog. How’s a fellow to catch that? Who can tell? But we’ll get it, too,”
+he would add, striking the table a lusty blow.
+
+In March he received his appointment as Commander of the _Stormy Petrel_.
+
+“A swell boat.” He was proud of her. “Come on down with me and we’ll turn
+her motors over once or twice just to get the rust out of ’em.”
+
+Johnny and Lawrence accepted his invitation. They did far more than turn
+the motors over. With Lawrence as engineer and Johnny as first mate, they
+cruised for three days along the Alaskan shores.
+
+On the third day, “Just to get in practice,” as Blackie put it, they
+hailed a suspicious-looking craft carrying no flag. When the skipper
+failed to heed Blackie’s command to head around, they sent a ball from
+their shiny brass cannon over her bow and she promptly hove to.
+
+She was found to be carrying contraband drugs. “A fair capture in a fair
+chase,” as Blackie expressed it. “A regular feather in our cap.”
+
+“Well,” said Johnny, “how did you like it?”
+
+“Those are glorious motors,” Lawrence enthused. “How I’d love to be their
+master. But I hope—” he hesitated. “I rather hope we go after the glacier
+bears. That’s the surest way to get a tractor. And a tractor’s what we
+need most.”
+
+“Time and fate will decide,” Johnny said soberly.
+
+“Time and Blackie,” Lawrence added with a laugh.
+
+“And Smokey Joe,” Johnny amended.
+
+
+
+
+                               CHAPTER IX
+                           FATE LENDS A HAND
+
+
+Strangely enough it was Fate, in the form of an automobile accident in
+far away Seattle, that cast the final vote deciding their choice between
+the _Stormy Petrel_ in Bristol Bay and a glacier bear hunt with Smokey
+Joe.
+
+Spring had come at last. Steadfastly refusing to go in debt, the Dawsons,
+with Johnny’s help, were attempting to clear their land without the help
+of a tractor.
+
+At first it was fun. With blasting powder and dynamite they blew the
+larger stumps into shreds. The boom—boom—boom of blasts might be heard
+for miles.
+
+There remained thousands of smaller stumps. To force these from the tough
+sod and heavy black soil with pick, shovel and bar, was back-breaking
+labor.
+
+“Give me time,” Johnny would groan when morning came. “There’s a place in
+my back somewhere that bends. I’ll find it. Just give me time.”
+
+Joke as they might, they could not but feel that progress was woefully
+slow and that seed-time would find them all unprepared.
+
+One bright day an automobile came bumping over the uneven road to pause
+before their field. Out from it popped an old friend.
+
+“Blackie!” Johnny exclaimed. “I thought you’d be in Bristol Bay by now.”
+
+“I’m on my way,” Blackie puffed. “And so are you.
+
+“Mr. Lawson,” he exclaimed, “I must draft your boys into my service.”
+
+“What about these stumps,” Mr. Lawson straightened his stiff back.
+
+“What’ll it cost to have ’em out with a tractor?” Blackie demanded.
+
+Both Johnny and Lawrence looked at him with gleaming eyes.
+
+“Why do you need my boys?” the man among the stumps demanded.
+
+“Two of the men who were to accompany me have been crippled,” Blackie
+explained. “They were in an auto accident in Seattle. I had a wire this
+morning. They were so badly hurt they could not let me know sooner. And
+tomorrow we were to sail. Already there has been news of trouble in
+Bristol Bay.
+
+“I tell you, Mr. Lawson,” Blackie was pleading now. “It’s for Alaska and
+her greatest enterprise I ask it. Yes, and for every humble American who
+makes a simple meal from a can of salmon. As I see it, it’s your
+patriotic duty to let them go.”
+
+Then Blackie did a strange thing for him. He quoted poetry—
+
+  “‘Not once nor twice in our fair Island’s story
+  Has the path of duty been the way to glory.’
+
+“Mr. Lawson!” he exploded, “let them go. Here!” he waved a roll of bills.
+“I’ll pull your stumps. I’ll plow your land and sow your seed. Let them
+go.”
+
+Who could have refused? Surely not a man with Tom Lawson’s patriotic
+soul. “Al-all right, boys,” he said huskily. “Go get your clothes.
+And—and Blackie, I must trust you to bring them safely home.”
+
+“No need to worry,” Blackie reassured him. “We’ll all be back to shoot
+fire-crackers with you on the Fourth of July. And may your fields be
+green by then.”
+
+Twenty-four hours later Johnny and Lawrence found themselves standing on
+the narrow deck of the _Stormy Petrel_ watching a familiar shore-line
+fade from their sight.
+
+To Johnny this seemed just one more journey into the great unknown. To
+Lawrence it was something more, his first long trip away from his own
+family. Strange emotions stirred within him. Questions he could not
+answer crowded through his mind. How long was this journey to last? What
+strange, wild adventures would he meet? What would be the outcome? Would
+they be of some real service?
+
+Through his thoughts ran Blackie’s two lines of verse,
+
+  “‘Not once nor twice in our fair Island’s story
+  Has the path of duty been the way to glory.’”
+
+What did it mean? He had only a vague notion.
+
+“MacGregor,” he said to the gray-haired engineer who thrust his head up
+from the engine room, “what do these words mean?” He repeated the lines.
+
+“Well, noo, me lad,” said the friendly old Scotchman, “I’ve never been
+too good at poetry. But it seems to me it says if ye think first of yer
+country and her needs, ye’ll be likely to get the things you want most
+fer yerself; that is, I meant to say, in the end.”
+
+“Thanks.” Once again the boy paced the deck. Was this true? He wanted a
+tractor, a humble, earth-digging, sod-plowing, stump-pulling tractor. It
+was a strange thing for a boy to want, he knew. Most boys would have
+wished for an automobile, but he wanted a tractor. Would he get it?
+
+As they left Seward behind and headed west to follow the Alaskan
+Peninsula until they could cross over into Bristol Bay, it seemed to him
+that they were heading directly away from his heart’s desire. The pay
+they were to receive was small. It would help very little. “And yet,” he
+thought with a firm resolve to do his best in his strange new position,
+“Sometimes fate does seem to take a hand in making things come out just
+right. Here’s hoping.”
+
+The _Stormy Petrel_ was a sturdy boat with powerful motors. She was
+small—little larger than a good-sized speed boat. But how she could go!
+
+There was a small after-cabin with six bunks ranged along the sides. Here
+George, the colored cook, presided over a small stove producing glorious
+things to eat. The coffee was always hot. And indeed it was needed, for,
+as a gray fog settled down upon them, the air became bitter cold.
+
+Johnny was to take watch for watch with Blackie as steersman. Lawrence
+was to exchange watches with MacGregor and preside over the motors. Had
+this been a week’s cruise simply for pleasure, nothing could have been
+more delightful. Johnny loved boats. Lawrence listened to the steady roar
+of his motors and was joyously happy.
+
+And yet, there hung over them a sense of approaching danger.
+
+“Say-ee!” Johnny exclaimed on the third day, after taking their position
+and studying the chart. “We’re closer to Asia than we are to Seattle.”
+
+“Aye, that we are, me lad,” MacGregor agreed.
+
+“Yes, and that’s why it’s so easy for these Orientals to slip over here
+and trap our fish,” Blackie exploded.
+
+“And that,” he went on quietly, “is why you settlers in Matanuska Valley
+are given so much financial aid. Your old Uncle Sam wants you there. He’s
+going to locate more and more people along these Alaskan shores. You
+watch and see! Why? To give them homes? Not a bit of it. To have people
+here to watch those Orientals, that’s why.”
+
+“Well,” said Johnny with a laugh. “Looks like we’d learn a lot of
+geography and current history on this trip.”
+
+“No doubt about that, me lad,” MacGregor agreed.
+
+They had been on the water for five days when, touching Johnny on the
+shoulder, Blackie pointed at two spots of white against the sky.
+
+“That’s snow on two mountain peaks,” he explained. “The cannery we’re
+heading for is built on the banks of a small river close to these
+mountains. We’ll be there before dark. And after that,” he took a deep
+breath. “After that our real work begins.”
+
+“A new world,” Johnny murmured dreamily.
+
+“You don’t know half of it,” said Blackie. And Blackie was right.
+
+
+
+
+                               CHAPTER X
+                              A NEW WORLD
+
+
+Next morning Johnny and Blackie Dawson sat on the deck of the _Stormy
+Petrel_. A wild nor’wester was whipping up the ocean spray. Even on the
+river well back from the narrow bay, little whitecaps came racing in.
+
+“No day for going out!” Blackie grumbled. “Pile up on the rocks, that’s
+what we’d do.”
+
+“Yes,” Johnny agreed. Fact is, he at that moment was not thinking of the
+sea, but of the quiet Matanuska valley, of the snug home he and his
+people had built there. He wondered in a vague sort of way how far this,
+his latest venture, would lead him from that home. He was thinking not so
+much for himself as for his cousin Lawrence.
+
+Strange as it might seem, the welcome given them by the people of the
+cannery had not come up to their expectations. Men had stared at them,
+had mumbled something under their breath, then gone about their work.
+
+Work there was to be done, too. There was a pleasant hum of expectancy
+about the place. Every motor, machine and conveyor in the place was being
+given the once-over. Power-boat motors thundered as they went through
+their testing. Johnny felt a desire to become a part of it all. And yet—
+
+“Fool sort of thing this rushing off after adventure,” he told himself.
+But, had love of adventure alone brought them this far, hundreds of miles
+from his quiet valley? Love of home was one thing, love of one’s country
+another. You didn’t—
+
+His thoughts broke off short. There had come the sound of a loud voice.
+The _Stormy Petrel_ was anchored on a narrow dock that ran along the side
+of a long, low building, the cannery. A window was open. The speaker was
+near. Johnny caught every word. As he listened his ears burned. But what
+could he do? He was on his own boat. People who do not mean to be heard
+too far must speak softly.
+
+Perhaps the man meant to be heard. There was more than a suggestion of
+anger and threat in his voice as he said, “Fine fix we’re in! Huh! Here
+we are part of the biggest industry in Alaska. Fifteen million dollars a
+year. The Orientals start cuttin’ in on us. We call for help, for
+protection. And what do we get? A lousy tub no bigger than a gill-net
+boat. And how’s she manned, I ask you?”
+
+A second voice rumbled words that could not be understood.
+
+“She’s manned by a crippled young skipper,” the first speaker growled.
+“An old Scotch engineer and two kids. Protection! Bah!” There came a
+grunt of disgust. “We’ll have to take things into our own hands.”
+
+At that a door slammed and they heard no more.
+
+“Well?” Blackie tried to scare up a grin. It was not a huge success.
+“Kids,” he said.
+
+“We’re not quite that,” Johnny said quietly. “We _are_ pinch hitters.”
+
+“Sure you are,” Blackie agreed. “But I wouldn’t trade you for half the
+so-called men in the regular service.
+
+“Say, Johnny!” His voice dropped. “Know who that was talking?”
+
+“No-o.”
+
+“It was Red McGee. He is the union agent that looks after the interests
+of these men working in the canneries. They say he’s a good man and a
+fighter, but narrow. A—a fighter. Hm’m—” Blackie seemed to play with the
+words.
+
+“Johnny,” his whisper sounded like an exploding steam valve. “You _like_
+to box, don’t you?”
+
+“Nothing I like better,” Johnny grinned. “Started when I was six and
+never stopped.”
+
+“Red McGee’s a boxer,” Blackie said. “Off times like this I’m told these
+men up here go in for boxing bouts. Nothing savage, you understand, just
+a few friendly rounds. And Red’s never been beaten by any of them.”
+
+“And I suppose you expect me to trim him, at least to try it?” Johnny’s
+face was a study.
+
+“No-o, not just that, only a few friendly rounds. I’d like you to
+represent the _Stormy Petrel_.”
+
+“I think I get you,” Johnny’s lips moved in a quiet smile. “You want this
+crowd to know that I’m not a child.”
+
+“Johnny,” Blackie’s tone was almost solemn, “it’s important. Mighty
+important! If this fishing mob gets started and if they find a ship out
+there in Bristol Bay catching fish contrary to law, there’s going to be
+trouble. More trouble than all our diplomats can clear up in a year.
+
+“There’s no getting ’round it, this business has been slighted. But this
+much stands out like your nose—we’ve got to do what we can. And we can’t
+do much if these Alaskans sneer at us.
+
+“So-o, son,” he drawled, “if they give you a chance tonight you step in.
+And if a chance doesn’t open up, I’ll open one.
+
+“Come on,” he sprang to his feet. “It’s time for chow.”
+
+Passionately fond of boxing as Johnny surely was, he found himself
+dreading the encounter Blackie had proposed for that night. Why? He could
+not have told.
+
+A strange audience awaited him in the long, low-ceilinged room where, on
+working days cases of salmon were stored for shipping. Seated on empty
+packing boxes, the men formed a hollow circle. This circle was to be the
+ring for the evening’s entertainment.
+
+“They’re all here,” Blackie grinned. “A dozen nationalities: Italians,
+Finlanders, Swedes, down-east Yankees, an Eskimo or two and what have
+you.
+
+“One thing they’ve got in common,” his voice rang true, “they’re all
+Alaskans at heart. Hard fighters, straight shooters, they look you square
+in the eye and treat you fair. But when anyone tries any dirty,
+underhanded work, you’ll see sparks fly.”
+
+“Well,” Johnny smiled. “Whatever else happens, there will be no crooked
+work tonight. I don’t fight that way.”
+
+“Don’t I know it?” Blackie agreed.
+
+“Well, now, here we are,” he chuckled a moment later. “Reserved seats.
+Box seats, mind you. Who could ask for more?”
+
+As Johnny sat, quite silent in his place, watching one short three-round
+match after another being fought in a good-natured rough-and-tumble
+fashion between boatmen, cannery workers, carpenters, engineer and
+blacksmith, he became more and more conscious of one fact—the crowd was
+holding back its enthusiasm.
+
+“It’s like the preliminary bouts in Madison Square Gardens,” he said to
+Blackie at last. “They seem to be waiting for the one big fight. What’s
+coming?”
+
+“Can’t you guess?”
+
+“No-o, I—”
+
+“It’s you and Red McGee. They’re waiting for that.”
+
+“What?” Johnny half rose to his feet.
+
+“Keep your seat.” Blackie pulled him down. “Ever hear of the grapevine
+telegraph?”
+
+“Yes, in—in a sort of way.”
+
+“It’s the mysterious manner in which news travels up here. These fellows
+know about you. The minute I gave them your name they busted out, ‘The
+kid that packs a wallop?’”
+
+“And you—”
+
+“I said, ‘Sure! None other. But does Red McGee know it?’
+
+“They said, ‘Guess he doesn’t. He’s been in Seattle, just come up.’
+
+“Then I said, ‘Mum’s the word. We’ll just ask him to give Johnny a few
+pointers in boxing.’”
+
+“And they agreed?” Johnny seemed ready to bolt from the room.
+
+“Sure. Why not?” Blackie grinned. “It’s the grandest way to get in with
+all of ’em. They like a good joke. So does Red McGee.”
+
+“Even if it’s on him?”
+
+“Even if it’s on him. Absolutely.”
+
+“Then he’s a real sport,” Johnny settled back in his place. “It will be a
+real joy to box him a few rounds.”
+
+“Okie doke,” Blackie seemed relieved. “But, Johnny,” he added, “pull your
+punches. Murder isn’t legal in Alaska, not south of the Arctic Circle.”
+
+“I only hope Red McGee remembers that,” was Johnny’s solemn reply.
+
+
+
+
+                               CHAPTER XI
+                       THE FALL OF THE RED McGEE
+
+
+When by popular request, emphasized by loud shouts, Red McGee was called
+upon to put on the gloves, he stepped forward smiling. Johnny slid to the
+very edge of his box for a good look. This was the first time he had seen
+the man. He was a little startled.
+
+“So that’s what I’m going up against?” he murmured low.
+
+Six feet of man, broad shoulders, a shock of red hair that stood straight
+up, a square jaw and glittering eyes, this was Red McGee.
+
+And was he popular? The hoarse shouts of approval that made the rough
+rafters ring as he stepped out on the floor left no room for doubt.
+
+Red was to box three rounds with a man named Tomingo, a dark-faced
+foreigner who piloted a gill-net boat. Johnny was thankful for this brief
+reprieve before he too should step into the ring.
+
+That Red McGee was no mean boxer he learned at once. He had a head on his
+shoulders and a remarkable eye.
+
+“He seems to anticipate every move this Tomingo makes,” Johnny groaned in
+a whisper.
+
+“They have boxed together before,” was Blackie’s answer. “Perhaps many
+times. When you play a game with a man many times, just any game, you
+come to know his tricks. But you, Johnny, he doesn’t know you. It’s an
+advantage.
+
+“But, Johnny,” he cautioned after a moment’s silence, “don’t let him get
+to you. Look at those arms! If he hits you just once, a good square one,
+you’re sunk.
+
+“And, boy,” his voice dropped, “this is a big spot. It’s important,
+mighty important. These fellows must respect us, have faith in the
+_Stormy Petrel_ and her crew. If they don’t, they’ll go storming out
+there six hundred strong, looking for trouble. And if they find it! Oh,
+man! They might start a war.”
+
+“There!” Johnny breathed. “There’s the bell. That match is over. And Red
+McGee is just nicely warmed up.”
+
+The tall, lanky boatman who acted as referee shuffled off the floor.
+
+“Who’s next?” Red McGee invited with a broad smile.
+
+It was evident at once that few of the men cared to take him on. Tomingo
+was wearing a flaming patch where Red’s glove had raked his chin.
+
+“Red,” one of his own men volunteered, “there’s one of them kids from the
+_Stormy Petrel_ who’d like to learn a little about boxing. Would y’ mind
+a teachin’ him?”
+
+“One of those boys?” Red looked squarely at Johnny. Johnny flinched. Did
+Red know? “Oh, sure!” Red’s lips spread in a broad smile. “I like boys,
+always have. Sure I’ll show him.
+
+“Look, Tom,” he turned to the referee. “Help the boy on with his gloves.
+Be sure he gets ’em on the right hands. It’s awkward boxing if you
+don’t.” He let out a low chuckle.
+
+Once again Johnny flinched. What did Red know? Probably nothing. This was
+just his way of poking fun at the _Stormy Petrel’s_ crew. This made
+Johnny a little angry, but not too much.
+
+“Show ’em, Johnny,” Blackie hissed in his ear. Next Johnny found himself
+shaking the great paw of Red McGee. And so the fight began.
+
+Nothing had been said about the number of rounds, nor their length.
+Johnny was a little taken back when the referee settled himself on a box
+in a corner.
+
+“But then,” it came to him with a sudden shock, “I’m supposed to be a
+learner. When you’re taking lessons there are no rounds. Well, I’ll be a
+learner, for a while.”
+
+He carried out his plan to the letter, almost. After giving him a few
+words of instruction, Red invited him to “Sail right in. Hit me if you
+can.”
+
+The boy did not exactly “sail in.” Instead, he danced about the big man
+in an awkward but tantalizing fashion. There is nothing more irritating
+than a fly buzzing around one’s head. Johnny was, for the moment, Red
+McGee’s fly. He was here, there and everywhere. At times he appeared to
+leave himself wide open to one of Red’s sledge-hammer blows, but none of
+these really connected.
+
+All the time Johnny was thinking, “How long will he stand this? How long?
+How—”
+
+The answer came sooner than he expected. His arms were all but at his
+side, he was looking Red squarely in the eyes when he saw those eyes
+change. It was like the change of a traffic light from green to red. Of a
+sudden, a huge gloved paw came squarely at the side of his head.
+
+No one will ever know what that blow might have done had it arrived at
+its proposed destination. It did not arrive. Johnny’s head was not there.
+Instead, it was Red who, to his vast surprise, received the lightest of
+taps on the tip of his chin.
+
+The crowd saw and roared. There were men, plenty of them, who knew that,
+had Johnny not pulled that punch, Red would have hit the floor.
+
+Did Red know? For the life of him Johnny could not tell. One thing he did
+know, this was no longer a boxing lesson, nor was it to be a sparring
+match. It was instead to resemble an old-fashioned fight with no gong, no
+referee and no time out. Red McGee was aroused. There could be no doubt
+about that.
+
+Johnny kept his opponent going about the ring in a whirl. Twice he
+stopped and all but fell into Red’s waiting fists. Twice he heard the
+whistle of a glove as it brushed his ear.
+
+Once, when he was in Blackie’s corner, he heard a hoarse whisper,
+“Steady, there, boy. I can’t afford to lose you.”
+
+Once, in a mad rush, Red McGee tripped, falling to his knees. Backing
+away into a corner, Johnny gave him time to regain his feet. Gladly would
+the boy have remained in that corner for the count of a hundred. All too
+soon he caught Red’s challenge.
+
+“Come out an’ box.”
+
+“Red’s in a tight place,” Blackie said in a low tone to Lawrence. “I’m
+almost sorry I got him into it. He’s got a bull by the tail and can’t let
+go. If he quits now he’s afraid he’ll lose the respect of his men. If he
+goes on, well, anything may happen.”
+
+In the end two things happened. Both were surprises to Johnny.
+
+The older man was tiring. Johnny found that by using a little strategy he
+could tap the man’s chin at will. Be it said to his credit, he tapped
+that round red chin only twice. There is little to be gained by an
+unnecessarily large score.
+
+Those two taps, little heavier than love pats, stirred up something deep
+in Red’s nature. His men were looking on a new man. Not that they thought
+the less of him for it. Rough and ready men of the northern wilds, they
+understood as few ever do.
+
+Then things began to happen fast. Red lunged at Johnny. The boy dodged.
+The man came at him again. In one of those seconds when reason goes on a
+vacation, Johnny tried one more pulled punch to the chin. He did not pull
+it fast enough. Red McGee fell upon that punch as a polar bear falls upon
+a spear.
+
+There came a resounding thwack. Then, doubling up like an empty sack, Red
+McGee spread himself neatly on the floor. He was out for much more than
+the count of ten.
+
+The hush that followed was appalling. But the shout that followed!
+Nothing Johnny had ever before heard even remotely resembled it. Perhaps
+a gladiator in the Roman Arena, had he returned from the dead, might have
+recognized it with joy or fear.
+
+In vain did Johnny try to analyze that sound. Was it a cheer? Or was it a
+curse? Should he be carried out like a football hero or crushed by an
+infuriated mob?
+
+Strangely enough, as he stood there half paralyzed by the sudden shock of
+it all, he was conscious of one voice. Above the shout had risen a
+woman’s scream. And he had not known there was a woman in the place. Who
+was she? Where had she come from? Why was she here?
+
+“It’s all right, boys,” he heard a big voice boom. “He didn’t aim to do
+it. He pulled his punch. Twice he did it. He—”
+
+The speaker broke off short. There was a girl at his side, or perhaps a
+young lady. Johnny was not sure. A round, freckled face and angry eyes,
+that was all he saw. In another second she would have been at him, tooth
+and nail. But the big foreman, who had done the talking, wrapped a long
+arm about her waist as he said, “It’s all right, Rusty. Everything is O.
+K., child. He didn’t aim to do it. An’ your daddy ain’t hurt none to
+speak of. It’s what they call a knockout. He’ll be ’round in a twinkle.”
+
+At that the girl hid her face in the foreman’s jacket to murmur fiercely,
+“The brute! The ugly little brute!”
+
+And Johnny knew she meant him. Because she was a girl, because he had
+hurt her and he felt miserable, he slipped back into the outer fringe of
+the milling throng.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER XII
+                           A PTARMIGAN FEAST
+
+
+As Red McGee opened his eyes he found the foreman, Dan Weston and his
+daughter, Rusty, bending over him.
+
+“Wh-what!” he exclaimed, struggling to a sitting position, “what in the
+name of—”
+
+“You fell into a fast one, Red.” The foreman laughed. The crowd joined in
+this laugh but not the girl. Sober of face, she stood looking down at her
+father.
+
+“Daddy,” she began, “are you—”
+
+“Do you mean to say that kid from the _Stormy Petrel_ put me out?” Red
+McGee interrupted.
+
+“Well, you went out,” the foreman drawled. “The boy was the only one near
+you so I reckon—”
+
+He was not allowed to finish for at that Red McGee let out a tremendous
+roar of laughter.
+
+“Ho! Ho! Ha-ha-ha!” he roared. “That’s one on Red McGee.
+
+“But, boys!” he struggled to his feet. “I want to admit right here. There
+might be something to that _Stormy Petrel_ crew after all. Give ’em a
+chance, I say.”
+
+“Sure! Sure!” the crowd boomed. “Give ’em a chance.”
+
+“Where’s that young roughneck?” Red demanded, staring about him. “I want
+to shake his hand.”
+
+“Here—here he is!” Blackie pushed Johnny forward.
+
+“I—I’m sorry—” Johnny began.
+
+“Young man,” Red McGee broke in, “never apologize. Your enemies don’t
+deserve it, and your friends don’t demand it. From now on we’re pals.
+Shake on it.” Their hands met in the clasp of a grizzly and a bear cub.
+
+“What’s more,” Red went on, “the treat’s on me. You’re coming up to
+dinner with me, all four of you fellows from the _Stormy Petrel_. Ever
+eat ptarmigan pot pie?”
+
+“Never have,” said Johnny.
+
+“Well, you’re going to before this day is ...”
+
+                            * * * * * * * *
+
+... look into her eyes, he found himself seeing cold, blue-gray circles
+expressing as near as he could tell, undying hate.
+
+“Of course,” he said to Blackie, “you can’t expect a girl to understand
+about boxing, with all of its ups and downs. But it does seem she might
+give a fellow the benefit of the doubt.”
+
+“She will, son. She will,” Blackie reassured him. “Perhaps sooner than
+you think.” Was this prophesy or a guess? Time would tell.
+
+Rusty McGee was the type of girl any real boy might be proud to call a
+pal. With an easy smile, a freckled face and a mass of wavy, rust-colored
+hair, she caught your interest at a glance. The strong, elastic, healthy
+spring of her whole self kept you looking.
+
+More than once during his visit to the McGee summer home, a stout log
+cabin nestling among the barren Alaskan hills, Johnny found his eyes
+following her movements as she glided from room to room.
+
+“Boy, she can cook!” Blackie exclaimed as he set his teeth into the juicy
+breast of “mountain quail,” as ptarmigan are often called. And Johnny did
+not disagree.
+
+Since the crew of the _Stormy Petrel_ were her father’s friends, it was
+evident that Rusty meant to do her best as a hostess. But to Johnny she
+gave never a smile.
+
+“How she must love that old dad of hers!” Blackie whispered once.
+Johnny’s only answer was a scowl.
+
+Yes, Johnny was shunned and slighted by this youthful “queen of the
+canneries,” as she had once been called, but the _Stormy Petrel’s_
+engineer, old Hugh MacGregor, came in for more than his full share of
+interest.
+
+Hugh MacGregor was truly old. His thatch of gray told that. With
+grandchildren of his own he was just a big-hearted old man. Rusty was not
+long in sensing that.
+
+When the dinner, a truly grand feast, was over, the others, Blackie, Red
+McGee, Lawrence and Johnny retired to the glassed-in porch where they
+might have a look at the barren hills of Alaska and the wide,
+foam-flecked sweep of Bristol Bay, and, at the same time, talk of fish,
+Oriental raiders and the sea.
+
+MacGregor remained behind to “help with the dishes.”
+
+“Do you like Alaska?” Rusty asked him.
+
+“Oh, sure I do!” was the old man’s quick response. “I spent a winter much
+further north than this many years ago. I was quite young then. It was
+thrilling, truly it was. Cape Prince of Wales on Bering Straits—” his
+voice trailed off dreamily.
+
+“Way up there?” the girl exclaimed. “What were you doing?”
+
+“Herdin’ reindeer and Eskimo,” he laughed. “I crossed the straits in a
+skin boat with the Eskimo and lived a while in Russia without a passport.
+You do things like that when you are young.
+
+“Ah yes,” he sighed, “youth is impulsive, and often wrong.” He was
+thinking of Johnny. He knew how Johnny felt about things. He had become
+very fond of the boy.
+
+Did Rusty understand? Who could tell? Burying her hands in foamy suds,
+she washed dishes furiously. Nor did she speak again for some time.
+
+Meanwhile, over their pipes, Red McGee and Blackie were discussing the
+task that lay before them.
+
+“I suppose you know all about this Oriental fishing business,” Red
+suggested.
+
+“I’m not sure that I do know all about it,” was Blackie’s modest reply.
+“Suppose you tell me.”
+
+“It’s like this,” Red cleared his throat. “There was a time when we
+thought the salmon supply off these shores was inexhaustible. We caught
+them in nets and traps just as we pleased.
+
+“Then,” he blew out a cloud of smoke, “there came a time when we woke up
+to the fact that the whole run of salmon might vanish. You know what that
+would mean?”
+
+“Yes, I know,” Blackie agreed. “The little man in Hoboken, Omaha and
+Detroit who hasn’t much pay and has a big family could no longer feed the
+children on a fifteen-cent can of salmon.”
+
+“Right,” McGee agreed. “More than that, thousands of fine fellows, just
+such men as you saw tonight, fair-minded, honest men that would,” he
+paused to chuckle, “that would see one of their best friends knocked cold
+by a stranger in a fair sparring match and not want to kill him, men like
+that would be out of a job. Their families would go hungry. You know,
+about all they understand is salmon catching.”
+
+“And so?” Blackie prompted after a moment’s silence.
+
+“So the government and the canners got together on a conservation
+program; so many fish to be caught each year, the same number allowed to
+go up stream and spawn.
+
+“The plan was well worked out. We’ve put the salmon industry on a sound
+foundation. It will continue so for years unless—”
+
+“These Orientals are allowed to come over here and set three-mile-long
+nets across the bay,” suggested Blackie.
+
+“That’s just it!” McGee struck the table a resounding blow. “They’re
+taking advantage of a technicality of international law. And unless we
+drive them out—”
+
+“Not too loud,” Blackie cautioned. “There goes one of them now.”
+
+“What?” McGee sprang to his feet. A slender, dark-haired person was
+passing down the path before the cabin.
+
+“No,” he settled back in his place. “He’s not one of ’em. He’s one of our
+Eskimos. We have three of them down here. It’s a little off their regular
+beat. But they are keen at locating the runs of salmon. Inherited it from
+their fathers, I—
+
+“But say!” his voice rose. “He does look like one of those Orientals.”
+
+“Sure he does,” Blackie agreed.
+
+“We might use him for a sort of spy,” McGee’s voice dropped to a whisper.
+“His name’s Kopkina. Used to work in a restaurant. He picked up the
+Oriental lingo, at least enough to pass for one of ’em. If some of them
+come around here, we’ll have Kopkina mix in with them. He might find
+things out, important facts.”
+
+“It’s a good idea,” Blackie agreed.
+
+
+“Yes,” MacGregor was saying to Rusty, as he told more of his adventures
+in the very far north, “it was a bit peculiar goin’ up there like that,
+livin’ with the Eskimos. And me still a young fellow like Johnny Thompson
+now.” He shot her a look. She smiled at him in a peculiar way, but said
+never a word.
+
+“It was the food that was strange,” he went on after a chuckle. “Of
+course, you can chew polar bear steak if you’ve got uncommon good teeth.
+Seal steak’s not half-bad and reindeer makes a grand Mulligan stew.”
+
+“Yes, I know,” the girl agreed. “We have some reindeer meat sent down
+every season. Stay with us and you’ll have a taste of it.”
+
+“We’ll stay, all right,” MacGregor declared. “That’s what we’re here for
+to stay, hunting Orientals and shadows—shadows.” He repeated the word
+slowly. “Blackie believes in moving shadows in the fog on the sea.”
+
+“Shadows?” the girl stared at him.
+
+“Sure! He says they glide along across the sea with never a sound. Like
+some phantom schooner it was,” he said.
+
+“That’s strange.” The girl’s eyes shone. “There was a gill-net fisherman
+last season told something just like that. He was an Italian, sort of a
+dreamer. We didn’t believe him. But now—what do you think?”
+
+“I don’t know what to think,” MacGregor scratched his gray thatch.
+
+“But, Mr. MacGregor,” the girl said after a moment, “didn’t you have a
+thing to eat except Eskimo food?”
+
+“What? Oh, yes, up there, up there when I was a kid same as Johnny,”
+MacGregor laughed. “Sure—sure we did. It came on a sailin’ schooner all
+in cans.
+
+“We had evaporated potatoes and eggs in cans, butter pickled in cans, hot
+dogs in cans, everything. And the Eskimos,” he threw back his head and
+laughed. “They’d stand around watchin’ to see what we’d take out of a can
+next.
+
+“And then we got a phonograph,” he laughed again.
+
+“A phonograph?” Rusty said.
+
+“Sure. First one those little brown boys ever seen. Had a long tin horn
+to it, that phonograph did. The Eskimos looked at it and tapped the tin
+horn. They said, ‘_Suna una?_’ (What is it?) We didn’t tell ’em, so they
+tapped it some more and said, ‘All same tin can-_emuck_.’
+
+“Bye and bye we cranked it up and started it going. The record was a
+white man singin’ ‘Meet me in Saint Louis, Louie. Meet me at the Fair.’
+
+“Well, that was funny!” he chuckled. “The Eskimos just looked and
+listened for a long time. Then one of them looked at the others and said,
+‘Can you beat that! A white man in that tin can!’”
+
+The merry laugh that rang out from the kitchen was heard by those on the
+porch. Johnny heard it with the others and was glad—glad that that fine
+girl could laugh even if it wasn’t his joke.
+
+“See that cannery out there?” Red McGee was saying. “Cost a cool million
+dollars. Paying interest on the investment, too. Also it’s giving two
+thousand people a living. But these Orientals with their floating
+canneries—”
+
+“Floating canneries?” Lawrence broke in.
+
+“Sure! That’s what they’ve got. They pick up some big hulk of a ship
+cheap, install some canning equipment, load on a drove of cheap coolies
+and steam away. Pretty soon they’re over Bristol Bay, just off the shores
+of Alaska, but beyond the three-mile limit. Three miles! Bah!” he
+exploded.
+
+“I’m in favor of calling every square mile of Bristol Bay American
+waters,” Blackie replied.
+
+Red McGee stared at him with sudden approval. “Say!” he roared, “we must
+be brothers.”
+
+“We ought to run those Orientals off,” Blackie grinned. “We’re here to
+start just that. That boat of ours may not seem so hot, but she’s got
+speed and power, three airplane motors in her. Good ones, too. Once we
+sight an Oriental fishing boat setting nets too close behind the fog
+they’re coming ashore.”
+
+“To do a lot of explaining.”
+
+“Yes, and for quite a long visit.”
+
+“That’s the talk,” Red McGee stood up. “Here’s hoping the wind drops so
+you can get there. The fishing hasn’t really started. No foreign boats
+have been seen. But they’re there. They made a haul last year. We’re sure
+of that. So why shouldn’t they come back?”
+
+“Why not?” Blackie agreed.
+
+In all of this time neither Johnny nor Lawrence said a word. For all
+that, they were thinking hard and their young hearts were on fire with a
+desire to do their bit for the good old U. S. A. and Alaska, their
+present home.
+
+“Nice place you’ve got here,” said MacGregor, as he joined the party on
+the porch.
+
+“It will pass,” was Red McGee’s modest reply. “I built it for my wife.
+She loved these rugged hills and the smell of the sea. She—” his voice
+faltered. He looked away. “She left us a year and a half ago. But Rusty
+and I, we—we sort of carry on.
+
+“But if those Orientals—” his voice rose, “Oh! Well, enough of that for
+today. It’s good of you fellows to join us in a feast!”
+
+“It’s been swell!” said Blackie.
+
+“Swell! Grand! Mighty keen!” were the impulsive comments of the boys.
+
+“We know each other better,” said Blackie.
+
+“A whole lot better,” Red McGee agreed.
+
+“Goodbye, Rusty,” MacGregor called back through the house.
+
+“Goodbye! Goodbye! Come again soon,” came back in a girlish voice.
+
+“I wonder,” Johnny thought as he took the winding path leading down to
+the wharf. “Wonder if we’ll ever get to come back here?”
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER XIII
+                               THE SHADOW
+
+
+“Fog.” There was more than a suggestion of disgust in Johnny’s tone as he
+said this word. It was the next morning. After a good night’s sleep
+aboard the _Stormy Petrel_ he felt ready for anything. The moment he
+awoke he had listened for the pounding surf.
+
+“Gone!” He had leaped from his bunk. “Storm’s over. Now for a good look
+at Bristol Bay and perhaps, just perhaps, some of those Orientals.”
+
+“Here’s hoping,” Lawrence agreed.
+
+Yes, the storm was over, but here instead was a damp, chilling blanket of
+dull, gray fog.
+
+“Can’t see a hundred feet,” he grumbled.
+
+“You’ll get used to that, son.” It was Red McGee who spoke. He had been
+leaning on the rail talking to Blackie. “‘Men and Fog on the Bering Sea.’
+That’s the name of a book. And it’s a good name. There are always men and
+nearly always there is fog.
+
+“Fish are coming in,” he added as a cheering note. “Two boats are just in
+from a try at the gill-nets. They made a fair catch.”
+
+“But this fog,” Johnny insisted, “gives those Orientals a chance to slip
+in close, doesn’t it?”
+
+“It does!” Red agreed. “Blast their hides! That floatin’ factory of
+theirs comes in close to the three-mile limit. Then their other boats,
+small, fast ones, can come over the line and set nets. You couldn’t see
+them in the fog. They’d put ’em up early. Three miles of nets.
+
+“Claim they’re catchin’ crabs. Crabs, me eye!” he exploded. “Crab nets
+are set on the bottom. Salmon nets are set close to the top. Drift nets
+are what they use. We’ve never found one inside the three-mile line, but
+we think they’ve been there all the same.
+
+“If you ever do find one,” he turned to Blackie, “take it up and bring it
+in. We’ll can their fish an’ boil their nets.
+
+“Shouldn’t be any three-mile line,” he continued. “All our shore water
+belongs to us. So do the fish. It’s food, son! Food for the millions. And
+these Orientals would have had fish on their own shores if they hadn’t
+exterminated them.”
+
+“We’re going out right now,” said Blackie. “Going to have a look for that
+shadow that passes in the fog. We’ve got a nice swivel cannon up there
+forward. Don’t know whether you can hit a shadow, but it won’t do any
+harm to try.”
+
+“All the same, this _is_ a serious situation,” said Blackie as they
+headed out into the fog. “These Alaskans are a strange people. They are
+like the men of the old west, the west that’s gone forever; fearless men
+with hearts of gold, fighting devils when they know they’ve been wronged.
+And this Oriental raiding business is an outrage, providing it’s true.”
+
+“But is it true?” Johnny asked.
+
+“That,” said Blackie, “is what we’re going to find out.
+
+“Johnny,” he said after a moment, “go up forward and remove that box. Let
+our little brass messenger swing with the boat.”
+
+A moment later, up forward, a small swivel cannon swung from side to
+side. As it did so it seemed to point, first right, then left.
+
+“This way or that?” Johnny thought. “I wonder which it will be.”
+
+Hour after hour the fog hung on. Hour after hour Johnny squinted his eyes
+for some moving object in that blanket of gray fog. The cold, damp ocean
+air chilled him to the bone. Stamping his feet, he held doggedly to his
+post. When his watch was over he went below to soak in the heat of the
+stove that George, the colored cook, kept roaring hot. He drank two cups
+of scalding black coffee, downed a plate of beans and a whole pan of hot
+biscuits, then spread himself out on a cushioned seat to close his eyes
+and dream.
+
+In those dreams he saw creeping gray shadows, darting fish and a pair of
+laughing eyes. The eyes closed. When they opened the face wore a frown.
+
+“Rusty!” he whispered. “Wonder if she’ll ever forgive me?”
+
+All too soon his turn at the watch came. The days were long, twenty hours
+from dark to dawn. By nature a hard driver, inspired by his desire to
+help the Alaskans, Blackie steered his small craft endlessly through the
+gray murk.
+
+Then—of a sudden Johnny rubbed his eyes—stared away to the right—closed
+his eyes—snapped them open again to whisper hoarsely,
+
+“Blackie! The shadow passes.”
+
+“The shadow! Where?”
+
+The boy’s hand pointed.
+
+“As I live!” Blackie muttered.
+
+A short, slim line, little darker than the fog, moved slowly across the
+spot where sky and sea should meet.
+
+“Ahoy, there!” Blackie roared. “What boat goes there?”
+
+No answer.
+
+“I’ll show them!” Blackie put out a hand. Three powerful motors roared.
+The _Stormy Petrel_ lurched forward, all but throwing Johnny into the
+sea.
+
+Sudden as the movement was, it proved too slow. Like a true shadow, the
+thing vanished into the murk.
+
+“It—it went down,” Johnny stammered. “Must have been a whale.”
+
+“Or a submarine,” Lawrence suggested.
+
+“It did not go down,” said MacGregor. “It slid away into the fog. And it
+was not a whale. I’ve seen plenty of whales. They’re never like that.”
+
+“Wait!” Johnny sprang for the cannon. “I’ll give them a shot just to let
+them know we’re after them.”
+
+“No! No! Not that!” MacGregor waved him back. “‘Speak softly and carry a
+big stick.’ That was Teddy Roosevelt’s motto. The grandest president that
+ever lived. There’s time enough to make a noise after we’ve got ’em under
+our thumb.”
+
+“I—I’m sorry,” said Johnny.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER XIV
+                           A VOICE IN THE FOG
+
+
+Forty-eight long hours the _Stormy Petrel_ haunted the gray fog. During
+far more than his fair share of that time, eyes blinking but tireless,
+Johnny stood on deck studying the small circle of black waters.
+
+Three times his heart leaped as a dark bulk loomed before them. Three
+times he heaved a sigh of disappointment.
+
+“Only one of the gill-net boats returning to the cannery,” was the
+answer.
+
+“They’re running strong,” was the joyous report of one fisherman. “Full
+load first trip. Looks like a grand season.”
+
+“Poor luck,” came from the second. “We tried hard. Got only half a load.
+Have to come in anyway. It’s the rule. Fish must always be fresh.”
+
+The third boat had had even worse luck. It was going back all but empty.
+
+“No new calico dress for Nancy this time,” the youthful skipper groaned.
+
+“No gitta da dress,” his Italian companion agreed.
+
+At last, out of gas, with her crew half-blind from watching, the _Stormy
+Petrel_ headed for the harbor.
+
+“They’re out there somewhere,” Red McGee insisted, as he met them at the
+dock. “Must be anchored up north of here somewhere. It’s the boys who go
+up that way who come back half-empty.
+
+“But the wheels are turning,” he added with a touch of pride. “Ever see a
+cannery in operation?” he turned to the boys.
+
+“No, never have,” was the quick response.
+
+“Rusty,” said Red, turning to his daughter, “how’d you like to show these
+boys through our plant?”
+
+Did Johnny detect a frown on the girl’s face? If so, it was gone like the
+shadow of a summer cloud.
+
+“Sure! Come on!” she welcomed. They were away.
+
+Somewhere Johnny had heard that a fish cannery was a place of evil smells
+and revolting sights. Dirty coolies gouging into half-rotten fish—that
+was his mental picture.
+
+A surprise awaited him. Not a coolie was in sight. The place smelled as
+fresh as a May morning. To his ears came the sound of rushing water.
+
+“Where are the coolies?” he asked a man beside a machine.
+
+“This is him,” the man chuckled. “An iron coolie.”
+
+As the two boys watched they saw the machine seize a large salmon, sever
+its head and tail, remove the scales and fins, clean it and pass it on in
+a split second.
+
+“Jimminy crickets!” Lawrence exploded. “And I used to think I was the
+champion fish cleaner!”
+
+Rusty favored him with a gorgeous smile.
+
+When, a little later, Johnny made a try for that same young lady’s smile,
+the cloud once again passed over her face, but no smile. He was not,
+however, entirely discouraged. It was, he thought, more as if she could
+not forgive him than that she did not want to.
+
+“We saw the shadow pass,” Lawrence confided to the girl, as at last they
+stood before a canning machine.
+
+“Oh!” the girl breathed. “Did you? And what—”
+
+“It vanished into the fog.”
+
+“I have a small motor-boat,” the girl said, in evident excitement. “It’s
+the _Krazy Kat_. I—I’m going out to look for the shadow in the fog.”
+
+“You—you’d better not do that,” Johnny spoke before he thought. “You’d
+be—” He did not finish.
+
+“I was practically born and raised here.” She spoke to him, as an
+old-time Alaskan might to a newcomer.
+
+Johnny did not resent it. He had spoken out of turn. And yet he was
+disturbed. He did not care to think of this fine young creature out there
+in the fog alone. Supposing she did find the Orientals setting nets.
+Suppose they found her, alone out there in the fog?
+
+“None of my business,” he told himself fiercely. “Just none at all.”
+
+The _Stormy Petrel_ remained an entire day in port. Blackie spent his
+time listening to reports from the various fishing grounds. The shores of
+Bristol Bay are hundreds of miles long. Next time he went out he wanted
+to go to the right spot, if there were such a spot.
+
+Johnny made the acquaintance of Kopkino, the Eskimo. From him he learned
+much about salmon, Orientals and the shores of Bristol Bay. And then,
+just at midnight, he passed the sturdy little man standing beside a dark
+pathway. There were three little men with him and they were all talking.
+They were not Eskimos. He was sure of that. But they were Orientals. He
+had heard enough of the languages to know.
+
+At once his mind was filled with questions. Was Kopkino betraying his
+employer for Oriental gold, or was he acting as a spy for his big white
+brother? Who could say?
+
+“He’s an Oriental,” Johnny told himself. “All Eskimos are. But after
+all—” He came to no conclusion.
+
+Just before dawn the _Stormy Petrel_ crept out into the fog. She was
+bound for an unannounced destination.
+
+“Action,” Johnny said to Lawrence. “This time we are to have action. I
+feel it in my bones.”
+
+One thing puzzled Johnny not a little. They were provisioned as if for a
+long trip, two weeks or more.
+
+Several hours later the _Stormy Petrel_ was once again circling about in
+the fog.
+
+“Seems like it’ll never end, this fog,” MacGregor said to Johnny. They
+were on deck working out their watch. “Looks as if nature was on the side
+of those Orientals.
+
+“Orientals,” he continued musingly, “I don’t suppose they’re much
+different from the rest of us, only just some of them.”
+
+“Just some of them,” Johnny agreed, giving the wheel a turn.
+
+“Come to think of it,” MacGregor went on, “there are a few white men who
+are not so honorable.”
+
+“Quite a few,” Johnny agreed.
+
+Truth is, Johnny was dead tired. He wanted nothing quite so much as to
+crawl into some warm corner and sleep for hours and hours.
+
+“I don’t hate them all the same,” MacGregor squinted his eyes to look
+through the fog. Then he demanded low, “Hear anything, Johnny?”
+
+“Not a thing.”
+
+“Thought I heard a voice coming out of the fog.”
+
+For some time after that neither spoke. They were listening with all
+their ears for some sound that might tell them the mysterious moving
+shadow was about to pass.
+
+“What is this shadow?” Johnny asked himself. “Submarine, some fast,
+silent craft, or a whale?”
+
+He liked the idea of a submarine. The Orientals had them. Why not use
+them for laying nets? Easy enough to vanish when danger was near.
+
+“Hate, me lad, is destructive,” the aged man’s voice was solemn as he
+took up the thread of conversation he had dropped. “Hate destroys you as
+well as the people you hate.”
+
+He broke off short to cup a hand behind his ear.
+
+“There _was_ a voice,” he insisted in a hoarse whisper.
+
+“Yes, I heard it,” Johnny replied, tense with sudden excitement.
+
+Ten minutes had passed. They were beginning to relax when the sound came
+again.
+
+“Over to the right,” MacGregor shrilled. “Turn her about quarterin’ them.
+Give her top speed.”
+
+“Right.” Johnny twisted the wheel. The motors roared. It was a bold step
+that might have led to disaster. Should there be a boat out there setting
+nets, and should they crash at that speed, what would it mean? Johnny did
+not dare to think.
+
+“There!” MacGregor gripped the boy’s arm.
+
+“Oh—ah!” Johnny groaned. “We missed them.”
+
+It was true. Off to the left, for the space of seconds, they saw an
+unmistakable dark, gray bulk. And then it was gone.
+
+“Our own speed defeated us,” declared MacGregor. “Ah, well, better luck
+next time.”
+
+“Or worse,” Johnny grumbled.
+
+Had he but known it, it was to be worse, much worse.
+
+“As for me,” MacGregor said a half hour later, resuming his talk, “I
+don’t hate anybody. It’s not worth while. Sometimes I hate the things
+they do. Mostly, I try to think of good people and the good things they
+do.
+
+“And that,” his voice rose, “that’s what I like about this job of ours.
+If we can drive these Orientals from our shores we’ll be doing good to
+our own people, a whole lot of ’em.
+
+“Know what I see when I’m tired and I close my eyes?” he asked suddenly.
+
+“No. What?” Johnny grinned good-naturedly.
+
+“Children,” MacGregor said in a mellow tone. “Children playing before an
+open fire and their mother puttin’ the crust on an apple pie in the
+kitchen. And those, Johnny, are the children and wives of men way up here
+scoutin’ around in the cold and fog for salmon. We’re servin’ them,
+Johnny, or at least we’re trying to.”
+
+Just then Blackie’s head popped up out of the hatch.
+
+“See anything?” he demanded.
+
+“Plenty,” said Johnny.
+
+“Yes, an’ heard ’em,” MacGregor added.
+
+They told Blackie what had happened.
+
+“So you think you heard them?” he asked.
+
+“Think?” MacGregor roared. “We _know_ we heard ’em.”
+
+“Might have been a seal barking to his mate, or mebby a loon. You can’t
+be sure. Question is, if they’re here, where’s their nets?” Blackie came
+up on deck.
+
+“Turn the boat north by east,” he said to Johnny. “We’re going in for a
+rest.”
+
+“Rest? What’s that?” Johnny opened up a grand smile.
+
+“Something we don’t have much of,” said Blackie. “But this fog burns your
+eyes. You’re no good when you’ve been out too long.
+
+“There’s a cabin on shore if only we can find it,” he explained. “A
+trapper’s place, snug and warm. Red McGee told me about it. Trapper’s
+gone south with his furs. We’re to make ourselves at home.”
+
+Make themselves at home they did. After tying the _Stormy Petrel_ up at a
+narrow dock they helped George up to the cabin with kettles, pans and
+food supplies. Then, while a jolly wood fire roared in the huge stove
+made of a steel gasoline barrel, laid on ends, they sprawled out on
+rustic chairs to sniff the odor of roasting beef and baking pies and to
+dream dreams.
+
+With his eyes closed, MacGregor was seeing “children and their mothers
+putting the top crust on apple pies.” In his dream Blackie held a
+struggling Oriental by the collar of his coat and the seat of his
+trousers. As for Johnny, he was seeing a round, freckled face all rosy
+with smiles. Then, to his dismay he was seeing that same face take on a
+somber look.
+
+“Rusty,” he thought once again. “Will she ever forgive me?”
+
+The feast George had prepared was one fit for a king or even a big league
+baseball player, and the sleep they had in that cabin resting among the
+bleak Alaskan hills was the soundest Johnny had known for many a day.
+Well it was that this should be, for Fate had much in store for him.
+
+
+
+
+                               CHAPTER XV
+                          A ROAR FROM THE DEEP
+
+
+“It will be an hour or two before I can get out,” Blackie said next
+morning, standing up to stretch himself before the fire. “I want to go
+over some maps Red McGee gave me. Lawrence can draw up a simple chart
+that will keep us going right.
+
+“MacGregor,” he turned to the aged Scotchman. “How would you like to take
+Johnny for a circle or two in the fog? You might discover some evidence.
+It’s nets we want most. If we can discover some of those nets inside the
+three-mile limit it will help a lot.”
+
+“Like nothin’ better,” said MacGregor. “Come on, Johnny, let’s get
+goin’.”
+
+MacGregor had spoken for both of them. Johnny was fond of the engineer.
+He was old, mellow and kind, was MacGregor. This, he had confided to
+Johnny, was to be his last year with the service. Another twelve months
+and he would be pensioned. “And, Johnny,” he had added, “I’m as eager as
+any boy to have a part in something big before I am compelled to go.”
+
+“I hope you can have,” had been Johnny’s heartfelt wish.
+
+So now, with the sun still low and the fog, it seemed, thicker than ever
+before, they slipped out of the snug little natural harbor into the great
+unknown that is any sea in time of fog.
+
+Standing at the wheel, Johnny watched the dark circle of water about
+them. Ever they moved forward, yet never did this circle grow larger. It
+was strange.
+
+There was life at this circle. Now a whole fleet of eider-ducks, resting
+on their way north, came drifting into view. With a startled quack-quack
+they stirred up a great splatter, then went skimming away.
+
+And now a seal with small round head and whiskers like a cat came to the
+surface to stare at them.
+
+“Not worth much, that fellow,” was MacGregor’s comment. “Not much more
+hair than a pig.
+
+“But look, Johnny!” his voice rose. “There’s a real fur seal. His hide’s
+worth a pretty penny. Wouldn’t have it long either, if those Orientals
+sighted him. We used to have a hot time with ’em over the seals. Had to
+pay ’em to get ’em to leave the seals alone. That was a shame. Have to do
+the same with the salmon, like as not. We—
+
+“Look, Johnny! What’s that?” His voice suddenly dropped to a whisper, as
+if he believed the fog had ears. “Right over to the left, Johnny. Ease
+’er over that way.”
+
+“Another seal,” said Johnny.
+
+“It’s no seal,” MacGregor whispered. “Johnny!” His whisper rose. “We got
+’em. It’s a net marker. Inside the three-mile limit. An’ it’s none of Red
+McGee’s net markers either.”
+
+“That—that’s right,” the boy breathed.
+
+“And there’s the floats, Johnny! There they are!”
+
+Sure enough, leading away into the fog was a wavering line of dots.
+
+“We’ll follow it,” was MacGregor’s instant decision. “See how much net
+there is, then—”
+
+“I’ll follow it,” Johnny agreed.
+
+“Set the boat to go five miles an hour. I’ll time you.” MacGregor pulled
+out his large, old-fashioned watch. “Now we’ll see.”
+
+For a full ten minutes, in silence, the two of them watched the
+apparently never-ending line of net floats appear and disappear into the
+fog.
+
+“Near two miles of it,” MacGregor growled. “And yet no end. No wonder
+some of our fine boys come in with empty boats. These Orientals, they
+just find a place outside where the salmon run an’ head ’em off. They—
+
+“Slow up, Johnny!” he warned. “There’s the end. Shut off the motor.”
+
+The motor ceased to purr. Silence hung over the fog. A seal bobbed up his
+head, then ducked. A large salmon, caught in the net close to the
+surface, set up a feeble splatter.
+
+“Ease about,” said MacGregor. “I’ll pick up that net with this pike pole.
+
+“Now,” he breathed, leaning far out over the rail, “now I got her. Now—”
+
+He had succeeded in getting his hands on the marker when catastrophe came
+thundering up at them from the deep. A tremendous explosion sent the
+water rocketing toward the sky. The prow of the _Stormy Petrel_ rose
+until it seemed she would go completely over.
+
+Frantically Johnny gripped the wheel to save himself from being plunged
+into the icy water. But where was MacGregor?
+
+For ten tense seconds the boat stood with prow in air. Then with a slow,
+sickening swash, she came down.
+
+“MacGregor!” Johnny cried. “What happened? Where are you?”
+
+“Here—here I am!” MacGregor’s voice rose from the sea.
+
+“Johnny!” his voice was hoarse with emotion. “Shove off that life boat.
+Get her off just any way. There’s a terrible hole in the _Stormy’s_ side.
+She’ll sink in another minute. For God’s sake, be quick!”
+
+Johnny was quick and strong. If ever his strength stood him in good stead
+it was now.
+
+The life boat hung over the afterdeck. The knots of ropes that held it in
+place were wet and stiff with fog.
+
+“No time,” he muttered. With his knife he slashed away the ropes. The
+boat fell on deck with a thud. It was a heavy steel boat. To his
+consternation, he saw that it had fallen squarely between the heavy
+rails. The prow must be lifted. Creeping under it, he put all the
+strength of his back against it. It rose.
+
+“Now!” he breathed. “Now! And now!”
+
+The boat was on the rail. He could fairly feel the _Stormy’s_ deck
+sinking beneath him. She was doomed, there was no doubt of that. Those
+heavy motors would take her down fast.
+
+Once again he heaved. The life boat was now a quarter over the rail, now
+a third, now half.
+
+Leaping from beneath it, he executed a double movement, a shove and a
+leap. He was in the life boat. The life boat plunged, all but sank,
+swayed from side to side, then righted herself.
+
+There was a low, sickening rush of water. Johnny looked. The _Stormy_ was
+gone. In her place were swirling water and in the swirl an odd collection
+of articles; a coat, a cap, a pike pole, and MacGregor’s checkerboard.
+
+“MacGregor!” Johnny called hoarsely. “MacGregor! Where are you?”
+
+“Here! Over here!” was the cheering response. “I had to get away. She
+would have sucked me down.”
+
+Seizing an oar, Johnny began sculling the boat. In a moment he was
+alongside his companion. A brief struggle and MacGregor, watersoaked and
+shivering, tumbled into the boat.
+
+“John—Johnny,” his teeth were chattering. “There—there shou-should be
+d-d-dry clothes in the stern.”
+
+Dragging a half barrel from the prow, Johnny pulled out shirts,
+underclothing, trousers, socks and shoes.
+
+“Seems you were looking for this,” he chuckled as he watched the plucky
+old man disrobe himself.
+
+“Johnny,” said MacGregor. “In the Coast Guard service you are always
+looking for it an’ all too often you’re not disappointed.”
+
+When, a few minutes later, after a brisk rub-down, MacGregor had
+struggled into dry clothes and had succeeded in lighting his pipe, he
+said, “Well, me boy, we thought we had ’em an’ now they’ve got us. We’re
+miles from anywhere in a fog. And that’s bad! Mighty bad.”
+
+“Do you suppose Blackie heard it?”
+
+“What? The explosion? ’Tain’t likely. We’re all of four miles from there.
+Don’t forget, we followed that net two miles. An’ that explosion was
+muffled by the water.
+
+“An’ if he heard,” he added after a brief pause, “what could he do? He’s
+four miles away. No compass. An’ no boat except maybe a fishing skiff.
+No, Johnny,” his voice sounded out solemn on the silent sea. “For once in
+our lives we are strictly on our own, you and me.
+
+“Well, me lad,” he murmured a moment later. “They got us that time.
+Attached some sort of bomb to their net, that’s what they did. Safe
+enough in a way, too, for how you goin’ to prove it was their net? Yes,
+they got us. But you wait, me lad, we’ll be gettin’ them yet.”
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER XVI
+                             LOOMING PERIL
+
+
+Many times in his young life Johnny had been on his own, but never quite
+like this.
+
+“Not a bit of good to row,” was MacGregor’s decision. “We’ve not the
+least notion which way to go. If there was a breeze we might row by that.
+There’s no breeze.”
+
+“No sun, moon or stars, either,” Johnny agreed.
+
+For a full half hour they sat there in silence. Off in the distance a
+seal barked. Closer at hand an eider-duck quacked to his mate. A sudden
+scream, close at hand, startled them for an instant. It was followed by a
+wild laugh. They joined in the merriment. It was only a loon.
+
+There came a wild whir of wings. A flock of wild ducks, flying low and
+going like the wind, shot past them.
+
+“That’s north,” Johnny exclaimed. “They’re going due north to their
+nesting place. That’s east,” he pointed. “All we have to do is to row
+that way. We’ll come to land.”
+
+“If you kept your course, which you couldn’t,” MacGregor chuckled.
+
+“It’s worth trying. Anyway, I’m cold,” Johnny began to row. “There may be
+other bird flights to set me right.”
+
+There were not, at least not for fifteen minutes. When at last a pair of
+loons with long necks stretched straight before, passed them, to his
+disgust, Johnny saw that the boat was headed due north.
+
+“Well,” he sighed, dropping his oars, “At least I—”
+
+“Listen!” MacGregor put up a hand.
+
+Johnny listened. “Say! That’s no seal.”
+
+“Nor a bird either. That’s a human sound.”
+
+“Like someone trying to start a motor.”
+
+“Just that.”
+
+For a time the sound ceased. Then it began again.
+
+“Over to the left.” Once again Johnny took up the oars. This time he
+rowed slowly, silently. No telling whose motor had stalled. Fisherman,
+trapper, or Oriental? Who could tell?
+
+Four times the sound ceased. Four times Johnny’s oars rested on the
+surface of the water.
+
+When, at last, a small, dark spot appeared on the surface of the sea,
+Johnny fairly ceased to breathe.
+
+“Heck!” said a voice in that fog.
+
+“Doesn’t sound like an Oriental,” Johnny whispered.
+
+“Fisherman nor trapper either,” replied MacGregor.
+
+Leaning even more gently on his oars, Johnny sent his boat gliding
+forward. Then, of a sudden, he dropped his oars to stare.
+
+“It’s that girl, Rusty,” he whispered hoarsely.
+
+“The same,” MacGregor agreed.
+
+There could be no doubt about it. The girl was bending over to give her
+flywheel one more turn. Over her boy’s shirt, high boots and knickers she
+had drawn a suit of greasy coveralls. On her face, besides a look of grim
+determination, there was a long, black smudge.
+
+“Heck!” she exclaimed once more.
+
+“Havin’ motor trouble?” MacGregor spoke aloud.
+
+The girl started so suddenly that she all but lost her balance. Then,
+after a brief spell of unbelieving silence, she said, “It’s you, Mr.
+MacGregor! How glad I am to see you! I’ve been lost for hours. I—I went
+out to hunt the Shadow, that shadow you know. My motor’s stalled. But
+now—”
+
+“Now we’re all lost together,” MacGregor chuckled.
+
+To Johnny, the girl gave never a second look.
+
+“Do—do you suppose you could start it?” she said to MacGregor, nodding at
+her motor.
+
+“No harm to try. At least we’ll come aboard for a cup o’ tea,” MacGregor
+chuckled.
+
+Johnny rowed the lifeboat alongside the girl’s boat, the _Krazy Kat_, and
+they climbed aboard.
+
+“She’s not gittin’ gas,” said MacGregor, after he had turned the motor
+over twice.
+
+“I know,” the girl’s brow wrinkled.
+
+Without saying a word, Johnny scrambled back to the box covering the gas
+tank. After lifting the box off, he struck the tank a sharp rap. The tank
+gave off a hollow sound.
+
+“You might try putting some gas in your tank,” he said with a sly grin.
+
+“Oh, but there must be gas!” the girl exclaimed. “There must be.”
+
+“Perhaps,” said Johnny. “But it’s empty. May be a leak.” Drawing a small
+flashlight from his pocket, he bent over and examined the offending tank.
+
+“Yep,” he said, “there is a leak, a small hole, but big enough. Your gas
+is in the bottom of the boat, along with the bilge water. Any reserve
+supply?”
+
+“Not a bit.”
+
+“Well, then, here we are.” Johnny took a seat. “Now we have two boats and
+there are three of us. The motor-boat won’t go, but—”
+
+Suddenly he sprang to his feet. “You’d have a compass, wouldn’t you?”
+
+“Ye-es,” the girl replied with evident reluctance, “but it—it’s out of
+order. That’s why I got lost.”
+
+“Well, anyway,” Johnny said with forced cheerfulness, “now there are
+three of us. Two’s company and three’s a crowd. I always have liked
+crowds. Besides,” the corners of his mouth turned up, “you’ve got
+something of a cabin.”
+
+“Oh, yes.” The girl seemed, for the moment, to forget that she was
+speaking to one who had knocked her beloved daddy out. “Yes, there is a
+cabin. There’s a small stove and—and some wood. There’s tea and some
+pilot biscuits.”
+
+“A stove, wood, tea and pilot biscuits?” Suddenly MacGregor seized her
+and waltzed her about in a narrow circle. “Rusty, me child, you are an
+angel.”
+
+A half hour later found them comfortably crowded into Rusty’s small
+cabin. They were sipping tea and munching hard round crackers.
+
+“The fog’ll lift after a while,” MacGregor rumbled dreamily. “We lost our
+boat. That’s bad. But there’s marine insurance. That’s good. We’ll have
+another boat. I wonder,” he paused to meditate, “wonder what Blackie and
+the others are thinking by now.”
+
+“And doing,” Johnny suggested uneasily.
+
+“Yes, and doin’,” MacGregor agreed.
+
+A half hour later, growing restless, Johnny crept from his corner, opened
+the cabin door and disappeared up the narrow hatch.
+
+Ten seconds later he poked his head into the door to exclaim in a low,
+tense voice, “MacGregor, come up here quick.”
+
+MacGregor came. The girl came too. For a full half minute the three of
+them stood there speechless. They were looking up and away. Their eyes
+were wide and staring.
+
+“MacGregor,” Johnny asked, “what is it?”
+
+“A ship,” MacGregor whispered. “A thunderin’ big ship. She’s not two
+hundred leagues away. She’s not movin’, just driftin’. That’s how she
+came close to us.”
+
+“Wha-what ship is she?”
+
+“Who knows, son? But I’d lay a bet I could guess the country she came
+from.”
+
+“So—so could I.” Johnny’s throat was dry.
+
+“We—we,” Rusty pulled her old sou’wester down hard on her head, “we’d
+better get into the life boat and row away. It—it doesn’t matter about
+the _Krazy Kat_. It really doesn’t.” She swallowed hard.
+
+“We can try it,” MacGregor agreed. “But I’m afraid it’s too late.
+
+“Well,” he added with a low, rumbling laugh. “We were lookin’ for ’em.
+Now we found ’em, we don’t want ’em. Come on, an’ mind you, never a
+sound!”
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER XVII
+                                TRAPPED
+
+
+“It’s no use. We’re in for it.” Five minutes later MacGregor dropped his
+oars. From some spot close to that dark bulk against the sky had come the
+throb of a motor.
+
+“Rusty, me child,” the old man’s voice was very gentle. “Be sure those
+golden locks of yours are well tucked in. Whatever you do, don’t remove
+that sou’wester. For the present you are a boy. You must not forget.”
+
+“I—I won’t forget.” Rusty’s fingers were busy with her hair.
+
+“I only hope,” the old man added soberly, “that my guess is wrong.”
+
+Scarcely were the words out of his mouth when a smart little motor boat,
+bright with red and white paint, hove into view. And on the deck,
+scarcely less smart in brass buttons and braid, stood a small man with
+slanting eyes.
+
+Those eyes appeared a trifle startled at sight of MacGregor. “A thousand
+pardons.” The little man’s voice was smooth as oil. “What is that which
+you wish?”
+
+“Only a few gallons of gasoline,” said MacGregor.
+
+The lightning change on the little man’s face was startling. It was as if
+a dagger had suddenly flashed from his belt, yet his tone was smooth as
+before.
+
+“Ah! You are out of gas? Very unfortunate. Your line, please. We shall
+escort you to our ship.”
+
+“But we don’t want to go to your ship,” MacGregor protested. “All we want
+is gas.”
+
+“Ah, yes, a thousand apologies. But here there is no gasoline, only at
+the ship. Your line, please.”
+
+“Say, you—” Johnny’s angry voice was stopped by a heavy pressure on his
+arm.
+
+“Give him our line, son,” said MacGregor.
+
+Grudgingly Johnny obeyed. A moment later, with the two boats in tow, the
+bright, little craft went rolling back toward that broad, black bulk.
+
+“It’s no use to quarrel with ’em,” MacGregor said in a sober whisper.
+“We’ve fallen into their hands. I think that chap recognized me. I’ve
+been along the Pacific waterfronts for many years. So have these
+Orientals.”
+
+“But—but what will happen?” Rusty asked.
+
+“Who knows?” was MacGregor’s sober reply. “Let us hope for the best.
+They’ll not let us go now. When they’re well beyond the three-mile limit
+they may give us gas and let us go.
+
+“In the meantime, Rusty,” he warned, “don’t forget you’re a boy. It’s a
+good thing you’ve got on knickers instead of a dress.”
+
+They were brought alongside. A ladder was let down. They climbed aboard.
+There they were ushered before one more small man who wore even more
+brass and braid. Johnny thought with a touch of humor that he would make
+a very fine monkey if only he had a cap, a tin cup and a string.
+
+When MacGregor requested that they be given gasoline and allowed to
+leave, there were excuses, very profuse and polite, but quite formal.
+There were reasons, very unfortunate reasons; too much fog, a storm
+coming up, too few men to spare even one or two, to find the way alone
+quite impossible. Oh, quite!
+
+The man, who beyond doubt was the captain, talked on and on.
+
+It all ended by the _Krazy Kat’s_ being hoisted on board, by the little
+party drinking very black and very hot tea with the much adorned captain,
+and at last by their being escorted, for all the world as if they were
+embarking on a long voyage, to a pair of staterooms on the second deck.
+
+For a time after the stateroom doors had been closed the surprised trio
+stood staring first at one another and then at their surroundings.
+
+The two staterooms were joined by a door. There were two berths in each
+stateroom. There were round portholes, no other windows.
+
+“That will be your stateroom, Rusty,” MacGregor opened the door to the
+one beyond. “Keep your outside door locked.
+
+“One thing more,” hesitatingly he produced a pair of scissors, “I always
+carry them,” he explained. “A man doesn’t live everywhere as I have done,
+not in Alaska, without learning to cut hair. I’m a fair hand at it.
+Rusty, me child, those rusty red locks of yours have got to come off.”
+
+Without a word the girl dropped to a stool beside the berth.
+
+“Johnny,” said MacGregor, “I suggest that you step outside and stand
+guard. Don’t leave the door, not more than three steps. If anyone comes
+near, make some noise on the door.”
+
+“Right,” said Johnny.
+
+“Rusty,” said MacGregor, “do you ever box?”
+
+“Oh yes, often.” The girl’s face flushed. “Often. Daddy and I box by the
+hour.” She gave Johnny a strange, fleeting look.
+
+“Good!” MacGregor exclaimed low. “Tonight we’ll have an exhibition match,
+just you and Johnny. Two boys showing these Orientals how to play.
+
+“And now,” he nodded his head toward the door.
+
+Johnny opened it ever so softly, peered through the crack, and was gone.
+
+At the same moment the old man lifted the shabby sou’wester from the mass
+of lovely hair, blew on his scissors, heaved a heavy sigh, then slashed
+with apparent ruthlessness at a great handful of perfectly natural,
+copper-colored curls.
+
+A half hour later the door opened a crack.
+
+Taking the cue, Johnny stepped inside. He stopped short when he looked at
+Rusty.
+
+It was with the greatest difficulty that he suppressed a smile at what he
+saw. The sou’wester was no longer needed. Good old MacGregor had done his
+work well. Rusty’s hair looked like a real boy’s.
+
+“What a grand boy!” Johnny thought. And after that, “What a perfect brick
+of a girl she is!”
+
+“Mac,” he said a moment later, “there are twenty thousand fine big red
+salmon up forward. I stepped around a hatchway far enough to see.”
+
+“Twenty thousand,” the old man murmured. “Our boys get fourteen cents
+apiece just for catchin’ ’em. Twenty-eight hundred dollars. A grand
+livin’ for two happy families. And that’s the first haul. There’ll be
+many another unless someone stops ’em.
+
+“And we won’t stop ’em,” he added with a touch of sadness. “Not just yet.
+But you wait!” he sprang to his feet. “We’ll get a break yet.”
+
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER XVIII
+                        FIVE ROUNDS AND A FRIEND
+
+
+It may seem a little strange that MacGregor and his young companions
+accepted the whole situation so calmly. Yet the old man had lived long
+and in many places. He was wise in the ways of the world. He realized
+that they had already seen too much to be released at once. How long
+would they be detained? To this question he could form no answer. Perhaps
+until the end of the legal fishing season, twenty or more days away.
+Perhaps longer. They might even be taken to the Orient. After that some
+fantastic story might be told of their being picked up adrift on the high
+seas.
+
+Johnny was thinking along these same lines. But he, unlike MacGregor, was
+already laying plans for escape. For the present, however, he was willing
+to bide his time.
+
+Dinner was brought to them by a smiling little brown man. It was not a
+bad meal, as meals go on the sea—boiled rice, baked salmon and tea.
+
+When it was over, MacGregor slipped out into the gathering night. While
+he was gone not a word was spoken. Johnny was busy with his own thoughts.
+So, he supposed, was the girl who now looked so very much like a boy.
+
+He was thinking, “I wonder if there were shadows passing us in the fog.
+Or did we imagine them?” Certainly he had seen nothing resembling a
+shadow here. And this girl. Would she forgive him? Well enough he knew
+that in trying times such as these people were either drawn closer
+together or driven farther apart. He could only wait and see.
+
+“There’s hope in the airplane that young Dan MacMillan is bringing up,”
+he thought with fresh courage. “If only he’d arrive and fly over this
+ship we’d manage somehow to signal him and then the whole navy would be
+on this old freighter’s heels.”
+
+He was thinking now of something told to him in secret by Red McGee. He
+had been speaking of the cannery. It had been built by old Chad
+MacMillan. A crusty, honest, fair-dealing man, he had managed it for many
+years.
+
+“Then he died,” Red had gone on, “and young Dan MacMillan, just out of
+university and full of big ideas, inherited it. This winter I suggested
+that he hire a seaplane to go out scouting for these Oriental robbers.
+
+“‘It’s a fine idea,’ he said to me. ‘A grand idea. I’ll buy a seaplane
+and learn to pilot it. You’ll be seeing me up there scouting around as
+soon as the salmon season opens.’
+
+“That’s what he said to me,” Red McGee had drawn in a deep breath. “These
+wild young millionaires! What can you expect? He’s not here now and like
+as not won’t show up at all.”
+
+“What can you expect?” Johnny was thinking over his words now. “If only
+Dan MacMillan showed up over this old craft all these little brown men
+would be scared out of their skins.”
+
+But would he come? He dared not so much as hope.
+
+He wondered about Lawrence and Blackie. He suffered a pang because of
+Lawrence. What a shame that he had dragged the boy up here! He would be
+far better off in Matanuska valley planting turnips and potatoes, hunting
+wild geese, and, perhaps, catching a glacier bear way back in the
+mountains.
+
+But here was MacGregor. And he carried in his hands, of all things, two
+pairs of boxing gloves. Johnny had wondered where they were to come from,
+but now here they were.
+
+“These little brown boys go in strong for boxing,” the old man explained.
+
+“I told them,” continued MacGregor, “that you were one of America’s most
+promising young boxers, but a little out of training.”
+
+“Quite a little,” Johnny agreed.
+
+“I said you and your boy pal would put on an exhibition match on deck
+tonight.”
+
+Rusty shot him a look, but said never a word.
+
+“I hope you understand,” the old man said soberly, “that I am asking you
+to do this for your own good.” He was talking to Rusty.
+
+She bowed gravely. Then, of a sudden, her face brightened. “I hope they
+take us lightly,” she said. “That may give us a chance to escape.”
+
+“That’s what it will,” MacGregor agreed. “And this boxin’ stunt is just
+the thing to put them off their guard.”
+
+A half hour later, beneath a brilliant electric light, with a circle of
+dark faces about them, Johnny and Rusty shook hands for the first time in
+their lives, then drew on the gloves.
+
+Johnny had boxed strange people in many an out-of-the-way place. Never
+before had he boxed with a girl. He was not sure he was going to like it
+now. But with MacGregor as manager of the strange affair, there was no
+turning back.
+
+It _was_ strange, there was no getting around that. A swaying light, a
+host of sober, brown faces, the gray fog hanging over all, made it seem
+fantastic indeed.
+
+There were to be five short rounds with MacGregor keeping time.
+
+At the very beginning, Johnny discovered that his opponent was fast and
+skillful. Having no sons, Red McGee had taken it upon himself to train
+his daughter in the manly art of boxing. Life on the bleak Alaskan shore
+was often dull. The girl had welcomed each new lesson. And now Johnny was
+discovering that her punches that from time to time reached his cheek or
+chin, were far from love pats. They really stung, nor, try as he would,
+could he entirely escape them.
+
+“She’s taking it out on me because of her father,” he thought grimly.
+“Well, I can take it.”
+
+What did the audience think of this affair? Who could tell? They watched
+in silence. Once when Rusty was tossed into their midst they helped her
+to her feet and pushed her into place. Their movements were so gentle,
+the flitting smiles about their lips so friendly, that, for the moment,
+the girl forgot her role and said, “Thank you.”
+
+The rounds passed speedily. When the fourth and last was up, Johnny said
+in a whisper, “Come on, Rusty, let’s make this one snappy. Give them a
+real show.”
+
+Snappy it was. From the moment MacGregor gave them the signal they
+whipped into it with a wild swinging of gloves. Rusty’s footwork was
+perfect. Johnny found himself admiring the manner in which, hornet-like,
+she leaped at him for a sharp, stinging blow, then faded away.
+
+Perhaps he was admiring her too much. However that might be, in the last
+thirty seconds of the bout he stepped into something. Trying for a bit of
+reprisal in the way of a tap on her chin, he left an opening far too
+wide. Rusty’s eyes opened wide, her stout right arm shot out and up. It
+took Johnny squarely under the chin and, “believe it or not,” he went
+down and out like a match.
+
+He was not out long, perhaps eight seconds. When at last his stubborn
+eyelids opened he found himself looking at a circle of grinning brown men
+and at Rusty who stood staring at him, but not smiling at all.
+
+“Well,” he laughed, “that must square the McGee’s with Johnny Thompson.”
+
+“John—Johnny, please!” she cried. “I didn’t mean to. I truly didn’t.”
+
+“All right.” Johnny sprang to his feet. “Shake on it. Let’s always be
+friends.”
+
+The girl made no response. There was no need. She did clasp his hand in a
+grip that was friendly and strong.
+
+A half hour later they were having one more cup of tea in their
+staterooms and Johnny was thinking, “Life surely is strange. I wonder how
+this affair will end.”
+
+Before he fell asleep he went over it all again. Blackie and Lawrence,
+the silent, moving shadow, the hard-working men on shore, the airplane
+that might come. When he was too far gone in sleep to think clearly he
+fancied that he felt the ship’s propeller vibrating, that the ship was on
+the move. He was not sure. After all, what did it matter? There was
+nothing he could do about it. And so, he fell fast asleep.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER XIX
+                             ORDERED BELOW
+
+
+Back in the trapper’s cabin Blackie was in a rage. He stormed at the
+Orientals, at MacGregor, then at himself. From time to time he rushed out
+on the small dock in a vain attempt to pierce the thick fog and to listen
+with all his ears.
+
+“The robbers have got them,” he muttered. “I should have known. That
+shadow! It’s done for them and for the _Stormy Petrel_.”
+
+As night came on he settled down to sober thinking. “There’s a fishing
+skiff out there by the dock,” he said to Lawrence. “We’ll have to put it
+in the water and make a try for the mainland. This cabin is on an island.
+Mainland must be thirty miles away. We’ll make it. We’ll find some sort
+of power boat. And then, by thunder! Things will get to popping!”
+
+Lawrence, too, was disturbed in his own quiet way. He knew a great deal
+about Johnny. Many a time Johnny had been in a tight spot. Always,
+somehow, he had come out safely. MacGregor was old and wise. And, after
+all, this was not a time of war. Why need one worry too much?
+
+There were a number of tattered books on the shelf in the corner.
+Evidently this trapper was something of a naturalist, for five of these
+were about animals and birds. In browsing through these, the boy made a
+real find, a picture of a glacier bear, a brief description, and the
+history of the animal as far as known.
+
+It was with the feelings of a real discoverer that he read those words
+over and over. When he had finished he said to himself, “If ever I see
+one of those bears I’ll know him.”
+
+But would he? At the present moment those bears seemed as far away as the
+moon. And yet, who could tell?
+
+At dawn next morning the three of them, George, the cook, Blackie and
+Lawrence, carried their few supplies down to the dock, tacked a note on
+the door, climbed into the broad, clumsy skiff and rowed into the fog.
+
+“We’ll follow the shore as far as we can,” said Blackie. “We’ll have to
+cross a broad stretch of open water, but I think I can manage that with
+my pocket compass.”
+
+When at last Lawrence saw even the small island disappear from sight, he
+regretted the circumstances that appeared to make it necessary to leave
+that comfortable retreat.
+
+
+When Johnny and his friends came on board that same morning, they found
+the fog still with them, but it was thinner. There was a suggestion of a
+breeze in the air.
+
+“Going to clear,” was MacGregor’s prophecy. This, they were soon to
+discover, did not concern them too much, at least not in the immediate
+future.
+
+When they had eaten a strange mixture of rice and meat and had gulped
+down some very bitter coffee, a little man with neither gold nor braid on
+his uniform came up to them, saluted in a careless manner and said
+simply, “Come.”
+
+They followed him from one deck to another until they found themselves in
+a vast place of steam and evil smells.
+
+When their eyes had become accustomed to the light and steam, they saw
+long rows of men toiling and sweating over apparently endless tables.
+Before the tables, on a conveyor, thousands of large salmon moved slowly
+forward.
+
+“No iron coolie here,” Johnny chuckled. “Everything is done by hand.
+Heads off, tails, fins, all with big knives.”
+
+“Please,” said the little man. He was holding out a long, thin, oilskin
+coat. Understanding his wish, Johnny put it on. Still wondering, he
+watched MacGregor and the girl follow his example.
+
+“Please,” said the little man again. “A thousand apologies.” He was
+holding out three long, sharp knives, at the same time pointing with his
+other hand at a break in the solid line of salmon workers.
+
+“Why, the dirty little shrimp!” Johnny exploded. “He wants us to go to
+work.”
+
+“Steady, son,” MacGregor warned. “They understand English. I fancy there
+are worse places than this on the ship. We have no choice but to obey.”
+
+Johnny muttered, but dropped into place to slash off a large salmon’s
+head.
+
+He had worked in a rebellious humor for a quarter of an hour when, on
+looking up, he discovered that Rusty was performing the most disagreeable
+task in the salmon line. She was cleaning the fish. Shoving past
+MacGregor, he turned her half about as he muttered low, “You take my
+place.”
+
+To his great astonishment, he felt the girl whirl back to her place, give
+him a hard push, then saw her resume her work.
+
+For a space of seconds he stood there stunned. Then he laughed low. The
+girl was wise, much wiser than he had known. She was supposed to be a
+boy. Boys were not gallant to one another. She would play the part to the
+bitter end. Johnny returned to his task.
+
+“Mac,” he was able to whisper at last, “why would they do this to us?”
+
+“You answer,” was the old man’s reply. “Sh-sh—” he warned. “Here comes a
+big shot, one of the monkeys with gold buttons.”
+
+As he passed the “big shot” smiled suavely at them, but said never a
+word.
+
+
+
+
+                               CHAPTER XX
+                          A BATTLE IN THE DARK
+
+
+Even at lunch time the toiling trio, Rusty, Johnny and MacGregor, were
+not invited to have their lunch on deck. Instead, they were served, like
+the coolie with whom they toiled, with great bowls of some mixture that
+looked like soup.
+
+“Hm,” MacGregor sighed, “fish chowder. And not bad.”
+
+Rusty’s eyes shone. “What a lark!” She laughed outright. “I only wish we
+had a camera. My crowd down in Seattle won’t believe me.”
+
+Johnny looked at her in surprise and admiration. “Here’s one girl with a
+spirit that can’t be broken,” he thought.
+
+“Reminds me of a time I was on the Big Diomede Island on Bering Straits,”
+said MacGregor with a rumble of merriment. “We were cutting up a big
+walrus. I saw an old woman working over the stomach of that walrus. Know
+what the walrus lives on?” he demanded.
+
+“Clams,” said Johnny.
+
+“Right. Bright boy,” said MacGregor. “The thing that had happened was
+this. The walrus had been down to the bottom. He’d ripped up the sand at
+the bottom of the sea. He’d cracked a lot of clams and had swallowed ’em.
+He hadn’t digested ’em yet when we shot ’im. Know what that Eskimo woman
+was doing?”
+
+“Can’t guess.”
+
+“She had a white pan and was savin’ the clams from the walrus’ stomach.
+And that night,” there came a low rumble from deep down in MacGregor’s
+throat, “that night we had seal steak and clam chowder for supper. An’ I
+took seal steak.”
+
+“O-oh,” Johnny breathed.
+
+“Mr. MacGregor,” Rusty said with a gurgle, “you wouldn’t spoil anyone’s
+dinner, would you?”
+
+“Not for the world,” was the old man’s solemn avowal.
+
+“Listen,” MacGregor held up a hand. “I hear an electric generator going.
+It’s on this deck. I wonder why? I’m going for a little walk.”
+
+“They’ll chase you back.”
+
+“That’s all they can do.” He was away.
+
+“The ship’s beginning to sway a little,” Johnny said. “Shouldn’t wonder
+if we’d get a storm.” The girl could not suppress an involuntary shudder.
+
+“Johnny,” she leaned close to speak almost in a whisper. “When we used
+coolie labor I learned to talk with them a little. I’ve been talking to
+the coolie who cuts off fish’s heads next to me. He says they expect to
+have a boatload of fish in a week or ten days. Then they’ll go back to
+the Orient.”
+
+“And if we go with them?” Johnny breathed.
+
+“I’ve seen pictures of the Orient.” The girl’s eyes were closed. “It’s
+gorgeous. It truly must be.”
+
+“Do you think we’d get to see anything?”
+
+“Why not?” the girl laughed low. “It’s all there to see. At least they
+can’t keep us from dreaming.”
+
+“No, they surely cannot.” At that Johnny did some very choice dreaming,
+all his own.
+
+He was wakened from these dreams by the return of MacGregor. “It’s the
+strangest thing!” he exclaimed. “I got a look into that place. There’s a
+huge generator an’ it’s chargin’ batteries.”
+
+“Batteries!” Johnny exclaimed in surprise.
+
+“Sure! Banks and banks of large batteries.”
+
+“When submarines go under water,” Johnny spoke slowly, “they use
+batteries for power. What do you think?”
+
+“I don’t think,” said MacGregor. “Anyway, here’s our little boss. He
+wants us to resume our duties as first-class cleaners of sock-eyed
+salmon.”
+
+As the day wore on Johnny watched Rusty ever more closely. The heavy,
+unpleasant work, together with the ever-increasing roll of the ship, was
+telling. He was not surprised that, after the day was over and they were
+allowed to go to the upper deck, she took his arm to lean on it heavily.
+
+“Johnny, I won’t give up. Please help me not to give up.”
+
+Johnny looked down at her with a reassuring smile.
+
+As they stepped on deck they found themselves looking at a new world.
+Gone was the fog. In its place was racing blue waters, flecked with foam.
+
+“A storm!” the girl shuddered.
+
+“Just too dark to see land,” Johnny groaned. “If it wasn’t, we might get
+our location and then—”
+
+“Then what?” she whispered.
+
+“I have some plans. We—”
+
+“Sh—an officer!” she warned.
+
+At the evening meal Rusty ate hard, dry crackers and drank scalding tea.
+She was still putting up a brave struggle against being sea-sick.
+
+When darkness came they went below. Rusty retired at once. Johnny threw
+himself, all dressed, upon his berth, but did not sleep.
+
+An hour later a shadowy figure passed him. It was Rusty. She was carrying
+blankets. Without a sound, he followed her. Arrived on deck, he saw her
+at the rail. Understanding, he dropped down upon a wooden bench.
+
+After what seemed a long time, she turned and saw him. Swaying as she
+walked, she came toward him to drop down at his side. She did not say, “I
+am so sick!” She was too game for that and there was no need. He wrapped
+her in the blankets. Then they sat there in silence.
+
+The wind was rising steadily. It went whistling through the rigging.
+Ropes banged and yard-arms swayed. A shadow shot past them, a watch on
+duty. Lights shone on the blue-black sea. It was a truly wild night.
+
+Of a sudden a form stood before them. Clutching a steel cable, it clung
+there.
+
+“Thousand pardons,” it hissed. “Cannot stay here. It is forbidden.”
+
+“My friend is sick. We stay.” Johnny felt his anger rising.
+
+“Thousand pardons,” came once more. “Cannot stay.”
+
+“Million pardons,” Johnny half rose. “We stay.”
+
+A hand reached out. It touched Rusty’s shoulder. That was enough. Johnny
+leaped at the man. They went down in a heap. A second more and Johnny
+felt a steel clamp about his neck, or so it seemed.
+
+“Jujitsu,” he thought in sudden consternation. Throwing all his strength
+into an effort to break the man’s grip, he failed. Coughing, trying to
+breathe, failing, strangling, he felt his strength going when, of a
+sudden, he caught the sound of a blow, then felt the hated arm relax. Ten
+seconds more and he was free.
+
+“You—you hit him,” he managed to breathe. “Is he dead?”
+
+“No—no. Watch out!” the girl warned.
+
+Just in time Johnny caught the man. This time, gripping him by collar and
+trousers, he dragged him from the floor. And then, screaming like some
+wild thing, the brown man found himself hanging out over an angry sea.
+
+“Johnny, don’t!” The girl’s hand was on his arm.
+
+“Oh, all—all right.”
+
+Swinging the brown man in, he dropped him on the deck. Like a scared
+rabbit, the intruder went racing off on all fours.
+
+“Now I’ve done it,” Johnny groaned as he dropped back in his place.
+
+“Perhaps,” said Rusty. “Still, you can’t tell.”
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER XXI
+                             WALL OF GLASS
+
+
+Rusty was not the only one disturbed by this storm. At the very moment
+when Johnny was at grips with the Oriental on the ship’s deck, Lawrence,
+Blackie and George were battling for their very lives.
+
+What had happened? The distance from the trapper’s cabin to shore was,
+they had discovered, far greater than they had supposed. When at last the
+fog cleared they found themselves far from any shore on a black and
+threatening sea.
+
+“Might as well keep headed for the mainland,” was Blackie’s decision.
+
+Head for the mainland they did. After that, for hours, with the storm
+ever increasing in intensity, they rowed as never before.
+
+The clumsy oars were rough and hard to manage. Lawrence’s hands were soon
+blistered. Tearing strips from his shirt, he bound them up and rowed on.
+
+Fortune favored them in one thing. They were going with the wind. Had
+they been forced to face into the storm, their boat would have been
+swamped at once. As it was, just as darkness began to fall the skiff
+began to fill.
+
+“Lawrence, you start bailing,” Blackie commanded. “George and I will
+row.”
+
+“Ya-as, sir, we’ll row. Don’t nebber doubt dat,” George agreed. Then he
+began to sing,
+
+  “Roll, Jordan, roll.
+  Oh! Oh! Oh! I want to go dere
+  To hear old Jordan roll.”
+
+Lawrence thought with a shudder that he might be there to hear Jordan
+roll before day dawned.
+
+By constant bailing he was able to keep the skiff from swamping. So,
+chilled to the bone, hoping against hope, he labored on.
+
+When at last they found themselves near to some shore, his heart failed
+him.
+
+“Towering rocks,” he groaned.
+
+“There’s a break in those rocks,” said Blackie. “I saw it before dark.
+We’ll follow along and here’s hoping.” Once more he put his stout
+shoulders to the oars.
+
+A half hour passed, an hour, two hours. Numb with cold and ready to drop
+from exhaustion, Lawrence wondered if Blackie could have been wrong. Was
+there a break in that wall? And then—he saw it.
+
+“There!” he exclaimed. “There it is. Straight ahead!”
+
+He dared not add that it seemed a strange break. Not very deep, it
+appeared to give off an odd sort of glimmer at its back.
+
+Just as they were ready to enter the gap, a great cloud went over the
+moon and all was black.
+
+Steering more from instinct than sight, they rowed on. To Lawrence, at
+that moment, the suspense was all but overpowering. Where were they
+going? Could they find a landing? What was the end to be?
+
+One thing was encouraging, the waves in this place were not so wild. They
+no longer dashed into the boat. So with darkness hanging over them they
+rowed, for what seemed an endless time, but could have been only a few
+moments, straight on into the unknown.
+
+And then. “Man! Oh, man! What was that?” The boat had crashed into an
+invisible wall.
+
+Lawrence put out a hand. “Glass!” he exclaimed. “A wall of glass.”
+
+“Not glass, son,” Blackie’s voice was low. “A wall of ice. The end of a
+glacier. This is a spot where icebergs break off. If one of them had been
+jarred loose by the bang of our boat—and if they had been sent tumbling
+by the sound of a voice—man! Oh, man! We would be lost for good and all.”
+
+“Blackie, look!” Lawrence spoke in a hoarse whisper. “A light.”
+
+“It’s a star,” said Blackie.
+
+“A light,” Lawrence insisted.
+
+“Yas, man! A light,” George agreed.
+
+Just then the moon came out, revealing a sloping mountain side. And,
+close to a shelving beach was a cabin. The light shone from that cabin.
+
+“Oh! Oh! Lord be praised!” George whispered fervently.
+
+Ten minutes later, as they drew their boat up on the beach, the cabin
+door was thrown open and a man, holding a candle close to his face,
+peered into the darkness to call, “You all come right on up, whoever you
+all are.”
+
+“That,” said Lawrence in a surprised whisper, “is Smokey Joe.”
+
+“Smokey Joe, you old bear-cat!” Blackie shouted.
+
+The grizzled prospector let out a dry cackle. “Come on up an’ rest
+yerself,” he welcomed. “I got a Mulligan on a-cookin’.”
+
+At first Lawrence found it hard to believe that this was really Smokey
+Joe. “How,” he asked himself, “could he come all this way?” As he studied
+a faded map on the deserted cabin’s wall, however, he realized that the
+distance overland was short compared to the way they had traveled by
+water.
+
+Joe’s Mulligan stew proved a rich repast. He had killed a young caribou
+two days before. There had been bacon and hardtack in his kit. Besides
+these, he had found dried beans and seasoning in the cabin.
+
+“Yep,” he agreed, as Blackie complimented him after the meal was over,
+“hit’s plum grand livin’ when you sort of git the breaks.
+
+“An’ listen,” his voice dropped. “Hit’s plumb quare how things git to a
+comin’ yer way. Yesterday I found gold. Struck hit rich, you might say.”
+From a moose-hide sack he tumbled a handful of nuggets.
+
+“Gold!” Blackie exclaimed.
+
+“Yup. Hit’s might nigh pure gold,” the old man agreed. “Nuther thing
+that’s plumb quare. Hit’s nigh onto that little blue bear’s den.”
+
+“What?” Lawrence started up. “A blue bear! A—a glacier bear?”
+
+“Reckon you might call ’em that,” the old man agreed.
+
+“He’s been a-stayin’ in a sort of cave up thar fer a right smart spell.”
+
+“How—how far is it?” Lawrence asked almost in a whisper.
+
+“Hit—I reckon hit’s—” the old man studied for a moment. “Why, hit’s right
+about three peaks, a look an’ a right smart.”
+
+“What does that mean?” Blackie asked in a surprised tone.
+
+“Wall, you jest climb one of them thar least mounting peaks,” the old man
+explained. “Then another, an’ another.”
+
+“Three peaks,” said Blackie.
+
+“Fer startin’,” said Smokey Joe. “Arter that you take a look an’ hit’s a
+right smart furder than you can see.”
+
+“Perhaps about ten miles,” suggested Blackie after they had had a good
+laugh, which Smokey Joe took good-naturedly.
+
+“Near on to that,” the old man agreed.
+
+Long after the old man had rolled himself in his blankets and fallen
+asleep Lawrence and Blackie sat beside the cracked stove talking.
+
+“Blackie,” Lawrence said in a husky voice, “that little blue bear is
+worth a lot of money. The Professor told us he’d trade us a tractor for
+one. They’re rare, about the rarest animals on earth. There’s not one in
+captivity anywhere.”
+
+“That won’t help much,” Blackie grumbled. “If this wind goes down, we’ve
+got to get out of here at dawn. Something’s happened to Johnny and
+MacGregor. We’ve got to look for them.”
+
+“Yes,” Lawrence agreed. “But if the wind doesn’t go down?”
+
+“We’ll have to stay here,” said Blackie. “And,” with a low chuckle, “we
+might go ‘three peaks, a look and a right smart’ looking for your
+blue-eyed bear.”
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER XXII
+                                 DREAMS
+
+
+“Johnny,” Rusty’s voice was low, husky with strangely mingled emotions,
+“when we are back at the cottage, I’ll make a big pan of ice-box cookies.
+We’ll take them with a big bottle of hot cocoa. We’ll go out on a sunny
+rock and have a feast.” They were still on the deck of the rolling ship
+and it was still night.
+
+Rusty’s voice rose. “And such sunshine! Nowhere in the world is it so
+glorious.”
+
+“All right,” Johnny agreed. “Ice-box cookies, hot chocolate and sunshine.
+That will be keen.”
+
+“Dreams,” he was thinking. “How often when things are hard, very hard, we
+dream.” As he closed his eyes now he could see dead salmon in endless
+rows. He could hear the monotonous drone of brown men and the endless
+wash-wash of the sea. “How grand at times to dream of other things far
+away!” he said. “And what a joy to know of other places where we have
+been gloriously happy.”
+
+“Yes,” she agreed, “that is wonderful. And Johnny,” she went on, “we have
+a home in Seattle, father and I. It is small, but, oh, so beautiful!
+Climbing roses and pine trees. There’s a lake before it. There is a
+dancing pavilion not far away where the boys and girls I know best come.
+There they swing and sway to bewitching waltz time. _Over the Waves_,
+_Blue Danube_ and all the rest. Johnny, will you come sometime and join
+us there?” Her voice seemed dreamy and far away.
+
+“Yes,” said Johnny. “Some day I’ll come.”
+
+“But first,” he thought savagely, “I’ll see this infernal boat at the
+bottom of the sea.”
+
+For a time after that they were silent. Once again they heard the beating
+of ropes against spars, the wail of the wind and the dash of spray on the
+deck. How was all this to end?
+
+“Rusty,” Johnny said, “I would like to leave you for a while.”
+
+“Why?”
+
+“There’s something I want to do. You know,” he leaned close, speaking in
+a hoarse whisper, “there’s a hole in the gas tank of your boat.”
+
+“Yes, but—”
+
+“We may get a break. Your boat was put on deck after two others. That
+means they’ll have to put her in the water before taking the others off.
+If there was gas in her tank we might slip down to her and get away.”
+
+“But the gas, Johnny?”
+
+“There are two large cans in another boat. I saw them. I—I’m going to
+plug up that hole in your tank, then try to fill it from the cans.”
+
+“They—they may catch you.” Her voice trembled.
+
+“I’ll take a chance.” He rose without a sound. “I’m off. If I don’t come
+back, tell good old MacGregor.”
+
+“I—I’ll tell him.” Her whisper was lost in the wind. He was gone.
+
+Creeping along the swaying deck, dodging behind a lifeboat when the watch
+appeared, scooting forward, then pausing to listen, he at last reached
+the side of the _Krazy Kat_.
+
+After securing the cans of gasoline, he lifted them to the deck of
+Rusty’s small boat. Then, with a deft swing, he threw himself after the
+cans. The deck was wet with fog. Slipping, he went down in a heap, but
+made no sound.
+
+Feeling about in the dark, he found the tank and the leak. A sharpened
+splinter of wood stopped the hole.
+
+“Now the gas,” he whispered. This he knew would be most dangerous of all.
+Cans have a way of gurgling and popping in an alarming manner. The
+gurgle, he concluded, would not matter. It would not be heard above the
+roar of the wind and the wash of the sea. But the tinny bangs? Ah, well,
+he’d have to risk it.
+
+When one can was emptied into the _Krazy Kat’s_ tank, he heaved a sigh of
+relief. The second was half-emptied when he caught the sound of
+footsteps.
+
+“The watch!” Consternation seized him. Flattening himself on the deck, he
+clung to the still gurgling can.
+
+The sound of footsteps ceased. His heart pounded. Was he caught? Seconds
+seemed minutes. If the can popped he was lost. Ten seconds, twenty,
+thirty—again the footsteps. Then they grew indistinct in the distance.
+
+“Ah,” the boy breathed.
+
+Just then the all but empty can gave forth a loud bang!
+
+Johnny jumped, then lay flat, listening with all his ears. For at least
+two full minutes he remained there motionless. The watch did not return.
+
+With great care he lifted the empty cans from the deck of the _Krazy Kat_
+to toss them into the foaming sea. Then, stealthily as before, he made
+his way back to Rusty’s side.
+
+“I—I did it,” he shrilled. “Now for a good break and we’re away.”
+
+“Here—here’s hoping.” She drew her hand from beneath the blankets to grip
+his own.
+
+“MacGregor, what do you think they’ll do to me?” Johnny asked an hour
+later. The storm had partially subsided. Rusty was feeling better. They
+were back in their staterooms. Johnny had told the old man of the night’s
+adventure.
+
+“It’s my opinion,” said MacGregor, “that you’ll be shot at sunrise.”
+
+“That won’t be so bad,” said Johnny, joining in the joke.
+
+“Not half-bad,” MacGregor agreed. “I mind an Eskimo we shot up there in
+the far north. He’d killed a white man. The revenue cutter came along an’
+the judge tried him.
+
+“When the judge’s decision had been arrived at, they told this Eskimo to
+stand up.
+
+“Well, sir, he stood there stiff an’ straight as any soldier. He was sure
+he had been condemned to die and that he was to be shot. They’re a sturdy
+lot, those Eskimos.
+
+“Well,” MacGregor paused to laugh. “They set a thing up an’ aimed it at
+the Eskimo. Something clicked. The Eskimo blinked. But nothin’ else
+happened.
+
+“The white men folded things up and left. But the Eskimo still stood
+there, not knowin’, I suppose, whether he was dead or alive.
+
+“Know what happened?” he concluded. “He’d been found innocent and they
+had taken his picture.
+
+“For all I know,” he added, “he’s livin’ still an’ so’ll you be, me boy,
+forty years from today.
+
+“What can they do?” he demanded. “They don’t dare harm us.”
+
+“I wouldn’t trust them too far,” said Johnny.
+
+“Nor I,” Rusty agreed.
+
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER XXIII
+                        IN THE BLUE BEAR’S CAVE
+
+
+It was with a feeling of great uneasiness that Johnny came on deck next
+morning. What was to happen? Had that little brown man told the story of
+their struggle in the night? And if he had? He shuddered.
+
+Yet, strange to say, the day wore on in perfect peace. They were not even
+asked to go below and clean fish. The reason for this was apparent, the
+fish on deck had been taken care of. Since the storm was still roaring
+across the sea, no others could be brought in. During the forenoon two
+small, motor-driven crafts came close to stand by.
+
+“They belong to this outfit,” MacGregor declared. “They may have salmon
+below-deck. They’re afraid of the storm. That’s why they don’t come in.
+
+“Ah, well,” he sighed. “We’re here for the day at least. Even if your
+_Krazy Kat_ was in the water, Rusty, we couldn’t risk her in a storm like
+this.”
+
+“These Orientals are a queer lot,” Johnny mused.
+
+“Queer’s no name for it, me boy,” said MacGregor. “As for me, I don’t
+trust ’em. They’re like children, just when they’re makin’ the least
+noise is when you’re sure they’re up to some mischief.”
+
+Was this true? Johnny shuddered anew, but said never a word.
+
+They discovered during their lunch in their stateroom at noon that there
+was something vaguely familiar about the brown boy who brought the lunch.
+Johnny stared at him. But Rusty exclaimed in a whisper, “Kopkina! You
+here?”
+
+The boy made a motion for silence. “I am spy,” he whispered. “Red McGee
+good man. Me, I, Red McGee man.
+
+“You listen,” his voice dropped to a whisper. “I tell ’em, that one
+captain this ship, tell ’em you Red McGee boy.” He nodded to Rusty. “Tell
+’em Red McGee mebby plenty mad. Plenty ’fraid Red McGee. They not punish
+you for fight on deck last night. Must go now.” He disappeared through
+the door.
+
+“Boy!” Johnny breathed. “I’m feeling better already.”
+
+Two hours later they had added cause for feeling better. Just when the
+sea was beginning to calm a little they caught the drum of a motor. As
+Johnny heard it his heart stood still, then leaped.
+
+“A motor,” he breathed. “That’s a powerful motor. If only it’s Dan
+MacMillan and his seaplane.”
+
+“It is! It is!” Rusty’s voice rose to a high pitch. “There! There it is.
+See!”
+
+Johnny did see. He pointed it out to MacGregor. They all leaned on the
+rail watching the seaplane approach.
+
+“If it’s only Dan,” MacGregor breathed.
+
+There came the sound of rushing feet. Apparently every little brown man
+on the boat had heard those motors. They came swarming onto the deck.
+
+“If it’s Dan MacMillan,” said MacGregor, “there’s sure to be someone with
+him.”
+
+“They’ll be looking for us,” said Rusty.
+
+“Yes, and we’ll have to find a way to let them know we’re here,” Johnny
+added.
+
+“That,” said MacGregor, “is going to be hard, with all these.” His glance
+swept the brown throng.
+
+“Tell you what!” Johnny exclaimed. “Rusty and I might do a little boxing
+bout. There’s sure to be someone on the plane who knows us.”
+
+“And they’ll recognize you by your actions,” MacGregor agreed. “It’s a
+capital idea. I’ll go for the gloves.”
+
+And so it happened that, as the seaplane flew over the ship, circled,
+then dipping low, passed within a hundred feet, those in it witnessed a
+strange sight—two white youngsters staging a boxing match for the benefit
+of a host of little brown men, who, truth to tell, gave them scant
+attention.
+
+“I only hope they recognized us,” said Johnny, throwing his gloves on the
+deck.
+
+“You and me too,” said Rusty. “Anyway,” she laughed, “that’s one time I
+didn’t knock you out.”
+
+Whatever impression this little drama may have made upon the occupants of
+the seaplane, the effect of the appearance of the seaplane on the little
+brown men was apparent at once. On every face as the seaplane went
+winging away MacGregor read consternation.
+
+“They’re afraid,” he grumbled low to his young companions. “Down deep in
+their hearts they are afraid.”
+
+“What will they do now?” Rusty asked anxiously.
+
+“They’re already doin’ it,” said MacGregor, calling attention to the rush
+and bustle on board. “Puttin’ the ship in shape. It wouldn’t surprise me
+if they weighed anchor within the hour. And if they do, me lassie,” he
+added, “you may be lookin’ on them Oriental cities within a week, for
+they’ll be headin’ straight for home.”
+
+“Oh-o,” Rusty breathed. But she said never a word.
+
+
+On that same morning in Smokey Joe’s cabin Lawrence was up before the wee
+small hours had passed. After one good look at the sea, which was still
+rolling high, he dashed back into the cabin to find Blackie staring at
+him wide awake.
+
+“Black-Blackie,” he stammered. “I—I hate to disturb you. But—but that
+blue bear—”
+
+“I know.” Blackie sat up. “Three peaks, a look and a right smart ho,
+hum.”
+
+“Blackie! It’s terribly important. Just think! A little blue bear. The
+only one in captivity, if we get him.”
+
+“I know.” Blackie slid out of his bunk. “Get the fire going. Put the
+coffee pot on. We’ll be off in a half hour.”
+
+“Oh, think—”
+
+“Put the coffee on!” Blackie roared.
+
+After tacking an old shirt to a pole as a signal of distress to any boat
+that might pass and instructing Smokey Joe to be on the lookout, Blackie
+drew a rough map, showing where, according to Smokey’s direction, the
+bear’s cave might be found. After that he led the way over the first
+“peak.”
+
+These peaks were, they discovered, mere ridges. The distance was, in
+reality, much shorter than they had thought.
+
+“This is the place,” Lawrence said, an hour and a half later. “It must
+be.”
+
+“It is,” Blackie agreed. “There are the two scrub spruce trees with
+Smokey’s blaze on them.”
+
+“And there’s the cave!” Lawrence was greatly excited.
+
+“Not much of a cave,” said Blackie. “Might be quite some bear at that.
+Wait.”
+
+With a small hatchet he hacked away at a dry spruce knot until he had a
+pitch-filled torch. This, with the aid of some dry shavings, he lighted.
+
+“Now,” he breathed. “Give me one of the ropes. We’ll have to manage to
+tangle him up somehow. I’ll lead the way.”
+
+“Al-all right,” Lawrence’s tongue was dry.
+
+The floor of the dark grotto was strewn with pebbles. To walk without
+making a noise was impossible.
+
+“Wait! Listen!” Lawrence whispered when they had covered some twenty
+paces.
+
+As they paused, they caught a low hissing sound.
+
+“Snakes,” the boy suggested.
+
+“Not here. Too cold. It’s the bear. Get your rope ready.”
+
+Slowly, cautiously they moved forward.
+
+“There! There are his eyes.” Two balls of fire appeared directly before
+them.
+
+And then things began to happen. A low snarl was followed by the sound of
+scattered pebbles. Blackie was hit by the rushing bear and bowled over
+like a ten pin. But Lawrence, quick as a cat, saw a hairy head, aimed a
+short swing and let go his rope.
+
+Next instant he was shouting: “Blackie! Quick! Help! I got him! I got
+him!”
+
+The husky little blue bear dragged them both to the very entrance of the
+cave. There, panting and tearing at the rope, he paused to glare at them.
+The rope was drawn tight about his shoulders with one foreleg through the
+loop.
+
+Blackie, who was both fast and strong, made quick work of what remained
+to be done. Fifteen minutes later, carrying the live bear slung between
+them on a pole, they headed for the cabin.
+
+To their great joy, as they neared the cabin, they saw one of Red McGee’s
+gill-net boats awaiting them in the little bay. Smokey Joe had flagged it
+down.
+
+After a hasty, “Thank you and goodbye” to Smokey, they tossed their
+priceless captive into the after cabin of the stout, little motor-boat to
+head straight away over a rolling sea toward still more adventure, of
+quite a different nature.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER XXIV
+                          OVERTAKING A SHADOW
+
+
+Once again it was night. The wind had gone down with the sun. The sea was
+calm. On board the Oriental ship there was a strained air of tense
+expectancy.
+
+“I can’t understand what’s keepin’ ’em here,” MacGregor said in a low
+tone to his young companions. “It’s plain that they’re scared stiff of
+that seaplane. Looks like they’d heave anchor and be away any minute. And
+if they do—” There was no need to finish. Both Johnny and Rusty knew that
+this would mean a trip to the Orient under circumstances stranger than
+any fiction.
+
+“They seem to be waiting for something,” said Johnny.
+
+This was true. All the little brown men not stationed at posts of duty
+were standing along the rail looking away toward the distant shores that
+were lost in the night.
+
+“They’ll be back,” MacGregor said, thinking of the men on the seaplane.
+“Looks like it’s a race against time. But what are they waiting for?”
+
+It was not long until they should know. As they stood there, nerves
+a-tingle, listening, a distant confusion of noises came to them.
+
+“If there were a war,” said MacGregor, “I’d say it was rifle and
+machine-gun fire.”
+
+This notion was too fantastic to be seriously considered. But what was
+it?
+
+Second by second the sound increased in volume. “Can this be what they’re
+looking for?” Johnny asked.
+
+If so, these little men welcomed it in a strange manner. Short, sharp
+commands were given. Scores of men went into frenzied action.
+
+“Look!” Rusty gripped Johnny’s arm. “They’re lowering my boat into the
+water.”
+
+“And it’s got gas in the tank. All ready to turn over and start. If
+only—”
+
+“That’s motors we’re hearin’,” MacGregor broke in. “A thunderin’ lot of
+’em! I shouldn’t wonder—”
+
+“MacGregor,” Rusty seized his arm, “our boat is in the water. They are
+all crowding the rail again. This may be our chance.”
+
+“So it may,” the old man agreed. “Follow me. Not a sound!”
+
+“I’ll get Kopkina,” offered Johnny. “I just saw him on deck.”
+
+Dodging behind a life-raft Rusty and MacGregor went scurrying along in
+the dark and Johnny and Kopkina soon joined them.
+
+“It—it’s just here,” Rusty whispered.
+
+“We—we need a rope ladder,” Johnny exclaimed low.
+
+“Here’s one,” came in MacGregor’s cheering voice. “Let her over easy
+now.”
+
+“Now,” he breathed. “Over you go.”
+
+The speed with which they went down that ladder, all but treading on one
+another’s fingers, would have done credit to the U. S. Navy.
+
+“Now I’ll cut her loose,” said MacGregor. “All right, Rusty, turn her
+over.”
+
+The fly-wheel whirled. The splendid motor began a low put-put-put. They
+were away into the dark.
+
+“They’d have trouble findin’ us,” MacGregor murmured.
+
+“But listen!” Johnny exclaimed.
+
+The sound of many motors had doubled and redoubled. Just as they were
+about to swing around the prow of the ship, something long, dark and
+silent shot past them.
+
+“The Shadow!” Johnny exclaimed.
+
+It was true, this was the Shadow. But at last the Shadow was not going to
+escape. After it thundered a powerful speedboat and as she shot past them
+the excited trio saw a burst of flames and caught the rat-tat-tat of a
+machine gun.
+
+This was followed instantly by a wild scream from the Shadow which
+sounded very much like a sign of surrender. At the same time the sea
+seemed fairly ablaze with lights from many boats.
+
+Johnny’s head was in a whirl. What was happening? Without knowing why she
+did it, Rusty seized him by the arm and held him tight while she
+screamed, “Johnny! It’s wonderful! Wonderful!”
+
+What had happened may be quickly told. When Blackie and his crew failed
+to return, and Rusty as well, there had been consternation about the
+cannery. There was little use searching Bristol Bay in a fog. When,
+however, Dan MacMillan appeared in his seaplane, they went into action.
+Red McGee climbed into the cockpit and they were away. They had circled
+for an hour when they sighted the Oriental ship.
+
+As they flew over it Red McGee experienced no difficulty in getting the
+unusual signals Johnny and Rusty had set up for him. He recognized the
+boxing forms of both Rusty and Johnny.
+
+Realizing that his daughter would be on board that ship only against her
+will, he went into a wild rage. He demanded that the seaplane be landed
+close to the ship and that he be allowed to “tackle the whole lot of ’em
+single-handed.”
+
+To this young MacMillan, would not consent; for, in the first place, the
+sea was too rough for a landing and in the second, he was not willing as
+he later expressed it, “To see a good man commit suicide by tackling a
+hundred Orientals single-handed.”
+
+He had flown back to their base. By the time they reached the cannery,
+Red had cooled off.
+
+“I want every last boat gassed up for an emergency run,” he commanded.
+“Any of you men that have guns, get ’em loaded and ready. There’s a
+couple o’ whale-guns up at my cabin. You, Pete and Dan, get ’em an’ see
+that they’re loaded. We’ll show ’em.”
+
+They were about ready for a start when Blackie and his men arrived on the
+scene.
+
+“Blackie,” Red exploded, “they’ve got Rusty and your boy, Johnny. They’re
+holdin’ ’em captive. Come on! We’ll start a war!”
+
+For once, Blackie did not say, “No.” After they had turned the small,
+blue bear loose in a sheet-metal tool-shed he climbed into Dan
+MacMillan’s speed boat, dragging Red and Lawrence with him, and they were
+away.
+
+It was this speedboat that had spied the Shadow. They had given it chase
+and had, as you have seen, at last, after sending a volley of machine-gun
+bullets across its bow, overhauled it.
+
+The Shadow was the very craft that had been awaited by the Oriental ship.
+Had it put in an appearance two hours sooner, the ship must surely have
+weighed anchor and our story might have been much longer. As it was, the
+Orientals were destined to wait a long, long time before lifting the
+Shadow on deck, if at all.
+
+While Johnny and Rusty looked and listened, the whole cannery fleet,
+every small deck bristling with guns, surrounded the ship.
+
+Having overhauled the Shadow, Blackie placed it in charge of another
+craft, then came gliding in alongside the _Krazy Kat_.
+
+“MacGregor,” he said in a husky voice, “tell me what happened.” MacGregor
+told him. Hardly had he finished when a small motor launch carrying three
+little brown officers arrived. The officers were fairly aglow with gold
+and braid.
+
+“A thousand pardons,” their leader began. He was allowed to go no
+farther.
+
+“Listen!” Blackie stood up. He was dressed in corduroy trousers and a
+leather jacket. His face was working strangely.
+
+“Listen,” he repeated. “No apologies, not a thousand, nor even one. I’ll
+do the talking.” His voice was low. “I know why you’re here. To catch our
+fish. You sank our boat. You have an hour to get your ship headed out of
+Bristol Bay. We’ll take that Shadow of yours with us. We caught her
+lifting nets inside the three-mile limit. That makes her a fair prize.
+
+“As to the sinking of the _Stormy Petrel_, I shall make a complete
+report. The matter shall be taken up by our diplomats.
+
+“I might add, for your further information, that a law is now before our
+Congress making Bristol Bay United States waters, open to our fishermen
+alone. It will pass. If you care to come back next year we will meet you
+with three destroyers.
+
+“And now, gentlemen,” he doffed a ragged cap, “I bid you good-night.”
+
+Clicking their heels, without a single apology, the officers saluted,
+then the power boat lost itself in the shadows.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER XXV
+                             “BILL” RETURNS
+
+
+“Rusty, my child,” said Red McGee, springing aboard the _Krazy Kat_ as
+soon as the Orientals were gone, “are you all right?”
+
+“Never better,” Rusty laughed. “And never half so excited. I—I’m all
+right,” she added, “except that I’ll have to grow a new crop of curls.”
+
+“Curls,” Red chuckled. “They’re not very necessary. Not even for a girl.
+
+“Going back with us in the speed boat?” he asked.
+
+“No-o, if you don’t mind,” she hesitated. “We’ve been together so long,
+the three of us, MacGregor, Johnny, and I, that I—I think we’d like to
+follow you back in the _Krazy Kat_.”
+
+“O.K.,” Red agreed. “Kopkina, suppose you come with me. I want to thank
+you for what you’ve done for us. Now let’s get going.”
+
+Already the Oriental ship that had never been welcome was slipping out
+into the night.
+
+On the way back Johnny and Rusty spent most of their time studying the
+stars and the moon. Just what they read there only they will ever know.
+
+The secret of the Shadow was found to be quite simple, as most secrets
+are. It was a long, low craft without deck, cabins, rails or riggings.
+Powered by large storage batteries, it was able to slip in close to
+shore, set a three-mile-long net at night and lift it in the morning. The
+fish were rushed to other motor-boats outside the three-mile zone and
+were then carried to the floating cannery.
+
+After installing a gasoline motor, Blackie used the Shadow for sea
+patrol. No demand for the return of the craft was made. Needless to say,
+the duties of Blackie, MacGregor, Johnny and Lawrence were exceedingly
+light for the remainder of the season.
+
+The small blue bear throve on fish-cleanings and other scraps. He was fat
+and friendly when at last the boys headed for Seward and Matanuska
+Valley. At Seward they left him in the care of a friend until they could
+come in a small truck and cart him home.
+
+At the cabin in the valley Johnny and Lawrence were given an uproarious
+welcome.
+
+One thing surprised them—the Professor was back. “I am waiting for Bill,”
+he explained.
+
+“Bill! Who’s he?” Lawrence asked. “Oh!” he exclaimed. “He’s the man who
+built the shelter and left a note saying he was coming back. Let me see—”
+
+“Today,” said the Professor. “And here he is now.” A smiling young giant
+with a full red beard came tramping down the road.
+
+“Bill, did you get one?” the Professor demanded.
+
+“No,” Bill’s smile faded. “I did my best. I got the head and hide of one,
+that’s all. Had to kill him, or lose him. I—I’m sorry.”
+
+“A whole year,” the Professor groaned. “And never a bear.”
+
+“A bear!” Johnny exclaimed. “Surely there are bears a-plenty.”
+
+“Not that kind,” the Professor corrected. “I want the kind we talked
+about once, a glacier bear. Nothing else counts.”
+
+“Oh, a glacier bear!” Lawrence laughed happily. “Is that all you want? I
+have one coming up on a truck from Seward. It should be here any time.”
+
+“Just like that!” Bill dropped weakly down upon a stump. “A whole year.
+Ice, snow, blizzards, glaciers, hunger, a whole year. Never a bear. And
+now this boy calmly says, ‘I’ve got one coming up.’”
+
+“Such,” said the professor, “is the luck of the chase.”
+
+There was time for Bill to satisfy his craving for a “real feed.” Then
+the truck arrived.
+
+The Professor and Bill gave one look at the little blue glacier bear.
+Then, for sheer joy, they fell into each other’s arms.
+
+“What do you want for him?” the Professor demanded at last.
+
+“A tractor,” said Lawrence.
+
+“The best in the settlement!”
+
+“The Titan.”
+
+“Agreed and for good measure, a gang plow, a harrow, two drums of gas and
+three log chains.”
+
+Lawrence could not say a word. He could only stand and stare. All his
+dreams had come true in a moment.
+
+“I only wish we might do better,” the Professor half apologized. “But
+we’ve spent a great deal of money in the search. So-o, I—”
+
+“I think,” said Lawrence, “that you’re a very good sport. And—and we
+thank you.”
+
+Three days later Johnny and Lawrence were in Seward for a day with
+Blackie when a trim power boat glided up to the dock.
+
+“Hello, Johnny!” came in a girl’s voice. It was Rusty.
+
+“Come on down to Seattle with us,” Red McGee boomed.
+
+“We’ll show you a roarin’ good time, just to celebrate the finest salmon
+season ever known.”
+
+“What do you say?” Johnny turned to Lawrence.
+
+“You go,” said Lawrence. “I’m a farmer now. I’ve got to stay with my
+crops, and I’m anxious to get started with the new tractor.”
+
+Johnny went. If there were further adventures awaiting him at the end of
+that short journey you may find them recorded in a book called, _Sign of
+the Green Arrow_.
+
+
+
+
+                          Transcriber’s Notes
+
+
+--Copyright notice provided as in the original printed text—this e-text
+  is public domain in the country of publication.
+
+--Silently corrected palpable typos; left non-standard spellings and
+  dialect unchanged.
+
+--In the text versions, delimited italics text in _underscores_ (the HTML
+  version reproduces the font form of the printed book.)
+
+--Marked with ellipses the end of page 129, where the printed edition
+  apparently dropped a page or two from the manuscript.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Shadow Passes, by Roy J. Snell
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+<pre>
+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Shadow Passes, by Roy J. Snell
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Shadow Passes
+       A Mystery Story for Boys
+
+Author: Roy J. Snell
+
+Release Date: December 5, 2013 [EBook #44352]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SHADOW PASSES ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Stephen Hutcheson, Rod Crawford, Dave Morgan
+and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
+http://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+<div id="cover" class="img">
+<img id="coverpage" src="images/cover.jpg" alt="The Shadow Passes: A Mystery Story for Boys" width="500" height="726" />
+</div>
+<div class="box">
+<p class="center"><span class="large"><b><i><span class="u">A Mystery Story for Boys</span></i></b></span></p>
+<h1><i>The</i>
+<br />SHADOW PASSES</h1>
+<p class="center"><i>By</i>
+<br />ROY J. SNELL</p>
+<div class="img" id="logo"><img src="images/logo.jpg" alt="Author&rsquo;s Logo" width="200" height="91" /></div>
+<p class="tbcenter">The Reilly &amp; Lee Co.
+<br /><span class="small">Chicago</span></p>
+<p class="center"><span class="small">COPYRIGHT 1938
+<br />BY
+<br />THE REILLY &amp; LEE CO.
+<br />PRINTED IN THE U.S.A.</span></p>
+</div>
+<h2>CONTENTS</h2>
+<dl class="toc">
+<dt class="jr"><span class="jl"><span class="small">CHAPTER</span></span> <span class="small">PAGE</span></dt>
+<dt><a href="#c1">I The Silver Fox</a> 11</dt>
+<dt><a href="#c2">II Blackie&rsquo;s Story</a> 32</dt>
+<dt><a href="#c3">III Fat and Furious</a> 38</dt>
+<dt><a href="#c4">IV The Capture of Old Silver</a> 53</dt>
+<dt><a href="#c5">V Johnny Fights for Fun</a> 68</dt>
+<dt><a href="#c6">VI Smokey Joe&rsquo;s Blue Bears</a> 77</dt>
+<dt><a href="#c7">VII A Strange Battle</a> 85</dt>
+<dt><a href="#c8">VIII The Stormy Petrel&rsquo;s First Prize</a> 98</dt>
+<dt><a href="#c9">IX Fate Lends a Hand</a> 103</dt>
+<dt><a href="#c10">X A New World</a> 111</dt>
+<dt><a href="#c11">XI The Fall of Red McGee</a> 119</dt>
+<dt><a href="#c12">XII A Ptarmigan Feast</a> 128</dt>
+<dt><a href="#c13">XIII The Shadow</a> 141</dt>
+<dt><a href="#c14">XIV A Voice in the Fog</a> 147</dt>
+<dt><a href="#c15">XV A Roar from the Deep</a> 158</dt>
+<dt><a href="#c16">XVI Looming Peril</a> 166</dt>
+<dt><a href="#c17">XVII Trapped</a> 174</dt>
+<dt><a href="#c18">XVIII Five Rounds and a Friend</a> 181</dt>
+<dt><a href="#c19">XIX Ordered Below</a> 189</dt>
+<dt><a href="#c20">XX A Battle in the Dark</a> 194</dt>
+<dt><a href="#c21">XXI Wall of Glass</a> 201</dt>
+<dt><a href="#c22">XXII Dreams</a> 209</dt>
+<dt><a href="#c23">XXIII In the Blue Bear&rsquo;s Cave</a> 216</dt>
+<dt><a href="#c24">XXIV Overtaking a Shadow</a> 225</dt>
+<dt><a href="#c25">XXV &ldquo;Bill&rdquo; Returns</a> 233</dt>
+</dl>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_11">[11]</div>
+<h1 title="">THE SHADOW PASSES</h1>
+<h2 id="c1"><span class="small">CHAPTER I</span>
+<br />THE SILVER FOX</h2>
+<p>&ldquo;And then I saw it&mdash;the Shadow.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The speaker&rsquo;s eyes appeared to snap.
+Johnny Thompson leaned forward in his chair.
+&ldquo;It glided through the fog without a sound.&rdquo;
+The voice droned on, &ldquo;Not a sound, mind you!
+We had a small boat with powerful motors.
+I stepped on the gas. Our motors roared. We
+were after that shadow.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And then?&rdquo; Johnny Thompson whispered.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;For all I know,&rdquo; the black-eyed man murmured,
+leaning back in his chair, &ldquo;we might
+have cut that shadow square in two. Anyway,
+that&rsquo;s the last we saw of it for that day.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But think of it!&rdquo; he exclaimed after a second&rsquo;s
+pause. &rdquo;Think of the thing just disappearing
+in the fog like that!&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_12">[12]</div>
+<p>He was a romantic figure, this man Blackie.
+The boys of Matanuska Valley in Alaska loved
+this gathering of an evening about the red-hot
+stove in the store. And no part of the evening&rsquo;s
+entertainment was ever half so thrilling as
+Blackie&rsquo;s stories.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It was spring then,&rdquo; Blackie added, &ldquo;late
+May, when the salmon run was on.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It was a whale after salmon, that shadow,&rdquo;
+someone suggested.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, sir!&rdquo; Blackie fairly shouted. &ldquo;It was
+too fast for a whale! Some sort of Oriental
+craft, I shouldn&rsquo;t wonder. Though how they&rsquo;d
+make it go without a sound is beyond me.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah well,&rdquo; he sighed, &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll be rid of these
+by spring.&rdquo; He kicked at the crutches beside
+his chair. &ldquo;Then I&rsquo;ll be after &rsquo;em again, those
+bloomin&rsquo; Orientals and their gliding shadows.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You going back into the Coast Guard Service?&rdquo;
+Johnny asked eagerly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I sure am!&rdquo; Blackie agreed heartily.
+&ldquo;Boy! That&rsquo;s the life! A speedy boat with
+two or three airplane motors in her hull, a good
+crew, plenty of gas, the wide open sea and
+enough trouble to keep your eyes open day and
+night. Man! Oh, man!&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_13">[13]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Take me along,&rdquo; Johnny suggested impulsively.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Me too!&rdquo; put in Lawrence, his slim, bright-eyed
+cousin.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What do you know about boats?&rdquo; Blackie
+asked.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Plenty,&rdquo; was Johnny&rsquo;s prompt reply. &ldquo;Been
+on &rsquo;em all my life, power boats on the Great
+Lakes, Carib Indian sailboats in the Caribbean,
+skin-boats way up north. It&rsquo;s all the same.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And Lawrence here,&rdquo; he added after a brief
+pause, &ldquo;he knows about motors.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&mdash;I was assistant mechanic in an airplane
+hangar for a season,&rdquo; Lawrence agreed modestly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, it&mdash;might&mdash;be&mdash;arranged,&rdquo; Blackie
+replied slowly. &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t know about pay. You
+sort of have to be on regular for that. But up
+here in the north, things can&rsquo;t always be done
+according to department regulations. Anyway,
+it&rsquo;s worth thinking about.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_14">[14]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Thank&mdash;oh, thank you,&rdquo; Lawrence stammered.
+Johnny knew how he was feeling at
+that moment. He, Johnny, had met adventure
+in many climes. Lawrence had lived a quiet
+life. Really to sail on a coast guard boat in
+search of Orientals suspected of stealing salmon,
+smuggling or spying off the Alaskan
+shores, to chase gray shadows that pass in the
+fog! Worth thinking of? Well, you&rsquo;d just
+know it was!</p>
+<p>Johnny was still thinking of all this when
+two hours later, he crept beneath the blankets
+in the small log cabin room occupied by Lawrence
+and himself.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That would be great!&rdquo; he was telling himself.
+In fancy, he allowed his mind to wander.
+Bristol Bay, a hundred and fifty miles wide
+and a hundred and fifty long, fishing boats on
+the water, canneries on the shore and back
+behind all this in the fog somewhere, beyond
+the three-mile line, great dark bulks that were
+Oriental ships. Why these ships? No one
+knew exactly. &ldquo;Spying out our shore-line,&rdquo;
+some said, &ldquo;stealing our salmon,&rdquo; said others.
+And perhaps they were smugglers. It was
+known that these ships carried smaller crafts
+that could be lowered to the water. &ldquo;Could do
+anything, go anywhere, these small boats,&rdquo;
+Johnny assured himself.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_15">[15]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;And the Shadow, that mysterious gray
+form that goes streaking through the fog.
+What could it be?</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah, well,&ldquo; he settled deeper among the blankets.
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s a long time till spring, and here, right
+in Matanuska Valley is exciting adventure
+aplenty.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>As if reading his thoughts, Lawrence murmured
+dreamily, &ldquo;We&rsquo;ll go after him again
+tomorrow.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; Johnny agreed, &ldquo;tomorrow.&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="tb">&ldquo;Lawrence! Look! There he is!&rdquo; Johnny
+pointed excitedly up the glistening expanse of
+frozen river. Tomorrow had come. They
+were on the river.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Wh&mdash;where?&rdquo; Lawrence whispered.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You don&rsquo;t have to whisper.&rdquo; Johnny
+laughed low. &ldquo;He&rsquo;s way up there. I can scarcely
+see him with the glass. Here! Take it. See
+that pool of water on the right side?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes&mdash;yes, I see.&rdquo; Lawrence took the field
+glasses.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;At this end of that pool. I saw him move.
+Look quick!&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_16">[16]</div>
+<p>For a space of ten seconds Lawrence studied
+that pool. &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; he exclaimed at last, &ldquo;he <i>is</i>
+there! I saw him move over to the right.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Lawrence!&rdquo; Johnny&rsquo;s voice was tense with
+emotion. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m going after him!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Johnny bent over to tighten a skate strap.
+&ldquo;Here! Give me the bag. You follow me, but
+not too fast. You can keep the glasses. I
+won&rsquo;t need them.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Al&mdash;all right, Johnny. Be careful! You&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>But Johnny was away. Skating from the
+hips, scarcely lifting a foot from the ice, he
+appeared to glide without effort over the glass-like
+surface of the river.</p>
+<p>The boy&rsquo;s spirits rose. They were &ldquo;after
+him again.&rdquo; And &ldquo;he&rdquo; was a grand prize
+indeed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If only we can get him,&rdquo; Johnny was thinking.
+&ldquo;If we only can.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The distant future quite forgotten, Johnny
+was living intensely in the glorious present.
+Lawrence followed slowly. He, too, was a
+skillful skater. The river at this point was
+frozen solidly. No need for thought here.
+At once his mind was busy with memories of
+the not-too-distant past and plans for the future.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_17">[17]</div>
+<p>Life for him had been strange. Eight
+months before he had been on the broad, dry
+prairies of the Dakotas. Now he was skating
+on the Matanuska River in Alaska. Nor was
+this just an adventurous winter trip. The
+Matanuska Valley was his home and would be,
+he hoped, for years to come. Six miles back
+and up a half mile from the river was their
+claim and the sod-covered log cabin they
+called home.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We are pioneers!&rdquo; he whispered to himself.
+&ldquo;Pioneers!&rdquo; he repeated softly. How he loved
+that word. How much it meant to them all;
+freedom, new life, fresh hope and in the end
+a home all their own. &ldquo;And paid for,&rdquo; he declared
+sturdily.</p>
+<p>Yes, when the government had announced
+a resettlement project in this rich valley and
+the Lawsons who had been driven from their
+farm home by drouth and dust heard of it
+they had joined up. And here they were:
+father, mother and son, with cousin Johnny
+thrown in for good measure.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_18">[18]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Been here six months,&rdquo; Lawrence thought.
+&ldquo;Got a little start. And next year!&rdquo; Ah, yes,
+next year. His face sobered. So much depended
+on the future. And they needed so many
+things.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We&rsquo;ll not go in debt,&rdquo; his father had insisted
+stoutly. &ldquo;Not for a single thing we can
+do without.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>But now the boy&rsquo;s mind came back with a
+snap to the immediate present. As he looked
+ahead he saw nothing of Johnny. For a second
+his heart fluttered. Had his good pal come
+upon an unsuspected air-hole? Had he gone
+through? Was he, at this moment, caught by
+the swift current, shooting along rapidly beneath
+the ice?</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You have to know your river,&rdquo; an old-timer
+had said to them. &ldquo;Every foot of it.&rdquo;
+Did Johnny know it well enough, or&mdash;</p>
+<p>Of a sudden he let out a low, happy laugh.
+Some distance ahead, showing among the
+branches of a fallen fir tree, he had caught a
+glimpse of Johnny&rsquo;s plaid mackinaw.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He&mdash;he&rsquo;s all right,&rdquo; he breathed. &ldquo;Just
+getting a look.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_19">[19]</div>
+<p>Johnny was now within a hundred yards
+of that dark pool, where, he hoped, their prize
+still lurked.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He must see him with the naked eye,&rdquo;
+Lawrence murmured as he glided into the
+shadow of a shelving bank. Here, steadying
+himself with one hand, he held the glass to
+his eyes with the other.</p>
+<p>Then, with hand trembling so it seemed the
+glass would drop, he exclaimed, &ldquo;Man! Oh,
+man! It&rsquo;s a silver fox and a beauty! If only
+he gets him! If he does!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>They were hunters, these boys. &ldquo;Strange
+hunters!&rdquo; some might say. &ldquo;No guns! No
+traps!&rdquo; This valley was alive with rich, fur-bearing
+animals. With guns and traps one
+might reap a winter&rsquo;s harvest. Without guns
+or traps how was it to be done! This had
+been the question uppermost in their minds
+some weeks before. In the end they had found
+the answer, or thought they had. And a
+strange answer it was.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_20">[20]</div>
+<p>They had arrived, this little family of four
+homesteaders, along with hundreds of others
+in the Matanuska Valley, too late in the spring
+to clear land and raise a crop. They had been
+obliged to content themselves with a large
+garden and an acre of potatoes.</p>
+<p>Such potatoes as those had been! &ldquo;We&rsquo;ll
+sell two hundred bushels!&rdquo; Lawrence had
+exulted. &ldquo;That will go a long way toward
+buying a small tractor. Then just watch our
+smoke!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, no you won&rsquo;t!&rdquo; Jack Morgan, an old-time
+settler in the valley, had laughed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What? Why not?&rdquo; the boy demanded.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Who&rsquo;ll you sell &rsquo;em to?&rdquo; the old-timer
+asked in a kindly voice.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why, we&mdash;we&rsquo;ll ship &rsquo;em out.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You can&rsquo;t, son,&rdquo; Jack&rsquo;s voice rumbled.
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s the trouble. At present there&rsquo;s no
+market for farm products here. Never has
+been. That&rsquo;ll be worked out in time, now the
+government is interested. But just now we
+have to eat our own potatoes.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But how do you get any money?&rdquo; Lawrence
+had demanded.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Trap foxes, minks, martin. Good money
+in trappin&rsquo;,&rdquo; was the old-timer&rsquo;s reply.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_21">[21]</div>
+<p>Of course, the boys had come rushing home
+bursting with the news that they could make
+money all winter long trapping.</p>
+<p>To their surprise they saw Lawrence&rsquo;s father&rsquo;s
+smiling face draw into sober lines.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, boys,&rdquo; he said quietly. &ldquo;Not that. Anything
+but trapping. It&rsquo;s too cruel. I&rsquo;d rather
+you went out with a gun.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But we haven&rsquo;t a gun,&rdquo; Lawrence protested.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s right,&rdquo; the father agreed. &ldquo;And
+it&rsquo;s not to be regretted.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You see, boys,&rdquo; his face took on a strange
+look, &ldquo;when I was about ten years old I had
+a dog I thought the world and all of. He
+didn&rsquo;t cost a lot of money. Never won any
+prizes at dog shows. But his hair was kinky,
+his eyes alive with fun and his bark a joyous
+sound to hear. No boy ever had a more faithful
+friend than good old Bing.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And then,&rdquo; his voice grew husky, &ldquo;well,
+you see there was a man who lived all by himself
+down by the river, Skunk McGee they
+called him. Never amounted to much, he
+didn&rsquo;t. But he trapped enough skunks and
+muskrats to pay for his groceries.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_22">[22]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Our farm was along the river, on both
+sides. Father told him more than once not to
+set his traps on our farm.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;One time in the dead of winter, way down
+below zero, old Bing didn&rsquo;t come home. I was
+worried but father said, &lsquo;He&rsquo;s gone to the
+neighbors and they took him in on account of
+its being so cold.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But he hadn&rsquo;t,&rdquo; Mr. Lawson&rsquo;s tone
+changed abruptly. &ldquo;He was in one of Skunk
+McGee&rsquo;s traps. And when we found him he
+was dead, frozen hard as a rock.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And so you see, boys,&rdquo; he added quietly,
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve always hated traps. I never see one even
+now but I seem to see poor old Bing with
+one foot in it, whining and shivering out there
+all alone.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>From that day on the thought of traps was
+banished from their minds.</p>
+<p>But the foxes? Did they vanish? No indeed!
+The foxes saw to it that they were not
+forgotten.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_23">[23]</div>
+<p>Before the summer was at an end some
+families, unaccustomed to the pioneer life,
+lost courage and decided to return to their
+original homes. Among these were two families
+who had brought with them small flocks
+of chickens. By careful planning the Lawsons
+were able to buy the chickens. Having built
+a stout log henhouse and a small wire enclosure
+for sunny days, they felt better than
+ever prepared for the winter.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Chicken for Thanksgiving and Christmas
+and eggs all winter long! What luck!&rdquo; Lawrence
+rejoiced.</p>
+<p>The chickens, no doubt, were something of
+a surprise to the foxes. But had they not
+always preyed upon ptarmigan? And were
+not chickens just big plump ptarmigan? Perhaps
+this was the way they reasoned. At any
+rate, one night Lawrence heard a loud squawking
+and rushed out just in time to see a plump
+white hen vanish into the night. A fox had her
+by the neck.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Something must be done about that,&rdquo; he
+insisted at once. &ldquo;If we can&rsquo;t trap the foxes,
+what then?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Take them alive,&rdquo; was his father&rsquo;s prompt
+reply.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Alive! Alive!&rdquo; both boys cried.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_24">[24]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;I can&rsquo;t see why not,&rdquo; was Lawrence&rsquo;s father&rsquo;s
+quiet reply. &ldquo;Of course, you&rsquo;ll have to
+wear tough, moose-hide mittens and keep your
+noses out of reach, but&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We&rsquo;ll do it,&rdquo; Lawrence exclaimed. &ldquo;But
+then,&rdquo; his face sobered, &ldquo;how&rsquo;ll we ever catch
+up with a fox?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;When I was a boy,&rdquo; said his father, &ldquo;we
+used to catch muskrats on skates.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Muskrats on skates?&rdquo; Lawrence laughed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We were on the skates,&rdquo; his father corrected
+with a smile. &ldquo;The rats were on the ice,
+you see,&rdquo; he leaned forward. &ldquo;We worked it
+this way. We&rsquo;d watch until the muskrat
+came out of his hole to get a drink. He&rsquo;d go
+to an open pool of water at the edge of the
+ice. We&rsquo;d wait until he&rsquo;d started back across
+the ice. Then we&rsquo;d come swooping down on
+him. He&rsquo;d get frightened and sprawl all over
+the ice&mdash;no wild creature can handle himself
+well on the ice. So we had him.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_25">[25]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Once,&rdquo; he chuckled, &ldquo;Bob Barnett saw
+something moving on the ice. It was just getting
+dark. He thought it was a rat. He come
+swooping down upon it and&mdash;&rdquo; he paused to
+chuckle. &ldquo;Well, it turned out to be a skunk.
+The skunk objected to his intrusion. So Bob
+went home to bury his clothes&mdash;just for a
+scent.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The boys joined in the laugh that followed
+but they were not slow in following this suggestion.
+They found, however, that great skill
+and caution were needed in this type of hunting.</p>
+<p>They made progress slowly. After catching
+two muskrats, a snow-shoe rabbit and two
+ground-squirrels, they decided to start a small
+zoo all their own.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Who knows?&rdquo; Lawrence enthused. &ldquo;We
+may catch some truly rare creature. The keepers
+of zoos are always on the lookout for live
+specimens. We may sell enough to get that
+bright new tractor down at Palmer after all.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A tractor!&rdquo; Johnny doubted. &ldquo;Oh! No!
+Surely not that much!&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_26">[26]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;And yet,&rdquo; Lawrence now thought as he
+stood watching for Johnny&rsquo;s next move on the
+river ice, &ldquo;there he is creeping up on a silver
+fox. What is a real, live silver fox worth?&rdquo;
+To this exciting question he could form no
+accurate answer. He had a hazy recollection
+of reading somewhere about one that was sold
+for $3000.00.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No such luck as that,&rdquo; he whispered.</p>
+<p>Just now, however, his attention was directed
+toward the silver fox that, still very
+much at liberty, had taken a good drink from
+the pool and was standing, nose in air, apparently
+looking, listening, smelling. Had he
+smelled trouble? Would he drop into the pool
+to swim across and disappear on the farther
+bank, or would he start back across that glistening
+stretch of ice? Lawrence felt his heart
+leap as he saw the fox drop his head. The big
+moment was at hand.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He&mdash;he&rsquo;s going across!&rdquo; he exclaimed in
+a hoarse whisper. &ldquo;It means so much!&rdquo; His
+thoughts went into a tailspin. Not only would
+they possess a real, live silver fox for which,
+beyond doubt, some zoo would pay handsomely,
+but their flock of chickens would be
+safe, for they could tell by the size of the
+tracks that he was the one that was getting
+the chickens. He was a sly one, indeed, this
+fox. Three times in the last month, in spite
+of their every effort to prevent it, he had carried
+off a fat old hen.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_27">[27]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;He&mdash;Johnny&rsquo;s starting,&rdquo; Lawrence said,
+as, gliding silently from cover, he prepared to
+follow his cousin on his swift, silent, breathless
+quest.</p>
+<p>It was a truly wonderful sight, those two
+boys moving as if pushed by an unseen hand
+closer, ever closer to the unsuspecting fox.</p>
+<p>Moving swiftly, Johnny reached a fallen cottonwood
+tree. Just then the fox, pausing in
+his course, once more sniffed the air. &ldquo;I might
+get him if I rushed him now,&rdquo; he thought,
+&ldquo;and I might miss.&rdquo; This was true. The fox
+was but a third of the way across the ice. He
+was still too close to the pool. The plan was
+to allow him to reach the very center of the
+river, then to rush him. Startled, he would
+start quickly for some shore. Losing all sense
+of caution, he would begin to sprawl upon
+the ice. As the boy came rushing on with the
+speed of the wind, he would stoop over, snatch
+at the fox and speed on. He must seize the
+fox just back of his ears. Could he do it? As
+he stood there hidden his pulse pounded madly.
+He, too, had seen that it was a silver fox.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_28">[28]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;He&mdash;he&rsquo;s smelled me!&rdquo; The boy&rsquo;s voice
+rose in a sudden shrill shout. &ldquo;Come on, Lawrence!
+I&rsquo;m going after him! Bring the bag!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Gripping a large, moose-hide sack, Lawrence
+went speeding after him.</p>
+<p>As for Johnny, with breath-taking suddenness,
+he saw the distance between him and
+the fox fade. A hundred yards, fifty, twenty,
+and&mdash;&ldquo;Now!&rdquo; he breathed. &ldquo;Now!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The fox was not a foot from the edge of
+the pool when, still speeding wildly, the boy
+bent down and made one wild grab.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Got him!&rdquo; he shouted exultantly. But
+wait! Ten seconds more and the fox&rsquo;s ivory
+teeth were flashing in his very face. He seemed
+to feel them tearing at his nose. There was
+nothing to do but drop him. With a suddenness,
+startling even to the fox, the boy let go.</p>
+<p>Down dropped the fox. On sped the boy.
+When Lawrence reached the spot the fox
+had vanished into a hole and Johnny was
+skating slowly, mournfully back.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Never mind,&rdquo; Lawrence consoled. &ldquo;We&rsquo;ll
+get him another time.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_29">[29]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;But a silver fox and a beauty!&rdquo; Johnny
+exclaimed. &ldquo;Think of losing him!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I have thought.&rdquo; Lawrence was able to
+grin in spite of his disappointment. &ldquo;It would
+have meant a lot and now&mdash;&rdquo; he chuckled,
+&ldquo;now we know it&rsquo;s a real silver fox after our
+chickens. We&rsquo;ll have to lock them in a vault.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not as bad as that,&rdquo; said Johnny. &ldquo;But
+Lawrence,&rdquo; his voice dropped. &ldquo;This must remain
+a deep secret. Not a word to anyone.
+If Jim and Jack Mayhorn knew about this
+there&rsquo;d be a trap on every foot of the river.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Never a word,&rdquo; Lawrence agreed.</p>
+<p>They were a rather disconsolate pair as they
+pulled off their skates a half hour later.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;To think!&rdquo; Johnny groaned. &ldquo;I had my
+hands on five hundred dollars, perhaps a thousand
+dollars worth of fox and had to drop
+it because it was too hot.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The price of a tractor,&rdquo; Lawrence agreed.
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s too bad.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>It was too bad indeed. All day, five days
+in the week, they worked hard at clearing
+land. The trees were coming down. After
+the spring thaw thousands of stumps must
+be pulled. A tractor would do that work.
+After that it would draw the plows.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_30">[30]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;If only I hadn&rsquo;t lost him!&rdquo; Johnny groaned.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Aw! Forget it!&rdquo; Lawrence exclaimed.
+&ldquo;Come on! Let&rsquo;s go home by the camp.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The &ldquo;camp,&rdquo; as they had come to call it,
+was a three-sided shelter built on a corner of
+their forty-acre claim. It had been built, and
+apparently abandoned, only a few months before
+their arrival. Such a snug shelter was
+it that the boys had often sought its protection
+from storms. Once, with a roaring fire
+before its open side, they had spent a night
+sleeping on its bed of evergreen boughs.</p>
+<p>The place never lost its fascination. Who
+had built it? Trader, hunter, trapper or gold
+prospector? To this question they could form
+no answer. Would he some day return? To
+this, strangely enough on this very afternoon
+they were to discover the answer, at least that
+which appeared to be the answer. As they
+were looking it over for the twentieth time
+Lawrence suddenly exclaimed, &ldquo;Look! Here&rsquo;s
+a bit of cloth tacked to this post. And there&rsquo;s
+a note written on it in indelible ink!&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_31">[31]</div>
+<p>Johnny did look. &ldquo;Read it!&rdquo; he exclaimed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I will,&rdquo; Lawrence began to read. &ldquo;Can&rsquo;t
+quite make it out,&rdquo; he murmured. &ldquo;Oh, yes,
+this is it.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;I WILL BE BACK ON JULY 1st.
+BILL.&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So he&rsquo;s coming back,&rdquo; Johnny&rsquo;s tone was
+strange.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Coming back,&rdquo; Lawrence agreed. &ldquo;All
+right, Bill, old boy,&rdquo; he laughed. &ldquo;We&rsquo;ll keep
+your snug little camp ship-shape till you arrive.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>And for this bit of service, had they but
+known it, they were to receive a very unusual
+reward.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_32">[32]</div>
+<h2 id="c2"><span class="small">CHAPTER II</span>
+<br />BLACKIE&rsquo;S STORY</h2>
+<p>&ldquo;Tell us how you got that game leg of
+yours, Blackie,&rdquo; Joe Lawrence, the
+Palmer store-keeper, said to Blackie, as they
+all sat about the roaring steel-barrel stove
+three nights later.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, that&mdash;&rdquo; Blackie did not reply at once.</p>
+<p>Johnny and Lawrence were by the fire.
+They had walked in from the claim, a frosty
+three miles, with the thermometer at twenty-five
+degrees below. They were not the sort of
+boys who loaf about stores and pool halls, listening
+to cheap talk. Far from that. They
+had come to make a purchase or two and, in
+an hour, with the steel-blue stars above them
+would be on their way home. Just now the
+fire felt good.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Sure, tell us,&rdquo; Johnny encouraged.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_33">[33]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Hello! You here?&rdquo; Blackie demanded, as
+if he had not seen them before. &ldquo;What&rsquo;d you
+come in for on a night like this?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Wedges,&rdquo; said Johnny. &ldquo;Steel wedges for
+splitting logs.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Wedges.&rdquo; There came a hoarse laugh
+from the corner. It was Jack Mayhorn who
+spoke. &ldquo;Who wants wedges in this country?
+Do like I do. Cut down the trees that split
+easy.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They&rsquo;ve all got tough spots,&rdquo; Johnny replied
+quietly. &ldquo;Where the limbs have been
+cut off.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, the knotty pines!&rdquo; Jack laughed again.
+&ldquo;Roll &rsquo;em into the fence row an&rsquo; leave &rsquo;em.
+That&rsquo;s the way we do.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We don&rsquo;t,&rdquo; said Lawrence. &ldquo;We aim to
+take them as they come, tough or not tough,
+they&rsquo;ve got to bust.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why?&rdquo; Blackie fixed his piercing black
+eyes on the boy.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&mdash;I don&rsquo;t know why,&rdquo; was Lawrence&rsquo;s
+slow reply. &ldquo;I can&rsquo;t explain it right.&rdquo; The
+boy hesitated. &ldquo;But I&mdash;you know&mdash;I sort of
+hate being licked, even by a tough log. So I&mdash;we
+sort of take &rsquo;em as they come.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_34">[34]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s great!&rdquo; Blackie slapped his knee.
+&ldquo;And I suppose you feel the same way?&rdquo; he
+asked of Johnny.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Sure do,&rdquo; was Johnny&rsquo;s prompt reply.
+&ldquo;They can&rsquo;t come too tough for me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Can&rsquo;t come too tough for little old Johnny.&rdquo;
+There was a sneer in Jack Mayhorn&rsquo;s
+voice. &ldquo;But he&rsquo;s afraid to set traps or carry
+a rifle.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not afraid,&rdquo; Johnny replied quietly. &ldquo;Just
+don&rsquo;t want to.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Tell us, Blackie,&rdquo; Joe, the store-keeper,
+broke in, sensing a possible row, &ldquo;tell us how
+you got that leg.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Even then Blackie did not comply at once.
+Turning to the boys, he said in a low tone,
+&ldquo;You boys are dead right. No use letting a
+log or anything else lick you.&rdquo; Dropping his
+voice still lower he added, &ldquo;I might take you
+with me next spring on that coast guard boat.
+I just might, that is, if you still want to go.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Then in a changed voice he said, &ldquo;All right,
+Joe, I&rsquo;ll tell you all about that leg of mine,
+though I&rsquo;m not fond of doing it. It always
+makes me hopping mad, just thinking about it.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_35">[35]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;You see,&rdquo; he went on at once, &ldquo;I was up
+a river in Asia. Doesn&rsquo;t matter which river.
+I was in the navy. Less than six months ago,
+although it seems two years. I was on a small
+U. S. gunboat. What one? That doesn&rsquo;t matter,
+either. She&rsquo;s at the bottom of the river
+now.&rdquo; He paused to stare at the fire.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We were laying up the river. There was
+fighting down below. We&rsquo;d come up-river to
+get out of the way. The fighting was foolish
+enough, but none of our business.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We were there to protect American citizens.
+There were twenty or more of them on
+board, reporters and missionaries and the like.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;d just come on duty when a big bombing
+plane came hovering, like a vulture, over us.
+It circled off again. &lsquo;Good riddance,&rsquo; I said to
+my buddy.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I hadn&rsquo;t finished saying it when it came
+zooming back. This time higher up and&mdash;&rdquo;
+Blackie took a long breath. &ldquo;The bloomin&rsquo; infidels!
+What do you think? They let go a bomb
+that missed us by inches.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You should have seen us scatter,&rdquo; Blackie
+laughed in spite of himself.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_36">[36]</div>
+<p>And then, of a sudden, the lines between his
+eyes grew deep and long. &ldquo;They bombed us.
+They sank our ship. My buddy was killed. I
+caught it in the leg. I got a lifeboat off, doing
+what I could to save the women.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Me,&rdquo; he faltered. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m no sort of a story
+teller. But I hope I&rsquo;m something of a fighter.
+This old leg will be good as new next spring.
+And, sure&rsquo;s I&rsquo;m living, I&rsquo;m going hunting little
+brown men up there in Bristol Bay. They
+stole a cool million dollars&rsquo; worth of fish last
+season. How many&rsquo;ll they get this year? That
+depends on the Coast Guard men and, glory
+be! I&rsquo;m one of them. I&rsquo;m out of the navy,
+invalided home, back on the good old job, and
+there&rsquo;ll be plenty of things a-popping in May.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Er, excuse me, boys,&rdquo; he apologized. &ldquo;That
+sounds an awful lot like bragging. We didn&rsquo;t
+catch the Shadow that passes in the fog last
+season. We didn&rsquo;t do those Orientals much
+harm, either. Too slick for us, I guess. But
+wish me luck next time. The biggest industry
+in Alaska, the run of red salmon, depends on
+us.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_37">[37]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Here&rsquo;s luck,&rdquo; said Johnny, lifting a cup of
+coffee just poured by Joe&rsquo;s motherly wife.
+&ldquo;Here&rsquo;s luck to the service.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And may you be my buddy!&rdquo; Blackie added.</p>
+<p>That night Johnny and Lawrence walked
+home in silence. The great white world was
+all about them and the blue-white stars above.
+Their thoughts were long, long thoughts.</p>
+<p>Arrived at their log cabin home, they
+dragged out a tattered map of Alaska to study
+its shore-line and most of all the shores of
+Bristol Bay.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;May,&rdquo; Lawrence said at last. &ldquo;That&rsquo;s a
+long time yet.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; Johnny agreed, &ldquo;and there&rsquo;s plenty
+to get excited about tomorrow. What do you
+say we turn in?&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_38">[38]</div>
+<h2 id="c3"><span class="small">CHAPTER III</span>
+<br />FAT AND FURIOUS</h2>
+<p>Anyone who had watched the two boys
+skating slowly up the river next morning
+would surely have been puzzled. Before
+them, now darting up a steep bank and now
+scurrying along over the snow, were two
+brown, fur-clad creatures. Neither dogs nor
+cats, they still appeared quite domestic in their
+actions. Once when they had gone racing
+ahead too far Johnny let out a shrill whistle
+and they came dashing back to peer up into
+his face as if to say, &ldquo;Did you call me?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They&rsquo;re great!&rdquo; Lawrence chuckled. &ldquo;Got
+a dog beat a mile. They never bark.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And yet they can find where wild creatures
+live,&rdquo; Johnny agreed.</p>
+<p>Just now, as you no doubt have guessed,
+the boys were looking for the spot, under
+some great rock or at the foot of a tree, which
+the silver fox called his home.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_39">[39]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;We must find him,&rdquo; Johnny had exclaimed
+only an hour before.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We surely must,&rdquo; Lawrence had agreed.</p>
+<p>And indeed they must, for three principal
+reasons. Last night the fox had, by shrewd
+cunning, managed to pry the chicken coop
+door open and made off with a rooster. The
+fox was worth a lot of money&mdash;they were
+sure of this&mdash;dead or alive. They must get
+him before someone with a gun or with traps
+got sight of him. And they must take him
+alive, if possible&mdash;a very large contract.</p>
+<p>Their desires had been redoubled by something
+that had happened only the night before.
+Mack Gleason, the settler whose claim joined
+them on the west, had been in for a friendly
+chat.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Got your tractor yet?&rdquo; he had asked of Mr.
+Lawson.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not yet,&rdquo; had been the reply.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, you better hurry. They&rsquo;re going fast.
+May not be another shipment until it is too
+late for spring&rsquo;s work.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No money just now.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_40">[40]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Money!&rdquo; Mack exploded. &ldquo;Who said anything
+about money? Government gives &rsquo;em to
+you on time.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But time has a way of rolling around,&rdquo; Mr.
+Lawson had replied quietly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, the Government wouldn&rsquo;t be hard on
+you,&rdquo; Mack laughed. &ldquo;Look at us. We&rsquo;ve got
+a washing machine and a buzz-saw, and a motor
+to run &rsquo;em, a tractor, plow, harrow, everything,
+and all on time.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, I know,&rdquo; had come in the same slow,
+quiet tones. &ldquo;And I know the Government
+won&rsquo;t be hard on you. Still it will want its
+money, same as any loaning agency. It just
+has to be that way.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;This week,&rdquo; Mr. Lawson went on after a
+moment, &ldquo;I received a letter from an old friend
+of mine. Few years back he secured a government
+loan on his home. He didn&rsquo;t keep up the
+interest and payments. They took it from him.
+Now he&rsquo;s unhappy about it. But people who
+borrow must pay. That&rsquo;s why we&rsquo;re trying
+not to borrow.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And we won&rsquo;t, not if we can help it.&rdquo; Lawrence
+set his will hard as he now followed
+those dark brown creatures over the ice.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_41">[41]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Johnny,&rdquo; he said suddenly. &ldquo;Do you think
+father should let us use traps?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&mdash;I don&rsquo;t know,&rdquo; Johnny replied slowly.
+&ldquo;But that, for us, is not the question. Ours is,
+&lsquo;Have we a right to urge him to let us use
+them?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And the answer is, &lsquo;No,&rsquo;&rdquo; he chuckled. &ldquo;So
+we&rsquo;ll have to trust our little old otters to lead
+the way. When they find Mr. Silver Fox for
+us we&rsquo;ll have to grab him.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If only one of those trapping fellows
+doesn&rsquo;t get him first,&rdquo; Lawrence said, wrinkling
+his brow.</p>
+<p>Early in the season, as, with dreamy eyes,
+the boys wandered over the forty acres of land
+that was, they hoped, to be their home for
+years to come, they had caught the low, whining
+notes of some small creatures apparently
+in distress.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It comes from under that rock,&rdquo; Johnny
+had said.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, over here beneath this dead tree
+trunk,&rdquo; Lawrence insisted.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_42">[42]</div>
+<p>He was right. Having torn away the decayed
+stump, they had found two round,
+brown balls of fur. These balls were baby
+otters. Taking them home, they had raised
+them on a bottle. And now, here they were,
+paying their debt by scouting about in search
+of the silver fox.</p>
+<p>Pets they were, the grandest in all the world.
+The happiest moments of their young lives
+were these long hikes. Never once did it seem
+to occur to them that it might be nice to desert
+their young masters and answer the call
+of the wild.</p>
+<p>Now, as the boys followed them, they went
+gliding here and there peeking into every crack
+and crevice of ice or frozen shore. From time
+to time they poked their noses into some hole
+into which strange tracks had vanished. After
+a good sniff they put their heads together and
+uttered low whining noises. These noises varied
+with their opinions on the condition of
+each particular hole. At times they appeared
+to shake their heads and whine, &ldquo;Too bad. He
+was here three hours ago. Now he&rsquo;s gone.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>At other times they put their noses in the
+air and sang triumphantly, &ldquo;He&rsquo;s there. He&rsquo;s
+right in that hole this minute.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_43">[43]</div>
+<p>Had the boys been able to train their pets
+to go in the hole and frighten out the prey,
+they might have held a moose-hide sack at the
+entrance to each hole and added quite rapidly
+to their collection of living Arctic animals.
+This, however, the otters would not do. They
+were not looking for a fight. And indeed, why
+should they? They did not live upon squirrels
+and muskrats, but upon fish. &ldquo;We&rsquo;ll find &rsquo;em,
+you catch &rsquo;em,&rdquo; seemed to be their motto.</p>
+<p>For the boys, finding the lair of the silver
+fox would not insure his capture. It merely
+meant that they would know where he lived
+and would watch that spot in the hope that
+he might come out on the ice in search of food
+or a drink and that then they might come
+speeding in to grab him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Look!&rdquo; Lawrence exclaimed suddenly,
+&ldquo;there are Old Silver&rsquo;s tracks!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, sir! He just cut in from the hill to
+the river. He&mdash;&rdquo; Suddenly Johnny broke off
+to peer upstream.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Something moving up there,&rdquo; he whispered.
+&ldquo;Maybe&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_44">[44]</div>
+<p>But the otters had smelled the fox tracks
+and were off on swift tracking feet. Johnny
+bent over to examine those tracks.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s the old fellow or his brother,&rdquo; he murmured.
+&ldquo;No other fox around here has such
+large feet. Boy! He&rsquo;s a humdinger!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Once more his keen eyes swept the upper
+reaches of the river. &ldquo;Huh!&rdquo; he grunted.
+&ldquo;Whatever that was, it&rsquo;s vanished now.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Might as well follow the otters,&rdquo; Lawrence
+suggested.</p>
+<p>They did follow. Soft-footed in silence they
+tracked on for a mile. Up banks and down
+again, over a ridge, back to the river. &ldquo;Look
+at those feathers!&rdquo; Lawrence whispered.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Got a ptarmigan,&rdquo; said Johnny. &ldquo;After that
+he should have made a bee line for his lair.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>That was just what the fox had done.
+Straight as an arrow he had returned to the
+stream, then he had sped away along its course
+until he came to a huge gray rock. There the
+trail ended. And beneath this rock, according
+to the verdict of the two singing otters, he
+must still lie fast asleep.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Good old otters!&rdquo; Lawrence exclaimed in a
+hoarse whisper.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_45">[45]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;They&rsquo;ve found us his hiding place,&rdquo; Johnny
+agreed. &ldquo;And will we watch it? We&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Suddenly he broke off short to point excitedly
+upstream.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A bear cub!&rdquo; Lawrence exclaimed low.
+&ldquo;He&rsquo;s going to cross the river.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We&mdash;we&rsquo;ll get on our sk-ates,&rdquo; said Johnny
+excitedly. &ldquo;Then let&rsquo;s take him.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Can we?&rdquo; Lawrence was doubtful.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Sure! We&rsquo;ll lasso him and tie him up.
+He&rsquo;ll make a grand addition to our zoo. Come
+on!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Swinging out on the shining ice, skating
+silently from the hips, the boys glided like
+two dark ghosts toward the unsuspecting bear
+cub who, at that moment, had started to cross
+a broad stretch of slippery ice. Sly silence is,
+however, a game that two can play at. This
+the boys were to learn very soon and to their
+sorrow.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_46">[46]</div>
+<p>One day the boys had come, quite unexpectedly,
+upon a half-grown white caribou, or perhaps
+it had been a reindeer, that had wandered
+down from some far northern herd. However
+that might have been, they were filled with
+regret at the thought that they were not
+equipped for capturing it for their &ldquo;zoo.&rdquo;
+From that time on they had carried lariats
+and, by way of some added safety, short, stout
+spears. They were thus equipped today as
+they sped swiftly, silently toward the bear cub.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll toss the lasso over his head, then you
+watch the fun,&rdquo; Johnny chuckled.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll watch all right,&rdquo; Lawrence agreed. And
+he did.</p>
+<p>Slowly, clumsily, the young bear, no larger
+than a good-sized dog, made his way across
+the ice. The wind was away from him. He
+could not smell the intruders, nor was he
+aware of their presence until, with a sudden
+rush, Johnny was upon him.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_47">[47]</div>
+<p>Never will the boy forget the look of surprise
+that came over the young bear&rsquo;s comical
+face as he stared straight into his eyes. The
+whole affair was easy, too easy. He passed
+so close to the cub that he might have touched
+him. He did not. Instead, he dropped his noose
+over his head, pulled it tight, then, letting out
+slack, whirled about to face the cub. What
+would the cub do about that? He was to know
+instantly. Throwing himself back on his
+haunches, the cub began backing and pulling
+like a balky horse. On his skates, Johnny was
+no match for him. All he could do was to come
+along. To his further annoyance, he found
+that his lariat had whirled about his wrist
+and tied itself into a knot. As long as the cub
+kept the line tight he could not untie the knot.
+He did not quite relish the idea of dashing up
+to the cub and saying, &ldquo;By your leave, I&rsquo;ll untie
+this knot.&rdquo; So, for the moment, he played
+into the cub&rsquo;s hand.</p>
+<p>Then the unexpected happened. With a
+grunt and a snarl of rage, a huge black bear,
+the cub&rsquo;s mother beyond a possible doubt,
+dashed over a ridge to come charging straight
+at Johnny and the cub.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Hey! Hey! Look out!&rdquo; Lawrence shouted.
+&ldquo;Drop your rope and beat it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&mdash;I can&rsquo;t,&rdquo; Johnny cried in sudden consternation.
+&ldquo;He&mdash;he&rsquo;s got me tied.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Tied!&rdquo; Lawrence gasped.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_48">[48]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s &rsquo;round my wrist.&rdquo; Johnny watched
+wide-eyed while the huge mother bear came
+tobogganing down the high, steep river bank.
+She hit the ice like a bobsled and, dropping
+on hind legs and tail, came sliding straight on.</p>
+<p>Just in time, Johnny came to his senses and
+began doing a back-stroke. Only by inches did
+he miss the husky swing of the angry bear&rsquo;s
+paw.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Cut the rope,&rdquo; Lawrence shouted.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Al-all right, I&rsquo;ll&mdash;I&rsquo;ll cut it.&rdquo; Johnny dug
+into a pocket with his free hand. A pocket
+knife. It must be opened. With one eye on the
+cub, who for the moment sat whining, and the
+other upon the mother bear, who was scrambling
+awkwardly to her feet, he had no eyes
+left for his knife. Just as, having gripped the
+handle with one hand, the blade with the other,
+he managed to open the knife, the cub, going
+into frenzied action, gave him a sudden jerk
+that sent the knife spinning far out on the ice.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s gone,&rdquo; he groaned.</p>
+<p>No more time for this. Old mother bear was
+after him. Fortunately this old bear was
+heavy with fat. She had been preparing for a
+winter&rsquo;s sleep. Still she could travel and she
+was fat and furious. Her skill as a skater was
+something to marvel at.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_49">[49]</div>
+<p>Since he could not escape from the rope, the
+only thing for Johnny to do was circle. Circle
+he did. One time around with the bear at his
+heels; two times around he had gained a little;
+three times around he caught the gleam of his
+knife. Could he stoop and pick it up? He bent
+over, made a reach for it, struck a crack with
+his skate and all but fell.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&mdash;I&rsquo;ll get it next time,&rdquo; he breathed.</p>
+<p>To his surprise he found that next time the
+knife was well out of his reach. Then to his
+utter horror, he saw that the perverse cub was
+standing still, making an animated Maypole
+out of himself and that it would be no time at
+all until the rope would be all wound around
+him. They would meet face to face, cub, mother
+bear and boy. And after that? He shuddered
+as he sped along that ever-narrowing
+circle.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m coming in,&rdquo; Lawrence shouted.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, you&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Johnny could say no more. Lawrence was
+already in. Skating straight at the bear to
+attract her attention, Lawrence shot past her
+and slapped her sharply on the nose.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_50">[50]</div>
+<p>It was a daring and effective endeavor.
+Turning with a snarl, completely abandoning
+her cub at this fancied insult, the bear went
+after him with a rush.</p>
+<p>That was all right as far as it went. The
+skating was good. The bear was fast, but not
+fast enough to catch him. There is, however,
+an end to all things. There was an end to that
+stretch of ice. It ended in a series of rapids
+that were not frozen over.</p>
+<p>Lawrence groaned as he saw open water
+ahead. To his added terror, he saw that the
+river narrowed at that point. That the bear
+could outrun him on land he knew all too
+well.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Got to be an artful dodger,&rdquo; he told himself.</p>
+<p>At that moment how he rejoiced that he had
+trained himself as a hockey skater. Swinging
+about in a half circle, he sped toward the right-hand
+bank. But the bear was there ahead of
+him.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_51">[51]</div>
+<p>Just as she reared up for a sledge-hammer
+blow, the boy whirled squarely about and shot
+away to left. Again he was too late for a safe
+passage, but not so much too late. He was
+gaining. Three more times, then with a joyous
+intake of breath he shot past the bear and
+was away.</p>
+<p>In the meantime, Johnny, safe for the moment
+from the mother bear, had hastily unwound
+the surprised cub, then had rushed him
+with such speed that the rope was off his neck
+before he could lift a paw. The cub was free.
+So was Johnny. And there were no regrets.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Johnny,&rdquo; said Lawrence as he joined his
+companion five minutes later, &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t think
+we want any bears in our zoo. They&rsquo;re too
+playful.&rdquo; They were to change their minds
+about this, but that was to come sometime
+later.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That,&rdquo; said Johnny with a chuckle, &ldquo;was
+almost funny.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; Lawrence agreed, &ldquo;almost.&rdquo; He did
+not laugh. &ldquo;Almost, but not quite.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>A moment later he exclaimed, &ldquo;Johnny!
+Where are the otters? We can&rsquo;t lose them.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_52">[52]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;They&rsquo;ll probably hunt us up. They&mdash;&rdquo;
+Johnny broke off short. &ldquo;Look!&rdquo; he murmured
+low. &ldquo;Look! There&rsquo;s the silver fox.
+He&rsquo;s out of his hole. He&mdash;he&rsquo;s going to cross
+the ice.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Lawrence glanced back to the spot where
+the bears had been. They had vanished. &ldquo;This
+time,&rdquo; he whispered, &ldquo;we&rsquo;ll get that old silver
+fox. We simply must.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_53">[53]</div>
+<h2 id="c4"><span class="small">CHAPTER IV</span>
+<br />THE CAPTURE OF OLD SILVER</h2>
+<p>Johnny felt his pulse quicken as he sped
+along over the ice. The silver fox had
+come out of the hole. There could be no doubt
+of that. Would he dodge back in again or
+would he start across the ice?</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If he starts!&rdquo; the boy breathed.</p>
+<p>He must not be too fast nor too sure. Last
+time he had muffed a glorious chance. Slowing
+up, he slid in behind a clump of elders and
+came to a standstill. There, gripping a shrub,
+he stood trembling like a butterfly ready for
+flight.</p>
+<p>As for Lawrence, he was coming on more
+slowly. Naturally more cautious than his cousin,
+he had an eye out for trouble. That fat
+old mother bear might still be lurking among
+the ridges. He had not forgotten how she had
+come charging down upon them.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_54">[54]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Can&rsquo;t take unnecessary chances,&rdquo; he told
+himself. &ldquo;Life is wonderful. I am sure that
+taking unnecessary chances is wrong. It is
+making light of God&rsquo;s great gift to us&mdash;life.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Ah, yes, it was good to live just now. For
+the first time in their lives his little family felt
+sure of having a home of their own. As he
+glided slowly along he thought of the summer&rsquo;s
+struggle. At first it had been damp and
+bitterly cold. Then the sun had been hot and
+the mosquitoes had come in swarms.</p>
+<p>Through all this they had labored on; father,
+mother, and these two stout boys. It was said
+that gangs of men would be along to clear
+patches of land and build cabins. To this they
+had not listened. &ldquo;We came to make our own
+way,&rdquo; they insisted. &ldquo;We are pioneers. Pioneers
+must work.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>When garden and potato patches were
+planted they had started the cabin. Selecting,
+from near and far, trees that were dead
+but not decayed, they had built a cabin whose
+walls would not warp and shrink as would
+those built of green timber.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_55">[55]</div>
+<p>Later, in the autumn when sharp winds told
+of a long winter ahead, they had cut squares
+of tough sod and piled them about the cabin
+until it seemed a sod house. When the question
+of a heating stove had arisen, they had
+discovered an abandoned gasoline barrel, had
+cut one hole for a door, another for the stove-pipe,
+had done a little drilling and riveting,
+and thus had made a stove that, fed on crackling
+fir logs, laughed at the Arctic cold.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Pioneers!&rdquo; he whispered. &ldquo;We are pioneers.&rdquo;
+How he loved that thought.</p>
+<p>Of a sudden his attention was drawn from
+past to present by Johnny&rsquo;s beckoning hand.
+With a quick twisting glide, he moved silently
+forward until he was at his companion&rsquo;s
+side.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Look,&rdquo; Johnny gripped his arm. &ldquo;There is
+the fox. He hasn&rsquo;t started across yet and&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And there are the otters!&rdquo; Lawrence broke
+in with a shrill whisper.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; Johnny agreed. &ldquo;That&rsquo;s the queer
+part of it. They came just so close to the fox,
+then seemed to shout something at him.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Like one boy daring another to come out
+and fight,&rdquo; Lawrence laughed low.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_56">[56]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, or inviting him to a game of tag,&rdquo;
+whispered Johnny. &ldquo;And look! There he goes!
+There goes the fox! Good old otters! They
+are helping&mdash;helping a lot.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He had spoken the truth, the fox was after
+one of the otters.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Little good it will do him,&rdquo; Lawrence
+chuckled. &ldquo;Those otters are more at home on
+ice and in water than on land.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Listen!&rdquo; Johnny&rsquo;s voice was tense now.
+His figure stiffened. &ldquo;In a minute I&rsquo;m going
+after him. I&rsquo;ve got the bag. If I get him I&rsquo;ll
+pop him inside. I won&rsquo;t miss now. You just
+follow along slowly. I might need you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Al-all right,&rdquo; the younger boy agreed.</p>
+<p>There might have been boys who would
+have said, &ldquo;This is my turn. You muffed last
+time.&rdquo; Not so Lawrence. All too well he knew
+the skill and natural daring of his cousin. And,
+after all, in their little family the rule had ever
+been, &ldquo;Each for all and all for each.&rdquo; So he
+watched his cousin glide silently out for one
+more adventure.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_57">[57]</div>
+<p>Ten seconds later in watching the little
+drama of wild life being played there on the
+ice, he had all but forgotten Johnny. Never
+before had he seen the tame otters put on such
+a clever show. Just as the larger one had so
+far escaped the onrush of the fox that he was
+becoming discouraged, the small otter, with
+cunning and extreme daring, slipped up and
+all but shouted in the fox&rsquo;s ear. At once, the
+now thoroughly angered fox turned to dash
+after this second intruder.</p>
+<p>No sooner had the first otter been abandoned
+than he turned about to begin slipping
+up on the fox to dare him for one more race.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;For all the world like a game of tag!&rdquo;
+Lawrence murmured.</p>
+<p>All this was aiding Johnny, though it is to
+be doubted whether the otters knew the value
+of their antics. The fox was being led farther
+and farther out on the ice. At the same time
+his attention was so held by this strange game
+that he was almost certain to miss catching
+sight of the boy who now glided closer, ever
+closer to him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Good old otters!&rdquo; Johnny repeated in a
+whisper as, drawing his moose-hide mittens
+tight, he prepared for the final dash.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_58">[58]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;He&rsquo;s going after him,&rdquo; Lawrence thought
+as, with a thrill shooting up his spine, he
+glided from his sheltered spot, ready, if need
+be, to come in on the finish.</p>
+<p>With a suddenness that must have been
+startling to the keenest eyes, Johnny swept
+down upon the fox and the otters. Did the otters
+see him? Beyond doubt. They saw everything.
+But the fox? For once he was caught
+quite unawares. One startled look, a quick
+squatting down on the ground, and Johnny
+was at his side. Before the fox could relax
+from this stiff pose, Johnny&rsquo;s hands, like a
+brass collar, were about his neck.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You got him!&rdquo; Lawrence shouted, springing
+into action. &ldquo;You got him! Hurray!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Then a terrible thing happened. Overjoyed
+at their great good fortune, Lawrence for the
+moment lost his bearing. Of a sudden his
+skate struck ice that crunched ominously. He
+tripped to go plunging forward into the black
+waters of the racing river. He had fallen into
+an open pool.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_59">[59]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll drown,&rdquo; he thought, as, in an involuntary
+manner, he struck out with his hands in a
+swimming motion. All too late he saw ice
+ahead. Next instant he was beneath the river&rsquo;s
+ice.</p>
+<p>Johnny saw all this. With a gasp of terror
+he all but dropped the fox. Then, scarcely
+knowing what he did, he thrust the fox as if he
+were his mother&rsquo;s fur scarf, into the moose-hide
+bag, drew the strings tight, then shot
+away toward the spot from which his cousin
+had vanished.</p>
+<p>As Lawrence shot beneath the ice, life
+seemed near its end. Yet there had never been
+a time when life had seemed so real and so
+joyous as now. For a second panic gripped
+him. Holding his breath, he tried to think.</p>
+<p>In an instant his mind was clear. He knew
+what he should do. There were two open
+pools farther on. How far? He did not know
+exactly. Could he hold his breath till then?
+He must hope. And he must try to move over
+closer to the shelving bank. If he reached the
+pool he might then touch bottom.</p>
+<p>Desperately he struggled to draw himself
+over to the left. His head hummed. His lungs
+were bursting, his heart pounding.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_60">[60]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;It&mdash;it&rsquo;s the end,&rdquo; he thought.</p>
+<p>And then, up he popped. Just in time, as
+his feet touched, he gripped the edge of the
+ice and held there. Ten agonizing seconds he
+clung there, then a voice shouted, &ldquo;Hold on,
+I&rsquo;m coming.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Ten seconds more and Johnny, who had
+leaped to the bank and raced along it, reached
+out to grip his mackinaw.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Now!&rdquo; he shouted. &ldquo;Out you come.&rdquo; And
+out he came.</p>
+<p>Weak from excitement and exhaustion, he
+lay there for a time motionless.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;This won&rsquo;t do,&rdquo; Johnny exclaimed at last.
+&ldquo;We&rsquo;ve got to get going. Here,&rdquo; he dragged
+the sodden mackinaw from his cousin&rsquo;s shoulders,
+then put his own sheep-lined coat in its
+place. After putting his own dry mittens on
+Lawrence&rsquo;s hands, he pulled him to his feet.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s you for skates and the ice, then home
+as fast as ever you can.&rdquo; He pushed him on
+before him.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_61">[61]</div>
+<p>As his skates touched the ice Lawrence felt
+new warm blood racing through his veins. He
+was off with the speed of the wind. And after
+him, with a moose-hide sack dangling at his
+side and filled with one very angry silver fox,
+came his loyal, anxious yet joyous friend and
+cousin, Johnny.</p>
+<p>The day, for this part of the world, was not
+extremely cold. Lawrence&rsquo;s trousers froze into
+pipe-like forms, but his sturdy, youthful body
+resisted the cold and sent him speeding on his
+way.</p>
+<p>Dropping down on the river bank at last,
+they dragged off their skates to take the usual
+short cut through the timber.</p>
+<p>As he passed the carefully built shelter beside
+that narrow stream, Johnny recalled the
+note tacked to a post and wondered afresh
+whether the mysterious Bill would arrive, just
+as the note said he would, on July 1st.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Who do you suppose he left that note for?&rdquo;
+he exclaimed suddenly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Haven&rsquo;t&mdash;the&mdash;slightest-notion,&rdquo; Lawrence
+panted, still racing along. &ldquo;One&mdash;thing&mdash;is&mdash;sure.
+I&rsquo;m&mdash;going&mdash;to&mdash;be&mdash;there&mdash;when
+that day comes.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_62">[62]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;We&rsquo;ll both be there,&rdquo; Johnny agreed. Somehow,
+as he thought of it, in a strange way it
+seemed that Bill and the silver fox must in
+some way be associated with each other. &ldquo;Pure
+moonbeams,&rdquo; he assured himself, yet the
+thought remained in the back of his mind.</p>
+<p>There is something in the north that is
+called &ldquo;Grapevine telegraph.&rdquo; This name is
+given to the mysterious means by which, in a
+land devoid of telephone and telegraph, news
+travels fast and far. Was it this unreal telegraph
+that, six hours later, as Lawrence, none
+the worse for his experience, lay before the
+roaring fire, brought a stranger to their door?
+Who can say? Be that as it may, there he was.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Excuse me for intruding,&rdquo; said the tall,
+smiling stranger as he brushed the snow from
+his moccasins. &ldquo;I heard you&rsquo;d got a silver fox
+and I just had to have a look at him. It&rsquo;s been
+three years since I saw one. I&rsquo;m Jim Clem.
+Got a claim over on the other side of the settlement.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&mdash;you&rsquo;ve seen silver foxes.&rdquo; Johnny
+was on his feet.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Hundreds of &rsquo;em.&rdquo; The stranger smiled.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Hun-hundreds,&rdquo; Johnny stammered. &ldquo;I
+thought they were rare.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_63">[63]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Used to be,&rdquo; admitted Jim Clem. &ldquo;Still
+are, fairly so. Did you get a good one?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, I&mdash;well,&rdquo; Johnny whirled about. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll
+show you.&rdquo; Opening the back door, he dragged
+in a small wire cage. &ldquo;We just put him in this
+for a little while,&rdquo; he half apologized.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh! He&rsquo;s alive. Hurt much?&rdquo; Jim asked.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not hurt at all.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not hurt?&rdquo; Jim stared. &ldquo;How&rsquo;d you catch
+him?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;With my hands,&rdquo; Johnny chuckled. Then,
+seeing that this would not stand as a bare
+statement, he explained briefly their method of
+capture.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Say-ee,&rdquo; Jim exclaimed, dropping into a
+chair, &ldquo;you&rsquo;re regular natives. And that&rsquo;s a
+fine specimen. Time was when you&rsquo;d get two
+thousand dollars for him.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, we&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But not now,&rdquo; Jim broke in. &ldquo;Never again.
+Know much about foxes?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, we&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_64">[64]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Then, I&rsquo;ll tell you.&rdquo; Jim settled back in his
+chair. &ldquo;I worked on a silver fox farm for
+three years. &lsquo;Million Dollar Farm,&rsquo; they called
+it. And that&rsquo;s what it was. Raised only silver
+foxes.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But you don&rsquo;t get that way all at once,&rdquo; he
+laughed. &ldquo;Not by a great deal. Take that
+fellow you got there. Suppose you find him a
+mate and decide to start raising silver foxes.
+Pretty soon you&rsquo;d have a lovely lot of cute
+little fox cubs. But would they be silver foxes?
+Not one. That&rsquo;s almost certain.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not one?&rdquo; Lawrence sat up.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s it,&rdquo; Jim agreed. &ldquo;You&rsquo;d get two or
+three little red foxes and, with great luck, a
+cross fox, that&rsquo;s all.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You see,&rdquo; he leaned forward, &ldquo;a silver fox
+is a freak, just as a half-white robin is. If a
+half-white robin hatches his eggs his young
+ones are likely to be jolly little robin redbreasts,
+nothing more.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Only by keeping foxes for years and years
+can you at last hope to raise pure silver foxes.
+That takes thousands and thousands of dollars.
+Four brothers went in for that in a big
+way years ago. Last year they sold 13,000 pelts
+for more than $1,000,000. And that,&rdquo; he added,
+&ldquo;figures up to something like $77.00 apiece.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_65">[65]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s what our fox is worth,&rdquo; Lawrence
+groaned. &ldquo;And we&rsquo;d have to kill him to get
+that?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, sure,&rdquo; Jim grinned. &ldquo;But truly,&rdquo; his
+face sobered, &ldquo;that&rsquo;s the tough part about fox
+farming. In the end you&rsquo;ve got to kill &rsquo;em, so
+some fine lady can drape their skins about her
+neck.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;d never sell ours to a fox farm,&rdquo; Lawrence
+said with conviction.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;How about selling him alive to some zoo?&rdquo;
+Johnny asked hopefully.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t know very much about that,&rdquo; Jim
+replied slowly. &ldquo;I wouldn&rsquo;t hope too much.
+There are 5,000 fox farms these days. And
+they raise some beauties.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But if you mean to keep this fellow alive,&rdquo;
+he added, &ldquo;you want to get a wooden barrel
+and make it into a den for him. Pack it all
+&rsquo;round with chaff and moss to make it warm.
+Then build him a wire pen all about it. He&rsquo;ll
+get along fine if you do that.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_66">[66]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll have to trot along.&rdquo; He rose to go.
+&ldquo;Come and see me. I&rsquo;ll tell you more about
+&rsquo;em. They&rsquo;re interesting no end, foxes are.&rdquo;
+He bade them goodnight.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; Johnny drawled slowly, &ldquo;Old Silver
+won&rsquo;t buy us a tractor, that&rsquo;s sure.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No,&rdquo; said Lawrence. &ldquo;But we can learn a
+lot about him and we can at least keep him
+from eating our chickens. Don&rsquo;t give up the
+ship. We&rsquo;ll happen onto something yet.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>There are other rewards than money in this
+life of ours. Remarkable achievement of any
+sort usually brings us kind words of deserved
+praise from our fellowmen. It was so with
+Johnny and Lawrence. More than one settler
+had suffered from the night raids of Old Silver.
+Now that he was in prison his captors
+were highly praised.</p>
+<p>Still the problem remained; should they give
+up their dream of complete independence and
+go in debt for a tractor?</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I think you&rsquo;d better,&rdquo; said Johnny. &ldquo;There
+are only a few left and they are going fast.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;There&rsquo;ll always be the Titan,&rdquo; Lawrence
+laughed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, the Titan,&rdquo; Johnny agreed. &ldquo;But who
+could ever pay for that tractor?&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_67">[67]</div>
+<p>The Titan was a powerful new type of tractor.
+Only one had been brought on and that
+one was priced at a cool thousand dollars.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We&rsquo;ll wait a little longer,&rdquo; was Mr. Lawson&rsquo;s
+decision. &ldquo;The tide of fortune may turn
+our way.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_68">[68]</div>
+<h2 id="c5"><span class="small">CHAPTER V</span>
+<br />JOHNNY FIGHTS FOR FUN</h2>
+<p>News travels fast in the north. When
+the time came for the boys to make one
+more journey to the store at Palmer everyone
+had heard of their catch.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Here they come,&rdquo; someone shouted as,
+stamping the snow from their feet, they entered
+the smoke-filled room.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Here they come. They bring &rsquo;em back
+alive!&rdquo; someone else shouted.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; Lawrence drawled, &ldquo;we bring them
+anyway. Got two minks today. That&rsquo;s two
+more that won&rsquo;t carry off folks&rsquo; chickens.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I hear you boys got a silver fox.&rdquo; There
+was a suggestion of antagonism in Jack Mayhorn&rsquo;s
+voice as he said this.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; Johnny replied. &ldquo;And we&rsquo;ve still got
+him.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_69">[69]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Do you know, fellows,&rdquo; Jack gave vent to
+a chuckle that seemed a little strained, &ldquo;back
+in Michigan, where I lived on the shores of
+Lake Superior, there was a feller who used
+to go lake-trout fishin&rsquo;. He trolled with an
+out-board motor. Always got &rsquo;em, too, a
+whale of a fine catch.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But you know,&rdquo; he edged forward in his
+chair, &ldquo;there was net fishermen there, too.
+Fished fer a living. And one day when we
+was lookin&rsquo; over this sportin&rsquo; fellow&rsquo;s catch,
+the fish he claimed he&rsquo;d caught trollin&rsquo; we
+found had net marks on &rsquo;em.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Net marks?&rdquo; someone said.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Sure.&rdquo; There was a shifty look in Jack&rsquo;s
+eyes. &ldquo;He&rsquo;d been liftin&rsquo; nets an&rsquo; helping himself
+to the fish that didn&rsquo;t belong to him. And
+I was wonderin&rsquo;,&rdquo; he paused, &ldquo;just wonderin&rsquo;,
+Johnny, if that silver fox of yours mebby had
+a lame foot or&mdash;or somethin&rsquo;.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The silence that followed was painful.
+Johnny made no reply. His fingers worked
+along his palm, that was all.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_70">[70]</div>
+<p>It was Blackie Dawson who spoke at last.
+&ldquo;I take it, Jack,&rdquo; he spoke slowly, &ldquo;you are
+insinuating that these boys took the fox from
+your trap. Let me tell you, old man, that sort
+of thing calls for a fight; in the north it does.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Jack made no reply, but Johnny did.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m sorry,&rdquo; he said, speaking slowly. &ldquo;It
+doesn&rsquo;t mean a fight to me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You won&rsquo;t fight?&rdquo; Blackie stared at him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not to settle a personal grudge,&rdquo; Johnny
+replied slowly. &ldquo;If Jack wants to think we
+took the fox from his trap, that&rsquo;s his privilege.
+If he would like to examine the fox that&rsquo;s his
+privilege also. But I&rsquo;m not going to beat him
+up just to make him take back something he&rsquo;s
+said. That might seem to be a point of honor
+but we all have our own codes of honor. It
+may seem queer but I&rsquo;d rather take an insult
+than give someone a beating.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Take a beating you mean,&rdquo; Jack sneered.
+He was nearly twice Johnny&rsquo;s size.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Joe,&rdquo; said Johnny, turning to the store-keeper,
+&ldquo;you told me you got two pairs of boxing
+gloves through the mail.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Sure, Johnny, I did. Here they are.&rdquo;
+Reaching behind him the store-keeper drew
+out two pairs of gloves.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Put &rsquo;em on, Johnny,&rdquo; Blackie encouraged.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_71">[71]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Put &rsquo;em on! Put &rsquo;em on!&rdquo; came from all
+over the room. There was a stir of expectancy
+in the air.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Sure, I&rsquo;ll put them on,&rdquo; Johnny grinned.
+&ldquo;What do you say, Joe? I&rsquo;ll box you five
+rounds. Five friendly bouts for fun, money or
+marbles.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The crowd stared, Johnny was talking not
+to the man who had offered the insult but to
+his friend the store-keeper.</p>
+<p>For a moment Joe stood staring at him.
+Then, as the light of a smile spread over his
+face, he said, &ldquo;Sure, Johnny, I&rsquo;ll box you, not
+for money or marbles, but just, you might say,
+for fun.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>It will be a long time before the settlers of
+Matanuska Valley will again witness such a
+match as followed. Five rounds for fun, between
+friends? Yes, perhaps. And yet there
+were times when even Johnny doubted that.
+True, he was not angry for a moment, just in
+there doing his best. But Joe? He was wondering
+about him.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_72">[72]</div>
+<p>Though he had told no one in the valley
+about it, Joe had, only the year before, belonged
+to the U. S. Marines. The Marines
+neither give nor ask quarters. And Joe had
+been champion of his regiment. As for Johnny,
+well you know Johnny. If you don&rsquo;t, you
+should have been there that night.</p>
+<p>From the start it was leather against leather,
+a slap for the chin, a thrust at the heart,
+a bang on the side of the head, and after that
+a clinch.</p>
+<p>Seldom had men been more evenly matched.
+Joe was older, more experienced, Johnny
+younger, faster on his feet.</p>
+<p>They had not been going a minute when an
+involuntary ring had formed about them. In
+that ring, gaping open-mouthed was Jack
+Mayhorn.</p>
+<p>Twice Johnny was down on a knee. Each
+time he was up and at it. Once, backed into a
+corner, Joe tripped and fell. He, too, was up
+before the count of three.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_73">[73]</div>
+<p>The fifth round was wild. Had there been
+an announcer, he must surely have lost his
+mind calling, &ldquo;A right to Johnny&rsquo;s chin, a left
+to his ear. The ear is bleeding. Oh&mdash;a! A
+slam on the side of Joe&rsquo;s head that makes him
+slightly groggy. Johnny&rsquo;s following through.
+The clinch! The referee (Blackie) separates
+them. They are sparring now. Now! Oh,
+now! Johnny takes one on the chin. He&rsquo;s
+down. One&mdash;two&mdash;three&mdash;He&rsquo;s up again.&rdquo;
+So it went to the end.</p>
+<p>As the cowbell, rung by young Larry Hooker,
+announced the close of the round, the
+crowd went wild with enthusiasm, but Joe,
+seizing Johnny by the glove, dragged him into
+the kitchen at the back of the store.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Boy, you&rsquo;re a whiz!&rdquo; he exclaimed. &ldquo;There
+was a time or two when I thought you had
+me.&rdquo; He was mopping Johnny&rsquo;s face with a
+wet towel.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not a chance,&rdquo; Johnny laughed. &ldquo;I didn&rsquo;t
+know what I was stepping into but I did my
+best.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Listen,&rdquo; Joe held up a hand. The tumult
+in the outer room had died down. Blackie
+Dawson was about to make a short speech.
+&ldquo;Gentlemen,&rdquo; he was saying, &ldquo;the day after
+tomorrow at early candle light, there&rsquo;ll be another
+boxing bout in this room. It will be between&mdash;&rdquo;
+he paused&mdash;&ldquo;between Jack Mayhorn
+and&mdash;he&mdash;he has a choice&mdash;Johnny Thompson
+or Joe Lawrence.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_74">[74]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;No!&rdquo; a voice fairly roared after the shouts
+had subsided, &ldquo;I got a bad foot. My footwork,
+it ain&rsquo;t no good at all.&rdquo; It was Jack
+Mayhorn who spoke.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So it&rsquo;s <i>your</i> foot that&rsquo;s bad and not that
+silver fox&rsquo;s foot?&rdquo; Blackie bantered.</p>
+<p>The crowd let out a roar that could have
+been heard a mile.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;ll about fix Jack Mayhorn,&rdquo; said Joe.
+&ldquo;He&rsquo;s not likely to bother you much now.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>An hour later, when the customers had
+&ldquo;cleared out and gone home,&rdquo; Johnny and
+Lawrence found themselves in Joe&rsquo;s kitchen.
+Blackie and Joe were there. So was Mrs. Joe.
+They were all eating huckleberry pie and
+drinking hot chocolate.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Johnny,&rdquo; said Joe, feeling a plaster on his
+chin, &ldquo;why did you do it?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Do what?&rdquo; Johnny stared.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Pick on me for a fight. I never done you no
+wrong.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s why,&rdquo; was Johnny&rsquo;s astonishing reply.
+&ldquo;It&rsquo;s an old Eskimo custom.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_75">[75]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;What is?&rdquo; They all stared at him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;According to the Eskimo law,&rdquo; Johnny
+went on soberly, &ldquo;if you are going to be killed
+it has to be done by a near relative or very
+close friend. So-o&mdash;&rdquo; he added with a spreading
+grin, &ldquo;I thought you&rsquo;d do as well as anyone.
+And you did&mdash;even better.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Anyway,&rdquo; Blackie supplemented after
+their laugh was over, &ldquo;folks in Matanuska Valley
+will know who among us can put up a
+good scrap and that always helps.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>When one is young he thinks only of the
+present and the future, never of the past. As
+the two boys walked home that night, they
+thought much of the future. The bond of
+friendship between them and Blackie Dawson
+was growing stronger every day. When spring
+came, would they go booming away with him
+on a Coast Guard boat in search of adventure
+in Bristol Bay? Who could tell?</p>
+<p>In the meantime there was work to be done,
+plenty of it. Some twenty acres of land was
+yet to be cleared. In the spring stumps must
+be pulled. Without a tractor this would mean
+back-breaking labor.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_76">[76]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Perhaps we can get more foxes?&rdquo; Lawrence
+said, thinking out loud.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, and other wild creatures,&rdquo; Johnny
+added. &ldquo;That country &lsquo;back of the beyond&rsquo; has
+never even been explored. There must be wild
+life back there that&rsquo;s never been seen. Peary
+found white reindeer on one of his expeditions.
+Who can tell what we&rsquo;ll come upon if
+we keep up our search?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Who, indeed? The boy had spoken more
+wisely than he knew.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_77">[77]</div>
+<h2 id="c6"><span class="small">CHAPTER VI</span>
+<br />SMOKEY JOE&rsquo;S BLUE BEARS</h2>
+<p>Johnny awoke with a start. What had
+wakened him? He could not say for sure.
+He had a feeling that it had been a human
+voice, perhaps a shout.</p>
+<p>Propping himself up on one elbow he listened
+intently. There came no sound save the
+long-drawn distant howl of a wolf. &ldquo;Must
+have dreamed it,&rdquo; he murmured as he drew
+deep into the caribou-skin bed.</p>
+<p>The night was cold, bitter cold. It was
+dark. Like chilled white diamonds, stars glistened
+in the sky. &ldquo;What a change a few hours
+can make,&rdquo; he thought. They were sleeping in
+the mysterious Bill&rsquo;s shelter, he and Lawrence.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_78">[78]</div>
+<p>Why were they sleeping in this cheerless
+shelter? Warm beds awaited them at home.
+When one is young he does not need too good
+an answer for the thing he does. Both Johnny
+and Lawrence were born scouts. They loved
+the sharp tang of cold on their cheeks, followed
+by the quick glow of a campfire. The
+smell of wood-smoke, deer steak broiled over
+coals, dreamy hours just sitting before the fire,
+not talking, just thinking, all these were a joy
+to them. So they liked to get away for a night.
+Bill&rsquo;s camp was a convenient place.</p>
+<p>Johnny did not fall asleep at once, instead
+his mind was crowded with dreamy thoughts.</p>
+<p>Perhaps Bill was a gold prospector. Perhaps
+he had discovered gold. Then when he
+returned to this camp, they might all go tramping
+away to find the spot and stake out claims.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That would ruin the settlement,&rdquo; he told
+himself. &ldquo;People would desert their dreams
+of making homes for brighter, more illusive
+dreams of wealth. And yet&mdash;&rdquo; What did he
+wish? He could not tell.</p>
+<p>When they had retired for the night the
+moon had been shining, a bright fire gleamed
+before their shelter. Now all was gloomy and
+cold. Should he rekindle the fire? &ldquo;No. Too
+chilly,&rdquo; he shuddered. &ldquo;Wait till morning.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_79">[79]</div>
+<p>The days that had gone before had been uneventful
+ones. More and more he had come
+to realize that they must have a tractor. Long
+hours they had worked clearing timber. Brush
+was burned. But wood must be saved for fires,
+for buildings and fences. Every day saw
+larger piles of wood on the cleared land.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;With a tractor and a stout sled we&rsquo;d have
+it hauled home in no time,&rdquo; Lawrence had
+said to his father. &ldquo;Without it&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Wait a little longer,&rdquo; his father had counseled.</p>
+<p>So they were waiting and tonight, sleeping
+in Bill&rsquo;s shelter, they were still waiting.</p>
+<p>So Johnny thought and dreamed until at
+last he fell asleep.</p>
+<p>Perhaps he slept an hour, perhaps less or
+more. Then he awoke with a suddenness that
+set his senses reeling.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Law-Lawrence!&rdquo; he shouted in wild consternation.
+&ldquo;The bear! The bear!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Something solid and heavy as a bear had
+landed with all but crushing weight on his
+chest. It still rested there but did not move.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_80">[80]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s no bear,&rdquo; said a gruff, good-natured
+voice. &ldquo;That&rsquo;s my pack. Sorry! Didn&rsquo;t know
+you was here.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Lawrence!&rdquo; Johnny exclaimed. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s Bill!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not Bill neither,&rdquo; the stranger disagreed.
+&ldquo;They call me Smokey Joe.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Smokey Joe!&rdquo; Johnny peered into the darkness,
+trying to get a look at the man&rsquo;s face.
+&ldquo;Smokey Joe. I&rsquo;ve heard of you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>And he surely had. Smokey was a well-known
+character in the valley. The old-timers
+told how he came and went. Always in search
+of gold, he would disappear for months.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Then,&rdquo; one of the motherly women added,
+&ldquo;just when we think he&rsquo;s gone for good, up
+he pops again. We feed him up and patch his
+clothes. Then, like some boy, he&rsquo;s off again.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But he&rsquo;s no boy,&rdquo; she added. &ldquo;He came to
+Alaska in the gold rush of &rsquo;97.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Eighteen-ninety-seven!&rdquo; Johnny had exclaimed.
+&ldquo;More than forty years ago!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He never left,&rdquo; the gray-haired lady had
+added. &ldquo;He came from the Cumberland Mountains
+somewhere and he still speaks in their
+queer way.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_81">[81]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;They say,&rdquo; she added with a lowered voice,
+&ldquo;that he struck it rich once, had nearly half
+a million dollars, and that he&rsquo;s got some of it
+hid away in the hills somewhere. But, then,&rdquo;
+she sighed, &ldquo;you can&rsquo;t believe anything you
+hear and only half you see in Alaska. Alaska
+is a place of wild dreams.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Johnny was recalling all this as he made
+haste to split dry wood into fine pieces, whittle
+some shavings, then light a blaze in their
+out-of-doors fireplace.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s about morning,&rdquo; he said, at last looking
+into Smokey Joe&rsquo;s seamed face. &ldquo;Did you
+come far?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Been travelin&rsquo; mighty nigh all night,&rdquo; the
+old man drawled. &ldquo;Me and my hounds here.&rdquo;
+He nodded at three powerful dogs, already
+curled up on the snow for a sleep. &ldquo;Right
+smart cold up yonder. Hit&rsquo;s a sight better here
+in the bottoms.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We&rsquo;ll have coffee before you know it,&rdquo;
+Johnny said cheerily. &ldquo;Coffee and sour-dough
+flap-jacks.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah,&rdquo; the old man sucked in his breath.
+&ldquo;Sour dough flap-jacks. They shore do stick
+to yer ribs. Reckon Smokey Joe&rsquo;s the flapjack
+eatinest feller you almost ever seed.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_82">[82]</div>
+<p>Lawrence grinned. This old man spoke a
+strange language.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A bear!&rdquo; Smokey chuckled. &ldquo;You all
+thought I were a bear! That&rsquo;s right smart
+quare.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We almost caught a cub,&rdquo; Johnny explained.
+&ldquo;Caught him alive, I mean.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Almost.&rdquo; Lawrence laughed. &ldquo;But his
+mother objected.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Bears,&rdquo; said the old man, blinking at the
+fire. &ldquo;Back thar in them thar glaciers thar&rsquo;s
+bears you might nigh wouldn&rsquo;t believe the
+plain truth about.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why?&rdquo; Johnny sat up. &ldquo;What&rsquo;s strange
+about them?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Might nigh everythin&rsquo;s quare, I reckon.
+Hm,&rdquo; the old man sniffed the coffee, &ldquo;smells
+powerful good.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;ll be boiled in a minute or two,&rdquo; said
+Johnny. &ldquo;But tell me about those bears.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_83">[83]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;They&rsquo;re blue, plumb blue, like a thin sky.&rdquo;
+The old man struggled for words. &ldquo;They&rsquo;re
+right smart woolly like sheep, I reckon. But
+they ain&rsquo;t sheep. God-a-mighty, narry a bit
+of it. One of them clawed my lead dog like
+tarnation. An&rsquo; they&rsquo;re the fish-eatinest critters
+you most ever seed.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Polar bears?&rdquo; Johnny suggested.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Polar bears, big as good-sized hounds!&rdquo;
+Smokey sniffed. &ldquo;Who&rsquo;s ever hearn tell of
+sech polar bears?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Who indeed? Johnny was growing excited
+and confused. &ldquo;Woolly, blue bears no bigger
+than dogs,&rdquo; he was thinking. &ldquo;What kind of
+bears could they be?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>In his confusion he upset the coffeepot and
+spilled half its contents. For all this, there
+was plenty left. Smokey Joe drank it piping
+hot, ate in a ravenous manner. Then, springing
+to his feet and calling to his dogs, declared
+he must get down to Palmer for a new pack of
+grub.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He&rsquo;s found a trace of color in some dashing
+stream that doesn&rsquo;t freeze, not even in winter,&rdquo;
+was Johnny&rsquo;s conclusion. &ldquo;He&rsquo;s going to
+hotfoot it right back and get rich&mdash;maybe.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But, Johnny,&rdquo; Lawrence was not smiling,
+&ldquo;do you really suppose there are any such
+bears as he described?&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_84">[84]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Of course not,&rdquo; was Johnny&rsquo;s prompt reply.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But, Johnny, if there were, if we caught
+one alive! No bigger than a dog. We could
+do it, Johnny. We could buy a tractor.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Forget it. It&rsquo;s all a pipe dream, I tell you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>But Lawrence did not forget Smokey Joe&rsquo;s
+blue bears, nor, in the end, did Johnny.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_85">[85]</div>
+<h2 id="c7"><span class="small">CHAPTER VII</span>
+<br />A STRANGE BATTLE</h2>
+<p>Shortly after noon of that same day a
+slim, bright-eyed man in a huge beaver
+overcoat drove up to the Lawson cabin. Johnny
+and Lawrence, who were about to go back
+to their wood cutting, stared at him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Hello, boys,&rdquo; was his surprising greeting.
+&ldquo;I hear you bring &rsquo;em back alive.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why, yes, we&mdash;Sometimes we do,&rdquo; Johnny
+replied in confusion.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Blackie Dawson told me about you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, Blackie.&rdquo; Johnny&rsquo;s face brightened.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I am in the animal business,&rdquo; the man explained,
+alighting from his hired sled and allowing
+Lawrence to lead his horse away. &ldquo;I
+thought you boys might help me a little.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Help you? Oh, sure!&rdquo; Things were looking
+better and better. &ldquo;Here&rsquo;s where we get a
+start,&rdquo; Johnny was thinking.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_86">[86]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;What have you?&rdquo; the man asked.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, er&mdash;mister&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They call me Professor Ormsby,&rdquo; said the
+stranger. &ldquo;You may call me what you please.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, then, Professor,&rdquo; Johnny went on,
+&ldquo;we have a silver fox, a perfectly keen fox.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Caught in a trap, I suppose?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No. By hand.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;By hand!&rdquo; The Professor stared. &ldquo;How
+do you do it?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Johnny told him in as few words as possible
+and with no dramatics at all, just how it was
+done.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, I say!&rdquo; the Professor exclaimed.
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s great! You took a chance with that
+fox. But, let me see&mdash;No-o, I can&rsquo;t use a
+silver fox. How about beavers?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We haven&rsquo;t taken any beaver. We&mdash;well,
+we were afraid it might be against the law
+even to catch them alive.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I have a government permit,&rdquo; said the Professor.
+&ldquo;But if you haven&rsquo;t any beaver&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Catching beaver would be easy. We have
+a grand colony not three miles away,&rdquo; Lawrence
+put in. &ldquo;We might&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_87">[87]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;How about mink?&rdquo; Johnny asked. &ldquo;We
+have some fine ones. Or snow-shoe rabbits?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I suggest that you eat the rabbits,&rdquo; the Professor
+laughed. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll have a look at your mink.
+But beaver! There&rsquo;s your main chance. Can&rsquo;t
+you get me some? Big ones, the bigger the
+better.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You see,&rdquo; he smiled, &ldquo;we think we&rsquo;re really
+doing good through this work. In the big cities,
+hot in summer and cold in winter and
+crowded always, there are hundreds of thousands
+of children who would never know what
+a woodchuck, a monkey, a beaver or a bear
+looked like if they didn&rsquo;t see them in a zoo.
+Brings real joy to them, I&rsquo;m sure. Many&rsquo;s the
+fellow who dates his first real interest in the
+wide out-of-doors to his visit at the zoo.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, I&mdash;&rdquo; Johnny had scarcely heard him.
+&ldquo;Could we do it?&rdquo; he was asking himself. He
+was thinking of beaver. &ldquo;Why not? Thousands
+and thousands of city children.&rdquo; His
+head was in a whirl.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I think,&rdquo; he tried to make his voice seem
+very cheerful, &ldquo;I think we can supply the beaver.
+Can&rsquo;t we, Lawrence?&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_88">[88]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;What? Yes. Oh, yes,&rdquo; Lawrence replied.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;One of them must be a big one, a real boss
+of the village,&rdquo; warned the Professor.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We&rsquo;ve got him,&rdquo; Johnny laughed uncertainly.
+&ldquo;Napoleon himself.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes. Oh, yes. We&rsquo;ve got him, all right,&rdquo;
+Lawrence did not laugh.</p>
+<p>Strangely enough, as a short time later the
+boys went away on one more &ldquo;Bring &rsquo;em back
+alive hunt&rdquo; there was no spring in their step.
+Their faces were sober. If they succeeded this
+one more time, the coveted tractor would be
+within their grasp, and yet they appeared anything
+but happy.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Might even get the Titan,&rdquo; Lawrence tried
+to tell himself. This boy loved fine machinery
+and that Titan tractor was a beauty. It had
+power, plenty of it. With it they could not
+only pull stumps and plow fields for themselves,
+but do work for other settlers on shares
+and, in quiet times, they could work on the
+road. &ldquo;Four live beavers,&rdquo; he thought. &ldquo;That&rsquo;s
+all it takes.&rdquo; Yes, that was all it took, and
+yet&mdash;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_89">[89]</div>
+<p>Up a small stream that flows into the Matanuska
+River early in the year the boys had discovered
+a beaver colony. Many an hour they
+had spent watching these busy beavers. Never
+in all their lives had they seen such feats of
+engineering done by creatures of the wild.</p>
+<p>There were at least sixty beavers in the
+group. One big fellow, weighing sixty pounds
+or more, was the leader. He was the boss contractor.
+And such a boss as he was!</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Napoleon,&rdquo; they had named him. He stood
+for hours, as the great little general is pictured,
+straight, stiff and soldier-like. To him came
+the others. Were there trees to be felled?
+Two lieutenants came marching soberly up to
+him. They talked earnestly, nodding their
+heads, like real people, then off they rushed
+to start a dozen beavers doing the work.</p>
+<p>It was so in everything. Most interesting of
+all had been the building of the big dam. This
+work, the boys understood, must be rushed.
+Winter would come. Ice would freeze two feet
+thick. The level of the stream must be raised
+to six feet so the beaver tribe could use the
+water beneath as a highway all winter long.
+The water must be dammed up.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_90">[90]</div>
+<p>This dam building, done under the wise direction
+of old Napoleon, had progressed rapidly
+for a time, then a sudden freshet of water
+loosened some of the beams and the whole affair
+threatened to go down stream.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What&rsquo;ll they do now?&rdquo; Lawrence had
+asked.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Wait and see,&rdquo; was Johnny&rsquo;s answer.</p>
+<p>Old Napoleon sent his men, like sub-engineers,
+all over the dam, making a study of
+conditions. Then, apparently abandoning all
+this work, he ordered a new dam built a hundred
+feet farther down stream.</p>
+<p>But did he truly abandon his first work?
+Not a bit of it. He and his crew built just
+enough of a dam below to raise the water and
+relieve the pressure from the original dam.
+Then, with an air of professional pride, Napoleon
+returned to his old post and the work
+was well completed before frost.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He,&rdquo; Johnny thought to himself, &ldquo;is the
+friend we mean to capture and sell into slavery,
+Old Napoleon.&rdquo; Little wonder that his
+heart was heavy. &ldquo;Old Napoleon,&rdquo; he whispered
+once again.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_91">[91]</div>
+<p>But what was this? As they neared the beaver
+colony where they were sure to find Napoleon
+out sunning himself, they caught sight
+of some creature skulking through the brush.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s a wolf,&rdquo; Johnny whispered. &ldquo;Let&rsquo;s follow
+him.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Follow him they did, and to their consternation
+saw that he was headed for the beaver
+colony.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We&rsquo;d better frighten him away,&rdquo; Lawrence
+whispered. &ldquo;He&rsquo;ll drive all the beavers beneath
+the ice. Then we won&rsquo;t be able to lasso
+a single one.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>This, Johnny knew, was good advice, but
+for some reason scarcely known to himself, he
+said, &ldquo;Let&rsquo;s wait.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>When at last they caught sight of the beaver
+village, they saw old Napoleon standing stiff
+and straight as ever in his place. He was having
+a sun bath.</p>
+<p>After sneaking along through the brush, the
+wolf made a dash at the beaver.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He&rsquo;ll kill him,&rdquo; Lawrence whispered.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_92">[92]</div>
+<p>Did he? Strange to say, as the wolf came
+near, the beaver did not stir from his place.
+This appeared to surprise the wolf, who did
+not at once rush in for the kill. Sneaking up
+close, he made a dash at the beaver, but
+stopped just short of his goal. Still the beaver
+did not move. To the boys this seemed strange.
+Their respect for the old fellow grew by leaps
+and bounds. He appeared to be saying,
+&ldquo;What&rsquo;s a wolf that one should fear him?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He&mdash;he&rsquo;s great!&rdquo; Johnny shrilled.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Magnificent,&rdquo; Lawrence agreed.</p>
+<p>Snarling low, the wolf began dashing and
+snapping at the beaver. Each snap made him
+bolder. Now his ugly jaws were three feet
+from the apparently defenseless hero of wild
+life, who had decided to give his life for his
+home and his people. Now he was only two
+feet away. And now only a foot.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We&mdash;we&rsquo;d better step in,&rdquo; came from Lawrence.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Wait,&rdquo; Johnny gripped his arm hard. Perhaps
+he should stop the wolf, but he waited,
+fascinated.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Now!&rdquo; Lawrence caught his breath. The
+end, he was sure, had come.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_93">[93]</div>
+<p>And then, of a sudden, things did happen,
+but not in accord with expectations. Old Napoleon
+had chisel-shaped teeth that cut wood
+like a hatchet. Without a sound, as the wolf,
+having grown bold, snapped in his very face,
+he shot forward to close those murderous teeth
+over the wolf&rsquo;s closed jaws.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Great Scott!&rdquo; Johnny muttered.</p>
+<p>The struggle that followed was fast and furious.
+Kicking and scratching, the wolf rolled
+over and over, but not once did Napoleon&rsquo;s
+locked grip loosen. It was only when his opponent,
+completely exhausted and all but
+smothered, lay limp at his side, that he at last
+pried his own jaws apart to climb awkwardly
+to his place in the sun. Instantly the wolf
+dragged himself to his feet, to go slinking
+away into the brush.</p>
+<p>For one full minute the boys stood there
+motionless. When Lawrence spoke his voice
+was husky. &ldquo;Johnny, I&rsquo;ve often suspected old
+Napoleon of being a tyrant. He&rsquo;s lazy, too.
+I&rsquo;ve never seen him do a lick of work. But he
+is one swell engineer and a grand boss.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What&rsquo;s more, he&rsquo;s no coward,&rdquo; Johnny
+added.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_94">[94]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Johnny, I can&rsquo;t do it,&rdquo; Lawrence dangled
+his lasso.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Neither can I,&rdquo; said Johnny. &ldquo;Let&rsquo;s go.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Turning, they made their way in silence
+down the narrow stream to its mouth. There
+they dropped down upon the snow to put on
+their skates.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Johnny,&rdquo; said Lawrence, &ldquo;we&rsquo;re a pair of
+old softies.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s right,&rdquo; said Johnny. &ldquo;But I don&rsquo;t
+mind, do you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not a bit. Let&rsquo;s go.&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="tb">&ldquo;Get &rsquo;em?&rdquo; the Professor asked as they
+came stamping into the cabin.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No&mdash;er, well, no we didn&rsquo;t,&rdquo; Johnny stammered.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;How come?&rdquo; the man&rsquo;s face sobered. &ldquo;That
+was your big moment.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Sensing the tenseness of the situation, Mrs.
+Lawson said, &ldquo;The coffee&rsquo;s hot. I have some
+spice cookies, just out of the oven. How would
+you like a bite to eat?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&mdash;that would be splendid!&rdquo; said the
+Professor.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_95">[95]</div>
+<p>When, over their cups of coffee, the boys
+had told the whole story, there was a strange
+look on the Professor&rsquo;s face as he said, &ldquo;Can&rsquo;t
+say that I blame you. Under the circumstances
+I should have done the same thing.
+We shall be obliged to get our beaver some
+other way. And as for your tractor&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We&mdash;we&rsquo;ll manage,&rdquo; Lawrence replied
+slowly. Then, &ldquo;By the way, Professor. You
+must know about bears. Are there any light
+blue bears?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Blue bears? Let me think! Oh, certainly!
+They belong up this way, too. Very rare they
+are, though.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Blue bears!&rdquo; Lawrence became greatly excited.
+&ldquo;Small blue bears, no larger than a
+good-sized dog, with woolly hair? They&mdash;they
+live on fish?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What?&rdquo; It was the Professor&rsquo;s turn to become
+excited. &ldquo;You haven&rsquo;t seen one? You&mdash;you
+couldn&rsquo;t catch one for me, could you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Sure&mdash;sure,&rdquo; Lawrence stammered. &ldquo;No,
+I mean we haven&rsquo;t. That is, we could, I&mdash;I&rsquo;m
+sure we could.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_96">[96]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;If you were to bring me one of those bears
+alive and in good condition,&rdquo; the Professor
+spoke in a deeply solemn voice, &ldquo;you might
+name your own price. Glacier bears, they are
+called. There is a stuffed specimen in the United
+States National Museum, but not a single
+living specimen in captivity anywhere.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We&mdash;we&rsquo;ll hunt up Smokey Joe tomorrow,&rdquo;
+Johnny said. &ldquo;He&rsquo;s seen them. He can tell us
+where they are. In fact, he told us all about
+them, only I thought it was all hooey.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Smokey Joe? Who is that?&rdquo; the Professor
+asked.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An old prospector,&rdquo; Johnny explained.
+&ldquo;He&rsquo;s been all over this country.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;In that case,&rdquo; said the Professor, &ldquo;much as
+I should like a glacier bear, I suggest that you
+postpone your search until late spring. Those
+rare creatures inhabit the wildest sort of country,
+rocks, cliffs and glaciers. They are worse
+than mountain goats. You would almost certainly
+perish. And besides, it is fairly certain
+that they, like most others of their kind, hibernate.
+And so&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So another bubble bursts,&rdquo; Johnny
+groaned.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_97">[97]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t be too pessimistic,&rdquo; the Professor
+smiled. &ldquo;I shall hope to hear from you sometime
+in June or early July. A single specimen
+will do.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And, by the way,&rdquo; he added as he rose,
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve decided to offer you a hundred dollars
+for your silver fox. That may not seem such
+a good price, but is really above the market.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Sold! Sold!&rdquo; the boys exclaimed in unison.
+And so it was that the boys collected
+their first real money. They were, however,
+still a long way from their goal.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_98">[98]</div>
+<h2 id="c8"><span class="small">CHAPTER VIII</span>
+<br />THE STORMY PETREL&rsquo;S FIRST PRIZE</h2>
+<p>As the winter wore on the cold grew more
+intense. Ice on the streams was thick.
+Wild animals appeared to vanish from the
+scene. Snow covered much of the river surfaces.
+All these things served to make &ldquo;bringing
+them home alive&rdquo; more difficult.</p>
+<p>At last the boys gave up this strange occupation
+and turned to the task of clearing the
+ten-acre tract.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If we can get that tract cleared we&rsquo;ll plant
+it in barley, oats and peas. When these are
+ground together they make excellent chicken
+feed. We&rsquo;ll go in for poultry. There&rsquo;s a steady
+market for dressed chickens and eggs at Fairbanks,&rdquo;
+said Mr. Lawson.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, if we get that tract cleared,&rdquo; Lawrence
+thought, but did not say. No further
+suggestion that they go into debt for a tractor
+was made by anyone.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_99">[99]</div>
+<p>The long Arctic evenings were divided between
+games and dreaming. The fame of Johnny&rsquo;s
+and Joe&rsquo;s boxing had traveled far. The
+recreation room at Palmer was given over to
+this excellent sport two nights a week.</p>
+<p>A boxing club was formed. Even Jack Mayhorn
+dropped his feud with Johnny and joined
+up. Members of a boxing club at Seward accepted
+an invitation for a contest. Johnny and
+Joe won this by a narrow margin.</p>
+<p>On the evenings when business or pleasure
+did not take them to town Johnny and Lawrence
+might often be found dreaming by their
+own hearth-fire.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;When the land is cleared and plowed, when
+the grain is sowed and we&rsquo;ve earned a breathing
+spell,&rdquo; Lawrence would say, &ldquo;then we&rsquo;ll
+hunt up old Smokey Joe and go out for one of
+those glacier bears.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If we can find Smokey Joe,&rdquo; Johnny would
+smilingly agree. &ldquo;And if they don&rsquo;t need us
+for service in Bristol Bay.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Bristol Bay,&rdquo; Lawrence would reply doubtfully.
+&ldquo;Seems as if I&rsquo;d rather catch animals
+alive than go after those Orientals.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_100">[100]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;We&rsquo;ll take them alive, too,&rdquo; Johnny chuckled.</p>
+<p>Lawrence was not so sure of this. Hour
+after hour Blackie Dawson, who had discarded
+his crutches, entertained them with stories
+of his adventures with the Orientals.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They want everything for themselves.
+They spoiled their own fishing by catching
+the salmon before they were half grown and
+canning them right on the ships. Now they
+want to come over here and do the same, right
+up there in Bristol Bay.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They catch our fish and can &rsquo;em, then they
+pop into Seattle or San Francisco and say,
+&lsquo;See all the fine fish we have canned for you.
+Come and buy them.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Think we&rsquo;ll do that?&rdquo; he would storm.
+&ldquo;Not on your life! We&rsquo;ll get &rsquo;em. You&rsquo;ll see.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But the Shadow,&rdquo; his voice would drop,
+&ldquo;that shadow that passes in the fog. How&rsquo;s
+a fellow to catch that? Who can tell? But
+we&rsquo;ll get it, too,&rdquo; he would add, striking the
+table a lusty blow.</p>
+<p>In March he received his appointment as
+Commander of the <i>Stormy Petrel</i>.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_101">[101]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;A swell boat.&rdquo; He was proud of her.
+&ldquo;Come on down with me and we&rsquo;ll turn her
+motors over once or twice just to get the rust
+out of &rsquo;em.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Johnny and Lawrence accepted his invitation.
+They did far more than turn the motors
+over. With Lawrence as engineer and Johnny
+as first mate, they cruised for three days along
+the Alaskan shores.</p>
+<p>On the third day, &ldquo;Just to get in practice,&rdquo;
+as Blackie put it, they hailed a suspicious-looking
+craft carrying no flag. When the
+skipper failed to heed Blackie&rsquo;s command to
+head around, they sent a ball from their shiny
+brass cannon over her bow and she promptly
+hove to.</p>
+<p>She was found to be carrying contraband
+drugs. &ldquo;A fair capture in a fair chase,&rdquo; as
+Blackie expressed it. &ldquo;A regular feather in
+our cap.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; said Johnny, &ldquo;how did you like it?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Those are glorious motors,&rdquo; Lawrence enthused.
+&ldquo;How I&rsquo;d love to be their master.
+But I hope&mdash;&rdquo; he hesitated. &ldquo;I rather hope we
+go after the glacier bears. That&rsquo;s the surest
+way to get a tractor. And a tractor&rsquo;s what
+we need most.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_102">[102]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Time and fate will decide,&rdquo; Johnny said
+soberly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Time and Blackie,&rdquo; Lawrence added with
+a laugh.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And Smokey Joe,&rdquo; Johnny amended.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_103">[103]</div>
+<h2 id="c9"><span class="small">CHAPTER IX</span>
+<br />FATE LENDS A HAND</h2>
+<p>Strangely enough it was Fate, in the
+form of an automobile accident in far
+away Seattle, that cast the final vote deciding
+their choice between the <i>Stormy Petrel</i> in
+Bristol Bay and a glacier bear hunt with
+Smokey Joe.</p>
+<p>Spring had come at last. Steadfastly refusing
+to go in debt, the Dawsons, with Johnny&rsquo;s
+help, were attempting to clear their land
+without the help of a tractor.</p>
+<p>At first it was fun. With blasting powder
+and dynamite they blew the larger stumps
+into shreds. The boom&mdash;boom&mdash;boom of
+blasts might be heard for miles.</p>
+<p>There remained thousands of smaller
+stumps. To force these from the tough sod
+and heavy black soil with pick, shovel and bar,
+was back-breaking labor.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_104">[104]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Give me time,&rdquo; Johnny would groan when
+morning came. &ldquo;There&rsquo;s a place in my back
+somewhere that bends. I&rsquo;ll find it. Just give
+me time.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Joke as they might, they could not but feel
+that progress was woefully slow and that seed-time
+would find them all unprepared.</p>
+<p>One bright day an automobile came bumping
+over the uneven road to pause before their
+field. Out from it popped an old friend.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Blackie!&rdquo; Johnny exclaimed. &ldquo;I thought
+you&rsquo;d be in Bristol Bay by now.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m on my way,&rdquo; Blackie puffed. &ldquo;And so
+are you.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Mr. Lawson,&rdquo; he exclaimed, &ldquo;I must draft
+your boys into my service.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What about these stumps,&rdquo; Mr. Lawson
+straightened his stiff back.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What&rsquo;ll it cost to have &rsquo;em out with a
+tractor?&rdquo; Blackie demanded.</p>
+<p>Both Johnny and Lawrence looked at him
+with gleaming eyes.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why do you need my boys?&rdquo; the man
+among the stumps demanded.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_105">[105]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Two of the men who were to accompany
+me have been crippled,&rdquo; Blackie explained.
+&ldquo;They were in an auto accident in Seattle. I
+had a wire this morning. They were so badly
+hurt they could not let me know sooner. And
+tomorrow we were to sail. Already there has
+been news of trouble in Bristol Bay.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I tell you, Mr. Lawson,&rdquo; Blackie was pleading
+now. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s for Alaska and her greatest
+enterprise I ask it. Yes, and for every humble
+American who makes a simple meal from a
+can of salmon. As I see it, it&rsquo;s your patriotic
+duty to let them go.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Then Blackie did a strange thing for him.
+He quoted poetry&mdash;</p>
+<div class="verse">
+<p class="t0">&ldquo;&lsquo;Not once nor twice in our fair Island&rsquo;s story</p>
+<p class="t0">Has the path of duty been the way to glory.&rsquo;</p>
+</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Mr. Lawson!&rdquo; he exploded, &ldquo;let them go.
+Here!&rdquo; he waved a roll of bills. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll pull your
+stumps. I&rsquo;ll plow your land and sow your
+seed. Let them go.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Who could have refused? Surely not a man
+with Tom Lawson&rsquo;s patriotic soul. &ldquo;Al-all
+right, boys,&rdquo; he said huskily. &ldquo;Go get your
+clothes. And&mdash;and Blackie, I must trust you
+to bring them safely home.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_106">[106]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;No need to worry,&rdquo; Blackie reassured him.
+&ldquo;We&rsquo;ll all be back to shoot fire-crackers with
+you on the Fourth of July. And may your
+fields be green by then.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Twenty-four hours later Johnny and Lawrence
+found themselves standing on the narrow
+deck of the <i>Stormy Petrel</i> watching a
+familiar shore-line fade from their sight.</p>
+<p>To Johnny this seemed just one more journey
+into the great unknown. To Lawrence it
+was something more, his first long trip away
+from his own family. Strange emotions stirred
+within him. Questions he could not answer
+crowded through his mind. How long was this
+journey to last? What strange, wild adventures
+would he meet? What would be the outcome?
+Would they be of some real service?</p>
+<p>Through his thoughts ran Blackie&rsquo;s two
+lines of verse,</p>
+<div class="verse">
+<p class="t0">&ldquo;&lsquo;Not once nor twice in our fair Island&rsquo;s story</p>
+<p class="t0">Has the path of duty been the way to glory.&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
+</div>
+<p>What did it mean? He had only a vague
+notion.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_107">[107]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;MacGregor,&rdquo; he said to the gray-haired engineer
+who thrust his head up from the engine
+room, &ldquo;what do these words mean?&rdquo; He repeated
+the lines.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, noo, me lad,&rdquo; said the friendly old
+Scotchman, &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve never been too good at
+poetry. But it seems to me it says if ye think
+first of yer country and her needs, ye&rsquo;ll be
+likely to get the things you want most fer
+yerself; that is, I meant to say, in the end.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Thanks.&rdquo; Once again the boy paced the
+deck. Was this true? He wanted a tractor, a
+humble, earth-digging, sod-plowing, stump-pulling
+tractor. It was a strange thing for a
+boy to want, he knew. Most boys would have
+wished for an automobile, but he wanted a
+tractor. Would he get it?</p>
+<p>As they left Seward behind and headed west
+to follow the Alaskan Peninsula until they
+could cross over into Bristol Bay, it seemed
+to him that they were heading directly away
+from his heart&rsquo;s desire. The pay they were to
+receive was small. It would help very little.
+&ldquo;And yet,&rdquo; he thought with a firm resolve to
+do his best in his strange new position, &ldquo;Sometimes
+fate does seem to take a hand in making
+things come out just right. Here&rsquo;s hoping.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_108">[108]</div>
+<p>The <i>Stormy Petrel</i> was a sturdy boat with
+powerful motors. She was small&mdash;little larger
+than a good-sized speed boat. But how she
+could go!</p>
+<p>There was a small after-cabin with six
+bunks ranged along the sides. Here George,
+the colored cook, presided over a small stove
+producing glorious things to eat. The coffee
+was always hot. And indeed it was needed,
+for, as a gray fog settled down upon them, the
+air became bitter cold.</p>
+<p>Johnny was to take watch for watch with
+Blackie as steersman. Lawrence was to exchange
+watches with MacGregor and preside
+over the motors. Had this been a week&rsquo;s
+cruise simply for pleasure, nothing could have
+been more delightful. Johnny loved boats.
+Lawrence listened to the steady roar of his
+motors and was joyously happy.</p>
+<p>And yet, there hung over them a sense of
+approaching danger.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Say-ee!&rdquo; Johnny exclaimed on the third
+day, after taking their position and studying
+the chart. &ldquo;We&rsquo;re closer to Asia than we are
+to Seattle.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_109">[109]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Aye, that we are, me lad,&rdquo; MacGregor
+agreed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, and that&rsquo;s why it&rsquo;s so easy for these
+Orientals to slip over here and trap our fish,&rdquo;
+Blackie exploded.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And that,&rdquo; he went on quietly, &ldquo;is why you
+settlers in Matanuska Valley are given so
+much financial aid. Your old Uncle Sam wants
+you there. He&rsquo;s going to locate more and
+more people along these Alaskan shores. You
+watch and see! Why? To give them homes?
+Not a bit of it. To have people here to watch
+those Orientals, that&rsquo;s why.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; said Johnny with a laugh. &ldquo;Looks
+like we&rsquo;d learn a lot of geography and current
+history on this trip.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No doubt about that, me lad,&rdquo; MacGregor
+agreed.</p>
+<p>They had been on the water for five days
+when, touching Johnny on the shoulder,
+Blackie pointed at two spots of white against
+the sky.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_110">[110]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s snow on two mountain peaks,&rdquo; he
+explained. &ldquo;The cannery we&rsquo;re heading for is
+built on the banks of a small river close to
+these mountains. We&rsquo;ll be there before dark.
+And after that,&rdquo; he took a deep breath. &ldquo;After
+that our real work begins.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A new world,&rdquo; Johnny murmured dreamily.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You don&rsquo;t know half of it,&rdquo; said Blackie.
+And Blackie was right.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_111">[111]</div>
+<h2 id="c10"><span class="small">CHAPTER X</span>
+<br />A NEW WORLD</h2>
+<p>Next morning Johnny and Blackie Dawson
+sat on the deck of the <i>Stormy Petrel</i>.
+A wild nor&rsquo;wester was whipping up the ocean
+spray. Even on the river well back from the
+narrow bay, little whitecaps came racing in.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No day for going out!&rdquo; Blackie grumbled.
+&ldquo;Pile up on the rocks, that&rsquo;s what we&rsquo;d do.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; Johnny agreed. Fact is, he at that
+moment was not thinking of the sea, but of
+the quiet Matanuska valley, of the snug home
+he and his people had built there. He wondered
+in a vague sort of way how far this,
+his latest venture, would lead him from that
+home. He was thinking not so much for himself
+as for his cousin Lawrence.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_112">[112]</div>
+<p>Strange as it might seem, the welcome
+given them by the people of the cannery had
+not come up to their expectations. Men had
+stared at them, had mumbled something under
+their breath, then gone about their work.</p>
+<p>Work there was to be done, too. There was
+a pleasant hum of expectancy about the place.
+Every motor, machine and conveyor in the
+place was being given the once-over. Power-boat
+motors thundered as they went through
+their testing. Johnny felt a desire to become
+a part of it all. And yet&mdash;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Fool sort of thing this rushing off after
+adventure,&rdquo; he told himself. But, had love of
+adventure alone brought them this far, hundreds
+of miles from his quiet valley? Love of
+home was one thing, love of one&rsquo;s country another.
+You didn&rsquo;t&mdash;</p>
+<p>His thoughts broke off short. There had
+come the sound of a loud voice. The <i>Stormy
+Petrel</i> was anchored on a narrow dock that
+ran along the side of a long, low building, the
+cannery. A window was open. The speaker
+was near. Johnny caught every word. As he
+listened his ears burned. But what could he
+do? He was on his own boat. People who do
+not mean to be heard too far must speak
+softly.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_113">[113]</div>
+<p>Perhaps the man meant to be heard. There
+was more than a suggestion of anger and
+threat in his voice as he said, &ldquo;Fine fix we&rsquo;re
+in! Huh! Here we are part of the biggest industry
+in Alaska. Fifteen million dollars a
+year. The Orientals start cuttin&rsquo; in on us. We
+call for help, for protection. And what do we
+get? A lousy tub no bigger than a gill-net
+boat. And how&rsquo;s she manned, I ask you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>A second voice rumbled words that could
+not be understood.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She&rsquo;s manned by a crippled young skipper,&rdquo;
+the first speaker growled. &ldquo;An old Scotch
+engineer and two kids. Protection! Bah!&rdquo;
+There came a grunt of disgust. &ldquo;We&rsquo;ll have to
+take things into our own hands.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>At that a door slammed and they heard no
+more.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well?&rdquo; Blackie tried to scare up a grin. It
+was not a huge success. &ldquo;Kids,&rdquo; he said.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We&rsquo;re not quite that,&rdquo; Johnny said quietly.
+&ldquo;We <i>are</i> pinch hitters.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Sure you are,&rdquo; Blackie agreed. &ldquo;But I
+wouldn&rsquo;t trade you for half the so-called men
+in the regular service.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_114">[114]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Say, Johnny!&rdquo; His voice dropped. &ldquo;Know
+who that was talking?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No-o.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It was Red McGee. He is the union agent
+that looks after the interests of these men
+working in the canneries. They say he&rsquo;s a
+good man and a fighter, but narrow. A&mdash;a
+fighter. Hm&rsquo;m&mdash;&rdquo; Blackie seemed to play
+with the words.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Johnny,&rdquo; his whisper sounded like an exploding
+steam valve. &ldquo;You <i>like</i> to box, don&rsquo;t
+you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Nothing I like better,&rdquo; Johnny grinned.
+&ldquo;Started when I was six and never stopped.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Red McGee&rsquo;s a boxer,&rdquo; Blackie said. &ldquo;Off
+times like this I&rsquo;m told these men up here go
+in for boxing bouts. Nothing savage, you understand,
+just a few friendly rounds. And
+Red&rsquo;s never been beaten by any of them.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And I suppose you expect me to trim him,
+at least to try it?&rdquo; Johnny&rsquo;s face was a study.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No-o, not just that, only a few friendly
+rounds. I&rsquo;d like you to represent the <i>Stormy
+Petrel</i>.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_115">[115]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;I think I get you,&rdquo; Johnny&rsquo;s lips moved in
+a quiet smile. &ldquo;You want this crowd to know
+that I&rsquo;m not a child.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Johnny,&rdquo; Blackie&rsquo;s tone was almost solemn,
+&ldquo;it&rsquo;s important. Mighty important! If this
+fishing mob gets started and if they find a ship
+out there in Bristol Bay catching fish contrary
+to law, there&rsquo;s going to be trouble. More trouble
+than all our diplomats can clear up in a
+year.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;There&rsquo;s no getting &rsquo;round it, this business
+has been slighted. But this much stands out
+like your nose&mdash;we&rsquo;ve got to do what we can.
+And we can&rsquo;t do much if these Alaskans sneer
+at us.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So-o, son,&rdquo; he drawled, &ldquo;if they give you
+a chance tonight you step in. And if a chance
+doesn&rsquo;t open up, I&rsquo;ll open one.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Come on,&rdquo; he sprang to his feet. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s time
+for chow.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Passionately fond of boxing as Johnny surely
+was, he found himself dreading the encounter
+Blackie had proposed for that night. Why?
+He could not have told.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_116">[116]</div>
+<p>A strange audience awaited him in the long,
+low-ceilinged room where, on working days
+cases of salmon were stored for shipping.
+Seated on empty packing boxes, the men
+formed a hollow circle. This circle was to be
+the ring for the evening&rsquo;s entertainment.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They&rsquo;re all here,&rdquo; Blackie grinned. &ldquo;A
+dozen nationalities: Italians, Finlanders,
+Swedes, down-east Yankees, an Eskimo or
+two and what have you.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;One thing they&rsquo;ve got in common,&rdquo; his
+voice rang true, &ldquo;they&rsquo;re all Alaskans at heart.
+Hard fighters, straight shooters, they look you
+square in the eye and treat you fair. But when
+anyone tries any dirty, underhanded work,
+you&rsquo;ll see sparks fly.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; Johnny smiled. &ldquo;Whatever else
+happens, there will be no crooked work tonight.
+I don&rsquo;t fight that way.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t I know it?&rdquo; Blackie agreed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, now, here we are,&rdquo; he chuckled a
+moment later. &ldquo;Reserved seats. Box seats,
+mind you. Who could ask for more?&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_117">[117]</div>
+<p>As Johnny sat, quite silent in his place,
+watching one short three-round match after
+another being fought in a good-natured rough-and-tumble
+fashion between boatmen, cannery
+workers, carpenters, engineer and blacksmith,
+he became more and more conscious of
+one fact&mdash;the crowd was holding back its enthusiasm.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s like the preliminary bouts in Madison
+Square Gardens,&rdquo; he said to Blackie at last.
+&ldquo;They seem to be waiting for the one big fight.
+What&rsquo;s coming?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Can&rsquo;t you guess?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No-o, I&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s you and Red McGee. They&rsquo;re waiting
+for that.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What?&rdquo; Johnny half rose to his feet.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Keep your seat.&rdquo; Blackie pulled him down.
+&ldquo;Ever hear of the grapevine telegraph?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, in&mdash;in a sort of way.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s the mysterious manner in which news
+travels up here. These fellows know about
+you. The minute I gave them your name they
+busted out, &lsquo;The kid that packs a wallop?&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And you&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I said, &lsquo;Sure! None other. But does Red
+McGee know it?&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They said, &lsquo;Guess he doesn&rsquo;t. He&rsquo;s been in
+Seattle, just come up.&rsquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_118">[118]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Then I said, &lsquo;Mum&rsquo;s the word. We&rsquo;ll just
+ask him to give Johnny a few pointers in boxing.&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And they agreed?&rdquo; Johnny seemed ready
+to bolt from the room.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Sure. Why not?&rdquo; Blackie grinned. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s
+the grandest way to get in with all of &rsquo;em.
+They like a good joke. So does Red McGee.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Even if it&rsquo;s on him?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Even if it&rsquo;s on him. Absolutely.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Then he&rsquo;s a real sport,&rdquo; Johnny settled
+back in his place. &ldquo;It will be a real joy to box
+him a few rounds.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Okie doke,&rdquo; Blackie seemed relieved. &ldquo;But,
+Johnny,&rdquo; he added, &ldquo;pull your punches. Murder
+isn&rsquo;t legal in Alaska, not south of the Arctic
+Circle.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I only hope Red McGee remembers that,&rdquo;
+was Johnny&rsquo;s solemn reply.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_119">[119]</div>
+<h2 id="c11"><span class="small">CHAPTER XI</span>
+<br />THE FALL OF THE RED McGEE</h2>
+<p>When by popular request, emphasized
+by loud shouts, Red McGee was called
+upon to put on the gloves, he stepped forward
+smiling. Johnny slid to the very edge of his
+box for a good look. This was the first time
+he had seen the man. He was a little startled.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So that&rsquo;s what I&rsquo;m going up against?&rdquo; he
+murmured low.</p>
+<p>Six feet of man, broad shoulders, a shock of
+red hair that stood straight up, a square jaw
+and glittering eyes, this was Red McGee.</p>
+<p>And was he popular? The hoarse shouts of
+approval that made the rough rafters ring as
+he stepped out on the floor left no room for
+doubt.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_120">[120]</div>
+<p>Red was to box three rounds with a man
+named Tomingo, a dark-faced foreigner who
+piloted a gill-net boat. Johnny was thankful
+for this brief reprieve before he too should step
+into the ring.</p>
+<p>That Red McGee was no mean boxer he
+learned at once. He had a head on his shoulders
+and a remarkable eye.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He seems to anticipate every move this Tomingo
+makes,&rdquo; Johnny groaned in a whisper.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They have boxed together before,&rdquo; was
+Blackie&rsquo;s answer. &ldquo;Perhaps many times. When
+you play a game with a man many times, just
+any game, you come to know his tricks. But
+you, Johnny, he doesn&rsquo;t know you. It&rsquo;s an
+advantage.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But, Johnny,&rdquo; he cautioned after a moment&rsquo;s
+silence, &ldquo;don&rsquo;t let him get to you. Look
+at those arms! If he hits you just once, a good
+square one, you&rsquo;re sunk.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And, boy,&rdquo; his voice dropped, &ldquo;this is a
+big spot. It&rsquo;s important, mighty important.
+These fellows must respect us, have faith in
+the <i>Stormy Petrel</i> and her crew. If they don&rsquo;t,
+they&rsquo;ll go storming out there six hundred
+strong, looking for trouble. And if they find
+it! Oh, man! They might start a war.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_121">[121]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;There!&rdquo; Johnny breathed. &ldquo;There&rsquo;s the
+bell. That match is over. And Red McGee is
+just nicely warmed up.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The tall, lanky boatman who acted as referee
+shuffled off the floor.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Who&rsquo;s next?&rdquo; Red McGee invited with a
+broad smile.</p>
+<p>It was evident at once that few of the men
+cared to take him on. Tomingo was wearing
+a flaming patch where Red&rsquo;s glove had raked
+his chin.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Red,&rdquo; one of his own men volunteered,
+&ldquo;there&rsquo;s one of them kids from the <i>Stormy
+Petrel</i> who&rsquo;d like to learn a little about boxing.
+Would y&rsquo; mind a teachin&rsquo; him?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;One of those boys?&rdquo; Red looked squarely
+at Johnny. Johnny flinched. Did Red know?
+&ldquo;Oh, sure!&rdquo; Red&rsquo;s lips spread in a broad smile.
+&ldquo;I like boys, always have. Sure I&rsquo;ll show him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Look, Tom,&rdquo; he turned to the referee.
+&ldquo;Help the boy on with his gloves. Be sure he
+gets &rsquo;em on the right hands. It&rsquo;s awkward
+boxing if you don&rsquo;t.&rdquo; He let out a low chuckle.</p>
+<p>Once again Johnny flinched. What did Red
+know? Probably nothing. This was just his
+way of poking fun at the <i>Stormy Petrel&rsquo;s</i> crew.
+This made Johnny a little angry, but not too
+much.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_122">[122]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Show &rsquo;em, Johnny,&rdquo; Blackie hissed in his
+ear. Next Johnny found himself shaking the
+great paw of Red McGee. And so the fight
+began.</p>
+<p>Nothing had been said about the number of
+rounds, nor their length. Johnny was a little
+taken back when the referee settled himself
+on a box in a corner.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But then,&rdquo; it came to him with a sudden
+shock, &ldquo;I&rsquo;m supposed to be a learner. When
+you&rsquo;re taking lessons there are no rounds.
+Well, I&rsquo;ll be a learner, for a while.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He carried out his plan to the letter, almost.
+After giving him a few words of instruction,
+Red invited him to &ldquo;Sail right in. Hit me if
+you can.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The boy did not exactly &ldquo;sail in.&rdquo; Instead,
+he danced about the big man in an awkward
+but tantalizing fashion. There is nothing more
+irritating than a fly buzzing around one&rsquo;s head.
+Johnny was, for the moment, Red McGee&rsquo;s
+fly. He was here, there and everywhere. At
+times he appeared to leave himself wide open
+to one of Red&rsquo;s sledge-hammer blows, but none
+of these really connected.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_123">[123]</div>
+<p>All the time Johnny was thinking, &ldquo;How
+long will he stand this? How long? How&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The answer came sooner than he expected.
+His arms were all but at his side, he was looking
+Red squarely in the eyes when he saw
+those eyes change. It was like the change of
+a traffic light from green to red. Of a sudden,
+a huge gloved paw came squarely at the side
+of his head.</p>
+<p>No one will ever know what that blow
+might have done had it arrived at its proposed
+destination. It did not arrive. Johnny&rsquo;s head
+was not there. Instead, it was Red who, to his
+vast surprise, received the lightest of taps on
+the tip of his chin.</p>
+<p>The crowd saw and roared. There were
+men, plenty of them, who knew that, had Johnny
+not pulled that punch, Red would have hit
+the floor.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_124">[124]</div>
+<p>Did Red know? For the life of him Johnny
+could not tell. One thing he did know, this
+was no longer a boxing lesson, nor was it to
+be a sparring match. It was instead to resemble
+an old-fashioned fight with no gong, no
+referee and no time out. Red McGee was
+aroused. There could be no doubt about that.</p>
+<p>Johnny kept his opponent going about the
+ring in a whirl. Twice he stopped and all but
+fell into Red&rsquo;s waiting fists. Twice he heard
+the whistle of a glove as it brushed his ear.</p>
+<p>Once, when he was in Blackie&rsquo;s corner, he
+heard a hoarse whisper, &ldquo;Steady, there, boy.
+I can&rsquo;t afford to lose you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Once, in a mad rush, Red McGee tripped,
+falling to his knees. Backing away into a corner,
+Johnny gave him time to regain his feet.
+Gladly would the boy have remained in that
+corner for the count of a hundred. All too soon
+he caught Red&rsquo;s challenge.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Come out an&rsquo; box.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Red&rsquo;s in a tight place,&rdquo; Blackie said in a
+low tone to Lawrence. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m almost sorry I
+got him into it. He&rsquo;s got a bull by the tail and
+can&rsquo;t let go. If he quits now he&rsquo;s afraid he&rsquo;ll
+lose the respect of his men. If he goes on,
+well, anything may happen.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>In the end two things happened. Both were
+surprises to Johnny.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_125">[125]</div>
+<p>The older man was tiring. Johnny found
+that by using a little strategy he could tap the
+man&rsquo;s chin at will. Be it said to his credit, he
+tapped that round red chin only twice. There
+is little to be gained by an unnecessarily large
+score.</p>
+<p>Those two taps, little heavier than love pats,
+stirred up something deep in Red&rsquo;s nature.
+His men were looking on a new man. Not that
+they thought the less of him for it. Rough and
+ready men of the northern wilds, they understood
+as few ever do.</p>
+<p>Then things began to happen fast. Red
+lunged at Johnny. The boy dodged. The man
+came at him again. In one of those seconds
+when reason goes on a vacation, Johnny tried
+one more pulled punch to the chin. He did
+not pull it fast enough. Red McGee fell upon
+that punch as a polar bear falls upon a spear.</p>
+<p>There came a resounding thwack. Then,
+doubling up like an empty sack, Red McGee
+spread himself neatly on the floor. He was out
+for much more than the count of ten.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_126">[126]</div>
+<p>The hush that followed was appalling. But
+the shout that followed! Nothing Johnny had
+ever before heard even remotely resembled it.
+Perhaps a gladiator in the Roman Arena, had
+he returned from the dead, might have recognized
+it with joy or fear.</p>
+<p>In vain did Johnny try to analyze that
+sound. Was it a cheer? Or was it a curse?
+Should he be carried out like a football hero
+or crushed by an infuriated mob?</p>
+<p>Strangely enough, as he stood there half
+paralyzed by the sudden shock of it all, he
+was conscious of one voice. Above the shout
+had risen a woman&rsquo;s scream. And he had not
+known there was a woman in the place. Who
+was she? Where had she come from? Why
+was she here?</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s all right, boys,&rdquo; he heard a big voice
+boom. &ldquo;He didn&rsquo;t aim to do it. He pulled his
+punch. Twice he did it. He&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_127">[127]</div>
+<p>The speaker broke off short. There was a
+girl at his side, or perhaps a young lady. Johnny
+was not sure. A round, freckled face and
+angry eyes, that was all he saw. In another
+second she would have been at him, tooth and
+nail. But the big foreman, who had done the
+talking, wrapped a long arm about her waist
+as he said, &ldquo;It&rsquo;s all right, Rusty. Everything
+is O. K., child. He didn&rsquo;t aim to do it. An&rsquo;
+your daddy ain&rsquo;t hurt none to speak of. It&rsquo;s
+what they call a knockout. He&rsquo;ll be &rsquo;round in
+a twinkle.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>At that the girl hid her face in the foreman&rsquo;s
+jacket to murmur fiercely, &ldquo;The brute! The
+ugly little brute!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>And Johnny knew she meant him. Because
+she was a girl, because he had hurt her and he
+felt miserable, he slipped back into the outer
+fringe of the milling throng.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_128">[128]</div>
+<h2 id="c12"><span class="small">CHAPTER XII</span>
+<br />A PTARMIGAN FEAST</h2>
+<p>As Red McGee opened his eyes he found the
+foreman, Dan Weston and his daughter,
+Rusty, bending over him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Wh-what!&rdquo; he exclaimed, struggling to
+a sitting position, &ldquo;what in the name of&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You fell into a fast one, Red.&rdquo; The foreman
+laughed. The crowd joined in this laugh
+but not the girl. Sober of face, she stood looking
+down at her father.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Daddy,&rdquo; she began, &ldquo;are you&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Do you mean to say that kid from the
+<i>Stormy Petrel</i> put me out?&rdquo; Red McGee interrupted.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, you went out,&rdquo; the foreman drawled.
+&ldquo;The boy was the only one near you so I
+reckon&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He was not allowed to finish for at that Red
+McGee let out a tremendous roar of laughter.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_129">[129]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Ho! Ho! Ha-ha-ha!&rdquo; he roared. &ldquo;That&rsquo;s
+one on Red McGee.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But, boys!&rdquo; he struggled to his feet. &ldquo;I
+want to admit right here. There might be
+something to that <i>Stormy Petrel</i> crew after all.
+Give &rsquo;em a chance, I say.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Sure! Sure!&rdquo; the crowd boomed. &ldquo;Give
+&rsquo;em a chance.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Where&rsquo;s that young roughneck?&rdquo; Red demanded,
+staring about him. &ldquo;I want to shake
+his hand.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Here&mdash;here he is!&rdquo; Blackie pushed Johnny
+forward.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&mdash;I&rsquo;m sorry&mdash;&rdquo; Johnny began.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Young man,&rdquo; Red McGee broke in, &ldquo;never
+apologize. Your enemies don&rsquo;t deserve it, and
+your friends don&rsquo;t demand it. From now on
+we&rsquo;re pals. Shake on it.&rdquo; Their hands met in
+the clasp of a grizzly and a bear cub.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What&rsquo;s more,&rdquo; Red went on, &ldquo;the treat&rsquo;s
+on me. You&rsquo;re coming up to dinner with me,
+all four of you fellows from the <i>Stormy Petrel</i>.
+Ever eat ptarmigan pot pie?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Never have,&rdquo; said Johnny.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, you&rsquo;re going to before this day is ...&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_130">[130]</div>
+<p class="center"><span class="gs">* * * * * * * *</span></p><p>... look into her eyes, he found himself seeing
+cold, blue-gray circles expressing as near as
+he could tell, undying hate.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Of course,&rdquo; he said to Blackie, &ldquo;you can&rsquo;t
+expect a girl to understand about boxing, with
+all of its ups and downs. But it does seem she
+might give a fellow the benefit of the doubt.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She will, son. She will,&rdquo; Blackie reassured
+him. &ldquo;Perhaps sooner than you think.&rdquo; Was
+this prophesy or a guess? Time would tell.</p>
+<p>Rusty McGee was the type of girl any real
+boy might be proud to call a pal. With an
+easy smile, a freckled face and a mass of wavy,
+rust-colored hair, she caught your interest at
+a glance. The strong, elastic, healthy spring
+of her whole self kept you looking.</p>
+<p>More than once during his visit to the
+McGee summer home, a stout log cabin nestling
+among the barren Alaskan hills, Johnny
+found his eyes following her movements as
+she glided from room to room.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Boy, she can cook!&rdquo; Blackie exclaimed as
+he set his teeth into the juicy breast of
+&ldquo;mountain quail,&rdquo; as ptarmigan are often
+called. And Johnny did not disagree.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_131">[131]</div>
+<p>Since the crew of the <i>Stormy Petrel</i> were her
+father&rsquo;s friends, it was evident that Rusty meant
+to do her best as a hostess. But to Johnny
+she gave never a smile.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;How she must love that old dad of hers!&rdquo;
+Blackie whispered once. Johnny&rsquo;s only answer
+was a scowl.</p>
+<p>Yes, Johnny was shunned and slighted by
+this youthful &ldquo;queen of the canneries,&rdquo; as she
+had once been called, but the <i>Stormy Petrel&rsquo;s</i>
+engineer, old Hugh MacGregor, came in for
+more than his full share of interest.</p>
+<p>Hugh MacGregor was truly old. His thatch
+of gray told that. With grandchildren of his
+own he was just a big-hearted old man. Rusty
+was not long in sensing that.</p>
+<p>When the dinner, a truly grand feast, was
+over, the others, Blackie, Red McGee, Lawrence
+and Johnny retired to the glassed-in
+porch where they might have a look at the barren
+hills of Alaska and the wide, foam-flecked
+sweep of Bristol Bay, and, at the same time,
+talk of fish, Oriental raiders and the sea.</p>
+<p>MacGregor remained behind to &ldquo;help with
+the dishes.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_132">[132]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Do you like Alaska?&rdquo; Rusty asked him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, sure I do!&rdquo; was the old man&rsquo;s quick
+response. &ldquo;I spent a winter much further north
+than this many years ago. I was quite young
+then. It was thrilling, truly it was. Cape
+Prince of Wales on Bering Straits&mdash;&rdquo; his voice
+trailed off dreamily.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Way up there?&rdquo; the girl exclaimed. &ldquo;What
+were you doing?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Herdin&rsquo; reindeer and Eskimo,&rdquo; he laughed.
+&ldquo;I crossed the straits in a skin boat with the
+Eskimo and lived a while in Russia without a
+passport. You do things like that when you
+are young.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah yes,&rdquo; he sighed, &ldquo;youth is impulsive,
+and often wrong.&rdquo; He was thinking of Johnny.
+He knew how Johnny felt about things.
+He had become very fond of the boy.</p>
+<p>Did Rusty understand? Who could tell?
+Burying her hands in foamy suds, she washed
+dishes furiously. Nor did she speak again for
+some time.</p>
+<p>Meanwhile, over their pipes, Red McGee and
+Blackie were discussing the task that lay before
+them.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_133">[133]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;I suppose you know all about this Oriental
+fishing business,&rdquo; Red suggested.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m not sure that I do know all about it,&rdquo;
+was Blackie&rsquo;s modest reply. &ldquo;Suppose you tell
+me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s like this,&rdquo; Red cleared his throat.
+&ldquo;There was a time when we thought the salmon
+supply off these shores was inexhaustible.
+We caught them in nets and traps just as we
+pleased.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Then,&rdquo; he blew out a cloud of smoke, &ldquo;there
+came a time when we woke up to the fact that
+the whole run of salmon might vanish. You
+know what that would mean?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, I know,&rdquo; Blackie agreed. &ldquo;The little
+man in Hoboken, Omaha and Detroit who
+hasn&rsquo;t much pay and has a big family could
+no longer feed the children on a fifteen-cent
+can of salmon.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_134">[134]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Right,&rdquo; McGee agreed. &ldquo;More than that,
+thousands of fine fellows, just such men as
+you saw tonight, fair-minded, honest men that
+would,&rdquo; he paused to chuckle, &ldquo;that would see
+one of their best friends knocked cold by a
+stranger in a fair sparring match and not want
+to kill him, men like that would be out of a
+job. Their families would go hungry. You
+know, about all they understand is salmon
+catching.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And so?&rdquo; Blackie prompted after a moment&rsquo;s
+silence.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So the government and the canners got
+together on a conservation program; so many
+fish to be caught each year, the same number
+allowed to go up stream and spawn.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The plan was well worked out. We&rsquo;ve put
+the salmon industry on a sound foundation.
+It will continue so for years unless&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;These Orientals are allowed to come over
+here and set three-mile-long nets across the
+bay,&rdquo; suggested Blackie.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s just it!&rdquo; McGee struck the table a
+resounding blow. &ldquo;They&rsquo;re taking advantage
+of a technicality of international law. And
+unless we drive them out&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not too loud,&rdquo; Blackie cautioned. &ldquo;There
+goes one of them now.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What?&rdquo; McGee sprang to his feet. A slender,
+dark-haired person was passing down the
+path before the cabin.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_135">[135]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;No,&rdquo; he settled back in his place. &ldquo;He&rsquo;s
+not one of &rsquo;em. He&rsquo;s one of our Eskimos. We
+have three of them down here. It&rsquo;s a little off
+their regular beat. But they are keen at locating
+the runs of salmon. Inherited it from their
+fathers, I&mdash;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But say!&rdquo; his voice rose. &ldquo;He does look
+like one of those Orientals.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Sure he does,&rdquo; Blackie agreed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We might use him for a sort of spy,&rdquo; McGee&rsquo;s
+voice dropped to a whisper. &ldquo;His name&rsquo;s
+Kopkina. Used to work in a restaurant. He
+picked up the Oriental lingo, at least enough
+to pass for one of &rsquo;em. If some of them come
+around here, we&rsquo;ll have Kopkina mix in with
+them. He might find things out, important
+facts.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s a good idea,&rdquo; Blackie agreed.</p>
+<p class="tb">&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; MacGregor was saying to Rusty, as
+he told more of his adventures in the very far
+north, &ldquo;it was a bit peculiar goin&rsquo; up there
+like that, livin&rsquo; with the Eskimos. And me
+still a young fellow like Johnny Thompson
+now.&rdquo; He shot her a look. She smiled at him
+in a peculiar way, but said never a word.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_136">[136]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;It was the food that was strange,&rdquo; he went
+on after a chuckle. &ldquo;Of course, you can chew
+polar bear steak if you&rsquo;ve got uncommon good
+teeth. Seal steak&rsquo;s not half-bad and reindeer
+makes a grand Mulligan stew.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, I know,&rdquo; the girl agreed. &ldquo;We have
+some reindeer meat sent down every season.
+Stay with us and you&rsquo;ll have a taste of it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We&rsquo;ll stay, all right,&rdquo; MacGregor declared.
+&ldquo;That&rsquo;s what we&rsquo;re here for to stay, hunting
+Orientals and shadows&mdash;shadows.&rdquo; He repeated
+the word slowly. &ldquo;Blackie believes in
+moving shadows in the fog on the sea.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Shadows?&rdquo; the girl stared at him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Sure! He says they glide along across the
+sea with never a sound. Like some phantom
+schooner it was,&rdquo; he said.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s strange.&rdquo; The girl&rsquo;s eyes shone.
+&ldquo;There was a gill-net fisherman last season
+told something just like that. He was an Italian,
+sort of a dreamer. We didn&rsquo;t believe him.
+But now&mdash;what do you think?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know what to think,&rdquo; MacGregor
+scratched his gray thatch.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_137">[137]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;But, Mr. MacGregor,&rdquo; the girl said after
+a moment, &ldquo;didn&rsquo;t you have a thing to eat except
+Eskimo food?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What? Oh, yes, up there, up there when
+I was a kid same as Johnny,&rdquo; MacGregor
+laughed. &ldquo;Sure&mdash;sure we did. It came on a
+sailin&rsquo; schooner all in cans.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We had evaporated potatoes and eggs in
+cans, butter pickled in cans, hot dogs in cans,
+everything. And the Eskimos,&rdquo; he threw back
+his head and laughed. &ldquo;They&rsquo;d stand around
+watchin&rsquo; to see what we&rsquo;d take out of a can
+next.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And then we got a phonograph,&rdquo; he
+laughed again.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A phonograph?&rdquo; Rusty said.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Sure. First one those little brown boys ever
+seen. Had a long tin horn to it, that phonograph
+did. The Eskimos looked at it and
+tapped the tin horn. They said, &lsquo;<i>Suna una?</i>&rsquo;
+(What is it?) We didn&rsquo;t tell &rsquo;em, so they
+tapped it some more and said, &lsquo;All same tin
+can-<i>emuck</i>.&rsquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_138">[138]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Bye and bye we cranked it up and started
+it going. The record was a white man singin&rsquo;
+&lsquo;Meet me in Saint Louis, Louie. Meet me at
+the Fair.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, that was funny!&rdquo; he chuckled. &ldquo;The
+Eskimos just looked and listened for a long
+time. Then one of them looked at the others
+and said, &lsquo;Can you beat that! A white man
+in that tin can!&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The merry laugh that rang out from the
+kitchen was heard by those on the porch.
+Johnny heard it with the others and was glad&mdash;glad
+that that fine girl could laugh even if
+it wasn&rsquo;t his joke.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;See that cannery out there?&rdquo; Red McGee
+was saying. &ldquo;Cost a cool million dollars. Paying
+interest on the investment, too. Also it&rsquo;s
+giving two thousand people a living. But these
+Orientals with their floating canneries&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Floating canneries?&rdquo; Lawrence broke in.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Sure! That&rsquo;s what they&rsquo;ve got. They pick
+up some big hulk of a ship cheap, install some
+canning equipment, load on a drove of cheap
+coolies and steam away. Pretty soon they&rsquo;re
+over Bristol Bay, just off the shores of Alaska,
+but beyond the three-mile limit. Three miles!
+Bah!&rdquo; he exploded.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_139">[139]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m in favor of calling every square mile
+of Bristol Bay American waters,&rdquo; Blackie replied.</p>
+<p>Red McGee stared at him with sudden approval.
+&ldquo;Say!&rdquo; he roared, &ldquo;we must be brothers.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We ought to run those Orientals off,&rdquo;
+Blackie grinned. &ldquo;We&rsquo;re here to start just
+that. That boat of ours may not seem so hot,
+but she&rsquo;s got speed and power, three airplane
+motors in her. Good ones, too. Once we sight
+an Oriental fishing boat setting nets too close
+behind the fog they&rsquo;re coming ashore.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;To do a lot of explaining.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, and for quite a long visit.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s the talk,&rdquo; Red McGee stood up.
+&ldquo;Here&rsquo;s hoping the wind drops so you can get
+there. The fishing hasn&rsquo;t really started. No
+foreign boats have been seen. But they&rsquo;re
+there. They made a haul last year. We&rsquo;re sure
+of that. So why shouldn&rsquo;t they come back?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why not?&rdquo; Blackie agreed.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_140">[140]</div>
+<p>In all of this time neither Johnny nor Lawrence
+said a word. For all that, they were
+thinking hard and their young hearts were
+on fire with a desire to do their bit for the good
+old U. S. A. and Alaska, their present home.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Nice place you&rsquo;ve got here,&rdquo; said MacGregor,
+as he joined the party on the porch.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It will pass,&rdquo; was Red McGee&rsquo;s modest reply.
+&ldquo;I built it for my wife. She loved these
+rugged hills and the smell of the sea. She&mdash;&rdquo;
+his voice faltered. He looked away. &ldquo;She left
+us a year and a half ago. But Rusty and I,
+we&mdash;we sort of carry on.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But if those Orientals&mdash;&rdquo; his voice rose,
+&ldquo;Oh! Well, enough of that for today. It&rsquo;s
+good of you fellows to join us in a feast!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s been swell!&rdquo; said Blackie.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Swell! Grand! Mighty keen!&rdquo; were the
+impulsive comments of the boys.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We know each other better,&rdquo; said Blackie.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A whole lot better,&rdquo; Red McGee agreed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Goodbye, Rusty,&rdquo; MacGregor called back
+through the house.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Goodbye! Goodbye! Come again soon,&rdquo;
+came back in a girlish voice.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I wonder,&rdquo; Johnny thought as he took the
+winding path leading down to the wharf.
+&ldquo;Wonder if we&rsquo;ll ever get to come back here?&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_141">[141]</div>
+<h2 id="c13"><span class="small">CHAPTER XIII</span>
+<br />THE SHADOW</h2>
+<p>&ldquo;Fog.&rdquo; There was more than a suggestion
+of disgust in Johnny&rsquo;s tone as he
+said this word. It was the next morning.
+After a good night&rsquo;s sleep aboard the <i>Stormy
+Petrel</i> he felt ready for anything. The moment
+he awoke he had listened for the pounding
+surf.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Gone!&rdquo; He had leaped from his bunk.
+&ldquo;Storm&rsquo;s over. Now for a good look at Bristol
+Bay and perhaps, just perhaps, some of those
+Orientals.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Here&rsquo;s hoping,&rdquo; Lawrence agreed.</p>
+<p>Yes, the storm was over, but here instead
+was a damp, chilling blanket of dull, gray fog.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Can&rsquo;t see a hundred feet,&rdquo; he grumbled.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_142">[142]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;ll get used to that, son.&rdquo; It was Red
+McGee who spoke. He had been leaning on
+the rail talking to Blackie. &ldquo;&lsquo;Men and Fog on
+the Bering Sea.&rsquo; That&rsquo;s the name of a book.
+And it&rsquo;s a good name. There are always men
+and nearly always there is fog.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Fish are coming in,&rdquo; he added as a cheering
+note. &ldquo;Two boats are just in from a try
+at the gill-nets. They made a fair catch.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But this fog,&rdquo; Johnny insisted, &ldquo;gives those
+Orientals a chance to slip in close, doesn&rsquo;t it?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It does!&rdquo; Red agreed. &ldquo;Blast their hides!
+That floatin&rsquo; factory of theirs comes in close
+to the three-mile limit. Then their other boats,
+small, fast ones, can come over the line and
+set nets. You couldn&rsquo;t see them in the fog.
+They&rsquo;d put &rsquo;em up early. Three miles of nets.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Claim they&rsquo;re catchin&rsquo; crabs. Crabs, me
+eye!&rdquo; he exploded. &ldquo;Crab nets are set on the
+bottom. Salmon nets are set close to the top.
+Drift nets are what they use. We&rsquo;ve never
+found one inside the three-mile line, but we
+think they&rsquo;ve been there all the same.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If you ever do find one,&rdquo; he turned to
+Blackie, &ldquo;take it up and bring it in. We&rsquo;ll can
+their fish an&rsquo; boil their nets.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_143">[143]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Shouldn&rsquo;t be any three-mile line,&rdquo; he continued.
+&ldquo;All our shore water belongs to us.
+So do the fish. It&rsquo;s food, son! Food for the
+millions. And these Orientals would have had
+fish on their own shores if they hadn&rsquo;t exterminated
+them.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We&rsquo;re going out right now,&rdquo; said Blackie.
+&ldquo;Going to have a look for that shadow that
+passes in the fog. We&rsquo;ve got a nice swivel
+cannon up there forward. Don&rsquo;t know whether
+you can hit a shadow, but it won&rsquo;t do any
+harm to try.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;All the same, this <i>is</i> a serious situation,&rdquo;
+said Blackie as they headed out into the fog.
+&ldquo;These Alaskans are a strange people. They
+are like the men of the old west, the west that&rsquo;s
+gone forever; fearless men with hearts of gold,
+fighting devils when they know they&rsquo;ve been
+wronged. And this Oriental raiding business
+is an outrage, providing it&rsquo;s true.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But is it true?&rdquo; Johnny asked.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That,&rdquo; said Blackie, &ldquo;is what we&rsquo;re going
+to find out.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Johnny,&rdquo; he said after a moment, &ldquo;go up
+forward and remove that box. Let our little
+brass messenger swing with the boat.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_144">[144]</div>
+<p>A moment later, up forward, a small swivel
+cannon swung from side to side. As it did so
+it seemed to point, first right, then left.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;This way or that?&rdquo; Johnny thought. &ldquo;I
+wonder which it will be.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Hour after hour the fog hung on. Hour
+after hour Johnny squinted his eyes for some
+moving object in that blanket of gray fog.
+The cold, damp ocean air chilled him to the
+bone. Stamping his feet, he held doggedly to
+his post. When his watch was over he went
+below to soak in the heat of the stove that
+George, the colored cook, kept roaring hot. He
+drank two cups of scalding black coffee,
+downed a plate of beans and a whole pan of
+hot biscuits, then spread himself out on a cushioned
+seat to close his eyes and dream.</p>
+<p>In those dreams he saw creeping gray shadows,
+darting fish and a pair of laughing eyes.
+The eyes closed. When they opened the face
+wore a frown.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Rusty!&rdquo; he whispered. &ldquo;Wonder if she&rsquo;ll
+ever forgive me?&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_145">[145]</div>
+<p>All too soon his turn at the watch came.
+The days were long, twenty hours from dark
+to dawn. By nature a hard driver, inspired by
+his desire to help the Alaskans, Blackie steered
+his small craft endlessly through the gray
+murk.</p>
+<p>Then&mdash;of a sudden Johnny rubbed his eyes&mdash;stared
+away to the right&mdash;closed his eyes&mdash;snapped
+them open again to whisper hoarsely,</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Blackie! The shadow passes.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The shadow! Where?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The boy&rsquo;s hand pointed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;As I live!&rdquo; Blackie muttered.</p>
+<p>A short, slim line, little darker than the fog,
+moved slowly across the spot where sky and
+sea should meet.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ahoy, there!&rdquo; Blackie roared. &ldquo;What boat
+goes there?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>No answer.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll show them!&rdquo; Blackie put out a hand.
+Three powerful motors roared. The <i>Stormy
+Petrel</i> lurched forward, all but throwing Johnny
+into the sea.</p>
+<p>Sudden as the movement was, it proved too
+slow. Like a true shadow, the thing vanished
+into the murk.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&mdash;it went down,&rdquo; Johnny stammered.
+&ldquo;Must have been a whale.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_146">[146]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Or a submarine,&rdquo; Lawrence suggested.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It did not go down,&rdquo; said MacGregor. &ldquo;It
+slid away into the fog. And it was not a whale.
+I&rsquo;ve seen plenty of whales. They&rsquo;re never like
+that.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Wait!&rdquo; Johnny sprang for the cannon.
+&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll give them a shot just to let them know
+we&rsquo;re after them.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No! No! Not that!&rdquo; MacGregor waved
+him back. &ldquo;&lsquo;Speak softly and carry a big
+stick.&rsquo; That was Teddy Roosevelt&rsquo;s motto.
+The grandest president that ever lived. There&rsquo;s
+time enough to make a noise after we&rsquo;ve got
+&rsquo;em under our thumb.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&mdash;I&rsquo;m sorry,&rdquo; said Johnny.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_147">[147]</div>
+<h2 id="c14"><span class="small">CHAPTER XIV</span>
+<br />A VOICE IN THE FOG</h2>
+<p>Forty-eight long hours the <i>Stormy
+Petrel</i> haunted the gray fog. During far
+more than his fair share of that time, eyes
+blinking but tireless, Johnny stood on deck
+studying the small circle of black waters.</p>
+<p>Three times his heart leaped as a dark bulk
+loomed before them. Three times he heaved a
+sigh of disappointment.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Only one of the gill-net boats returning to
+the cannery,&rdquo; was the answer.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They&rsquo;re running strong,&rdquo; was the joyous
+report of one fisherman. &ldquo;Full load first trip.
+Looks like a grand season.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Poor luck,&rdquo; came from the second. &ldquo;We
+tried hard. Got only half a load. Have to
+come in anyway. It&rsquo;s the rule. Fish must always
+be fresh.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The third boat had had even worse luck. It
+was going back all but empty.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_148">[148]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;No new calico dress for Nancy this time,&rdquo;
+the youthful skipper groaned.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No gitta da dress,&rdquo; his Italian companion
+agreed.</p>
+<p>At last, out of gas, with her crew half-blind
+from watching, the <i>Stormy Petrel</i> headed for
+the harbor.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They&rsquo;re out there somewhere,&rdquo; Red McGee
+insisted, as he met them at the dock.
+&ldquo;Must be anchored up north of here somewhere.
+It&rsquo;s the boys who go up that way who
+come back half-empty.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But the wheels are turning,&rdquo; he added with
+a touch of pride. &ldquo;Ever see a cannery in operation?&rdquo;
+he turned to the boys.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, never have,&rdquo; was the quick response.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Rusty,&rdquo; said Red, turning to his daughter,
+&ldquo;how&rsquo;d you like to show these boys through
+our plant?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Did Johnny detect a frown on the girl&rsquo;s
+face? If so, it was gone like the shadow of a
+summer cloud.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Sure! Come on!&rdquo; she welcomed. They
+were away.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_149">[149]</div>
+<p>Somewhere Johnny had heard that a fish
+cannery was a place of evil smells and revolting
+sights. Dirty coolies gouging into half-rotten
+fish&mdash;that was his mental picture.</p>
+<p>A surprise awaited him. Not a coolie was
+in sight. The place smelled as fresh as a May
+morning. To his ears came the sound of rushing
+water.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Where are the coolies?&rdquo; he asked a man
+beside a machine.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;This is him,&rdquo; the man chuckled. &ldquo;An iron
+coolie.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>As the two boys watched they saw the machine
+seize a large salmon, sever its head and
+tail, remove the scales and fins, clean it and
+pass it on in a split second.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Jimminy crickets!&rdquo; Lawrence exploded.
+&ldquo;And I used to think I was the champion fish
+cleaner!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Rusty favored him with a gorgeous smile.</p>
+<p>When, a little later, Johnny made a try for
+that same young lady&rsquo;s smile, the cloud once
+again passed over her face, but no smile. He
+was not, however, entirely discouraged. It
+was, he thought, more as if she could not forgive
+him than that she did not want to.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_150">[150]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;We saw the shadow pass,&rdquo; Lawrence confided
+to the girl, as at last they stood before a
+canning machine.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh!&rdquo; the girl breathed. &ldquo;Did you? And
+what&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It vanished into the fog.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I have a small motor-boat,&rdquo; the girl said,
+in evident excitement. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s the <i>Krazy Kat</i>.
+I&mdash;I&rsquo;m going out to look for the shadow in the
+fog.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&mdash;you&rsquo;d better not do that,&rdquo; Johnny
+spoke before he thought. &ldquo;You&rsquo;d be&mdash;&rdquo; He
+did not finish.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I was practically born and raised here.&rdquo;
+She spoke to him, as an old-time Alaskan
+might to a newcomer.</p>
+<p>Johnny did not resent it. He had spoken
+out of turn. And yet he was disturbed. He
+did not care to think of this fine young creature
+out there in the fog alone. Supposing she
+did find the Orientals setting nets. Suppose
+they found her, alone out there in the fog?</p>
+<p>&ldquo;None of my business,&rdquo; he told himself
+fiercely. &ldquo;Just none at all.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_151">[151]</div>
+<p>The <i>Stormy Petrel</i> remained an entire day in
+port. Blackie spent his time listening to reports
+from the various fishing grounds. The
+shores of Bristol Bay are hundreds of miles
+long. Next time he went out he wanted to go
+to the right spot, if there were such a spot.</p>
+<p>Johnny made the acquaintance of Kopkino,
+the Eskimo. From him he learned much about
+salmon, Orientals and the shores of Bristol
+Bay. And then, just at midnight, he passed
+the sturdy little man standing beside a dark
+pathway. There were three little men with
+him and they were all talking. They were not
+Eskimos. He was sure of that. But they were
+Orientals. He had heard enough of the languages
+to know.</p>
+<p>At once his mind was filled with questions.
+Was Kopkino betraying his employer for Oriental
+gold, or was he acting as a spy for his
+big white brother? Who could say?</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He&rsquo;s an Oriental,&rdquo; Johnny told himself.
+&ldquo;All Eskimos are. But after all&mdash;&rdquo; He came
+to no conclusion.</p>
+<p>Just before dawn the <i>Stormy Petrel</i> crept out
+into the fog. She was bound for an unannounced
+destination.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_152">[152]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Action,&rdquo; Johnny said to Lawrence. &ldquo;This
+time we are to have action. I feel it in my
+bones.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>One thing puzzled Johnny not a little. They
+were provisioned as if for a long trip, two
+weeks or more.</p>
+<p>Several hours later the <i>Stormy Petrel</i> was
+once again circling about in the fog.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Seems like it&rsquo;ll never end, this fog,&rdquo; MacGregor
+said to Johnny. They were on deck
+working out their watch. &ldquo;Looks as if nature
+was on the side of those Orientals.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Orientals,&rdquo; he continued musingly, &ldquo;I
+don&rsquo;t suppose they&rsquo;re much different from the
+rest of us, only just some of them.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Just some of them,&rdquo; Johnny agreed, giving
+the wheel a turn.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Come to think of it,&rdquo; MacGregor went on,
+&ldquo;there are a few white men who are not so
+honorable.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Quite a few,&rdquo; Johnny agreed.</p>
+<p>Truth is, Johnny was dead tired. He wanted
+nothing quite so much as to crawl into some
+warm corner and sleep for hours and hours.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_153">[153]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t hate them all the same,&rdquo; MacGregor
+squinted his eyes to look through the fog.
+Then he demanded low, &ldquo;Hear anything,
+Johnny?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not a thing.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Thought I heard a voice coming out of the
+fog.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>For some time after that neither spoke.
+They were listening with all their ears for
+some sound that might tell them the mysterious
+moving shadow was about to pass.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What is this shadow?&rdquo; Johnny asked himself.
+&ldquo;Submarine, some fast, silent craft, or a
+whale?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He liked the idea of a submarine. The Orientals
+had them. Why not use them for laying
+nets? Easy enough to vanish when danger
+was near.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Hate, me lad, is destructive,&rdquo; the aged
+man&rsquo;s voice was solemn as he took up the
+thread of conversation he had dropped. &ldquo;Hate
+destroys you as well as the people you hate.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He broke off short to cup a hand behind his
+ear.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;There <i>was</i> a voice,&rdquo; he insisted in a hoarse
+whisper.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_154">[154]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, I heard it,&rdquo; Johnny replied, tense with
+sudden excitement.</p>
+<p>Ten minutes had passed. They were beginning
+to relax when the sound came again.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Over to the right,&rdquo; MacGregor shrilled.
+&ldquo;Turn her about quarterin&rsquo; them. Give her top
+speed.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Right.&rdquo; Johnny twisted the wheel. The
+motors roared. It was a bold step that might
+have led to disaster. Should there be a boat
+out there setting nets, and should they crash
+at that speed, what would it mean? Johnny
+did not dare to think.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;There!&rdquo; MacGregor gripped the boy&rsquo;s
+arm.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh&mdash;ah!&rdquo; Johnny groaned. &ldquo;We missed
+them.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>It was true. Off to the left, for the space of
+seconds, they saw an unmistakable dark, gray
+bulk. And then it was gone.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Our own speed defeated us,&rdquo; declared MacGregor.
+&ldquo;Ah, well, better luck next time.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Or worse,&rdquo; Johnny grumbled.</p>
+<p>Had he but known it, it was to be worse,
+much worse.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_155">[155]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;As for me,&rdquo; MacGregor said a half hour
+later, resuming his talk, &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t hate anybody.
+It&rsquo;s not worth while. Sometimes I hate the
+things they do. Mostly, I try to think of good
+people and the good things they do.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And that,&rdquo; his voice rose, &ldquo;that&rsquo;s what I
+like about this job of ours. If we can drive
+these Orientals from our shores we&rsquo;ll be doing
+good to our own people, a whole lot of &rsquo;em.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Know what I see when I&rsquo;m tired and I
+close my eyes?&rdquo; he asked suddenly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No. What?&rdquo; Johnny grinned good-naturedly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Children,&rdquo; MacGregor said in a mellow
+tone. &ldquo;Children playing before an open fire
+and their mother puttin&rsquo; the crust on an apple
+pie in the kitchen. And those, Johnny, are the
+children and wives of men way up here scoutin&rsquo;
+around in the cold and fog for salmon.
+We&rsquo;re servin&rsquo; them, Johnny, or at least we&rsquo;re
+trying to.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Just then Blackie&rsquo;s head popped up out of
+the hatch.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;See anything?&rdquo; he demanded.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Plenty,&rdquo; said Johnny.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_156">[156]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, an&rsquo; heard &rsquo;em,&rdquo; MacGregor added.</p>
+<p>They told Blackie what had happened.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So you think you heard them?&rdquo; he asked.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Think?&rdquo; MacGregor roared. &ldquo;We <i>know</i>
+we heard &rsquo;em.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Might have been a seal barking to his mate,
+or mebby a loon. You can&rsquo;t be sure. Question
+is, if they&rsquo;re here, where&rsquo;s their nets?&rdquo;
+Blackie came up on deck.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Turn the boat north by east,&rdquo; he said to
+Johnny. &ldquo;We&rsquo;re going in for a rest.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Rest? What&rsquo;s that?&rdquo; Johnny opened up a
+grand smile.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Something we don&rsquo;t have much of,&rdquo; said
+Blackie. &ldquo;But this fog burns your eyes. You&rsquo;re
+no good when you&rsquo;ve been out too long.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;There&rsquo;s a cabin on shore if only we can
+find it,&rdquo; he explained. &ldquo;A trapper&rsquo;s place, snug
+and warm. Red McGee told me about it.
+Trapper&rsquo;s gone south with his furs. We&rsquo;re to
+make ourselves at home.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_157">[157]</div>
+<p>Make themselves at home they did. After
+tying the <i>Stormy Petrel</i> up at a narrow dock
+they helped George up to the cabin with kettles,
+pans and food supplies. Then, while a
+jolly wood fire roared in the huge stove made
+of a steel gasoline barrel, laid on ends, they
+sprawled out on rustic chairs to sniff the odor
+of roasting beef and baking pies and to dream
+dreams.</p>
+<p>With his eyes closed, MacGregor was seeing
+&ldquo;children and their mothers putting the
+top crust on apple pies.&rdquo; In his dream Blackie
+held a struggling Oriental by the collar of his
+coat and the seat of his trousers. As for Johnny,
+he was seeing a round, freckled face all
+rosy with smiles. Then, to his dismay he was
+seeing that same face take on a somber look.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Rusty,&rdquo; he thought once again. &ldquo;Will she
+ever forgive me?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The feast George had prepared was one fit
+for a king or even a big league baseball player,
+and the sleep they had in that cabin resting
+among the bleak Alaskan hills was the soundest
+Johnny had known for many a day. Well
+it was that this should be, for Fate had much
+in store for him.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_158">[158]</div>
+<h2 id="c15"><span class="small">CHAPTER XV</span>
+<br />A ROAR FROM THE DEEP</h2>
+<p>&ldquo;It will be an hour or two before I can get
+out,&rdquo; Blackie said next morning, standing
+up to stretch himself before the fire. &ldquo;I
+want to go over some maps Red McGee gave
+me. Lawrence can draw up a simple chart that
+will keep us going right.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;MacGregor,&rdquo; he turned to the aged Scotchman.
+&ldquo;How would you like to take Johnny
+for a circle or two in the fog? You might discover
+some evidence. It&rsquo;s nets we want most.
+If we can discover some of those nets inside
+the three-mile limit it will help a lot.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Like nothin&rsquo; better,&rdquo; said MacGregor.
+&ldquo;Come on, Johnny, let&rsquo;s get goin&rsquo;.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_159">[159]</div>
+<p>MacGregor had spoken for both of them.
+Johnny was fond of the engineer. He was old,
+mellow and kind, was MacGregor. This, he
+had confided to Johnny, was to be his last year
+with the service. Another twelve months and
+he would be pensioned. &ldquo;And, Johnny,&rdquo; he
+had added, &ldquo;I&rsquo;m as eager as any boy to have a
+part in something big before I am compelled
+to go.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I hope you can have,&rdquo; had been Johnny&rsquo;s
+heartfelt wish.</p>
+<p>So now, with the sun still low and the fog,
+it seemed, thicker than ever before, they
+slipped out of the snug little natural harbor
+into the great unknown that is any sea in time
+of fog.</p>
+<p>Standing at the wheel, Johnny watched the
+dark circle of water about them. Ever they
+moved forward, yet never did this circle grow
+larger. It was strange.</p>
+<p>There was life at this circle. Now a whole
+fleet of eider-ducks, resting on their way north,
+came drifting into view. With a startled
+quack-quack they stirred up a great splatter,
+then went skimming away.</p>
+<p>And now a seal with small round head and
+whiskers like a cat came to the surface to
+stare at them.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_160">[160]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Not worth much, that fellow,&rdquo; was MacGregor&rsquo;s
+comment. &ldquo;Not much more hair than
+a pig.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But look, Johnny!&rdquo; his voice rose. &ldquo;There&rsquo;s
+a real fur seal. His hide&rsquo;s worth a pretty penny.
+Wouldn&rsquo;t have it long either, if those
+Orientals sighted him. We used to have a hot
+time with &rsquo;em over the seals. Had to pay &rsquo;em
+to get &rsquo;em to leave the seals alone. That was
+a shame. Have to do the same with the salmon,
+like as not. We&mdash;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Look, Johnny! What&rsquo;s that?&rdquo; His voice
+suddenly dropped to a whisper, as if he believed
+the fog had ears. &ldquo;Right over to the
+left, Johnny. Ease &rsquo;er over that way.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Another seal,&rdquo; said Johnny.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s no seal,&rdquo; MacGregor whispered. &ldquo;Johnny!&rdquo;
+His whisper rose. &ldquo;We got &rsquo;em. It&rsquo;s a
+net marker. Inside the three-mile limit. An&rsquo;
+it&rsquo;s none of Red McGee&rsquo;s net markers either.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&mdash;that&rsquo;s right,&rdquo; the boy breathed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And there&rsquo;s the floats, Johnny! There they
+are!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Sure enough, leading away into the fog was
+a wavering line of dots.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_161">[161]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;We&rsquo;ll follow it,&rdquo; was MacGregor&rsquo;s instant
+decision. &ldquo;See how much net there is, then&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll follow it,&rdquo; Johnny agreed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Set the boat to go five miles an hour. I&rsquo;ll
+time you.&rdquo; MacGregor pulled out his large,
+old-fashioned watch. &ldquo;Now we&rsquo;ll see.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>For a full ten minutes, in silence, the two of
+them watched the apparently never-ending
+line of net floats appear and disappear into the
+fog.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Near two miles of it,&rdquo; MacGregor growled.
+&ldquo;And yet no end. No wonder some of our fine
+boys come in with empty boats. These Orientals,
+they just find a place outside where the
+salmon run an&rsquo; head &rsquo;em off. They&mdash;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Slow up, Johnny!&rdquo; he warned. &ldquo;There&rsquo;s
+the end. Shut off the motor.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The motor ceased to purr. Silence hung
+over the fog. A seal bobbed up his head, then
+ducked. A large salmon, caught in the net
+close to the surface, set up a feeble splatter.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ease about,&rdquo; said MacGregor. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll pick up
+that net with this pike pole.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Now,&rdquo; he breathed, leaning far out over
+the rail, &ldquo;now I got her. Now&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_162">[162]</div>
+<p>He had succeeded in getting his hands on
+the marker when catastrophe came thundering
+up at them from the deep. A tremendous explosion
+sent the water rocketing toward the
+sky. The prow of the <i>Stormy Petrel</i> rose until
+it seemed she would go completely over.</p>
+<p>Frantically Johnny gripped the wheel to
+save himself from being plunged into the icy
+water. But where was MacGregor?</p>
+<p>For ten tense seconds the boat stood with
+prow in air. Then with a slow, sickening
+swash, she came down.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;MacGregor!&rdquo; Johnny cried. &ldquo;What happened?
+Where are you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Here&mdash;here I am!&rdquo; MacGregor&rsquo;s voice rose
+from the sea.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Johnny!&rdquo; his voice was hoarse with emotion.
+&ldquo;Shove off that life boat. Get her off
+just any way. There&rsquo;s a terrible hole in the
+<i>Stormy&rsquo;s</i> side. She&rsquo;ll sink in another minute.
+For God&rsquo;s sake, be quick!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Johnny was quick and strong. If ever his
+strength stood him in good stead it was now.</p>
+<p>The life boat hung over the afterdeck. The
+knots of ropes that held it in place were wet
+and stiff with fog.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_163">[163]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;No time,&rdquo; he muttered. With his knife he
+slashed away the ropes. The boat fell on deck
+with a thud. It was a heavy steel boat. To
+his consternation, he saw that it had fallen
+squarely between the heavy rails. The prow
+must be lifted. Creeping under it, he put all
+the strength of his back against it. It rose.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Now!&rdquo; he breathed. &ldquo;Now! And now!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The boat was on the rail. He could fairly
+feel the <i>Stormy&rsquo;s</i> deck sinking beneath him.
+She was doomed, there was no doubt of that.
+Those heavy motors would take her down fast.</p>
+<p>Once again he heaved. The life boat was
+now a quarter over the rail, now a third, now
+half.</p>
+<p>Leaping from beneath it, he executed a double
+movement, a shove and a leap. He was
+in the life boat. The life boat plunged, all but
+sank, swayed from side to side, then righted
+herself.</p>
+<p>There was a low, sickening rush of water.
+Johnny looked. The <i>Stormy</i> was gone. In her
+place were swirling water and in the swirl an
+odd collection of articles; a coat, a cap, a pike
+pole, and MacGregor&rsquo;s checkerboard.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_164">[164]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;MacGregor!&rdquo; Johnny called hoarsely.
+&ldquo;MacGregor! Where are you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Here! Over here!&rdquo; was the cheering response.
+&ldquo;I had to get away. She would have
+sucked me down.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Seizing an oar, Johnny began sculling the
+boat. In a moment he was alongside his companion.
+A brief struggle and MacGregor,
+watersoaked and shivering, tumbled into the
+boat.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;John&mdash;Johnny,&rdquo; his teeth were chattering.
+&ldquo;There&mdash;there shou-should be d-d-dry clothes
+in the stern.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Dragging a half barrel from the prow, Johnny
+pulled out shirts, underclothing, trousers,
+socks and shoes.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Seems you were looking for this,&rdquo; he
+chuckled as he watched the plucky old man
+disrobe himself.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Johnny,&rdquo; said MacGregor. &ldquo;In the Coast
+Guard service you are always looking for it an&rsquo;
+all too often you&rsquo;re not disappointed.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_165">[165]</div>
+<p>When, a few minutes later, after a brisk
+rub-down, MacGregor had struggled into dry
+clothes and had succeeded in lighting his pipe,
+he said, &ldquo;Well, me boy, we thought we had &rsquo;em
+an&rsquo; now they&rsquo;ve got us. We&rsquo;re miles from
+anywhere in a fog. And that&rsquo;s bad! Mighty
+bad.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Do you suppose Blackie heard it?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What? The explosion? &rsquo;Tain&rsquo;t likely.
+We&rsquo;re all of four miles from there. Don&rsquo;t forget,
+we followed that net two miles. An&rsquo; that
+explosion was muffled by the water.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An&rsquo; if he heard,&rdquo; he added after a brief
+pause, &ldquo;what could he do? He&rsquo;s four miles
+away. No compass. An&rsquo; no boat except maybe
+a fishing skiff. No, Johnny,&rdquo; his voice
+sounded out solemn on the silent sea. &ldquo;For
+once in our lives we are strictly on our own,
+you and me.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, me lad,&rdquo; he murmured a moment
+later. &ldquo;They got us that time. Attached some
+sort of bomb to their net, that&rsquo;s what they did.
+Safe enough in a way, too, for how you goin&rsquo;
+to prove it was their net? Yes, they got us.
+But you wait, me lad, we&rsquo;ll be gettin&rsquo; them
+yet.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_166">[166]</div>
+<h2 id="c16"><span class="small">CHAPTER XVI</span>
+<br />LOOMING PERIL</h2>
+<p>Many times in his young life Johnny
+had been on his own, but never quite
+like this.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not a bit of good to row,&rdquo; was MacGregor&rsquo;s
+decision. &ldquo;We&rsquo;ve not the least notion
+which way to go. If there was a breeze we
+might row by that. There&rsquo;s no breeze.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No sun, moon or stars, either,&rdquo; Johnny
+agreed.</p>
+<p>For a full half hour they sat there in silence.
+Off in the distance a seal barked. Closer at
+hand an eider-duck quacked to his mate. A
+sudden scream, close at hand, startled them
+for an instant. It was followed by a wild laugh.
+They joined in the merriment. It was only a
+loon.</p>
+<p>There came a wild whir of wings. A flock
+of wild ducks, flying low and going like the
+wind, shot past them.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_167">[167]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s north,&rdquo; Johnny exclaimed. &ldquo;They&rsquo;re
+going due north to their nesting place. That&rsquo;s
+east,&rdquo; he pointed. &ldquo;All we have to do is to row
+that way. We&rsquo;ll come to land.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If you kept your course, which you
+couldn&rsquo;t,&rdquo; MacGregor chuckled.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s worth trying. Anyway, I&rsquo;m cold,&rdquo;
+Johnny began to row. &ldquo;There may be other
+bird flights to set me right.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>There were not, at least not for fifteen minutes.
+When at last a pair of loons with long
+necks stretched straight before, passed them,
+to his disgust, Johnny saw that the boat was
+headed due north.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; he sighed, dropping his oars, &ldquo;At
+least I&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Listen!&rdquo; MacGregor put up a hand.</p>
+<p>Johnny listened. &ldquo;Say! That&rsquo;s no seal.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Nor a bird either. That&rsquo;s a human sound.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Like someone trying to start a motor.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Just that.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>For a time the sound ceased. Then it began
+again.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_168">[168]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Over to the left.&rdquo; Once again Johnny took
+up the oars. This time he rowed slowly, silently.
+No telling whose motor had stalled. Fisherman,
+trapper, or Oriental? Who could tell?</p>
+<p>Four times the sound ceased. Four times
+Johnny&rsquo;s oars rested on the surface of the
+water.</p>
+<p>When, at last, a small, dark spot appeared
+on the surface of the sea, Johnny fairly ceased
+to breathe.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Heck!&rdquo; said a voice in that fog.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Doesn&rsquo;t sound like an Oriental,&rdquo; Johnny
+whispered.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Fisherman nor trapper either,&rdquo; replied
+MacGregor.</p>
+<p>Leaning even more gently on his oars, Johnny
+sent his boat gliding forward. Then, of a
+sudden, he dropped his oars to stare.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s that girl, Rusty,&rdquo; he whispered hoarsely.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The same,&rdquo; MacGregor agreed.</p>
+<p>There could be no doubt about it. The girl
+was bending over to give her flywheel one
+more turn. Over her boy&rsquo;s shirt, high boots
+and knickers she had drawn a suit of greasy
+coveralls. On her face, besides a look of grim
+determination, there was a long, black smudge.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_169">[169]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Heck!&rdquo; she exclaimed once more.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Havin&rsquo; motor trouble?&rdquo; MacGregor spoke
+aloud.</p>
+<p>The girl started so suddenly that she all but
+lost her balance. Then, after a brief spell of
+unbelieving silence, she said, &ldquo;It&rsquo;s you, Mr.
+MacGregor! How glad I am to see you! I&rsquo;ve
+been lost for hours. I&mdash;I went out to hunt the
+Shadow, that shadow you know. My motor&rsquo;s
+stalled. But now&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Now we&rsquo;re all lost together,&rdquo; MacGregor
+chuckled.</p>
+<p>To Johnny, the girl gave never a second
+look.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Do&mdash;do you suppose you could start it?&rdquo;
+she said to MacGregor, nodding at her motor.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No harm to try. At least we&rsquo;ll come aboard
+for a cup o&rsquo; tea,&rdquo; MacGregor chuckled.</p>
+<p>Johnny rowed the lifeboat alongside the
+girl&rsquo;s boat, the <i>Krazy Kat</i>, and they climbed
+aboard.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She&rsquo;s not gittin&rsquo; gas,&rdquo; said MacGregor,
+after he had turned the motor over twice.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I know,&rdquo; the girl&rsquo;s brow wrinkled.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_170">[170]</div>
+<p>Without saying a word, Johnny scrambled
+back to the box covering the gas tank. After
+lifting the box off, he struck the tank a sharp
+rap. The tank gave off a hollow sound.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You might try putting some gas in your
+tank,&rdquo; he said with a sly grin.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, but there must be gas!&rdquo; the girl exclaimed.
+&ldquo;There must be.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Perhaps,&rdquo; said Johnny. &ldquo;But it&rsquo;s empty.
+May be a leak.&rdquo; Drawing a small flashlight
+from his pocket, he bent over and examined
+the offending tank.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yep,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;there is a leak, a small hole,
+but big enough. Your gas is in the bottom of
+the boat, along with the bilge water. Any
+reserve supply?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not a bit.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, then, here we are.&rdquo; Johnny took a
+seat. &ldquo;Now we have two boats and there are
+three of us. The motor-boat won&rsquo;t go, but&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Suddenly he sprang to his feet. &ldquo;You&rsquo;d have
+a compass, wouldn&rsquo;t you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ye-es,&rdquo; the girl replied with evident reluctance,
+&ldquo;but it&mdash;it&rsquo;s out of order. That&rsquo;s why
+I got lost.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_171">[171]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, anyway,&rdquo; Johnny said with forced
+cheerfulness, &ldquo;now there are three of us.
+Two&rsquo;s company and three&rsquo;s a crowd. I always
+have liked crowds. Besides,&rdquo; the corners of his
+mouth turned up, &ldquo;you&rsquo;ve got something of a
+cabin.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, yes.&rdquo; The girl seemed, for the moment,
+to forget that she was speaking to one
+who had knocked her beloved daddy out. &ldquo;Yes,
+there is a cabin. There&rsquo;s a small stove and&mdash;and
+some wood. There&rsquo;s tea and some pilot
+biscuits.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A stove, wood, tea and pilot biscuits?&rdquo;
+Suddenly MacGregor seized her and waltzed
+her about in a narrow circle. &ldquo;Rusty, me child,
+you are an angel.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>A half hour later found them comfortably
+crowded into Rusty&rsquo;s small cabin. They were
+sipping tea and munching hard round crackers.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The fog&rsquo;ll lift after a while,&rdquo; MacGregor
+rumbled dreamily. &ldquo;We lost our boat. That&rsquo;s
+bad. But there&rsquo;s marine insurance. That&rsquo;s
+good. We&rsquo;ll have another boat. I wonder,&rdquo;
+he paused to meditate, &ldquo;wonder what Blackie
+and the others are thinking by now.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And doing,&rdquo; Johnny suggested uneasily.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_172">[172]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, and doin&rsquo;,&rdquo; MacGregor agreed.</p>
+<p>A half hour later, growing restless, Johnny
+crept from his corner, opened the cabin door
+and disappeared up the narrow hatch.</p>
+<p>Ten seconds later he poked his head into the
+door to exclaim in a low, tense voice, &ldquo;MacGregor,
+come up here quick.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>MacGregor came. The girl came too. For
+a full half minute the three of them stood there
+speechless. They were looking up and away.
+Their eyes were wide and staring.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;MacGregor,&rdquo; Johnny asked, &ldquo;what is it?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A ship,&rdquo; MacGregor whispered. &ldquo;A thunderin&rsquo;
+big ship. She&rsquo;s not two hundred leagues
+away. She&rsquo;s not movin&rsquo;, just driftin&rsquo;. That&rsquo;s
+how she came close to us.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Wha-what ship is she?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Who knows, son? But I&rsquo;d lay a bet I could
+guess the country she came from.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So&mdash;so could I.&rdquo; Johnny&rsquo;s throat was dry.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We&mdash;we,&rdquo; Rusty pulled her old sou&rsquo;wester
+down hard on her head, &ldquo;we&rsquo;d better get into
+the life boat and row away. It&mdash;it doesn&rsquo;t matter
+about the <i>Krazy Kat</i>. It really doesn&rsquo;t.&rdquo;
+She swallowed hard.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_173">[173]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;We can try it,&rdquo; MacGregor agreed. &ldquo;But
+I&rsquo;m afraid it&rsquo;s too late.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; he added with a low, rumbling
+laugh. &ldquo;We were lookin&rsquo; for &rsquo;em. Now we
+found &rsquo;em, we don&rsquo;t want &rsquo;em. Come on, an&rsquo;
+mind you, never a sound!&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_174">[174]</div>
+<h2 id="c17"><span class="small">CHAPTER XVII</span>
+<br />TRAPPED</h2>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s no use. We&rsquo;re in for it.&rdquo; Five minutes
+later MacGregor dropped his oars.
+From some spot close to that dark bulk against
+the sky had come the throb of a motor.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Rusty, me child,&rdquo; the old man&rsquo;s voice was
+very gentle. &ldquo;Be sure those golden locks of
+yours are well tucked in. Whatever you do,
+don&rsquo;t remove that sou&rsquo;wester. For the present
+you are a boy. You must not forget.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&mdash;I won&rsquo;t forget.&rdquo; Rusty&rsquo;s fingers were
+busy with her hair.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I only hope,&rdquo; the old man added soberly,
+&ldquo;that my guess is wrong.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Scarcely were the words out of his mouth
+when a smart little motor boat, bright with
+red and white paint, hove into view. And on
+the deck, scarcely less smart in brass buttons
+and braid, stood a small man with slanting
+eyes.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_175">[175]</div>
+<p>Those eyes appeared a trifle startled at sight
+of MacGregor. &ldquo;A thousand pardons.&rdquo; The
+little man&rsquo;s voice was smooth as oil. &ldquo;What
+is that which you wish?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Only a few gallons of gasoline,&rdquo; said MacGregor.</p>
+<p>The lightning change on the little man&rsquo;s
+face was startling. It was as if a dagger had
+suddenly flashed from his belt, yet his tone
+was smooth as before.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah! You are out of gas? Very unfortunate.
+Your line, please. We shall escort you
+to our ship.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But we don&rsquo;t want to go to your ship,&rdquo;
+MacGregor protested. &ldquo;All we want is gas.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah, yes, a thousand apologies. But here
+there is no gasoline, only at the ship. Your
+line, please.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Say, you&mdash;&rdquo; Johnny&rsquo;s angry voice was
+stopped by a heavy pressure on his arm.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Give him our line, son,&rdquo; said MacGregor.</p>
+<p>Grudgingly Johnny obeyed. A moment
+later, with the two boats in tow, the bright,
+little craft went rolling back toward that
+broad, black bulk.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_176">[176]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s no use to quarrel with &rsquo;em,&rdquo; MacGregor
+said in a sober whisper. &ldquo;We&rsquo;ve fallen
+into their hands. I think that chap recognized
+me. I&rsquo;ve been along the Pacific waterfronts
+for many years. So have these Orientals.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But&mdash;but what will happen?&rdquo; Rusty asked.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Who knows?&rdquo; was MacGregor&rsquo;s sober reply.
+&ldquo;Let us hope for the best. They&rsquo;ll not let
+us go now. When they&rsquo;re well beyond the
+three-mile limit they may give us gas and let
+us go.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;In the meantime, Rusty,&rdquo; he warned, &ldquo;don&rsquo;t
+forget you&rsquo;re a boy. It&rsquo;s a good thing you&rsquo;ve
+got on knickers instead of a dress.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>They were brought alongside. A ladder was
+let down. They climbed aboard. There they
+were ushered before one more small man who
+wore even more brass and braid. Johnny
+thought with a touch of humor that he would
+make a very fine monkey if only he had a cap,
+a tin cup and a string.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_177">[177]</div>
+<p>When MacGregor requested that they be
+given gasoline and allowed to leave, there were
+excuses, very profuse and polite, but quite formal.
+There were reasons, very unfortunate
+reasons; too much fog, a storm coming up, too
+few men to spare even one or two, to find the
+way alone quite impossible. Oh, quite!</p>
+<p>The man, who beyond doubt was the captain,
+talked on and on.</p>
+<p>It all ended by the <i>Krazy Kat&rsquo;s</i> being hoisted
+on board, by the little party drinking very
+black and very hot tea with the much adorned
+captain, and at last by their being escorted,
+for all the world as if they were embarking on
+a long voyage, to a pair of staterooms on the
+second deck.</p>
+<p>For a time after the stateroom doors had
+been closed the surprised trio stood staring
+first at one another and then at their surroundings.</p>
+<p>The two staterooms were joined by a door.
+There were two berths in each stateroom.
+There were round portholes, no other windows.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That will be your stateroom, Rusty,&rdquo; MacGregor
+opened the door to the one beyond.
+&ldquo;Keep your outside door locked.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_178">[178]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;One thing more,&rdquo; hesitatingly he produced
+a pair of scissors, &ldquo;I always carry them,&rdquo; he
+explained. &ldquo;A man doesn&rsquo;t live everywhere as
+I have done, not in Alaska, without learning
+to cut hair. I&rsquo;m a fair hand at it. Rusty, me
+child, those rusty red locks of yours have got
+to come off.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Without a word the girl dropped to a stool
+beside the berth.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Johnny,&rdquo; said MacGregor, &ldquo;I suggest that
+you step outside and stand guard. Don&rsquo;t leave
+the door, not more than three steps. If anyone
+comes near, make some noise on the door.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Right,&rdquo; said Johnny.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Rusty,&rdquo; said MacGregor, &ldquo;do you ever
+box?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh yes, often.&rdquo; The girl&rsquo;s face flushed.
+&ldquo;Often. Daddy and I box by the hour.&rdquo; She
+gave Johnny a strange, fleeting look.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Good!&rdquo; MacGregor exclaimed low. &ldquo;Tonight
+we&rsquo;ll have an exhibition match, just you
+and Johnny. Two boys showing these Orientals
+how to play.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And now,&rdquo; he nodded his head toward the
+door.</p>
+<p>Johnny opened it ever so softly, peered
+through the crack, and was gone.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_179">[179]</div>
+<p>At the same moment the old man lifted the
+shabby sou&rsquo;wester from the mass of lovely
+hair, blew on his scissors, heaved a heavy sigh,
+then slashed with apparent ruthlessness at a
+great handful of perfectly natural, copper-colored
+curls.</p>
+<p>A half hour later the door opened a crack.</p>
+<p>Taking the cue, Johnny stepped inside. He
+stopped short when he looked at Rusty.</p>
+<p>It was with the greatest difficulty that he
+suppressed a smile at what he saw. The sou&rsquo;wester
+was no longer needed. Good old MacGregor
+had done his work well. Rusty&rsquo;s hair
+looked like a real boy&rsquo;s.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What a grand boy!&rdquo; Johnny thought. And
+after that, &ldquo;What a perfect brick of a girl she
+is!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Mac,&rdquo; he said a moment later, &ldquo;there are
+twenty thousand fine big red salmon up forward.
+I stepped around a hatchway far
+enough to see.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_180">[180]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Twenty thousand,&rdquo; the old man murmured.
+&ldquo;Our boys get fourteen cents apiece just for
+catchin&rsquo; &rsquo;em. Twenty-eight hundred dollars.
+A grand livin&rsquo; for two happy families. And
+that&rsquo;s the first haul. There&rsquo;ll be many another
+unless someone stops &rsquo;em.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And we won&rsquo;t stop &rsquo;em,&rdquo; he added with a
+touch of sadness. &ldquo;Not just yet. But you
+wait!&rdquo; he sprang to his feet. &ldquo;We&rsquo;ll get a
+break yet.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_181">[181]</div>
+<h2 id="c18"><span class="small">CHAPTER XVIII</span>
+<br />FIVE ROUNDS AND A FRIEND</h2>
+<p>It may seem a little strange that MacGregor
+and his young companions accepted the
+whole situation so calmly. Yet the old man
+had lived long and in many places. He was
+wise in the ways of the world. He realized
+that they had already seen too much to be
+released at once. How long would they be
+detained? To this question he could form no
+answer. Perhaps until the end of the legal
+fishing season, twenty or more days away.
+Perhaps longer. They might even be taken to
+the Orient. After that some fantastic story
+might be told of their being picked up adrift
+on the high seas.</p>
+<p>Johnny was thinking along these same lines.
+But he, unlike MacGregor, was already laying
+plans for escape. For the present, however,
+he was willing to bide his time.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_182">[182]</div>
+<p>Dinner was brought to them by a smiling
+little brown man. It was not a bad meal, as
+meals go on the sea&mdash;boiled rice, baked salmon
+and tea.</p>
+<p>When it was over, MacGregor slipped out
+into the gathering night. While he was gone
+not a word was spoken. Johnny was busy with
+his own thoughts. So, he supposed, was the
+girl who now looked so very much like a boy.</p>
+<p>He was thinking, &ldquo;I wonder if there were
+shadows passing us in the fog. Or did we
+imagine them?&rdquo; Certainly he had seen nothing
+resembling a shadow here. And this girl.
+Would she forgive him? Well enough he knew
+that in trying times such as these people were
+either drawn closer together or driven farther
+apart. He could only wait and see.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;There&rsquo;s hope in the airplane that young
+Dan MacMillan is bringing up,&rdquo; he thought
+with fresh courage. &ldquo;If only he&rsquo;d arrive and
+fly over this ship we&rsquo;d manage somehow to
+signal him and then the whole navy would be
+on this old freighter&rsquo;s heels.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_183">[183]</div>
+<p>He was thinking now of something told to
+him in secret by Red McGee. He had been
+speaking of the cannery. It had been built by
+old Chad MacMillan. A crusty, honest, fair-dealing
+man, he had managed it for many
+years.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Then he died,&rdquo; Red had gone on, &ldquo;and
+young Dan MacMillan, just out of university
+and full of big ideas, inherited it. This winter
+I suggested that he hire a seaplane to go out
+scouting for these Oriental robbers.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;&lsquo;It&rsquo;s a fine idea,&rsquo; he said to me. &lsquo;A grand
+idea. I&rsquo;ll buy a seaplane and learn to pilot it.
+You&rsquo;ll be seeing me up there scouting around
+as soon as the salmon season opens.&rsquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s what he said to me,&rdquo; Red McGee
+had drawn in a deep breath. &ldquo;These wild
+young millionaires! What can you expect?
+He&rsquo;s not here now and like as not won&rsquo;t show
+up at all.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What can you expect?&rdquo; Johnny was thinking
+over his words now. &ldquo;If only Dan MacMillan
+showed up over this old craft all these
+little brown men would be scared out of their
+skins.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>But would he come? He dared not so much
+as hope.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_184">[184]</div>
+<p>He wondered about Lawrence and Blackie.
+He suffered a pang because of Lawrence.
+What a shame that he had dragged the boy
+up here! He would be far better off in Matanuska
+valley planting turnips and potatoes,
+hunting wild geese, and, perhaps, catching a
+glacier bear way back in the mountains.</p>
+<p>But here was MacGregor. And he carried
+in his hands, of all things, two pairs of boxing
+gloves. Johnny had wondered where they were
+to come from, but now here they were.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;These little brown boys go in strong for
+boxing,&rdquo; the old man explained.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I told them,&rdquo; continued MacGregor, &ldquo;that
+you were one of America&rsquo;s most promising
+young boxers, but a little out of training.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Quite a little,&rdquo; Johnny agreed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I said you and your boy pal would put on
+an exhibition match on deck tonight.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Rusty shot him a look, but said never a
+word.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I hope you understand,&rdquo; the old man said
+soberly, &ldquo;that I am asking you to do this for
+your own good.&rdquo; He was talking to Rusty.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_185">[185]</div>
+<p>She bowed gravely. Then, of a sudden, her
+face brightened. &ldquo;I hope they take us lightly,&rdquo;
+she said. &ldquo;That may give us a chance to escape.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s what it will,&rdquo; MacGregor agreed.
+&ldquo;And this boxin&rsquo; stunt is just the thing to put
+them off their guard.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>A half hour later, beneath a brilliant electric
+light, with a circle of dark faces about them,
+Johnny and Rusty shook hands for the first
+time in their lives, then drew on the gloves.</p>
+<p>Johnny had boxed strange people in many
+an out-of-the-way place. Never before had he
+boxed with a girl. He was not sure he was
+going to like it now. But with MacGregor as
+manager of the strange affair, there was no
+turning back.</p>
+<p>It <i>was</i> strange, there was no getting around
+that. A swaying light, a host of sober, brown
+faces, the gray fog hanging over all, made it
+seem fantastic indeed.</p>
+<p>There were to be five short rounds with
+MacGregor keeping time.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_186">[186]</div>
+<p>At the very beginning, Johnny discovered
+that his opponent was fast and skillful. Having
+no sons, Red McGee had taken it upon
+himself to train his daughter in the manly art
+of boxing. Life on the bleak Alaskan shore
+was often dull. The girl had welcomed each
+new lesson. And now Johnny was discovering
+that her punches that from time to time
+reached his cheek or chin, were far from love
+pats. They really stung, nor, try as he would,
+could he entirely escape them.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She&rsquo;s taking it out on me because of her
+father,&rdquo; he thought grimly. &ldquo;Well, I can take
+it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>What did the audience think of this affair?
+Who could tell? They watched in silence.
+Once when Rusty was tossed into their midst
+they helped her to her feet and pushed her
+into place. Their movements were so gentle,
+the flitting smiles about their lips so friendly,
+that, for the moment, the girl forgot her role
+and said, &ldquo;Thank you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The rounds passed speedily. When the
+fourth and last was up, Johnny said in a whisper,
+&ldquo;Come on, Rusty, let&rsquo;s make this one
+snappy. Give them a real show.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_187">[187]</div>
+<p>Snappy it was. From the moment MacGregor
+gave them the signal they whipped
+into it with a wild swinging of gloves. Rusty&rsquo;s
+footwork was perfect. Johnny found himself
+admiring the manner in which, hornet-like,
+she leaped at him for a sharp, stinging blow,
+then faded away.</p>
+<p>Perhaps he was admiring her too much.
+However that might be, in the last thirty seconds
+of the bout he stepped into something.
+Trying for a bit of reprisal in the way of a
+tap on her chin, he left an opening far too
+wide. Rusty&rsquo;s eyes opened wide, her stout
+right arm shot out and up. It took Johnny
+squarely under the chin and, &ldquo;believe it or
+not,&rdquo; he went down and out like a match.</p>
+<p>He was not out long, perhaps eight seconds.
+When at last his stubborn eyelids opened he
+found himself looking at a circle of grinning
+brown men and at Rusty who stood staring
+at him, but not smiling at all.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; he laughed, &ldquo;that must square the
+McGee&rsquo;s with Johnny Thompson.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;John&mdash;Johnny, please!&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;I didn&rsquo;t
+mean to. I truly didn&rsquo;t.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;All right.&rdquo; Johnny sprang to his feet.
+&ldquo;Shake on it. Let&rsquo;s always be friends.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_188">[188]</div>
+<p>The girl made no response. There was no
+need. She did clasp his hand in a grip that
+was friendly and strong.</p>
+<p>A half hour later they were having one
+more cup of tea in their staterooms and Johnny
+was thinking, &ldquo;Life surely is strange. I
+wonder how this affair will end.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Before he fell asleep he went over it all
+again. Blackie and Lawrence, the silent, moving
+shadow, the hard-working men on shore,
+the airplane that might come. When he was
+too far gone in sleep to think clearly he fancied
+that he felt the ship&rsquo;s propeller vibrating, that
+the ship was on the move. He was not sure.
+After all, what did it matter? There was nothing
+he could do about it. And so, he fell fast
+asleep.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_189">[189]</div>
+<h2 id="c19"><span class="small">CHAPTER XIX</span>
+<br />ORDERED BELOW</h2>
+<p>Back in the trapper&rsquo;s cabin Blackie was
+in a rage. He stormed at the Orientals,
+at MacGregor, then at himself. From time to
+time he rushed out on the small dock in a vain
+attempt to pierce the thick fog and to listen
+with all his ears.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The robbers have got them,&rdquo; he muttered.
+&ldquo;I should have known. That shadow! It&rsquo;s
+done for them and for the <i>Stormy Petrel</i>.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>As night came on he settled down to sober
+thinking. &ldquo;There&rsquo;s a fishing skiff out there by
+the dock,&rdquo; he said to Lawrence. &ldquo;We&rsquo;ll have
+to put it in the water and make a try for the
+mainland. This cabin is on an island. Mainland
+must be thirty miles away. We&rsquo;ll make
+it. We&rsquo;ll find some sort of power boat. And
+then, by thunder! Things will get to popping!&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_190">[190]</div>
+<p>Lawrence, too, was disturbed in his own
+quiet way. He knew a great deal about Johnny.
+Many a time Johnny had been in a tight
+spot. Always, somehow, he had come out safely.
+MacGregor was old and wise. And, after
+all, this was not a time of war. Why need one
+worry too much?</p>
+<p>There were a number of tattered books on
+the shelf in the corner. Evidently this trapper
+was something of a naturalist, for five of these
+were about animals and birds. In browsing
+through these, the boy made a real find, a picture
+of a glacier bear, a brief description, and
+the history of the animal as far as known.</p>
+<p>It was with the feelings of a real discoverer
+that he read those words over and over. When
+he had finished he said to himself, &ldquo;If ever I
+see one of those bears I&rsquo;ll know him.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>But would he? At the present moment
+those bears seemed as far away as the moon.
+And yet, who could tell?</p>
+<p>At dawn next morning the three of them,
+George, the cook, Blackie and Lawrence, carried
+their few supplies down to the dock,
+tacked a note on the door, climbed into the
+broad, clumsy skiff and rowed into the fog.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_191">[191]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;We&rsquo;ll follow the shore as far as we can,&rdquo;
+said Blackie. &ldquo;We&rsquo;ll have to cross a broad
+stretch of open water, but I think I can manage
+that with my pocket compass.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>When at last Lawrence saw even the small
+island disappear from sight, he regretted the
+circumstances that appeared to make it necessary
+to leave that comfortable retreat.</p>
+<p class="tb">When Johnny and his friends came on board
+that same morning, they found the fog still
+with them, but it was thinner. There was a
+suggestion of a breeze in the air.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Going to clear,&rdquo; was MacGregor&rsquo;s prophecy.
+This, they were soon to discover, did not
+concern them too much, at least not in the
+immediate future.</p>
+<p>When they had eaten a strange mixture of
+rice and meat and had gulped down some very
+bitter coffee, a little man with neither gold nor
+braid on his uniform came up to them, saluted
+in a careless manner and said simply, &ldquo;Come.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>They followed him from one deck to another
+until they found themselves in a vast place of
+steam and evil smells.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_192">[192]</div>
+<p>When their eyes had become accustomed to
+the light and steam, they saw long rows of
+men toiling and sweating over apparently endless
+tables. Before the tables, on a conveyor,
+thousands of large salmon moved slowly forward.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No iron coolie here,&rdquo; Johnny chuckled.
+&ldquo;Everything is done by hand. Heads off, tails,
+fins, all with big knives.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Please,&rdquo; said the little man. He was holding
+out a long, thin, oilskin coat. Understanding
+his wish, Johnny put it on. Still wondering,
+he watched MacGregor and the girl follow
+his example.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Please,&rdquo; said the little man again. &ldquo;A thousand
+apologies.&rdquo; He was holding out three
+long, sharp knives, at the same time pointing
+with his other hand at a break in the solid
+line of salmon workers.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why, the dirty little shrimp!&rdquo; Johnny exploded.
+&ldquo;He wants us to go to work.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Steady, son,&rdquo; MacGregor warned. &ldquo;They
+understand English. I fancy there are worse
+places than this on the ship. We have no
+choice but to obey.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_193">[193]</div>
+<p>Johnny muttered, but dropped into place to
+slash off a large salmon&rsquo;s head.</p>
+<p>He had worked in a rebellious humor for a
+quarter of an hour when, on looking up, he
+discovered that Rusty was performing the
+most disagreeable task in the salmon line. She
+was cleaning the fish. Shoving past MacGregor,
+he turned her half about as he muttered
+low, &ldquo;You take my place.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>To his great astonishment, he felt the girl
+whirl back to her place, give him a hard push,
+then saw her resume her work.</p>
+<p>For a space of seconds he stood there
+stunned. Then he laughed low. The girl was
+wise, much wiser than he had known. She was
+supposed to be a boy. Boys were not gallant
+to one another. She would play the part to
+the bitter end. Johnny returned to his task.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Mac,&rdquo; he was able to whisper at last, &ldquo;why
+would they do this to us?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You answer,&rdquo; was the old man&rsquo;s reply.
+&ldquo;Sh-sh&mdash;&rdquo; he warned. &ldquo;Here comes a big shot,
+one of the monkeys with gold buttons.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>As he passed the &ldquo;big shot&rdquo; smiled suavely
+at them, but said never a word.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_194">[194]</div>
+<h2 id="c20"><span class="small">CHAPTER XX</span>
+<br />A BATTLE IN THE DARK</h2>
+<p>Even at lunch time the toiling trio, Rusty,
+Johnny and MacGregor, were not invited
+to have their lunch on deck. Instead,
+they were served, like the coolie with whom
+they toiled, with great bowls of some mixture
+that looked like soup.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Hm,&rdquo; MacGregor sighed, &ldquo;fish chowder.
+And not bad.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Rusty&rsquo;s eyes shone. &ldquo;What a lark!&rdquo; She
+laughed outright. &ldquo;I only wish we had a camera.
+My crowd down in Seattle won&rsquo;t believe
+me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Johnny looked at her in surprise and admiration.
+&ldquo;Here&rsquo;s one girl with a spirit that can&rsquo;t
+be broken,&rdquo; he thought.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_195">[195]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Reminds me of a time I was on the Big
+Diomede Island on Bering Straits,&rdquo; said MacGregor
+with a rumble of merriment. &ldquo;We were
+cutting up a big walrus. I saw an old woman
+working over the stomach of that walrus.
+Know what the walrus lives on?&rdquo; he demanded.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Clams,&rdquo; said Johnny.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Right. Bright boy,&rdquo; said MacGregor. &ldquo;The
+thing that had happened was this. The walrus
+had been down to the bottom. He&rsquo;d ripped
+up the sand at the bottom of the sea. He&rsquo;d
+cracked a lot of clams and had swallowed &rsquo;em.
+He hadn&rsquo;t digested &rsquo;em yet when we shot &rsquo;im.
+Know what that Eskimo woman was doing?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Can&rsquo;t guess.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She had a white pan and was savin&rsquo; the
+clams from the walrus&rsquo; stomach. And that
+night,&rdquo; there came a low rumble from deep
+down in MacGregor&rsquo;s throat, &ldquo;that night we
+had seal steak and clam chowder for supper.
+An&rsquo; I took seal steak.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O-oh,&rdquo; Johnny breathed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Mr. MacGregor,&rdquo; Rusty said with a gurgle,
+&ldquo;you wouldn&rsquo;t spoil anyone&rsquo;s dinner,
+would you?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not for the world,&rdquo; was the old man&rsquo;s solemn
+avowal.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_196">[196]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Listen,&rdquo; MacGregor held up a hand. &ldquo;I
+hear an electric generator going. It&rsquo;s on this
+deck. I wonder why? I&rsquo;m going for a little
+walk.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They&rsquo;ll chase you back.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s all they can do.&rdquo; He was away.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The ship&rsquo;s beginning to sway a little,&rdquo;
+Johnny said. &ldquo;Shouldn&rsquo;t wonder if we&rsquo;d get
+a storm.&rdquo; The girl could not suppress an involuntary
+shudder.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Johnny,&rdquo; she leaned close to speak almost
+in a whisper. &ldquo;When we used coolie labor I
+learned to talk with them a little. I&rsquo;ve been
+talking to the coolie who cuts off fish&rsquo;s heads
+next to me. He says they expect to have a
+boatload of fish in a week or ten days. Then
+they&rsquo;ll go back to the Orient.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And if we go with them?&rdquo; Johnny breathed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve seen pictures of the Orient.&rdquo; The
+girl&rsquo;s eyes were closed. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s gorgeous. It
+truly must be.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Do you think we&rsquo;d get to see anything?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why not?&rdquo; the girl laughed low. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s all
+there to see. At least they can&rsquo;t keep us from
+dreaming.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_197">[197]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;No, they surely cannot.&rdquo; At that Johnny
+did some very choice dreaming, all his own.</p>
+<p>He was wakened from these dreams by the
+return of MacGregor. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s the strangest
+thing!&rdquo; he exclaimed. &ldquo;I got a look into that
+place. There&rsquo;s a huge generator an&rsquo; it&rsquo;s chargin&rsquo;
+batteries.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Batteries!&rdquo; Johnny exclaimed in surprise.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Sure! Banks and banks of large batteries.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;When submarines go under water,&rdquo; Johnny
+spoke slowly, &ldquo;they use batteries for power.
+What do you think?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I don&rsquo;t think,&rdquo; said MacGregor. &ldquo;Anyway,
+here&rsquo;s our little boss. He wants us to resume
+our duties as first-class cleaners of sock-eyed
+salmon.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>As the day wore on Johnny watched Rusty
+ever more closely. The heavy, unpleasant
+work, together with the ever-increasing roll
+of the ship, was telling. He was not surprised
+that, after the day was over and they were
+allowed to go to the upper deck, she took his
+arm to lean on it heavily.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Johnny, I won&rsquo;t give up. Please help me
+not to give up.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_198">[198]</div>
+<p>Johnny looked down at her with a reassuring
+smile.</p>
+<p>As they stepped on deck they found themselves
+looking at a new world. Gone was the
+fog. In its place was racing blue waters,
+flecked with foam.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A storm!&rdquo; the girl shuddered.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Just too dark to see land,&rdquo; Johnny groaned.
+&ldquo;If it wasn&rsquo;t, we might get our location and
+then&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Then what?&rdquo; she whispered.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I have some plans. We&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Sh&mdash;an officer!&rdquo; she warned.</p>
+<p>At the evening meal Rusty ate hard, dry
+crackers and drank scalding tea. She was still
+putting up a brave struggle against being sea-sick.</p>
+<p>When darkness came they went below.
+Rusty retired at once. Johnny threw himself,
+all dressed, upon his berth, but did not sleep.</p>
+<p>An hour later a shadowy figure passed him.
+It was Rusty. She was carrying blankets.
+Without a sound, he followed her. Arrived
+on deck, he saw her at the rail. Understanding,
+he dropped down upon a wooden bench.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_199">[199]</div>
+<p>After what seemed a long time, she turned
+and saw him. Swaying as she walked, she
+came toward him to drop down at his side.
+She did not say, &ldquo;I am so sick!&rdquo; She was too
+game for that and there was no need. He
+wrapped her in the blankets. Then they sat
+there in silence.</p>
+<p>The wind was rising steadily. It went whistling
+through the rigging. Ropes banged and
+yard-arms swayed. A shadow shot past them,
+a watch on duty. Lights shone on the blue-black
+sea. It was a truly wild night.</p>
+<p>Of a sudden a form stood before them.
+Clutching a steel cable, it clung there.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Thousand pardons,&rdquo; it hissed. &ldquo;Cannot
+stay here. It is forbidden.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;My friend is sick. We stay.&rdquo; Johnny felt
+his anger rising.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Thousand pardons,&rdquo; came once more.
+&ldquo;Cannot stay.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Million pardons,&rdquo; Johnny half rose. &ldquo;We
+stay.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_200">[200]</div>
+<p>A hand reached out. It touched Rusty&rsquo;s
+shoulder. That was enough. Johnny leaped
+at the man. They went down in a heap. A
+second more and Johnny felt a steel clamp
+about his neck, or so it seemed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Jujitsu,&rdquo; he thought in sudden consternation.
+Throwing all his strength into an effort
+to break the man&rsquo;s grip, he failed. Coughing,
+trying to breathe, failing, strangling, he felt
+his strength going when, of a sudden, he
+caught the sound of a blow, then felt the hated
+arm relax. Ten seconds more and he was free.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&mdash;you hit him,&rdquo; he managed to breathe.
+&ldquo;Is he dead?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No&mdash;no. Watch out!&rdquo; the girl warned.</p>
+<p>Just in time Johnny caught the man. This
+time, gripping him by collar and trousers, he
+dragged him from the floor. And then, screaming
+like some wild thing, the brown man found
+himself hanging out over an angry sea.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Johnny, don&rsquo;t!&rdquo; The girl&rsquo;s hand was on his
+arm.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, all&mdash;all right.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Swinging the brown man in, he dropped him
+on the deck. Like a scared rabbit, the intruder
+went racing off on all fours.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Now I&rsquo;ve done it,&rdquo; Johnny groaned as he
+dropped back in his place.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Perhaps,&rdquo; said Rusty. &ldquo;Still, you can&rsquo;t tell.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_201">[201]</div>
+<h2 id="c21"><span class="small">CHAPTER XXI</span>
+<br />WALL OF GLASS</h2>
+<p>Rusty was not the only one disturbed
+by this storm. At the very moment
+when Johnny was at grips with the Oriental
+on the ship&rsquo;s deck, Lawrence, Blackie and
+George were battling for their very lives.</p>
+<p>What had happened? The distance from
+the trapper&rsquo;s cabin to shore was, they had discovered,
+far greater than they had supposed.
+When at last the fog cleared they found themselves
+far from any shore on a black and
+threatening sea.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Might as well keep headed for the mainland,&rdquo;
+was Blackie&rsquo;s decision.</p>
+<p>Head for the mainland they did. After that,
+for hours, with the storm ever increasing in
+intensity, they rowed as never before.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_202">[202]</div>
+<p>The clumsy oars were rough and hard to
+manage. Lawrence&rsquo;s hands were soon blistered.
+Tearing strips from his shirt, he bound
+them up and rowed on.</p>
+<p>Fortune favored them in one thing. They
+were going with the wind. Had they been
+forced to face into the storm, their boat would
+have been swamped at once. As it was, just
+as darkness began to fall the skiff began to fill.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Lawrence, you start bailing,&rdquo; Blackie commanded.
+&ldquo;George and I will row.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ya-as, sir, we&rsquo;ll row. Don&rsquo;t nebber doubt
+dat,&rdquo; George agreed. Then he began to sing,</p>
+<div class="verse">
+<p class="t0">&ldquo;Roll, Jordan, roll.</p>
+<p class="t0">Oh! Oh! Oh! I want to go dere</p>
+<p class="t0">To hear old Jordan roll.&rdquo;</p>
+</div>
+<p>Lawrence thought with a shudder that he
+might be there to hear Jordan roll before day
+dawned.</p>
+<p>By constant bailing he was able to keep the
+skiff from swamping. So, chilled to the bone,
+hoping against hope, he labored on.</p>
+<p>When at last they found themselves near to
+some shore, his heart failed him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Towering rocks,&rdquo; he groaned.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_203">[203]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;There&rsquo;s a break in those rocks,&rdquo; said
+Blackie. &ldquo;I saw it before dark. We&rsquo;ll follow
+along and here&rsquo;s hoping.&rdquo; Once more he put
+his stout shoulders to the oars.</p>
+<p>A half hour passed, an hour, two hours.
+Numb with cold and ready to drop from exhaustion,
+Lawrence wondered if Blackie could
+have been wrong. Was there a break in that
+wall? And then&mdash;he saw it.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;There!&rdquo; he exclaimed. &ldquo;There it is. Straight
+ahead!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He dared not add that it seemed a strange
+break. Not very deep, it appeared to give off
+an odd sort of glimmer at its back.</p>
+<p>Just as they were ready to enter the gap, a
+great cloud went over the moon and all was
+black.</p>
+<p>Steering more from instinct than sight, they
+rowed on. To Lawrence, at that moment, the
+suspense was all but overpowering. Where
+were they going? Could they find a landing?
+What was the end to be?</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_204">[204]</div>
+<p>One thing was encouraging, the waves in
+this place were not so wild. They no longer
+dashed into the boat. So with darkness hanging
+over them they rowed, for what seemed
+an endless time, but could have been only a
+few moments, straight on into the unknown.</p>
+<p>And then. &ldquo;Man! Oh, man! What was
+that?&rdquo; The boat had crashed into an invisible
+wall.</p>
+<p>Lawrence put out a hand. &ldquo;Glass!&rdquo; he exclaimed.
+&ldquo;A wall of glass.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not glass, son,&rdquo; Blackie&rsquo;s voice was low.
+&ldquo;A wall of ice. The end of a glacier. This is
+a spot where icebergs break off. If one of
+them had been jarred loose by the bang of
+our boat&mdash;and if they had been sent tumbling
+by the sound of a voice&mdash;man! Oh, man! We
+would be lost for good and all.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Blackie, look!&rdquo; Lawrence spoke in a hoarse
+whisper. &ldquo;A light.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s a star,&rdquo; said Blackie.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A light,&rdquo; Lawrence insisted.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yas, man! A light,&rdquo; George agreed.</p>
+<p>Just then the moon came out, revealing a
+sloping mountain side. And, close to a shelving
+beach was a cabin. The light shone from
+that cabin.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh! Oh! Lord be praised!&rdquo; George whispered
+fervently.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_205">[205]</div>
+<p>Ten minutes later, as they drew their boat
+up on the beach, the cabin door was thrown
+open and a man, holding a candle close to his
+face, peered into the darkness to call, &ldquo;You all
+come right on up, whoever you all are.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That,&rdquo; said Lawrence in a surprised whisper,
+&ldquo;is Smokey Joe.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Smokey Joe, you old bear-cat!&rdquo; Blackie
+shouted.</p>
+<p>The grizzled prospector let out a dry cackle.
+&ldquo;Come on up an&rsquo; rest yerself,&rdquo; he welcomed.
+&ldquo;I got a Mulligan on a-cookin&rsquo;.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>At first Lawrence found it hard to believe
+that this was really Smokey Joe. &ldquo;How,&rdquo; he
+asked himself, &ldquo;could he come all this way?&rdquo;
+As he studied a faded map on the deserted
+cabin&rsquo;s wall, however, he realized that the distance
+overland was short compared to the way
+they had traveled by water.</p>
+<p>Joe&rsquo;s Mulligan stew proved a rich repast.
+He had killed a young caribou two days before.
+There had been bacon and hardtack in
+his kit. Besides these, he had found dried
+beans and seasoning in the cabin.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_206">[206]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Yep,&rdquo; he agreed, as Blackie complimented
+him after the meal was over, &ldquo;hit&rsquo;s plum grand
+livin&rsquo; when you sort of git the breaks.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An&rsquo; listen,&rdquo; his voice dropped. &ldquo;Hit&rsquo;s plumb
+quare how things git to a comin&rsquo; yer way. Yesterday
+I found gold. Struck hit rich, you
+might say.&rdquo; From a moose-hide sack he tumbled
+a handful of nuggets.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Gold!&rdquo; Blackie exclaimed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yup. Hit&rsquo;s might nigh pure gold,&rdquo; the old
+man agreed. &ldquo;Nuther thing that&rsquo;s plumb
+quare. Hit&rsquo;s nigh onto that little blue bear&rsquo;s
+den.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What?&rdquo; Lawrence started up. &ldquo;A blue
+bear! A&mdash;a glacier bear?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Reckon you might call &rsquo;em that,&rdquo; the old
+man agreed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He&rsquo;s been a-stayin&rsquo; in a sort of cave up thar
+fer a right smart spell.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;How&mdash;how far is it?&rdquo; Lawrence asked almost
+in a whisper.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Hit&mdash;I reckon hit&rsquo;s&mdash;&rdquo; the old man studied
+for a moment. &ldquo;Why, hit&rsquo;s right about three
+peaks, a look an&rsquo; a right smart.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What does that mean?&rdquo; Blackie asked in a
+surprised tone.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_207">[207]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Wall, you jest climb one of them thar least
+mounting peaks,&rdquo; the old man explained.
+&ldquo;Then another, an&rsquo; another.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Three peaks,&rdquo; said Blackie.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Fer startin&rsquo;,&rdquo; said Smokey Joe. &ldquo;Arter that
+you take a look an&rsquo; hit&rsquo;s a right smart furder
+than you can see.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Perhaps about ten miles,&rdquo; suggested
+Blackie after they had had a good laugh,
+which Smokey Joe took good-naturedly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Near on to that,&rdquo; the old man agreed.</p>
+<p>Long after the old man had rolled himself
+in his blankets and fallen asleep Lawrence and
+Blackie sat beside the cracked stove talking.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Blackie,&rdquo; Lawrence said in a husky voice,
+&ldquo;that little blue bear is worth a lot of money.
+The Professor told us he&rsquo;d trade us a tractor
+for one. They&rsquo;re rare, about the rarest animals
+on earth. There&rsquo;s not one in captivity
+anywhere.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That won&rsquo;t help much,&rdquo; Blackie grumbled.
+&ldquo;If this wind goes down, we&rsquo;ve got to get out
+of here at dawn. Something&rsquo;s happened to
+Johnny and MacGregor. We&rsquo;ve got to look
+for them.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_208">[208]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; Lawrence agreed. &ldquo;But if the wind
+doesn&rsquo;t go down?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We&rsquo;ll have to stay here,&rdquo; said Blackie.
+&ldquo;And,&rdquo; with a low chuckle, &ldquo;we might go
+&lsquo;three peaks, a look and a right smart&rsquo; looking
+for your blue-eyed bear.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_209">[209]</div>
+<h2 id="c22"><span class="small">CHAPTER XXII</span>
+<br />DREAMS</h2>
+<p>&ldquo;Johnny,&rdquo; Rusty&rsquo;s voice was low, husky
+with strangely mingled emotions, &ldquo;when
+we are back at the cottage, I&rsquo;ll make a big pan
+of ice-box cookies. We&rsquo;ll take them with a big
+bottle of hot cocoa. We&rsquo;ll go out on a sunny
+rock and have a feast.&rdquo; They were still on
+the deck of the rolling ship and it was still
+night.</p>
+<p>Rusty&rsquo;s voice rose. &ldquo;And such sunshine!
+Nowhere in the world is it so glorious.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;All right,&rdquo; Johnny agreed. &ldquo;Ice-box cookies,
+hot chocolate and sunshine. That will be
+keen.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_210">[210]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Dreams,&rdquo; he was thinking. &ldquo;How often
+when things are hard, very hard, we dream.&rdquo;
+As he closed his eyes now he could see dead
+salmon in endless rows. He could hear the
+monotonous drone of brown men and the endless
+wash-wash of the sea. &ldquo;How grand at
+times to dream of other things far away!&rdquo; he
+said. &ldquo;And what a joy to know of other places
+where we have been gloriously happy.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; she agreed, &ldquo;that is wonderful. And
+Johnny,&rdquo; she went on, &ldquo;we have a home in
+Seattle, father and I. It is small, but, oh, so
+beautiful! Climbing roses and pine trees.
+There&rsquo;s a lake before it. There is a dancing
+pavilion not far away where the boys and
+girls I know best come. There they swing and
+sway to bewitching waltz time. <i>Over the
+Waves</i>, <i>Blue Danube</i> and all the rest. Johnny,
+will you come sometime and join us there?&rdquo;
+Her voice seemed dreamy and far away.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Johnny. &ldquo;Some day I&rsquo;ll come.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But first,&rdquo; he thought savagely, &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll see
+this infernal boat at the bottom of the sea.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>For a time after that they were silent. Once
+again they heard the beating of ropes against
+spars, the wail of the wind and the dash of
+spray on the deck. How was all this to end?</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Rusty,&rdquo; Johnny said, &ldquo;I would like to leave
+you for a while.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why?&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_211">[211]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;There&rsquo;s something I want to do. You
+know,&rdquo; he leaned close, speaking in a hoarse
+whisper, &ldquo;there&rsquo;s a hole in the gas tank of your
+boat.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, but&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We may get a break. Your boat was put
+on deck after two others. That means they&rsquo;ll
+have to put her in the water before taking the
+others off. If there was gas in her tank we
+might slip down to her and get away.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But the gas, Johnny?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;There are two large cans in another boat.
+I saw them. I&mdash;I&rsquo;m going to plug up that hole
+in your tank, then try to fill it from the cans.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They&mdash;they may catch you.&rdquo; Her voice
+trembled.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll take a chance.&rdquo; He rose without a
+sound. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m off. If I don&rsquo;t come back, tell good
+old MacGregor.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&mdash;I&rsquo;ll tell him.&rdquo; Her whisper was lost in
+the wind. He was gone.</p>
+<p>Creeping along the swaying deck, dodging
+behind a lifeboat when the watch appeared,
+scooting forward, then pausing to listen, he at
+last reached the side of the <i>Krazy Kat</i>.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_212">[212]</div>
+<p>After securing the cans of gasoline, he lifted
+them to the deck of Rusty&rsquo;s small boat. Then,
+with a deft swing, he threw himself after the
+cans. The deck was wet with fog. Slipping,
+he went down in a heap, but made no sound.</p>
+<p>Feeling about in the dark, he found the tank
+and the leak. A sharpened splinter of wood
+stopped the hole.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Now the gas,&rdquo; he whispered. This he knew
+would be most dangerous of all. Cans have a
+way of gurgling and popping in an alarming
+manner. The gurgle, he concluded, would not
+matter. It would not be heard above the roar
+of the wind and the wash of the sea. But the
+tinny bangs? Ah, well, he&rsquo;d have to risk it.</p>
+<p>When one can was emptied into the <i>Krazy
+Kat&rsquo;s</i> tank, he heaved a sigh of relief. The second
+was half-emptied when he caught the
+sound of footsteps.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The watch!&rdquo; Consternation seized him.
+Flattening himself on the deck, he clung to
+the still gurgling can.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_213">[213]</div>
+<p>The sound of footsteps ceased. His heart
+pounded. Was he caught? Seconds seemed
+minutes. If the can popped he was lost. Ten
+seconds, twenty, thirty&mdash;again the footsteps.
+Then they grew indistinct in the distance.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah,&rdquo; the boy breathed.</p>
+<p>Just then the all but empty can gave forth
+a loud bang!</p>
+<p>Johnny jumped, then lay flat, listening with
+all his ears. For at least two full minutes he
+remained there motionless. The watch did not
+return.</p>
+<p>With great care he lifted the empty cans
+from the deck of the <i>Krazy Kat</i> to toss them
+into the foaming sea. Then, stealthily as before,
+he made his way back to Rusty&rsquo;s side.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&mdash;I did it,&rdquo; he shrilled. &ldquo;Now for a good
+break and we&rsquo;re away.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Here&mdash;here&rsquo;s hoping.&rdquo; She drew her hand
+from beneath the blankets to grip his own.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;MacGregor, what do you think they&rsquo;ll do
+to me?&rdquo; Johnny asked an hour later. The
+storm had partially subsided. Rusty was feeling
+better. They were back in their staterooms.
+Johnny had told the old man of the
+night&rsquo;s adventure.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s my opinion,&rdquo; said MacGregor, &ldquo;that
+you&rsquo;ll be shot at sunrise.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_214">[214]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;That won&rsquo;t be so bad,&rdquo; said Johnny, joining
+in the joke.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not half-bad,&rdquo; MacGregor agreed. &ldquo;I mind
+an Eskimo we shot up there in the far north.
+He&rsquo;d killed a white man. The revenue cutter
+came along an&rsquo; the judge tried him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;When the judge&rsquo;s decision had been arrived
+at, they told this Eskimo to stand up.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well, sir, he stood there stiff an&rsquo; straight
+as any soldier. He was sure he had been condemned
+to die and that he was to be shot.
+They&rsquo;re a sturdy lot, those Eskimos.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; MacGregor paused to laugh. &ldquo;They
+set a thing up an&rsquo; aimed it at the Eskimo.
+Something clicked. The Eskimo blinked. But
+nothin&rsquo; else happened.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The white men folded things up and left.
+But the Eskimo still stood there, not knowin&rsquo;,
+I suppose, whether he was dead or alive.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Know what happened?&rdquo; he concluded.
+&ldquo;He&rsquo;d been found innocent and they had taken
+his picture.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;For all I know,&rdquo; he added, &ldquo;he&rsquo;s livin&rsquo; still
+an&rsquo; so&rsquo;ll you be, me boy, forty years from
+today.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_215">[215]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;What can they do?&rdquo; he demanded. &ldquo;They
+don&rsquo;t dare harm us.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I wouldn&rsquo;t trust them too far,&rdquo; said Johnny.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Nor I,&rdquo; Rusty agreed.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_216">[216]</div>
+<h2 id="c23"><span class="small">CHAPTER XXIII</span>
+<br />IN THE BLUE BEAR&rsquo;S CAVE</h2>
+<p>It was with a feeling of great uneasiness
+that Johnny came on deck next morning.
+What was to happen? Had that little brown
+man told the story of their struggle in the
+night? And if he had? He shuddered.</p>
+<p>Yet, strange to say, the day wore on in perfect
+peace. They were not even asked to go
+below and clean fish. The reason for this was
+apparent, the fish on deck had been taken
+care of. Since the storm was still roaring
+across the sea, no others could be brought in.
+During the forenoon two small, motor-driven
+crafts came close to stand by.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They belong to this outfit,&rdquo; MacGregor declared.
+&ldquo;They may have salmon below-deck.
+They&rsquo;re afraid of the storm. That&rsquo;s why they
+don&rsquo;t come in.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_217">[217]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Ah, well,&rdquo; he sighed. &ldquo;We&rsquo;re here for the
+day at least. Even if your <i>Krazy Kat</i> was in
+the water, Rusty, we couldn&rsquo;t risk her in a
+storm like this.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;These Orientals are a queer lot,&rdquo; Johnny
+mused.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Queer&rsquo;s no name for it, me boy,&rdquo; said MacGregor.
+&ldquo;As for me, I don&rsquo;t trust &rsquo;em. They&rsquo;re
+like children, just when they&rsquo;re makin&rsquo; the
+least noise is when you&rsquo;re sure they&rsquo;re up to
+some mischief.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Was this true? Johnny shuddered anew,
+but said never a word.</p>
+<p>They discovered during their lunch in their
+stateroom at noon that there was something
+vaguely familiar about the brown boy who
+brought the lunch. Johnny stared at him. But
+Rusty exclaimed in a whisper, &ldquo;Kopkina! You
+here?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The boy made a motion for silence. &ldquo;I am
+spy,&rdquo; he whispered. &ldquo;Red McGee good man.
+Me, I, Red McGee man.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_218">[218]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;You listen,&rdquo; his voice dropped to a whisper.
+&ldquo;I tell &rsquo;em, that one captain this ship, tell &rsquo;em
+you Red McGee boy.&rdquo; He nodded to Rusty.
+&ldquo;Tell &rsquo;em Red McGee mebby plenty mad.
+Plenty &rsquo;fraid Red McGee. They not punish
+you for fight on deck last night. Must go
+now.&rdquo; He disappeared through the door.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Boy!&rdquo; Johnny breathed. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m feeling better
+already.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Two hours later they had added cause for
+feeling better. Just when the sea was beginning
+to calm a little they caught the drum of
+a motor. As Johnny heard it his heart stood
+still, then leaped.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A motor,&rdquo; he breathed. &ldquo;That&rsquo;s a powerful
+motor. If only it&rsquo;s Dan MacMillan and his
+seaplane.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It is! It is!&rdquo; Rusty&rsquo;s voice rose to a high
+pitch. &ldquo;There! There it is. See!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Johnny did see. He pointed it out to MacGregor.
+They all leaned on the rail watching
+the seaplane approach.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If it&rsquo;s only Dan,&rdquo; MacGregor breathed.</p>
+<p>There came the sound of rushing feet. Apparently
+every little brown man on the boat
+had heard those motors. They came swarming
+onto the deck.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If it&rsquo;s Dan MacMillan,&rdquo; said MacGregor,
+&ldquo;there&rsquo;s sure to be someone with him.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_219">[219]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;They&rsquo;ll be looking for us,&rdquo; said Rusty.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, and we&rsquo;ll have to find a way to let
+them know we&rsquo;re here,&rdquo; Johnny added.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That,&rdquo; said MacGregor, &ldquo;is going to be
+hard, with all these.&rdquo; His glance swept the
+brown throng.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Tell you what!&rdquo; Johnny exclaimed. &ldquo;Rusty
+and I might do a little boxing bout. There&rsquo;s
+sure to be someone on the plane who knows
+us.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And they&rsquo;ll recognize you by your actions,&rdquo;
+MacGregor agreed. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s a capital idea. I&rsquo;ll
+go for the gloves.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>And so it happened that, as the seaplane
+flew over the ship, circled, then dipping low,
+passed within a hundred feet, those in it witnessed
+a strange sight&mdash;two white youngsters
+staging a boxing match for the benefit of a
+host of little brown men, who, truth to tell,
+gave them scant attention.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I only hope they recognized us,&rdquo; said Johnny,
+throwing his gloves on the deck.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You and me too,&rdquo; said Rusty. &ldquo;Anyway,&rdquo;
+she laughed, &ldquo;that&rsquo;s one time I didn&rsquo;t knock
+you out.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_220">[220]</div>
+<p>Whatever impression this little drama may
+have made upon the occupants of the seaplane,
+the effect of the appearance of the seaplane on
+the little brown men was apparent at once.
+On every face as the seaplane went winging
+away MacGregor read consternation.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They&rsquo;re afraid,&rdquo; he grumbled low to his
+young companions. &ldquo;Down deep in their hearts
+they are afraid.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What will they do now?&rdquo; Rusty asked
+anxiously.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They&rsquo;re already doin&rsquo; it,&rdquo; said MacGregor,
+calling attention to the rush and bustle on
+board. &ldquo;Puttin&rsquo; the ship in shape. It wouldn&rsquo;t
+surprise me if they weighed anchor within the
+hour. And if they do, me lassie,&rdquo; he added,
+&ldquo;you may be lookin&rsquo; on them Oriental cities
+within a week, for they&rsquo;ll be headin&rsquo; straight
+for home.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh-o,&rdquo; Rusty breathed. But she said never
+a word.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_221">[221]</div>
+<p class="tb">On that same morning in Smokey Joe&rsquo;s
+cabin Lawrence was up before the wee small
+hours had passed. After one good look at the
+sea, which was still rolling high, he dashed
+back into the cabin to find Blackie staring at
+him wide awake.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Black-Blackie,&rdquo; he stammered. &ldquo;I&mdash;I hate
+to disturb you. But&mdash;but that blue bear&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I know.&rdquo; Blackie sat up. &ldquo;Three peaks, a
+look and a right smart ho, hum.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Blackie! It&rsquo;s terribly important. Just think!
+A little blue bear. The only one in captivity,
+if we get him.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I know.&rdquo; Blackie slid out of his bunk.
+&ldquo;Get the fire going. Put the coffee pot on.
+We&rsquo;ll be off in a half hour.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, think&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Put the coffee on!&rdquo; Blackie roared.</p>
+<p>After tacking an old shirt to a pole as a
+signal of distress to any boat that might pass
+and instructing Smokey Joe to be on the lookout,
+Blackie drew a rough map, showing
+where, according to Smokey&rsquo;s direction, the
+bear&rsquo;s cave might be found. After that he led
+the way over the first &ldquo;peak.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>These peaks were, they discovered, mere
+ridges. The distance was, in reality, much
+shorter than they had thought.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_222">[222]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;This is the place,&rdquo; Lawrence said, an hour
+and a half later. &ldquo;It must be.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It is,&rdquo; Blackie agreed. &ldquo;There are the two
+scrub spruce trees with Smokey&rsquo;s blaze on
+them.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And there&rsquo;s the cave!&rdquo; Lawrence was
+greatly excited.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Not much of a cave,&rdquo; said Blackie. &ldquo;Might
+be quite some bear at that. Wait.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>With a small hatchet he hacked away at a
+dry spruce knot until he had a pitch-filled
+torch. This, with the aid of some dry shavings,
+he lighted.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Now,&rdquo; he breathed. &ldquo;Give me one of the
+ropes. We&rsquo;ll have to manage to tangle him
+up somehow. I&rsquo;ll lead the way.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Al-all right,&rdquo; Lawrence&rsquo;s tongue was dry.</p>
+<p>The floor of the dark grotto was strewn
+with pebbles. To walk without making a noise
+was impossible.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Wait! Listen!&rdquo; Lawrence whispered
+when they had covered some twenty paces.</p>
+<p>As they paused, they caught a low hissing
+sound.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Snakes,&rdquo; the boy suggested.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_223">[223]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Not here. Too cold. It&rsquo;s the bear. Get
+your rope ready.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Slowly, cautiously they moved forward.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;There! There are his eyes.&rdquo; Two balls of
+fire appeared directly before them.</p>
+<p>And then things began to happen. A low
+snarl was followed by the sound of scattered
+pebbles. Blackie was hit by the rushing bear
+and bowled over like a ten pin. But Lawrence,
+quick as a cat, saw a hairy head, aimed a short
+swing and let go his rope.</p>
+<p>Next instant he was shouting: &ldquo;Blackie!
+Quick! Help! I got him! I got him!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The husky little blue bear dragged them
+both to the very entrance of the cave. There,
+panting and tearing at the rope, he paused to
+glare at them. The rope was drawn tight
+about his shoulders with one foreleg through
+the loop.</p>
+<p>Blackie, who was both fast and strong,
+made quick work of what remained to be
+done. Fifteen minutes later, carrying the live
+bear slung between them on a pole, they headed
+for the cabin.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_224">[224]</div>
+<p>To their great joy, as they neared the cabin,
+they saw one of Red McGee&rsquo;s gill-net boats
+awaiting them in the little bay. Smokey Joe
+had flagged it down.</p>
+<p>After a hasty, &ldquo;Thank you and goodbye&rdquo; to
+Smokey, they tossed their priceless captive
+into the after cabin of the stout, little motor-boat
+to head straight away over a rolling sea
+toward still more adventure, of quite a different
+nature.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_225">[225]</div>
+<h2 id="c24"><span class="small">CHAPTER XXIV</span>
+<br />OVERTAKING A SHADOW</h2>
+<p>Once again it was night. The wind had
+gone down with the sun. The sea was
+calm. On board the Oriental ship there was a
+strained air of tense expectancy.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I can&rsquo;t understand what&rsquo;s keepin&rsquo; &rsquo;em
+here,&rdquo; MacGregor said in a low tone to his
+young companions. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s plain that they&rsquo;re
+scared stiff of that seaplane. Looks like they&rsquo;d
+heave anchor and be away any minute. And
+if they do&mdash;&rdquo; There was no need to finish.
+Both Johnny and Rusty knew that this would
+mean a trip to the Orient under circumstances
+stranger than any fiction.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They seem to be waiting for something,&rdquo;
+said Johnny.</p>
+<p>This was true. All the little brown men not
+stationed at posts of duty were standing along
+the rail looking away toward the distant
+shores that were lost in the night.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_226">[226]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;They&rsquo;ll be back,&rdquo; MacGregor said, thinking
+of the men on the seaplane. &ldquo;Looks like
+it&rsquo;s a race against time. But what are they
+waiting for?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>It was not long until they should know. As
+they stood there, nerves a-tingle, listening, a
+distant confusion of noises came to them.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If there were a war,&rdquo; said MacGregor, &ldquo;I&rsquo;d
+say it was rifle and machine-gun fire.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>This notion was too fantastic to be seriously
+considered. But what was it?</p>
+<p>Second by second the sound increased in
+volume. &ldquo;Can this be what they&rsquo;re looking
+for?&rdquo; Johnny asked.</p>
+<p>If so, these little men welcomed it in a
+strange manner. Short, sharp commands were
+given. Scores of men went into frenzied action.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Look!&rdquo; Rusty gripped Johnny&rsquo;s arm.
+&ldquo;They&rsquo;re lowering my boat into the water.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And it&rsquo;s got gas in the tank. All ready to
+turn over and start. If only&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That&rsquo;s motors we&rsquo;re hearin&rsquo;,&rdquo; MacGregor
+broke in. &ldquo;A thunderin&rsquo; lot of &rsquo;em! I shouldn&rsquo;t
+wonder&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_227">[227]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;MacGregor,&rdquo; Rusty seized his arm, &ldquo;our
+boat is in the water. They are all crowding
+the rail again. This may be our chance.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So it may,&rdquo; the old man agreed. &ldquo;Follow
+me. Not a sound!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll get Kopkina,&rdquo; offered Johnny. &ldquo;I just
+saw him on deck.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Dodging behind a life-raft Rusty and MacGregor
+went scurrying along in the dark and
+Johnny and Kopkina soon joined them.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&mdash;it&rsquo;s just here,&rdquo; Rusty whispered.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We&mdash;we need a rope ladder,&rdquo; Johnny exclaimed
+low.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Here&rsquo;s one,&rdquo; came in MacGregor&rsquo;s cheering
+voice. &ldquo;Let her over easy now.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Now,&rdquo; he breathed. &ldquo;Over you go.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The speed with which they went down that
+ladder, all but treading on one another&rsquo;s fingers,
+would have done credit to the U. S.
+Navy.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Now I&rsquo;ll cut her loose,&rdquo; said MacGregor.
+&ldquo;All right, Rusty, turn her over.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The fly-wheel whirled. The splendid motor
+began a low put-put-put. They were away
+into the dark.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_228">[228]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;They&rsquo;d have trouble findin&rsquo; us,&rdquo; MacGregor
+murmured.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But listen!&rdquo; Johnny exclaimed.</p>
+<p>The sound of many motors had doubled and
+redoubled. Just as they were about to swing
+around the prow of the ship, something long,
+dark and silent shot past them.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The Shadow!&rdquo; Johnny exclaimed.</p>
+<p>It was true, this was the Shadow. But at
+last the Shadow was not going to escape.
+After it thundered a powerful speedboat and
+as she shot past them the excited trio saw a
+burst of flames and caught the rat-tat-tat of a
+machine gun.</p>
+<p>This was followed instantly by a wild
+scream from the Shadow which sounded very
+much like a sign of surrender. At the same
+time the sea seemed fairly ablaze with lights
+from many boats.</p>
+<p>Johnny&rsquo;s head was in a whirl. What was
+happening? Without knowing why she did
+it, Rusty seized him by the arm and held him
+tight while she screamed, &ldquo;Johnny! It&rsquo;s wonderful!
+Wonderful!&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_229">[229]</div>
+<p>What had happened may be quickly told.
+When Blackie and his crew failed to return,
+and Rusty as well, there had been consternation
+about the cannery. There was little use
+searching Bristol Bay in a fog. When, however,
+Dan MacMillan appeared in his seaplane,
+they went into action. Red McGee climbed
+into the cockpit and they were away. They
+had circled for an hour when they sighted the
+Oriental ship.</p>
+<p>As they flew over it Red McGee experienced
+no difficulty in getting the unusual signals
+Johnny and Rusty had set up for him. He
+recognized the boxing forms of both Rusty
+and Johnny.</p>
+<p>Realizing that his daughter would be on
+board that ship only against her will, he went
+into a wild rage. He demanded that the seaplane
+be landed close to the ship and that he
+be allowed to &ldquo;tackle the whole lot of &rsquo;em
+single-handed.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_230">[230]</div>
+<p>To this young MacMillan, would not consent;
+for, in the first place, the sea was too
+rough for a landing and in the second, he was
+not willing as he later expressed it, &ldquo;To see a
+good man commit suicide by tackling a hundred
+Orientals single-handed.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He had flown back to their base. By the
+time they reached the cannery, Red had cooled
+off.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I want every last boat gassed up for an
+emergency run,&rdquo; he commanded. &ldquo;Any of you
+men that have guns, get &rsquo;em loaded and ready.
+There&rsquo;s a couple o&rsquo; whale-guns up at my cabin.
+You, Pete and Dan, get &rsquo;em an&rsquo; see that
+they&rsquo;re loaded. We&rsquo;ll show &rsquo;em.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>They were about ready for a start when
+Blackie and his men arrived on the scene.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Blackie,&rdquo; Red exploded, &ldquo;they&rsquo;ve got Rusty
+and your boy, Johnny. They&rsquo;re holdin&rsquo; &rsquo;em
+captive. Come on! We&rsquo;ll start a war!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>For once, Blackie did not say, &ldquo;No.&rdquo; After
+they had turned the small, blue bear loose in
+a sheet-metal tool-shed he climbed into Dan
+MacMillan&rsquo;s speed boat, dragging Red and
+Lawrence with him, and they were away.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_231">[231]</div>
+<p>It was this speedboat that had spied the
+Shadow. They had given it chase and had,
+as you have seen, at last, after sending a volley
+of machine-gun bullets across its bow,
+overhauled it.</p>
+<p>The Shadow was the very craft that had
+been awaited by the Oriental ship. Had it put
+in an appearance two hours sooner, the ship
+must surely have weighed anchor and our
+story might have been much longer. As it was,
+the Orientals were destined to wait a long,
+long time before lifting the Shadow on deck,
+if at all.</p>
+<p>While Johnny and Rusty looked and listened,
+the whole cannery fleet, every small
+deck bristling with guns, surrounded the ship.</p>
+<p>Having overhauled the Shadow, Blackie
+placed it in charge of another craft, then came
+gliding in alongside the <i>Krazy Kat</i>.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;MacGregor,&rdquo; he said in a husky voice,
+&ldquo;tell me what happened.&rdquo; MacGregor told
+him. Hardly had he finished when a small
+motor launch carrying three little brown officers
+arrived. The officers were fairly aglow
+with gold and braid.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A thousand pardons,&rdquo; their leader began.
+He was allowed to go no farther.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_232">[232]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Listen!&rdquo; Blackie stood up. He was dressed
+in corduroy trousers and a leather jacket. His
+face was working strangely.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Listen,&rdquo; he repeated. &ldquo;No apologies, not
+a thousand, nor even one. I&rsquo;ll do the talking.&rdquo;
+His voice was low. &ldquo;I know why you&rsquo;re here.
+To catch our fish. You sank our boat. You
+have an hour to get your ship headed out of
+Bristol Bay. We&rsquo;ll take that Shadow of yours
+with us. We caught her lifting nets inside the
+three-mile limit. That makes her a fair prize.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;As to the sinking of the <i>Stormy Petrel</i>, I
+shall make a complete report. The matter shall
+be taken up by our diplomats.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I might add, for your further information,
+that a law is now before our Congress making
+Bristol Bay United States waters, open to our
+fishermen alone. It will pass. If you care to
+come back next year we will meet you with
+three destroyers.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And now, gentlemen,&rdquo; he doffed a ragged
+cap, &ldquo;I bid you good-night.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Clicking their heels, without a single apology,
+the officers saluted, then the power boat
+lost itself in the shadows.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_233">[233]</div>
+<h2 id="c25"><span class="small">CHAPTER XXV</span>
+<br />&ldquo;BILL&rdquo; RETURNS</h2>
+<p>&ldquo;Rusty, my child,&rdquo; said Red McGee,
+springing aboard the <i>Krazy Kat</i> as soon
+as the Orientals were gone, &ldquo;are you all
+right?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Never better,&rdquo; Rusty laughed. &ldquo;And never
+half so excited. I&mdash;I&rsquo;m all right,&rdquo; she added,
+&ldquo;except that I&rsquo;ll have to grow a new crop of
+curls.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Curls,&rdquo; Red chuckled. &ldquo;They&rsquo;re not very
+necessary. Not even for a girl.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Going back with us in the speed boat?&rdquo; he
+asked.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No-o, if you don&rsquo;t mind,&rdquo; she hesitated.
+&ldquo;We&rsquo;ve been together so long, the three of us,
+MacGregor, Johnny, and I, that I&mdash;I think
+we&rsquo;d like to follow you back in the <i>Krazy Kat</i>.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O.K.,&rdquo; Red agreed. &ldquo;Kopkina, suppose you
+come with me. I want to thank you for what
+you&rsquo;ve done for us. Now let&rsquo;s get going.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_234">[234]</div>
+<p>Already the Oriental ship that had never
+been welcome was slipping out into the night.</p>
+<p>On the way back Johnny and Rusty spent
+most of their time studying the stars and the
+moon. Just what they read there only they
+will ever know.</p>
+<p>The secret of the Shadow was found to be
+quite simple, as most secrets are. It was a
+long, low craft without deck, cabins, rails or
+riggings. Powered by large storage batteries,
+it was able to slip in close to shore, set a three-mile-long
+net at night and lift it in the morning.
+The fish were rushed to other motor-boats
+outside the three-mile zone and were
+then carried to the floating cannery.</p>
+<p>After installing a gasoline motor, Blackie
+used the Shadow for sea patrol. No demand
+for the return of the craft was made. Needless
+to say, the duties of Blackie, MacGregor,
+Johnny and Lawrence were exceedingly light
+for the remainder of the season.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_235">[235]</div>
+<p>The small blue bear throve on fish-cleanings
+and other scraps. He was fat and friendly
+when at last the boys headed for Seward and
+Matanuska Valley. At Seward they left him
+in the care of a friend until they could come in
+a small truck and cart him home.</p>
+<p>At the cabin in the valley Johnny and Lawrence
+were given an uproarious welcome.</p>
+<p>One thing surprised them&mdash;the Professor
+was back. &ldquo;I am waiting for Bill,&rdquo; he explained.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Bill! Who&rsquo;s he?&rdquo; Lawrence asked. &ldquo;Oh!&rdquo;
+he exclaimed. &ldquo;He&rsquo;s the man who built the
+shelter and left a note saying he was coming
+back. Let me see&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Today,&rdquo; said the Professor. &ldquo;And here he
+is now.&rdquo; A smiling young giant with a full
+red beard came tramping down the road.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Bill, did you get one?&rdquo; the Professor demanded.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No,&rdquo; Bill&rsquo;s smile faded. &ldquo;I did my best. I
+got the head and hide of one, that&rsquo;s all. Had
+to kill him, or lose him. I&mdash;I&rsquo;m sorry.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A whole year,&rdquo; the Professor groaned.
+&ldquo;And never a bear.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A bear!&rdquo; Johnny exclaimed. &ldquo;Surely there
+are bears a-plenty.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_236">[236]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Not that kind,&rdquo; the Professor corrected.
+&ldquo;I want the kind we talked about once, a glacier
+bear. Nothing else counts.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, a glacier bear!&rdquo; Lawrence laughed
+happily. &ldquo;Is that all you want? I have one
+coming up on a truck from Seward. It should
+be here any time.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Just like that!&rdquo; Bill dropped weakly down
+upon a stump. &ldquo;A whole year. Ice, snow,
+blizzards, glaciers, hunger, a whole year. Never
+a bear. And now this boy calmly says, &lsquo;I&rsquo;ve
+got one coming up.&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Such,&rdquo; said the professor, &ldquo;is the luck of
+the chase.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>There was time for Bill to satisfy his craving
+for a &ldquo;real feed.&rdquo; Then the truck arrived.</p>
+<p>The Professor and Bill gave one look at the
+little blue glacier bear. Then, for sheer joy,
+they fell into each other&rsquo;s arms.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What do you want for him?&rdquo; the Professor
+demanded at last.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A tractor,&rdquo; said Lawrence.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The best in the settlement!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The Titan.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_237">[237]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;Agreed and for good measure, a gang
+plow, a harrow, two drums of gas and three
+log chains.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Lawrence could not say a word. He could
+only stand and stare. All his dreams had come
+true in a moment.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I only wish we might do better,&rdquo; the Professor
+half apologized. &ldquo;But we&rsquo;ve spent a
+great deal of money in the search. So-o, I&mdash;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I think,&rdquo; said Lawrence, &ldquo;that you&rsquo;re a
+very good sport. And&mdash;and we thank you.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Three days later Johnny and Lawrence
+were in Seward for a day with Blackie when
+a trim power boat glided up to the dock.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Hello, Johnny!&rdquo; came in a girl&rsquo;s voice. It
+was Rusty.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Come on down to Seattle with us,&rdquo; Red
+McGee boomed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;We&rsquo;ll show you a roarin&rsquo; good time, just to
+celebrate the finest salmon season ever
+known.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What do you say?&rdquo; Johnny turned to
+Lawrence.</p>
+<div class="pb" id="Page_238">[238]</div>
+<p>&ldquo;You go,&rdquo; said Lawrence. &ldquo;I&rsquo;m a farmer
+now. I&rsquo;ve got to stay with my crops, and I&rsquo;m
+anxious to get started with the new tractor.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Johnny went. If there were further adventures
+awaiting him at the end of that short
+journey you may find them recorded in a book
+called, <i>Sign of the Green Arrow</i>.</p>
+<div class="img"><img src="images/jacket.jpg" alt="The Shadow Passes: A Mystery Story for Boys" width="500" height="313" /></div>
+<h2><span class="small">Transcriber&rsquo;s Notes</span></h2>
+<ul><li>Copyright notice provided as in the original printed text&mdash;this e-text is public domain in the country of publication.</li>
+<li>Silently corrected palpable typos; left non-standard spellings and dialect unchanged.</li>
+<li>In the text versions, delimited italics text in _underscores_ (the HTML version reproduces the font form of the printed book.)</li>
+<li>Marked with ellipses the end of page 129, where the printed edition apparently dropped a page or two from the manuscript.</li></ul>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Shadow Passes, by Roy J. Snell
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Shadow Passes, by Roy J. Snell
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Shadow Passes
+       A Mystery Story for Boys
+
+Author: Roy J. Snell
+
+Release Date: December 5, 2013 [EBook #44352]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SHADOW PASSES ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Stephen Hutcheson, Rod Crawford, Dave Morgan
+and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
+http://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+                       _A Mystery Story for Boys_
+
+
+
+
+                                 _The_
+                             SHADOW PASSES
+
+
+                                  _By_
+                              ROY J. SNELL
+
+
+                          The Reilly & Lee Co.
+                                Chicago
+
+                             COPYRIGHT 1938
+                                   BY
+                          THE REILLY & LEE CO.
+                         PRINTED IN THE U.S.A.
+
+
+
+
+                                CONTENTS
+
+
+  CHAPTER                                                           PAGE
+  I The Silver Fox                                                    11
+  II Blackie's Story                                                  32
+  III Fat and Furious                                                 38
+  IV The Capture of Old Silver                                        53
+  V Johnny Fights for Fun                                             68
+  VI Smokey Joe's Blue Bears                                          77
+  VII A Strange Battle                                                85
+  VIII The Stormy Petrel's First Prize                                98
+  IX Fate Lends a Hand                                               103
+  X A New World                                                      111
+  XI The Fall of Red McGee                                           119
+  XII A Ptarmigan Feast                                              128
+  XIII The Shadow                                                    141
+  XIV A Voice in the Fog                                             147
+  XV A Roar from the Deep                                            158
+  XVI Looming Peril                                                  166
+  XVII Trapped                                                       174
+  XVIII Five Rounds and a Friend                                     181
+  XIX Ordered Below                                                  189
+  XX A Battle in the Dark                                            194
+  XXI Wall of Glass                                                  201
+  XXII Dreams                                                        209
+  XXIII In the Blue Bear's Cave                                      216
+  XXIV Overtaking a Shadow                                           225
+  XXV "Bill" Returns                                                 233
+
+
+
+
+                           THE SHADOW PASSES
+
+
+
+
+                               CHAPTER I
+                             THE SILVER FOX
+
+
+"And then I saw it--the Shadow."
+
+The speaker's eyes appeared to snap. Johnny Thompson leaned forward in
+his chair. "It glided through the fog without a sound." The voice droned
+on, "Not a sound, mind you! We had a small boat with powerful motors. I
+stepped on the gas. Our motors roared. We were after that shadow."
+
+"And then?" Johnny Thompson whispered.
+
+"For all I know," the black-eyed man murmured, leaning back in his chair,
+"we might have cut that shadow square in two. Anyway, that's the last we
+saw of it for that day.
+
+"But think of it!" he exclaimed after a second's pause. "Think of the
+thing just disappearing in the fog like that!"
+
+He was a romantic figure, this man Blackie. The boys of Matanuska Valley
+in Alaska loved this gathering of an evening about the red-hot stove in
+the store. And no part of the evening's entertainment was ever half so
+thrilling as Blackie's stories.
+
+"It was spring then," Blackie added, "late May, when the salmon run was
+on."
+
+"It was a whale after salmon, that shadow," someone suggested.
+
+"No, sir!" Blackie fairly shouted. "It was too fast for a whale! Some
+sort of Oriental craft, I shouldn't wonder. Though how they'd make it go
+without a sound is beyond me.
+
+"Ah well," he sighed, "I'll be rid of these by spring." He kicked at the
+crutches beside his chair. "Then I'll be after 'em again, those bloomin'
+Orientals and their gliding shadows."
+
+"You going back into the Coast Guard Service?" Johnny asked eagerly.
+
+"I sure am!" Blackie agreed heartily. "Boy! That's the life! A speedy
+boat with two or three airplane motors in her hull, a good crew, plenty
+of gas, the wide open sea and enough trouble to keep your eyes open day
+and night. Man! Oh, man!"
+
+"Take me along," Johnny suggested impulsively.
+
+"Me too!" put in Lawrence, his slim, bright-eyed cousin.
+
+"What do you know about boats?" Blackie asked.
+
+"Plenty," was Johnny's prompt reply. "Been on 'em all my life, power
+boats on the Great Lakes, Carib Indian sailboats in the Caribbean,
+skin-boats way up north. It's all the same.
+
+"And Lawrence here," he added after a brief pause, "he knows about
+motors."
+
+"I--I was assistant mechanic in an airplane hangar for a season,"
+Lawrence agreed modestly.
+
+"Well, it--might--be--arranged," Blackie replied slowly. "Don't know
+about pay. You sort of have to be on regular for that. But up here in the
+north, things can't always be done according to department regulations.
+Anyway, it's worth thinking about."
+
+"Thank--oh, thank you," Lawrence stammered. Johnny knew how he was
+feeling at that moment. He, Johnny, had met adventure in many climes.
+Lawrence had lived a quiet life. Really to sail on a coast guard boat in
+search of Orientals suspected of stealing salmon, smuggling or spying off
+the Alaskan shores, to chase gray shadows that pass in the fog! Worth
+thinking of? Well, you'd just know it was!
+
+Johnny was still thinking of all this when two hours later, he crept
+beneath the blankets in the small log cabin room occupied by Lawrence and
+himself.
+
+"That would be great!" he was telling himself. In fancy, he allowed his
+mind to wander. Bristol Bay, a hundred and fifty miles wide and a hundred
+and fifty long, fishing boats on the water, canneries on the shore and
+back behind all this in the fog somewhere, beyond the three-mile line,
+great dark bulks that were Oriental ships. Why these ships? No one knew
+exactly. "Spying out our shore-line," some said, "stealing our salmon,"
+said others. And perhaps they were smugglers. It was known that these
+ships carried smaller crafts that could be lowered to the water. "Could
+do anything, go anywhere, these small boats," Johnny assured himself.
+
+"And the Shadow, that mysterious gray form that goes streaking through
+the fog. What could it be?
+
+"Ah, well," he settled deeper among the blankets. "It's a long time till
+spring, and here, right in Matanuska Valley is exciting adventure
+aplenty."
+
+As if reading his thoughts, Lawrence murmured dreamily, "We'll go after
+him again tomorrow."
+
+"Yes," Johnny agreed, "tomorrow."
+
+
+"Lawrence! Look! There he is!" Johnny pointed excitedly up the glistening
+expanse of frozen river. Tomorrow had come. They were on the river.
+
+"Wh--where?" Lawrence whispered.
+
+"You don't have to whisper." Johnny laughed low. "He's way up there. I
+can scarcely see him with the glass. Here! Take it. See that pool of
+water on the right side?"
+
+"Yes--yes, I see." Lawrence took the field glasses.
+
+"At this end of that pool. I saw him move. Look quick!"
+
+For a space of ten seconds Lawrence studied that pool. "Yes," he
+exclaimed at last, "he _is_ there! I saw him move over to the right."
+
+"Lawrence!" Johnny's voice was tense with emotion. "I'm going after him!"
+
+Johnny bent over to tighten a skate strap. "Here! Give me the bag. You
+follow me, but not too fast. You can keep the glasses. I won't need
+them."
+
+"Al--all right, Johnny. Be careful! You--"
+
+But Johnny was away. Skating from the hips, scarcely lifting a foot from
+the ice, he appeared to glide without effort over the glass-like surface
+of the river.
+
+The boy's spirits rose. They were "after him again." And "he" was a grand
+prize indeed.
+
+"If only we can get him," Johnny was thinking. "If we only can."
+
+The distant future quite forgotten, Johnny was living intensely in the
+glorious present. Lawrence followed slowly. He, too, was a skillful
+skater. The river at this point was frozen solidly. No need for thought
+here. At once his mind was busy with memories of the not-too-distant past
+and plans for the future.
+
+Life for him had been strange. Eight months before he had been on the
+broad, dry prairies of the Dakotas. Now he was skating on the Matanuska
+River in Alaska. Nor was this just an adventurous winter trip. The
+Matanuska Valley was his home and would be, he hoped, for years to come.
+Six miles back and up a half mile from the river was their claim and the
+sod-covered log cabin they called home.
+
+"We are pioneers!" he whispered to himself. "Pioneers!" he repeated
+softly. How he loved that word. How much it meant to them all; freedom,
+new life, fresh hope and in the end a home all their own. "And paid for,"
+he declared sturdily.
+
+Yes, when the government had announced a resettlement project in this
+rich valley and the Lawsons who had been driven from their farm home by
+drouth and dust heard of it they had joined up. And here they were:
+father, mother and son, with cousin Johnny thrown in for good measure.
+
+"Been here six months," Lawrence thought. "Got a little start. And next
+year!" Ah, yes, next year. His face sobered. So much depended on the
+future. And they needed so many things.
+
+"We'll not go in debt," his father had insisted stoutly. "Not for a
+single thing we can do without."
+
+But now the boy's mind came back with a snap to the immediate present. As
+he looked ahead he saw nothing of Johnny. For a second his heart
+fluttered. Had his good pal come upon an unsuspected air-hole? Had he
+gone through? Was he, at this moment, caught by the swift current,
+shooting along rapidly beneath the ice?
+
+"You have to know your river," an old-timer had said to them. "Every foot
+of it." Did Johnny know it well enough, or--
+
+Of a sudden he let out a low, happy laugh. Some distance ahead, showing
+among the branches of a fallen fir tree, he had caught a glimpse of
+Johnny's plaid mackinaw.
+
+"He--he's all right," he breathed. "Just getting a look."
+
+Johnny was now within a hundred yards of that dark pool, where, he hoped,
+their prize still lurked.
+
+"He must see him with the naked eye," Lawrence murmured as he glided into
+the shadow of a shelving bank. Here, steadying himself with one hand, he
+held the glass to his eyes with the other.
+
+Then, with hand trembling so it seemed the glass would drop, he
+exclaimed, "Man! Oh, man! It's a silver fox and a beauty! If only he gets
+him! If he does!"
+
+They were hunters, these boys. "Strange hunters!" some might say. "No
+guns! No traps!" This valley was alive with rich, fur-bearing animals.
+With guns and traps one might reap a winter's harvest. Without guns or
+traps how was it to be done! This had been the question uppermost in
+their minds some weeks before. In the end they had found the answer, or
+thought they had. And a strange answer it was.
+
+They had arrived, this little family of four homesteaders, along with
+hundreds of others in the Matanuska Valley, too late in the spring to
+clear land and raise a crop. They had been obliged to content themselves
+with a large garden and an acre of potatoes.
+
+Such potatoes as those had been! "We'll sell two hundred bushels!"
+Lawrence had exulted. "That will go a long way toward buying a small
+tractor. Then just watch our smoke!"
+
+"Oh, no you won't!" Jack Morgan, an old-time settler in the valley, had
+laughed.
+
+"What? Why not?" the boy demanded.
+
+"Who'll you sell 'em to?" the old-timer asked in a kindly voice.
+
+"Why, we--we'll ship 'em out."
+
+"You can't, son," Jack's voice rumbled. "That's the trouble. At present
+there's no market for farm products here. Never has been. That'll be
+worked out in time, now the government is interested. But just now we
+have to eat our own potatoes."
+
+"But how do you get any money?" Lawrence had demanded.
+
+"Trap foxes, minks, martin. Good money in trappin'," was the old-timer's
+reply.
+
+Of course, the boys had come rushing home bursting with the news that
+they could make money all winter long trapping.
+
+To their surprise they saw Lawrence's father's smiling face draw into
+sober lines.
+
+"No, boys," he said quietly. "Not that. Anything but trapping. It's too
+cruel. I'd rather you went out with a gun."
+
+"But we haven't a gun," Lawrence protested.
+
+"That's right," the father agreed. "And it's not to be regretted.
+
+"You see, boys," his face took on a strange look, "when I was about ten
+years old I had a dog I thought the world and all of. He didn't cost a
+lot of money. Never won any prizes at dog shows. But his hair was kinky,
+his eyes alive with fun and his bark a joyous sound to hear. No boy ever
+had a more faithful friend than good old Bing.
+
+"And then," his voice grew husky, "well, you see there was a man who
+lived all by himself down by the river, Skunk McGee they called him.
+Never amounted to much, he didn't. But he trapped enough skunks and
+muskrats to pay for his groceries.
+
+"Our farm was along the river, on both sides. Father told him more than
+once not to set his traps on our farm.
+
+"One time in the dead of winter, way down below zero, old Bing didn't
+come home. I was worried but father said, 'He's gone to the neighbors and
+they took him in on account of its being so cold.'
+
+"But he hadn't," Mr. Lawson's tone changed abruptly. "He was in one of
+Skunk McGee's traps. And when we found him he was dead, frozen hard as a
+rock.
+
+"And so you see, boys," he added quietly, "I've always hated traps. I
+never see one even now but I seem to see poor old Bing with one foot in
+it, whining and shivering out there all alone."
+
+From that day on the thought of traps was banished from their minds.
+
+But the foxes? Did they vanish? No indeed! The foxes saw to it that they
+were not forgotten.
+
+Before the summer was at an end some families, unaccustomed to the
+pioneer life, lost courage and decided to return to their original homes.
+Among these were two families who had brought with them small flocks of
+chickens. By careful planning the Lawsons were able to buy the chickens.
+Having built a stout log henhouse and a small wire enclosure for sunny
+days, they felt better than ever prepared for the winter.
+
+"Chicken for Thanksgiving and Christmas and eggs all winter long! What
+luck!" Lawrence rejoiced.
+
+The chickens, no doubt, were something of a surprise to the foxes. But
+had they not always preyed upon ptarmigan? And were not chickens just big
+plump ptarmigan? Perhaps this was the way they reasoned. At any rate, one
+night Lawrence heard a loud squawking and rushed out just in time to see
+a plump white hen vanish into the night. A fox had her by the neck.
+
+"Something must be done about that," he insisted at once. "If we can't
+trap the foxes, what then?"
+
+"Take them alive," was his father's prompt reply.
+
+"Alive! Alive!" both boys cried.
+
+"I can't see why not," was Lawrence's father's quiet reply. "Of course,
+you'll have to wear tough, moose-hide mittens and keep your noses out of
+reach, but--"
+
+"We'll do it," Lawrence exclaimed. "But then," his face sobered, "how'll
+we ever catch up with a fox?"
+
+"When I was a boy," said his father, "we used to catch muskrats on
+skates."
+
+"Muskrats on skates?" Lawrence laughed.
+
+"We were on the skates," his father corrected with a smile. "The rats
+were on the ice, you see," he leaned forward. "We worked it this way.
+We'd watch until the muskrat came out of his hole to get a drink. He'd go
+to an open pool of water at the edge of the ice. We'd wait until he'd
+started back across the ice. Then we'd come swooping down on him. He'd
+get frightened and sprawl all over the ice--no wild creature can handle
+himself well on the ice. So we had him.
+
+"Once," he chuckled, "Bob Barnett saw something moving on the ice. It was
+just getting dark. He thought it was a rat. He come swooping down upon it
+and--" he paused to chuckle. "Well, it turned out to be a skunk. The
+skunk objected to his intrusion. So Bob went home to bury his
+clothes--just for a scent."
+
+The boys joined in the laugh that followed but they were not slow in
+following this suggestion. They found, however, that great skill and
+caution were needed in this type of hunting.
+
+They made progress slowly. After catching two muskrats, a snow-shoe
+rabbit and two ground-squirrels, they decided to start a small zoo all
+their own.
+
+"Who knows?" Lawrence enthused. "We may catch some truly rare creature.
+The keepers of zoos are always on the lookout for live specimens. We may
+sell enough to get that bright new tractor down at Palmer after all."
+
+"A tractor!" Johnny doubted. "Oh! No! Surely not that much!"
+
+"And yet," Lawrence now thought as he stood watching for Johnny's next
+move on the river ice, "there he is creeping up on a silver fox. What is
+a real, live silver fox worth?" To this exciting question he could form
+no accurate answer. He had a hazy recollection of reading somewhere about
+one that was sold for $3000.00.
+
+"No such luck as that," he whispered.
+
+Just now, however, his attention was directed toward the silver fox that,
+still very much at liberty, had taken a good drink from the pool and was
+standing, nose in air, apparently looking, listening, smelling. Had he
+smelled trouble? Would he drop into the pool to swim across and disappear
+on the farther bank, or would he start back across that glistening
+stretch of ice? Lawrence felt his heart leap as he saw the fox drop his
+head. The big moment was at hand.
+
+"He--he's going across!" he exclaimed in a hoarse whisper. "It means so
+much!" His thoughts went into a tailspin. Not only would they possess a
+real, live silver fox for which, beyond doubt, some zoo would pay
+handsomely, but their flock of chickens would be safe, for they could
+tell by the size of the tracks that he was the one that was getting the
+chickens. He was a sly one, indeed, this fox. Three times in the last
+month, in spite of their every effort to prevent it, he had carried off a
+fat old hen.
+
+"He--Johnny's starting," Lawrence said, as, gliding silently from cover,
+he prepared to follow his cousin on his swift, silent, breathless quest.
+
+It was a truly wonderful sight, those two boys moving as if pushed by an
+unseen hand closer, ever closer to the unsuspecting fox.
+
+Moving swiftly, Johnny reached a fallen cottonwood tree. Just then the
+fox, pausing in his course, once more sniffed the air. "I might get him
+if I rushed him now," he thought, "and I might miss." This was true. The
+fox was but a third of the way across the ice. He was still too close to
+the pool. The plan was to allow him to reach the very center of the
+river, then to rush him. Startled, he would start quickly for some shore.
+Losing all sense of caution, he would begin to sprawl upon the ice. As
+the boy came rushing on with the speed of the wind, he would stoop over,
+snatch at the fox and speed on. He must seize the fox just back of his
+ears. Could he do it? As he stood there hidden his pulse pounded madly.
+He, too, had seen that it was a silver fox.
+
+"He--he's smelled me!" The boy's voice rose in a sudden shrill shout.
+"Come on, Lawrence! I'm going after him! Bring the bag!"
+
+Gripping a large, moose-hide sack, Lawrence went speeding after him.
+
+As for Johnny, with breath-taking suddenness, he saw the distance between
+him and the fox fade. A hundred yards, fifty, twenty, and--"Now!" he
+breathed. "Now!"
+
+The fox was not a foot from the edge of the pool when, still speeding
+wildly, the boy bent down and made one wild grab.
+
+"Got him!" he shouted exultantly. But wait! Ten seconds more and the
+fox's ivory teeth were flashing in his very face. He seemed to feel them
+tearing at his nose. There was nothing to do but drop him. With a
+suddenness, startling even to the fox, the boy let go.
+
+Down dropped the fox. On sped the boy. When Lawrence reached the spot the
+fox had vanished into a hole and Johnny was skating slowly, mournfully
+back.
+
+"Never mind," Lawrence consoled. "We'll get him another time."
+
+"But a silver fox and a beauty!" Johnny exclaimed. "Think of losing him!"
+
+"I have thought." Lawrence was able to grin in spite of his
+disappointment. "It would have meant a lot and now--" he chuckled, "now
+we know it's a real silver fox after our chickens. We'll have to lock
+them in a vault."
+
+"Not as bad as that," said Johnny. "But Lawrence," his voice dropped.
+"This must remain a deep secret. Not a word to anyone. If Jim and Jack
+Mayhorn knew about this there'd be a trap on every foot of the river."
+
+"Never a word," Lawrence agreed.
+
+They were a rather disconsolate pair as they pulled off their skates a
+half hour later.
+
+"To think!" Johnny groaned. "I had my hands on five hundred dollars,
+perhaps a thousand dollars worth of fox and had to drop it because it was
+too hot."
+
+"The price of a tractor," Lawrence agreed. "It's too bad."
+
+It was too bad indeed. All day, five days in the week, they worked hard
+at clearing land. The trees were coming down. After the spring thaw
+thousands of stumps must be pulled. A tractor would do that work. After
+that it would draw the plows.
+
+"If only I hadn't lost him!" Johnny groaned.
+
+"Aw! Forget it!" Lawrence exclaimed. "Come on! Let's go home by the
+camp."
+
+The "camp," as they had come to call it, was a three-sided shelter built
+on a corner of their forty-acre claim. It had been built, and apparently
+abandoned, only a few months before their arrival. Such a snug shelter
+was it that the boys had often sought its protection from storms. Once,
+with a roaring fire before its open side, they had spent a night sleeping
+on its bed of evergreen boughs.
+
+The place never lost its fascination. Who had built it? Trader, hunter,
+trapper or gold prospector? To this question they could form no answer.
+Would he some day return? To this, strangely enough on this very
+afternoon they were to discover the answer, at least that which appeared
+to be the answer. As they were looking it over for the twentieth time
+Lawrence suddenly exclaimed, "Look! Here's a bit of cloth tacked to this
+post. And there's a note written on it in indelible ink!"
+
+Johnny did look. "Read it!" he exclaimed.
+
+"I will," Lawrence began to read. "Can't quite make it out," he murmured.
+"Oh, yes, this is it.
+
+"'I WILL BE BACK ON JULY 1st. BILL.'"
+
+"So he's coming back," Johnny's tone was strange.
+
+"Coming back," Lawrence agreed. "All right, Bill, old boy," he laughed.
+"We'll keep your snug little camp ship-shape till you arrive."
+
+And for this bit of service, had they but known it, they were to receive
+a very unusual reward.
+
+
+
+
+                               CHAPTER II
+                            BLACKIE'S STORY
+
+
+"Tell us how you got that game leg of yours, Blackie," Joe Lawrence, the
+Palmer store-keeper, said to Blackie, as they all sat about the roaring
+steel-barrel stove three nights later.
+
+"Oh, that--" Blackie did not reply at once.
+
+Johnny and Lawrence were by the fire. They had walked in from the claim,
+a frosty three miles, with the thermometer at twenty-five degrees below.
+They were not the sort of boys who loaf about stores and pool halls,
+listening to cheap talk. Far from that. They had come to make a purchase
+or two and, in an hour, with the steel-blue stars above them would be on
+their way home. Just now the fire felt good.
+
+"Sure, tell us," Johnny encouraged.
+
+"Hello! You here?" Blackie demanded, as if he had not seen them before.
+"What'd you come in for on a night like this?"
+
+"Wedges," said Johnny. "Steel wedges for splitting logs."
+
+"Wedges." There came a hoarse laugh from the corner. It was Jack Mayhorn
+who spoke. "Who wants wedges in this country? Do like I do. Cut down the
+trees that split easy."
+
+"They've all got tough spots," Johnny replied quietly. "Where the limbs
+have been cut off."
+
+"Oh, the knotty pines!" Jack laughed again. "Roll 'em into the fence row
+an' leave 'em. That's the way we do."
+
+"We don't," said Lawrence. "We aim to take them as they come, tough or
+not tough, they've got to bust."
+
+"Why?" Blackie fixed his piercing black eyes on the boy.
+
+"I--I don't know why," was Lawrence's slow reply. "I can't explain it
+right." The boy hesitated. "But I--you know--I sort of hate being licked,
+even by a tough log. So I--we sort of take 'em as they come."
+
+"That's great!" Blackie slapped his knee. "And I suppose you feel the
+same way?" he asked of Johnny.
+
+"Sure do," was Johnny's prompt reply. "They can't come too tough for me."
+
+"Can't come too tough for little old Johnny." There was a sneer in Jack
+Mayhorn's voice. "But he's afraid to set traps or carry a rifle."
+
+"Not afraid," Johnny replied quietly. "Just don't want to."
+
+"Tell us, Blackie," Joe, the store-keeper, broke in, sensing a possible
+row, "tell us how you got that leg."
+
+Even then Blackie did not comply at once. Turning to the boys, he said in
+a low tone, "You boys are dead right. No use letting a log or anything
+else lick you." Dropping his voice still lower he added, "I might take
+you with me next spring on that coast guard boat. I just might, that is,
+if you still want to go."
+
+Then in a changed voice he said, "All right, Joe, I'll tell you all about
+that leg of mine, though I'm not fond of doing it. It always makes me
+hopping mad, just thinking about it.
+
+"You see," he went on at once, "I was up a river in Asia. Doesn't matter
+which river. I was in the navy. Less than six months ago, although it
+seems two years. I was on a small U. S. gunboat. What one? That doesn't
+matter, either. She's at the bottom of the river now." He paused to stare
+at the fire.
+
+"We were laying up the river. There was fighting down below. We'd come
+up-river to get out of the way. The fighting was foolish enough, but none
+of our business.
+
+"We were there to protect American citizens. There were twenty or more of
+them on board, reporters and missionaries and the like.
+
+"I'd just come on duty when a big bombing plane came hovering, like a
+vulture, over us. It circled off again. 'Good riddance,' I said to my
+buddy.
+
+"I hadn't finished saying it when it came zooming back. This time higher
+up and--" Blackie took a long breath. "The bloomin' infidels! What do you
+think? They let go a bomb that missed us by inches.
+
+"You should have seen us scatter," Blackie laughed in spite of himself.
+
+And then, of a sudden, the lines between his eyes grew deep and long.
+"They bombed us. They sank our ship. My buddy was killed. I caught it in
+the leg. I got a lifeboat off, doing what I could to save the women.
+
+"Me," he faltered. "I'm no sort of a story teller. But I hope I'm
+something of a fighter. This old leg will be good as new next spring.
+And, sure's I'm living, I'm going hunting little brown men up there in
+Bristol Bay. They stole a cool million dollars' worth of fish last
+season. How many'll they get this year? That depends on the Coast Guard
+men and, glory be! I'm one of them. I'm out of the navy, invalided home,
+back on the good old job, and there'll be plenty of things a-popping in
+May.
+
+"Er, excuse me, boys," he apologized. "That sounds an awful lot like
+bragging. We didn't catch the Shadow that passes in the fog last season.
+We didn't do those Orientals much harm, either. Too slick for us, I
+guess. But wish me luck next time. The biggest industry in Alaska, the
+run of red salmon, depends on us."
+
+"Here's luck," said Johnny, lifting a cup of coffee just poured by Joe's
+motherly wife. "Here's luck to the service."
+
+"And may you be my buddy!" Blackie added.
+
+That night Johnny and Lawrence walked home in silence. The great white
+world was all about them and the blue-white stars above. Their thoughts
+were long, long thoughts.
+
+Arrived at their log cabin home, they dragged out a tattered map of
+Alaska to study its shore-line and most of all the shores of Bristol Bay.
+
+"May," Lawrence said at last. "That's a long time yet."
+
+"Yes," Johnny agreed, "and there's plenty to get excited about tomorrow.
+What do you say we turn in?"
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER III
+                            FAT AND FURIOUS
+
+
+Anyone who had watched the two boys skating slowly up the river next
+morning would surely have been puzzled. Before them, now darting up a
+steep bank and now scurrying along over the snow, were two brown,
+fur-clad creatures. Neither dogs nor cats, they still appeared quite
+domestic in their actions. Once when they had gone racing ahead too far
+Johnny let out a shrill whistle and they came dashing back to peer up
+into his face as if to say, "Did you call me?"
+
+"They're great!" Lawrence chuckled. "Got a dog beat a mile. They never
+bark."
+
+"And yet they can find where wild creatures live," Johnny agreed.
+
+Just now, as you no doubt have guessed, the boys were looking for the
+spot, under some great rock or at the foot of a tree, which the silver
+fox called his home.
+
+"We must find him," Johnny had exclaimed only an hour before.
+
+"We surely must," Lawrence had agreed.
+
+And indeed they must, for three principal reasons. Last night the fox
+had, by shrewd cunning, managed to pry the chicken coop door open and
+made off with a rooster. The fox was worth a lot of money--they were sure
+of this--dead or alive. They must get him before someone with a gun or
+with traps got sight of him. And they must take him alive, if possible--a
+very large contract.
+
+Their desires had been redoubled by something that had happened only the
+night before. Mack Gleason, the settler whose claim joined them on the
+west, had been in for a friendly chat.
+
+"Got your tractor yet?" he had asked of Mr. Lawson.
+
+"Not yet," had been the reply.
+
+"Well, you better hurry. They're going fast. May not be another shipment
+until it is too late for spring's work."
+
+"No money just now."
+
+"Money!" Mack exploded. "Who said anything about money? Government gives
+'em to you on time."
+
+"But time has a way of rolling around," Mr. Lawson had replied quietly.
+
+"Oh, the Government wouldn't be hard on you," Mack laughed. "Look at us.
+We've got a washing machine and a buzz-saw, and a motor to run 'em, a
+tractor, plow, harrow, everything, and all on time."
+
+"Yes, I know," had come in the same slow, quiet tones. "And I know the
+Government won't be hard on you. Still it will want its money, same as
+any loaning agency. It just has to be that way.
+
+"This week," Mr. Lawson went on after a moment, "I received a letter from
+an old friend of mine. Few years back he secured a government loan on his
+home. He didn't keep up the interest and payments. They took it from him.
+Now he's unhappy about it. But people who borrow must pay. That's why
+we're trying not to borrow."
+
+"And we won't, not if we can help it." Lawrence set his will hard as he
+now followed those dark brown creatures over the ice.
+
+"Johnny," he said suddenly. "Do you think father should let us use
+traps?"
+
+"I--I don't know," Johnny replied slowly. "But that, for us, is not the
+question. Ours is, 'Have we a right to urge him to let us use them?'
+
+"And the answer is, 'No,'" he chuckled. "So we'll have to trust our
+little old otters to lead the way. When they find Mr. Silver Fox for us
+we'll have to grab him."
+
+"If only one of those trapping fellows doesn't get him first," Lawrence
+said, wrinkling his brow.
+
+Early in the season, as, with dreamy eyes, the boys wandered over the
+forty acres of land that was, they hoped, to be their home for years to
+come, they had caught the low, whining notes of some small creatures
+apparently in distress.
+
+"It comes from under that rock," Johnny had said.
+
+"No, over here beneath this dead tree trunk," Lawrence insisted.
+
+He was right. Having torn away the decayed stump, they had found two
+round, brown balls of fur. These balls were baby otters. Taking them
+home, they had raised them on a bottle. And now, here they were, paying
+their debt by scouting about in search of the silver fox.
+
+Pets they were, the grandest in all the world. The happiest moments of
+their young lives were these long hikes. Never once did it seem to occur
+to them that it might be nice to desert their young masters and answer
+the call of the wild.
+
+Now, as the boys followed them, they went gliding here and there peeking
+into every crack and crevice of ice or frozen shore. From time to time
+they poked their noses into some hole into which strange tracks had
+vanished. After a good sniff they put their heads together and uttered
+low whining noises. These noises varied with their opinions on the
+condition of each particular hole. At times they appeared to shake their
+heads and whine, "Too bad. He was here three hours ago. Now he's gone."
+
+At other times they put their noses in the air and sang triumphantly,
+"He's there. He's right in that hole this minute."
+
+Had the boys been able to train their pets to go in the hole and frighten
+out the prey, they might have held a moose-hide sack at the entrance to
+each hole and added quite rapidly to their collection of living Arctic
+animals. This, however, the otters would not do. They were not looking
+for a fight. And indeed, why should they? They did not live upon
+squirrels and muskrats, but upon fish. "We'll find 'em, you catch 'em,"
+seemed to be their motto.
+
+For the boys, finding the lair of the silver fox would not insure his
+capture. It merely meant that they would know where he lived and would
+watch that spot in the hope that he might come out on the ice in search
+of food or a drink and that then they might come speeding in to grab him.
+
+"Look!" Lawrence exclaimed suddenly, "there are Old Silver's tracks!"
+
+"Yes, sir! He just cut in from the hill to the river. He--" Suddenly
+Johnny broke off to peer upstream.
+
+"Something moving up there," he whispered. "Maybe--"
+
+But the otters had smelled the fox tracks and were off on swift tracking
+feet. Johnny bent over to examine those tracks.
+
+"It's the old fellow or his brother," he murmured. "No other fox around
+here has such large feet. Boy! He's a humdinger!"
+
+Once more his keen eyes swept the upper reaches of the river. "Huh!" he
+grunted. "Whatever that was, it's vanished now."
+
+"Might as well follow the otters," Lawrence suggested.
+
+They did follow. Soft-footed in silence they tracked on for a mile. Up
+banks and down again, over a ridge, back to the river. "Look at those
+feathers!" Lawrence whispered.
+
+"Got a ptarmigan," said Johnny. "After that he should have made a bee
+line for his lair."
+
+That was just what the fox had done. Straight as an arrow he had returned
+to the stream, then he had sped away along its course until he came to a
+huge gray rock. There the trail ended. And beneath this rock, according
+to the verdict of the two singing otters, he must still lie fast asleep.
+
+"Good old otters!" Lawrence exclaimed in a hoarse whisper.
+
+"They've found us his hiding place," Johnny agreed. "And will we watch
+it? We--"
+
+Suddenly he broke off short to point excitedly upstream.
+
+"A bear cub!" Lawrence exclaimed low. "He's going to cross the river."
+
+"We--we'll get on our sk-ates," said Johnny excitedly. "Then let's take
+him."
+
+"Can we?" Lawrence was doubtful.
+
+"Sure! We'll lasso him and tie him up. He'll make a grand addition to our
+zoo. Come on!"
+
+Swinging out on the shining ice, skating silently from the hips, the boys
+glided like two dark ghosts toward the unsuspecting bear cub who, at that
+moment, had started to cross a broad stretch of slippery ice. Sly silence
+is, however, a game that two can play at. This the boys were to learn
+very soon and to their sorrow.
+
+One day the boys had come, quite unexpectedly, upon a half-grown white
+caribou, or perhaps it had been a reindeer, that had wandered down from
+some far northern herd. However that might have been, they were filled
+with regret at the thought that they were not equipped for capturing it
+for their "zoo." From that time on they had carried lariats and, by way
+of some added safety, short, stout spears. They were thus equipped today
+as they sped swiftly, silently toward the bear cub.
+
+"I'll toss the lasso over his head, then you watch the fun," Johnny
+chuckled.
+
+"I'll watch all right," Lawrence agreed. And he did.
+
+Slowly, clumsily, the young bear, no larger than a good-sized dog, made
+his way across the ice. The wind was away from him. He could not smell
+the intruders, nor was he aware of their presence until, with a sudden
+rush, Johnny was upon him.
+
+Never will the boy forget the look of surprise that came over the young
+bear's comical face as he stared straight into his eyes. The whole affair
+was easy, too easy. He passed so close to the cub that he might have
+touched him. He did not. Instead, he dropped his noose over his head,
+pulled it tight, then, letting out slack, whirled about to face the cub.
+What would the cub do about that? He was to know instantly. Throwing
+himself back on his haunches, the cub began backing and pulling like a
+balky horse. On his skates, Johnny was no match for him. All he could do
+was to come along. To his further annoyance, he found that his lariat had
+whirled about his wrist and tied itself into a knot. As long as the cub
+kept the line tight he could not untie the knot. He did not quite relish
+the idea of dashing up to the cub and saying, "By your leave, I'll untie
+this knot." So, for the moment, he played into the cub's hand.
+
+Then the unexpected happened. With a grunt and a snarl of rage, a huge
+black bear, the cub's mother beyond a possible doubt, dashed over a ridge
+to come charging straight at Johnny and the cub.
+
+"Hey! Hey! Look out!" Lawrence shouted. "Drop your rope and beat it."
+
+"I--I can't," Johnny cried in sudden consternation. "He--he's got me
+tied."
+
+"Tied!" Lawrence gasped.
+
+"It's 'round my wrist." Johnny watched wide-eyed while the huge mother
+bear came tobogganing down the high, steep river bank. She hit the ice
+like a bobsled and, dropping on hind legs and tail, came sliding straight
+on.
+
+Just in time, Johnny came to his senses and began doing a back-stroke.
+Only by inches did he miss the husky swing of the angry bear's paw.
+
+"Cut the rope," Lawrence shouted.
+
+"Al-all right, I'll--I'll cut it." Johnny dug into a pocket with his free
+hand. A pocket knife. It must be opened. With one eye on the cub, who for
+the moment sat whining, and the other upon the mother bear, who was
+scrambling awkwardly to her feet, he had no eyes left for his knife. Just
+as, having gripped the handle with one hand, the blade with the other, he
+managed to open the knife, the cub, going into frenzied action, gave him
+a sudden jerk that sent the knife spinning far out on the ice.
+
+"It's gone," he groaned.
+
+No more time for this. Old mother bear was after him. Fortunately this
+old bear was heavy with fat. She had been preparing for a winter's sleep.
+Still she could travel and she was fat and furious. Her skill as a skater
+was something to marvel at.
+
+Since he could not escape from the rope, the only thing for Johnny to do
+was circle. Circle he did. One time around with the bear at his heels;
+two times around he had gained a little; three times around he caught the
+gleam of his knife. Could he stoop and pick it up? He bent over, made a
+reach for it, struck a crack with his skate and all but fell.
+
+"I--I'll get it next time," he breathed.
+
+To his surprise he found that next time the knife was well out of his
+reach. Then to his utter horror, he saw that the perverse cub was
+standing still, making an animated Maypole out of himself and that it
+would be no time at all until the rope would be all wound around him.
+They would meet face to face, cub, mother bear and boy. And after that?
+He shuddered as he sped along that ever-narrowing circle.
+
+"I'm coming in," Lawrence shouted.
+
+"No, you--"
+
+Johnny could say no more. Lawrence was already in. Skating straight at
+the bear to attract her attention, Lawrence shot past her and slapped her
+sharply on the nose.
+
+It was a daring and effective endeavor. Turning with a snarl, completely
+abandoning her cub at this fancied insult, the bear went after him with a
+rush.
+
+That was all right as far as it went. The skating was good. The bear was
+fast, but not fast enough to catch him. There is, however, an end to all
+things. There was an end to that stretch of ice. It ended in a series of
+rapids that were not frozen over.
+
+Lawrence groaned as he saw open water ahead. To his added terror, he saw
+that the river narrowed at that point. That the bear could outrun him on
+land he knew all too well.
+
+"Got to be an artful dodger," he told himself.
+
+At that moment how he rejoiced that he had trained himself as a hockey
+skater. Swinging about in a half circle, he sped toward the right-hand
+bank. But the bear was there ahead of him.
+
+Just as she reared up for a sledge-hammer blow, the boy whirled squarely
+about and shot away to left. Again he was too late for a safe passage,
+but not so much too late. He was gaining. Three more times, then with a
+joyous intake of breath he shot past the bear and was away.
+
+In the meantime, Johnny, safe for the moment from the mother bear, had
+hastily unwound the surprised cub, then had rushed him with such speed
+that the rope was off his neck before he could lift a paw. The cub was
+free. So was Johnny. And there were no regrets.
+
+"Johnny," said Lawrence as he joined his companion five minutes later, "I
+don't think we want any bears in our zoo. They're too playful." They were
+to change their minds about this, but that was to come sometime later.
+
+"That," said Johnny with a chuckle, "was almost funny."
+
+"Yes," Lawrence agreed, "almost." He did not laugh. "Almost, but not
+quite."
+
+A moment later he exclaimed, "Johnny! Where are the otters? We can't lose
+them."
+
+"They'll probably hunt us up. They--" Johnny broke off short. "Look!" he
+murmured low. "Look! There's the silver fox. He's out of his hole.
+He--he's going to cross the ice."
+
+Lawrence glanced back to the spot where the bears had been. They had
+vanished. "This time," he whispered, "we'll get that old silver fox. We
+simply must."
+
+
+
+
+                               CHAPTER IV
+                       THE CAPTURE OF OLD SILVER
+
+
+Johnny felt his pulse quicken as he sped along over the ice. The silver
+fox had come out of the hole. There could be no doubt of that. Would he
+dodge back in again or would he start across the ice?
+
+"If he starts!" the boy breathed.
+
+He must not be too fast nor too sure. Last time he had muffed a glorious
+chance. Slowing up, he slid in behind a clump of elders and came to a
+standstill. There, gripping a shrub, he stood trembling like a butterfly
+ready for flight.
+
+As for Lawrence, he was coming on more slowly. Naturally more cautious
+than his cousin, he had an eye out for trouble. That fat old mother bear
+might still be lurking among the ridges. He had not forgotten how she had
+come charging down upon them.
+
+"Can't take unnecessary chances," he told himself. "Life is wonderful. I
+am sure that taking unnecessary chances is wrong. It is making light of
+God's great gift to us--life."
+
+Ah, yes, it was good to live just now. For the first time in their lives
+his little family felt sure of having a home of their own. As he glided
+slowly along he thought of the summer's struggle. At first it had been
+damp and bitterly cold. Then the sun had been hot and the mosquitoes had
+come in swarms.
+
+Through all this they had labored on; father, mother, and these two stout
+boys. It was said that gangs of men would be along to clear patches of
+land and build cabins. To this they had not listened. "We came to make
+our own way," they insisted. "We are pioneers. Pioneers must work."
+
+When garden and potato patches were planted they had started the cabin.
+Selecting, from near and far, trees that were dead but not decayed, they
+had built a cabin whose walls would not warp and shrink as would those
+built of green timber.
+
+Later, in the autumn when sharp winds told of a long winter ahead, they
+had cut squares of tough sod and piled them about the cabin until it
+seemed a sod house. When the question of a heating stove had arisen, they
+had discovered an abandoned gasoline barrel, had cut one hole for a door,
+another for the stove-pipe, had done a little drilling and riveting, and
+thus had made a stove that, fed on crackling fir logs, laughed at the
+Arctic cold.
+
+"Pioneers!" he whispered. "We are pioneers." How he loved that thought.
+
+Of a sudden his attention was drawn from past to present by Johnny's
+beckoning hand. With a quick twisting glide, he moved silently forward
+until he was at his companion's side.
+
+"Look," Johnny gripped his arm. "There is the fox. He hasn't started
+across yet and--"
+
+"And there are the otters!" Lawrence broke in with a shrill whisper.
+
+"Yes," Johnny agreed. "That's the queer part of it. They came just so
+close to the fox, then seemed to shout something at him."
+
+"Like one boy daring another to come out and fight," Lawrence laughed
+low.
+
+"Yes, or inviting him to a game of tag," whispered Johnny. "And look!
+There he goes! There goes the fox! Good old otters! They are
+helping--helping a lot."
+
+He had spoken the truth, the fox was after one of the otters.
+
+"Little good it will do him," Lawrence chuckled. "Those otters are more
+at home on ice and in water than on land."
+
+"Listen!" Johnny's voice was tense now. His figure stiffened. "In a
+minute I'm going after him. I've got the bag. If I get him I'll pop him
+inside. I won't miss now. You just follow along slowly. I might need
+you."
+
+"Al-all right," the younger boy agreed.
+
+There might have been boys who would have said, "This is my turn. You
+muffed last time." Not so Lawrence. All too well he knew the skill and
+natural daring of his cousin. And, after all, in their little family the
+rule had ever been, "Each for all and all for each." So he watched his
+cousin glide silently out for one more adventure.
+
+Ten seconds later in watching the little drama of wild life being played
+there on the ice, he had all but forgotten Johnny. Never before had he
+seen the tame otters put on such a clever show. Just as the larger one
+had so far escaped the onrush of the fox that he was becoming
+discouraged, the small otter, with cunning and extreme daring, slipped up
+and all but shouted in the fox's ear. At once, the now thoroughly angered
+fox turned to dash after this second intruder.
+
+No sooner had the first otter been abandoned than he turned about to
+begin slipping up on the fox to dare him for one more race.
+
+"For all the world like a game of tag!" Lawrence murmured.
+
+All this was aiding Johnny, though it is to be doubted whether the otters
+knew the value of their antics. The fox was being led farther and farther
+out on the ice. At the same time his attention was so held by this
+strange game that he was almost certain to miss catching sight of the boy
+who now glided closer, ever closer to him.
+
+"Good old otters!" Johnny repeated in a whisper as, drawing his
+moose-hide mittens tight, he prepared for the final dash.
+
+"He's going after him," Lawrence thought as, with a thrill shooting up
+his spine, he glided from his sheltered spot, ready, if need be, to come
+in on the finish.
+
+With a suddenness that must have been startling to the keenest eyes,
+Johnny swept down upon the fox and the otters. Did the otters see him?
+Beyond doubt. They saw everything. But the fox? For once he was caught
+quite unawares. One startled look, a quick squatting down on the ground,
+and Johnny was at his side. Before the fox could relax from this stiff
+pose, Johnny's hands, like a brass collar, were about his neck.
+
+"You got him!" Lawrence shouted, springing into action. "You got him!
+Hurray!"
+
+Then a terrible thing happened. Overjoyed at their great good fortune,
+Lawrence for the moment lost his bearing. Of a sudden his skate struck
+ice that crunched ominously. He tripped to go plunging forward into the
+black waters of the racing river. He had fallen into an open pool.
+
+"I'll drown," he thought, as, in an involuntary manner, he struck out
+with his hands in a swimming motion. All too late he saw ice ahead. Next
+instant he was beneath the river's ice.
+
+Johnny saw all this. With a gasp of terror he all but dropped the fox.
+Then, scarcely knowing what he did, he thrust the fox as if he were his
+mother's fur scarf, into the moose-hide bag, drew the strings tight, then
+shot away toward the spot from which his cousin had vanished.
+
+As Lawrence shot beneath the ice, life seemed near its end. Yet there had
+never been a time when life had seemed so real and so joyous as now. For
+a second panic gripped him. Holding his breath, he tried to think.
+
+In an instant his mind was clear. He knew what he should do. There were
+two open pools farther on. How far? He did not know exactly. Could he
+hold his breath till then? He must hope. And he must try to move over
+closer to the shelving bank. If he reached the pool he might then touch
+bottom.
+
+Desperately he struggled to draw himself over to the left. His head
+hummed. His lungs were bursting, his heart pounding.
+
+"It--it's the end," he thought.
+
+And then, up he popped. Just in time, as his feet touched, he gripped the
+edge of the ice and held there. Ten agonizing seconds he clung there,
+then a voice shouted, "Hold on, I'm coming."
+
+Ten seconds more and Johnny, who had leaped to the bank and raced along
+it, reached out to grip his mackinaw.
+
+"Now!" he shouted. "Out you come." And out he came.
+
+Weak from excitement and exhaustion, he lay there for a time motionless.
+
+"This won't do," Johnny exclaimed at last. "We've got to get going.
+Here," he dragged the sodden mackinaw from his cousin's shoulders, then
+put his own sheep-lined coat in its place. After putting his own dry
+mittens on Lawrence's hands, he pulled him to his feet.
+
+"It's you for skates and the ice, then home as fast as ever you can." He
+pushed him on before him.
+
+As his skates touched the ice Lawrence felt new warm blood racing through
+his veins. He was off with the speed of the wind. And after him, with a
+moose-hide sack dangling at his side and filled with one very angry
+silver fox, came his loyal, anxious yet joyous friend and cousin, Johnny.
+
+The day, for this part of the world, was not extremely cold. Lawrence's
+trousers froze into pipe-like forms, but his sturdy, youthful body
+resisted the cold and sent him speeding on his way.
+
+Dropping down on the river bank at last, they dragged off their skates to
+take the usual short cut through the timber.
+
+As he passed the carefully built shelter beside that narrow stream,
+Johnny recalled the note tacked to a post and wondered afresh whether the
+mysterious Bill would arrive, just as the note said he would, on July
+1st.
+
+"Who do you suppose he left that note for?" he exclaimed suddenly.
+
+"Haven't--the--slightest-notion," Lawrence panted, still racing along.
+"One--thing--is--sure. I'm--going--to--be--there--when that day comes."
+
+"We'll both be there," Johnny agreed. Somehow, as he thought of it, in a
+strange way it seemed that Bill and the silver fox must in some way be
+associated with each other. "Pure moonbeams," he assured himself, yet the
+thought remained in the back of his mind.
+
+There is something in the north that is called "Grapevine telegraph."
+This name is given to the mysterious means by which, in a land devoid of
+telephone and telegraph, news travels fast and far. Was it this unreal
+telegraph that, six hours later, as Lawrence, none the worse for his
+experience, lay before the roaring fire, brought a stranger to their
+door? Who can say? Be that as it may, there he was.
+
+"Excuse me for intruding," said the tall, smiling stranger as he brushed
+the snow from his moccasins. "I heard you'd got a silver fox and I just
+had to have a look at him. It's been three years since I saw one. I'm Jim
+Clem. Got a claim over on the other side of the settlement."
+
+"You--you've seen silver foxes." Johnny was on his feet.
+
+"Hundreds of 'em." The stranger smiled.
+
+"Hun-hundreds," Johnny stammered. "I thought they were rare."
+
+"Used to be," admitted Jim Clem. "Still are, fairly so. Did you get a
+good one?"
+
+"Yes, I--well," Johnny whirled about. "I'll show you." Opening the back
+door, he dragged in a small wire cage. "We just put him in this for a
+little while," he half apologized.
+
+"Oh! He's alive. Hurt much?" Jim asked.
+
+"Not hurt at all."
+
+"Not hurt?" Jim stared. "How'd you catch him?"
+
+"With my hands," Johnny chuckled. Then, seeing that this would not stand
+as a bare statement, he explained briefly their method of capture.
+
+"Say-ee," Jim exclaimed, dropping into a chair, "you're regular natives.
+And that's a fine specimen. Time was when you'd get two thousand dollars
+for him."
+
+"Yes, we--"
+
+"But not now," Jim broke in. "Never again. Know much about foxes?"
+
+"No, we--"
+
+"Then, I'll tell you." Jim settled back in his chair. "I worked on a
+silver fox farm for three years. 'Million Dollar Farm,' they called it.
+And that's what it was. Raised only silver foxes.
+
+"But you don't get that way all at once," he laughed. "Not by a great
+deal. Take that fellow you got there. Suppose you find him a mate and
+decide to start raising silver foxes. Pretty soon you'd have a lovely lot
+of cute little fox cubs. But would they be silver foxes? Not one. That's
+almost certain."
+
+"Not one?" Lawrence sat up.
+
+"That's it," Jim agreed. "You'd get two or three little red foxes and,
+with great luck, a cross fox, that's all."
+
+"You see," he leaned forward, "a silver fox is a freak, just as a
+half-white robin is. If a half-white robin hatches his eggs his young
+ones are likely to be jolly little robin redbreasts, nothing more.
+
+"Only by keeping foxes for years and years can you at last hope to raise
+pure silver foxes. That takes thousands and thousands of dollars. Four
+brothers went in for that in a big way years ago. Last year they sold
+13,000 pelts for more than $1,000,000. And that," he added, "figures up
+to something like $77.00 apiece."
+
+"That's what our fox is worth," Lawrence groaned. "And we'd have to kill
+him to get that?"
+
+"Oh, sure," Jim grinned. "But truly," his face sobered, "that's the tough
+part about fox farming. In the end you've got to kill 'em, so some fine
+lady can drape their skins about her neck."
+
+"I'd never sell ours to a fox farm," Lawrence said with conviction.
+
+"How about selling him alive to some zoo?" Johnny asked hopefully.
+
+"Don't know very much about that," Jim replied slowly. "I wouldn't hope
+too much. There are 5,000 fox farms these days. And they raise some
+beauties.
+
+"But if you mean to keep this fellow alive," he added, "you want to get a
+wooden barrel and make it into a den for him. Pack it all 'round with
+chaff and moss to make it warm. Then build him a wire pen all about it.
+He'll get along fine if you do that.
+
+"I'll have to trot along." He rose to go. "Come and see me. I'll tell you
+more about 'em. They're interesting no end, foxes are." He bade them
+goodnight.
+
+"Well," Johnny drawled slowly, "Old Silver won't buy us a tractor, that's
+sure."
+
+"No," said Lawrence. "But we can learn a lot about him and we can at
+least keep him from eating our chickens. Don't give up the ship. We'll
+happen onto something yet."
+
+There are other rewards than money in this life of ours. Remarkable
+achievement of any sort usually brings us kind words of deserved praise
+from our fellowmen. It was so with Johnny and Lawrence. More than one
+settler had suffered from the night raids of Old Silver. Now that he was
+in prison his captors were highly praised.
+
+Still the problem remained; should they give up their dream of complete
+independence and go in debt for a tractor?
+
+"I think you'd better," said Johnny. "There are only a few left and they
+are going fast."
+
+"There'll always be the Titan," Lawrence laughed.
+
+"Yes, the Titan," Johnny agreed. "But who could ever pay for that
+tractor?"
+
+The Titan was a powerful new type of tractor. Only one had been brought
+on and that one was priced at a cool thousand dollars.
+
+"We'll wait a little longer," was Mr. Lawson's decision. "The tide of
+fortune may turn our way."
+
+
+
+
+                               CHAPTER V
+                         JOHNNY FIGHTS FOR FUN
+
+
+News travels fast in the north. When the time came for the boys to make
+one more journey to the store at Palmer everyone had heard of their
+catch.
+
+"Here they come," someone shouted as, stamping the snow from their feet,
+they entered the smoke-filled room.
+
+"Here they come. They bring 'em back alive!" someone else shouted.
+
+"Well," Lawrence drawled, "we bring them anyway. Got two minks today.
+That's two more that won't carry off folks' chickens."
+
+"I hear you boys got a silver fox." There was a suggestion of antagonism
+in Jack Mayhorn's voice as he said this.
+
+"Yes," Johnny replied. "And we've still got him."
+
+"Do you know, fellows," Jack gave vent to a chuckle that seemed a little
+strained, "back in Michigan, where I lived on the shores of Lake
+Superior, there was a feller who used to go lake-trout fishin'. He
+trolled with an out-board motor. Always got 'em, too, a whale of a fine
+catch.
+
+"But you know," he edged forward in his chair, "there was net fishermen
+there, too. Fished fer a living. And one day when we was lookin' over
+this sportin' fellow's catch, the fish he claimed he'd caught trollin' we
+found had net marks on 'em."
+
+"Net marks?" someone said.
+
+"Sure." There was a shifty look in Jack's eyes. "He'd been liftin' nets
+an' helping himself to the fish that didn't belong to him. And I was
+wonderin'," he paused, "just wonderin', Johnny, if that silver fox of
+yours mebby had a lame foot or--or somethin'."
+
+The silence that followed was painful. Johnny made no reply. His fingers
+worked along his palm, that was all.
+
+It was Blackie Dawson who spoke at last. "I take it, Jack," he spoke
+slowly, "you are insinuating that these boys took the fox from your trap.
+Let me tell you, old man, that sort of thing calls for a fight; in the
+north it does."
+
+Jack made no reply, but Johnny did.
+
+"I'm sorry," he said, speaking slowly. "It doesn't mean a fight to me."
+
+"You won't fight?" Blackie stared at him.
+
+"Not to settle a personal grudge," Johnny replied slowly. "If Jack wants
+to think we took the fox from his trap, that's his privilege. If he would
+like to examine the fox that's his privilege also. But I'm not going to
+beat him up just to make him take back something he's said. That might
+seem to be a point of honor but we all have our own codes of honor. It
+may seem queer but I'd rather take an insult than give someone a
+beating."
+
+"Take a beating you mean," Jack sneered. He was nearly twice Johnny's
+size.
+
+"Joe," said Johnny, turning to the store-keeper, "you told me you got two
+pairs of boxing gloves through the mail."
+
+"Sure, Johnny, I did. Here they are." Reaching behind him the
+store-keeper drew out two pairs of gloves.
+
+"Put 'em on, Johnny," Blackie encouraged.
+
+"Put 'em on! Put 'em on!" came from all over the room. There was a stir
+of expectancy in the air.
+
+"Sure, I'll put them on," Johnny grinned. "What do you say, Joe? I'll box
+you five rounds. Five friendly bouts for fun, money or marbles."
+
+The crowd stared, Johnny was talking not to the man who had offered the
+insult but to his friend the store-keeper.
+
+For a moment Joe stood staring at him. Then, as the light of a smile
+spread over his face, he said, "Sure, Johnny, I'll box you, not for money
+or marbles, but just, you might say, for fun."
+
+It will be a long time before the settlers of Matanuska Valley will again
+witness such a match as followed. Five rounds for fun, between friends?
+Yes, perhaps. And yet there were times when even Johnny doubted that.
+True, he was not angry for a moment, just in there doing his best. But
+Joe? He was wondering about him.
+
+Though he had told no one in the valley about it, Joe had, only the year
+before, belonged to the U. S. Marines. The Marines neither give nor ask
+quarters. And Joe had been champion of his regiment. As for Johnny, well
+you know Johnny. If you don't, you should have been there that night.
+
+From the start it was leather against leather, a slap for the chin, a
+thrust at the heart, a bang on the side of the head, and after that a
+clinch.
+
+Seldom had men been more evenly matched. Joe was older, more experienced,
+Johnny younger, faster on his feet.
+
+They had not been going a minute when an involuntary ring had formed
+about them. In that ring, gaping open-mouthed was Jack Mayhorn.
+
+Twice Johnny was down on a knee. Each time he was up and at it. Once,
+backed into a corner, Joe tripped and fell. He, too, was up before the
+count of three.
+
+The fifth round was wild. Had there been an announcer, he must surely
+have lost his mind calling, "A right to Johnny's chin, a left to his ear.
+The ear is bleeding. Oh--a! A slam on the side of Joe's head that makes
+him slightly groggy. Johnny's following through. The clinch! The referee
+(Blackie) separates them. They are sparring now. Now! Oh, now! Johnny
+takes one on the chin. He's down. One--two--three--He's up again." So it
+went to the end.
+
+As the cowbell, rung by young Larry Hooker, announced the close of the
+round, the crowd went wild with enthusiasm, but Joe, seizing Johnny by
+the glove, dragged him into the kitchen at the back of the store.
+
+"Boy, you're a whiz!" he exclaimed. "There was a time or two when I
+thought you had me." He was mopping Johnny's face with a wet towel.
+
+"Not a chance," Johnny laughed. "I didn't know what I was stepping into
+but I did my best."
+
+"Listen," Joe held up a hand. The tumult in the outer room had died down.
+Blackie Dawson was about to make a short speech. "Gentlemen," he was
+saying, "the day after tomorrow at early candle light, there'll be
+another boxing bout in this room. It will be between--" he
+paused--"between Jack Mayhorn and--he--he has a choice--Johnny Thompson
+or Joe Lawrence."
+
+"No!" a voice fairly roared after the shouts had subsided, "I got a bad
+foot. My footwork, it ain't no good at all." It was Jack Mayhorn who
+spoke.
+
+"So it's _your_ foot that's bad and not that silver fox's foot?" Blackie
+bantered.
+
+The crowd let out a roar that could have been heard a mile.
+
+"That'll about fix Jack Mayhorn," said Joe. "He's not likely to bother
+you much now."
+
+An hour later, when the customers had "cleared out and gone home," Johnny
+and Lawrence found themselves in Joe's kitchen. Blackie and Joe were
+there. So was Mrs. Joe. They were all eating huckleberry pie and drinking
+hot chocolate.
+
+"Johnny," said Joe, feeling a plaster on his chin, "why did you do it?"
+
+"Do what?" Johnny stared.
+
+"Pick on me for a fight. I never done you no wrong."
+
+"That's why," was Johnny's astonishing reply. "It's an old Eskimo
+custom."
+
+"What is?" They all stared at him.
+
+"According to the Eskimo law," Johnny went on soberly, "if you are going
+to be killed it has to be done by a near relative or very close friend.
+So-o--" he added with a spreading grin, "I thought you'd do as well as
+anyone. And you did--even better."
+
+"Anyway," Blackie supplemented after their laugh was over, "folks in
+Matanuska Valley will know who among us can put up a good scrap and that
+always helps."
+
+When one is young he thinks only of the present and the future, never of
+the past. As the two boys walked home that night, they thought much of
+the future. The bond of friendship between them and Blackie Dawson was
+growing stronger every day. When spring came, would they go booming away
+with him on a Coast Guard boat in search of adventure in Bristol Bay? Who
+could tell?
+
+In the meantime there was work to be done, plenty of it. Some twenty
+acres of land was yet to be cleared. In the spring stumps must be pulled.
+Without a tractor this would mean back-breaking labor.
+
+"Perhaps we can get more foxes?" Lawrence said, thinking out loud.
+
+"Yes, and other wild creatures," Johnny added. "That country 'back of the
+beyond' has never even been explored. There must be wild life back there
+that's never been seen. Peary found white reindeer on one of his
+expeditions. Who can tell what we'll come upon if we keep up our search?"
+
+Who, indeed? The boy had spoken more wisely than he knew.
+
+
+
+
+                               CHAPTER VI
+                        SMOKEY JOE'S BLUE BEARS
+
+
+Johnny awoke with a start. What had wakened him? He could not say for
+sure. He had a feeling that it had been a human voice, perhaps a shout.
+
+Propping himself up on one elbow he listened intently. There came no
+sound save the long-drawn distant howl of a wolf. "Must have dreamed it,"
+he murmured as he drew deep into the caribou-skin bed.
+
+The night was cold, bitter cold. It was dark. Like chilled white
+diamonds, stars glistened in the sky. "What a change a few hours can
+make," he thought. They were sleeping in the mysterious Bill's shelter,
+he and Lawrence.
+
+Why were they sleeping in this cheerless shelter? Warm beds awaited them
+at home. When one is young he does not need too good an answer for the
+thing he does. Both Johnny and Lawrence were born scouts. They loved the
+sharp tang of cold on their cheeks, followed by the quick glow of a
+campfire. The smell of wood-smoke, deer steak broiled over coals, dreamy
+hours just sitting before the fire, not talking, just thinking, all these
+were a joy to them. So they liked to get away for a night. Bill's camp
+was a convenient place.
+
+Johnny did not fall asleep at once, instead his mind was crowded with
+dreamy thoughts.
+
+Perhaps Bill was a gold prospector. Perhaps he had discovered gold. Then
+when he returned to this camp, they might all go tramping away to find
+the spot and stake out claims.
+
+"That would ruin the settlement," he told himself. "People would desert
+their dreams of making homes for brighter, more illusive dreams of
+wealth. And yet--" What did he wish? He could not tell.
+
+When they had retired for the night the moon had been shining, a bright
+fire gleamed before their shelter. Now all was gloomy and cold. Should he
+rekindle the fire? "No. Too chilly," he shuddered. "Wait till morning."
+
+The days that had gone before had been uneventful ones. More and more he
+had come to realize that they must have a tractor. Long hours they had
+worked clearing timber. Brush was burned. But wood must be saved for
+fires, for buildings and fences. Every day saw larger piles of wood on
+the cleared land.
+
+"With a tractor and a stout sled we'd have it hauled home in no time,"
+Lawrence had said to his father. "Without it--"
+
+"Wait a little longer," his father had counseled.
+
+So they were waiting and tonight, sleeping in Bill's shelter, they were
+still waiting.
+
+So Johnny thought and dreamed until at last he fell asleep.
+
+Perhaps he slept an hour, perhaps less or more. Then he awoke with a
+suddenness that set his senses reeling.
+
+"Law-Lawrence!" he shouted in wild consternation. "The bear! The bear!"
+
+Something solid and heavy as a bear had landed with all but crushing
+weight on his chest. It still rested there but did not move.
+
+"That's no bear," said a gruff, good-natured voice. "That's my pack.
+Sorry! Didn't know you was here."
+
+"Lawrence!" Johnny exclaimed. "It's Bill!"
+
+"Not Bill neither," the stranger disagreed. "They call me Smokey Joe."
+
+"Smokey Joe!" Johnny peered into the darkness, trying to get a look at
+the man's face. "Smokey Joe. I've heard of you."
+
+And he surely had. Smokey was a well-known character in the valley. The
+old-timers told how he came and went. Always in search of gold, he would
+disappear for months.
+
+"Then," one of the motherly women added, "just when we think he's gone
+for good, up he pops again. We feed him up and patch his clothes. Then,
+like some boy, he's off again.
+
+"But he's no boy," she added. "He came to Alaska in the gold rush of
+'97."
+
+"Eighteen-ninety-seven!" Johnny had exclaimed. "More than forty years
+ago!"
+
+"He never left," the gray-haired lady had added. "He came from the
+Cumberland Mountains somewhere and he still speaks in their queer way.
+
+"They say," she added with a lowered voice, "that he struck it rich once,
+had nearly half a million dollars, and that he's got some of it hid away
+in the hills somewhere. But, then," she sighed, "you can't believe
+anything you hear and only half you see in Alaska. Alaska is a place of
+wild dreams."
+
+Johnny was recalling all this as he made haste to split dry wood into
+fine pieces, whittle some shavings, then light a blaze in their
+out-of-doors fireplace.
+
+"It's about morning," he said, at last looking into Smokey Joe's seamed
+face. "Did you come far?"
+
+"Been travelin' mighty nigh all night," the old man drawled. "Me and my
+hounds here." He nodded at three powerful dogs, already curled up on the
+snow for a sleep. "Right smart cold up yonder. Hit's a sight better here
+in the bottoms."
+
+"We'll have coffee before you know it," Johnny said cheerily. "Coffee and
+sour-dough flap-jacks."
+
+"Ah," the old man sucked in his breath. "Sour dough flap-jacks. They
+shore do stick to yer ribs. Reckon Smokey Joe's the flapjack eatinest
+feller you almost ever seed."
+
+Lawrence grinned. This old man spoke a strange language.
+
+"A bear!" Smokey chuckled. "You all thought I were a bear! That's right
+smart quare."
+
+"We almost caught a cub," Johnny explained. "Caught him alive, I mean."
+
+"Almost." Lawrence laughed. "But his mother objected."
+
+"Bears," said the old man, blinking at the fire. "Back thar in them thar
+glaciers thar's bears you might nigh wouldn't believe the plain truth
+about."
+
+"Why?" Johnny sat up. "What's strange about them?"
+
+"Might nigh everythin's quare, I reckon. Hm," the old man sniffed the
+coffee, "smells powerful good."
+
+"It'll be boiled in a minute or two," said Johnny. "But tell me about
+those bears."
+
+"They're blue, plumb blue, like a thin sky." The old man struggled for
+words. "They're right smart woolly like sheep, I reckon. But they ain't
+sheep. God-a-mighty, narry a bit of it. One of them clawed my lead dog
+like tarnation. An' they're the fish-eatinest critters you most ever
+seed."
+
+"Polar bears?" Johnny suggested.
+
+"Polar bears, big as good-sized hounds!" Smokey sniffed. "Who's ever
+hearn tell of sech polar bears?"
+
+Who indeed? Johnny was growing excited and confused. "Woolly, blue bears
+no bigger than dogs," he was thinking. "What kind of bears could they
+be?"
+
+In his confusion he upset the coffeepot and spilled half its contents.
+For all this, there was plenty left. Smokey Joe drank it piping hot, ate
+in a ravenous manner. Then, springing to his feet and calling to his
+dogs, declared he must get down to Palmer for a new pack of grub.
+
+"He's found a trace of color in some dashing stream that doesn't freeze,
+not even in winter," was Johnny's conclusion. "He's going to hotfoot it
+right back and get rich--maybe."
+
+"But, Johnny," Lawrence was not smiling, "do you really suppose there are
+any such bears as he described?"
+
+"Of course not," was Johnny's prompt reply.
+
+"But, Johnny, if there were, if we caught one alive! No bigger than a
+dog. We could do it, Johnny. We could buy a tractor."
+
+"Forget it. It's all a pipe dream, I tell you."
+
+But Lawrence did not forget Smokey Joe's blue bears, nor, in the end, did
+Johnny.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER VII
+                            A STRANGE BATTLE
+
+
+Shortly after noon of that same day a slim, bright-eyed man in a huge
+beaver overcoat drove up to the Lawson cabin. Johnny and Lawrence, who
+were about to go back to their wood cutting, stared at him.
+
+"Hello, boys," was his surprising greeting. "I hear you bring 'em back
+alive."
+
+"Why, yes, we--Sometimes we do," Johnny replied in confusion.
+
+"Blackie Dawson told me about you."
+
+"Oh, Blackie." Johnny's face brightened.
+
+"I am in the animal business," the man explained, alighting from his
+hired sled and allowing Lawrence to lead his horse away. "I thought you
+boys might help me a little."
+
+"Help you? Oh, sure!" Things were looking better and better. "Here's
+where we get a start," Johnny was thinking.
+
+"What have you?" the man asked.
+
+"Well, er--mister--"
+
+"They call me Professor Ormsby," said the stranger. "You may call me what
+you please."
+
+"Well, then, Professor," Johnny went on, "we have a silver fox, a
+perfectly keen fox."
+
+"Caught in a trap, I suppose?"
+
+"No. By hand."
+
+"By hand!" The Professor stared. "How do you do it?"
+
+Johnny told him in as few words as possible and with no dramatics at all,
+just how it was done.
+
+"Oh, I say!" the Professor exclaimed. "That's great! You took a chance
+with that fox. But, let me see--No-o, I can't use a silver fox. How about
+beavers?"
+
+"We haven't taken any beaver. We--well, we were afraid it might be
+against the law even to catch them alive."
+
+"I have a government permit," said the Professor. "But if you haven't any
+beaver--"
+
+"Catching beaver would be easy. We have a grand colony not three miles
+away," Lawrence put in. "We might--"
+
+"How about mink?" Johnny asked. "We have some fine ones. Or snow-shoe
+rabbits?"
+
+"I suggest that you eat the rabbits," the Professor laughed. "I'll have a
+look at your mink. But beaver! There's your main chance. Can't you get me
+some? Big ones, the bigger the better.
+
+"You see," he smiled, "we think we're really doing good through this
+work. In the big cities, hot in summer and cold in winter and crowded
+always, there are hundreds of thousands of children who would never know
+what a woodchuck, a monkey, a beaver or a bear looked like if they didn't
+see them in a zoo. Brings real joy to them, I'm sure. Many's the fellow
+who dates his first real interest in the wide out-of-doors to his visit
+at the zoo."
+
+"Yes, I--" Johnny had scarcely heard him. "Could we do it?" he was asking
+himself. He was thinking of beaver. "Why not? Thousands and thousands of
+city children." His head was in a whirl.
+
+"I think," he tried to make his voice seem very cheerful, "I think we can
+supply the beaver. Can't we, Lawrence?"
+
+"What? Yes. Oh, yes," Lawrence replied.
+
+"One of them must be a big one, a real boss of the village," warned the
+Professor.
+
+"We've got him," Johnny laughed uncertainly. "Napoleon himself."
+
+"Yes. Oh, yes. We've got him, all right," Lawrence did not laugh.
+
+Strangely enough, as a short time later the boys went away on one more
+"Bring 'em back alive hunt" there was no spring in their step. Their
+faces were sober. If they succeeded this one more time, the coveted
+tractor would be within their grasp, and yet they appeared anything but
+happy.
+
+"Might even get the Titan," Lawrence tried to tell himself. This boy
+loved fine machinery and that Titan tractor was a beauty. It had power,
+plenty of it. With it they could not only pull stumps and plow fields for
+themselves, but do work for other settlers on shares and, in quiet times,
+they could work on the road. "Four live beavers," he thought. "That's all
+it takes." Yes, that was all it took, and yet--
+
+Up a small stream that flows into the Matanuska River early in the year
+the boys had discovered a beaver colony. Many an hour they had spent
+watching these busy beavers. Never in all their lives had they seen such
+feats of engineering done by creatures of the wild.
+
+There were at least sixty beavers in the group. One big fellow, weighing
+sixty pounds or more, was the leader. He was the boss contractor. And
+such a boss as he was!
+
+"Napoleon," they had named him. He stood for hours, as the great little
+general is pictured, straight, stiff and soldier-like. To him came the
+others. Were there trees to be felled? Two lieutenants came marching
+soberly up to him. They talked earnestly, nodding their heads, like real
+people, then off they rushed to start a dozen beavers doing the work.
+
+It was so in everything. Most interesting of all had been the building of
+the big dam. This work, the boys understood, must be rushed. Winter would
+come. Ice would freeze two feet thick. The level of the stream must be
+raised to six feet so the beaver tribe could use the water beneath as a
+highway all winter long. The water must be dammed up.
+
+This dam building, done under the wise direction of old Napoleon, had
+progressed rapidly for a time, then a sudden freshet of water loosened
+some of the beams and the whole affair threatened to go down stream.
+
+"What'll they do now?" Lawrence had asked.
+
+"Wait and see," was Johnny's answer.
+
+Old Napoleon sent his men, like sub-engineers, all over the dam, making a
+study of conditions. Then, apparently abandoning all this work, he
+ordered a new dam built a hundred feet farther down stream.
+
+But did he truly abandon his first work? Not a bit of it. He and his crew
+built just enough of a dam below to raise the water and relieve the
+pressure from the original dam. Then, with an air of professional pride,
+Napoleon returned to his old post and the work was well completed before
+frost.
+
+"He," Johnny thought to himself, "is the friend we mean to capture and
+sell into slavery, Old Napoleon." Little wonder that his heart was heavy.
+"Old Napoleon," he whispered once again.
+
+But what was this? As they neared the beaver colony where they were sure
+to find Napoleon out sunning himself, they caught sight of some creature
+skulking through the brush.
+
+"It's a wolf," Johnny whispered. "Let's follow him."
+
+Follow him they did, and to their consternation saw that he was headed
+for the beaver colony.
+
+"We'd better frighten him away," Lawrence whispered. "He'll drive all the
+beavers beneath the ice. Then we won't be able to lasso a single one."
+
+This, Johnny knew, was good advice, but for some reason scarcely known to
+himself, he said, "Let's wait."
+
+When at last they caught sight of the beaver village, they saw old
+Napoleon standing stiff and straight as ever in his place. He was having
+a sun bath.
+
+After sneaking along through the brush, the wolf made a dash at the
+beaver.
+
+"He'll kill him," Lawrence whispered.
+
+Did he? Strange to say, as the wolf came near, the beaver did not stir
+from his place. This appeared to surprise the wolf, who did not at once
+rush in for the kill. Sneaking up close, he made a dash at the beaver,
+but stopped just short of his goal. Still the beaver did not move. To the
+boys this seemed strange. Their respect for the old fellow grew by leaps
+and bounds. He appeared to be saying, "What's a wolf that one should fear
+him?"
+
+"He--he's great!" Johnny shrilled.
+
+"Magnificent," Lawrence agreed.
+
+Snarling low, the wolf began dashing and snapping at the beaver. Each
+snap made him bolder. Now his ugly jaws were three feet from the
+apparently defenseless hero of wild life, who had decided to give his
+life for his home and his people. Now he was only two feet away. And now
+only a foot.
+
+"We--we'd better step in," came from Lawrence.
+
+"Wait," Johnny gripped his arm hard. Perhaps he should stop the wolf, but
+he waited, fascinated.
+
+"Now!" Lawrence caught his breath. The end, he was sure, had come.
+
+And then, of a sudden, things did happen, but not in accord with
+expectations. Old Napoleon had chisel-shaped teeth that cut wood like a
+hatchet. Without a sound, as the wolf, having grown bold, snapped in his
+very face, he shot forward to close those murderous teeth over the wolf's
+closed jaws.
+
+"Great Scott!" Johnny muttered.
+
+The struggle that followed was fast and furious. Kicking and scratching,
+the wolf rolled over and over, but not once did Napoleon's locked grip
+loosen. It was only when his opponent, completely exhausted and all but
+smothered, lay limp at his side, that he at last pried his own jaws apart
+to climb awkwardly to his place in the sun. Instantly the wolf dragged
+himself to his feet, to go slinking away into the brush.
+
+For one full minute the boys stood there motionless. When Lawrence spoke
+his voice was husky. "Johnny, I've often suspected old Napoleon of being
+a tyrant. He's lazy, too. I've never seen him do a lick of work. But he
+is one swell engineer and a grand boss."
+
+"What's more, he's no coward," Johnny added.
+
+"Johnny, I can't do it," Lawrence dangled his lasso.
+
+"Neither can I," said Johnny. "Let's go."
+
+Turning, they made their way in silence down the narrow stream to its
+mouth. There they dropped down upon the snow to put on their skates.
+
+"Johnny," said Lawrence, "we're a pair of old softies."
+
+"That's right," said Johnny. "But I don't mind, do you?"
+
+"Not a bit. Let's go."
+
+
+"Get 'em?" the Professor asked as they came stamping into the cabin.
+
+"No--er, well, no we didn't," Johnny stammered.
+
+"How come?" the man's face sobered. "That was your big moment."
+
+Sensing the tenseness of the situation, Mrs. Lawson said, "The coffee's
+hot. I have some spice cookies, just out of the oven. How would you like
+a bite to eat?"
+
+"That--that would be splendid!" said the Professor.
+
+When, over their cups of coffee, the boys had told the whole story, there
+was a strange look on the Professor's face as he said, "Can't say that I
+blame you. Under the circumstances I should have done the same thing. We
+shall be obliged to get our beaver some other way. And as for your
+tractor--"
+
+"We--we'll manage," Lawrence replied slowly. Then, "By the way,
+Professor. You must know about bears. Are there any light blue bears?"
+
+"Blue bears? Let me think! Oh, certainly! They belong up this way, too.
+Very rare they are, though."
+
+"Blue bears!" Lawrence became greatly excited. "Small blue bears, no
+larger than a good-sized dog, with woolly hair? They--they live on fish?"
+
+"What?" It was the Professor's turn to become excited. "You haven't seen
+one? You--you couldn't catch one for me, could you?"
+
+"Sure--sure," Lawrence stammered. "No, I mean we haven't. That is, we
+could, I--I'm sure we could."
+
+"If you were to bring me one of those bears alive and in good condition,"
+the Professor spoke in a deeply solemn voice, "you might name your own
+price. Glacier bears, they are called. There is a stuffed specimen in the
+United States National Museum, but not a single living specimen in
+captivity anywhere."
+
+"We--we'll hunt up Smokey Joe tomorrow," Johnny said. "He's seen them. He
+can tell us where they are. In fact, he told us all about them, only I
+thought it was all hooey."
+
+"Smokey Joe? Who is that?" the Professor asked.
+
+"An old prospector," Johnny explained. "He's been all over this country."
+
+"In that case," said the Professor, "much as I should like a glacier
+bear, I suggest that you postpone your search until late spring. Those
+rare creatures inhabit the wildest sort of country, rocks, cliffs and
+glaciers. They are worse than mountain goats. You would almost certainly
+perish. And besides, it is fairly certain that they, like most others of
+their kind, hibernate. And so--"
+
+"So another bubble bursts," Johnny groaned.
+
+"Don't be too pessimistic," the Professor smiled. "I shall hope to hear
+from you sometime in June or early July. A single specimen will do.
+
+"And, by the way," he added as he rose, "I've decided to offer you a
+hundred dollars for your silver fox. That may not seem such a good price,
+but is really above the market."
+
+"Sold! Sold!" the boys exclaimed in unison. And so it was that the boys
+collected their first real money. They were, however, still a long way
+from their goal.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER VIII
+                    THE STORMY PETREL'S FIRST PRIZE
+
+
+As the winter wore on the cold grew more intense. Ice on the streams was
+thick. Wild animals appeared to vanish from the scene. Snow covered much
+of the river surfaces. All these things served to make "bringing them
+home alive" more difficult.
+
+At last the boys gave up this strange occupation and turned to the task
+of clearing the ten-acre tract.
+
+"If we can get that tract cleared we'll plant it in barley, oats and
+peas. When these are ground together they make excellent chicken feed.
+We'll go in for poultry. There's a steady market for dressed chickens and
+eggs at Fairbanks," said Mr. Lawson.
+
+"Yes, if we get that tract cleared," Lawrence thought, but did not say.
+No further suggestion that they go into debt for a tractor was made by
+anyone.
+
+The long Arctic evenings were divided between games and dreaming. The
+fame of Johnny's and Joe's boxing had traveled far. The recreation room
+at Palmer was given over to this excellent sport two nights a week.
+
+A boxing club was formed. Even Jack Mayhorn dropped his feud with Johnny
+and joined up. Members of a boxing club at Seward accepted an invitation
+for a contest. Johnny and Joe won this by a narrow margin.
+
+On the evenings when business or pleasure did not take them to town
+Johnny and Lawrence might often be found dreaming by their own
+hearth-fire.
+
+"When the land is cleared and plowed, when the grain is sowed and we've
+earned a breathing spell," Lawrence would say, "then we'll hunt up old
+Smokey Joe and go out for one of those glacier bears."
+
+"If we can find Smokey Joe," Johnny would smilingly agree. "And if they
+don't need us for service in Bristol Bay."
+
+"Bristol Bay," Lawrence would reply doubtfully. "Seems as if I'd rather
+catch animals alive than go after those Orientals."
+
+"We'll take them alive, too," Johnny chuckled.
+
+Lawrence was not so sure of this. Hour after hour Blackie Dawson, who had
+discarded his crutches, entertained them with stories of his adventures
+with the Orientals.
+
+"They want everything for themselves. They spoiled their own fishing by
+catching the salmon before they were half grown and canning them right on
+the ships. Now they want to come over here and do the same, right up
+there in Bristol Bay.
+
+"They catch our fish and can 'em, then they pop into Seattle or San
+Francisco and say, 'See all the fine fish we have canned for you. Come
+and buy them.'
+
+"Think we'll do that?" he would storm. "Not on your life! We'll get 'em.
+You'll see.
+
+"But the Shadow," his voice would drop, "that shadow that passes in the
+fog. How's a fellow to catch that? Who can tell? But we'll get it, too,"
+he would add, striking the table a lusty blow.
+
+In March he received his appointment as Commander of the _Stormy Petrel_.
+
+"A swell boat." He was proud of her. "Come on down with me and we'll turn
+her motors over once or twice just to get the rust out of 'em."
+
+Johnny and Lawrence accepted his invitation. They did far more than turn
+the motors over. With Lawrence as engineer and Johnny as first mate, they
+cruised for three days along the Alaskan shores.
+
+On the third day, "Just to get in practice," as Blackie put it, they
+hailed a suspicious-looking craft carrying no flag. When the skipper
+failed to heed Blackie's command to head around, they sent a ball from
+their shiny brass cannon over her bow and she promptly hove to.
+
+She was found to be carrying contraband drugs. "A fair capture in a fair
+chase," as Blackie expressed it. "A regular feather in our cap."
+
+"Well," said Johnny, "how did you like it?"
+
+"Those are glorious motors," Lawrence enthused. "How I'd love to be their
+master. But I hope--" he hesitated. "I rather hope we go after the
+glacier bears. That's the surest way to get a tractor. And a tractor's
+what we need most."
+
+"Time and fate will decide," Johnny said soberly.
+
+"Time and Blackie," Lawrence added with a laugh.
+
+"And Smokey Joe," Johnny amended.
+
+
+
+
+                               CHAPTER IX
+                           FATE LENDS A HAND
+
+
+Strangely enough it was Fate, in the form of an automobile accident in
+far away Seattle, that cast the final vote deciding their choice between
+the _Stormy Petrel_ in Bristol Bay and a glacier bear hunt with Smokey
+Joe.
+
+Spring had come at last. Steadfastly refusing to go in debt, the Dawsons,
+with Johnny's help, were attempting to clear their land without the help
+of a tractor.
+
+At first it was fun. With blasting powder and dynamite they blew the
+larger stumps into shreds. The boom--boom--boom of blasts might be heard
+for miles.
+
+There remained thousands of smaller stumps. To force these from the tough
+sod and heavy black soil with pick, shovel and bar, was back-breaking
+labor.
+
+"Give me time," Johnny would groan when morning came. "There's a place in
+my back somewhere that bends. I'll find it. Just give me time."
+
+Joke as they might, they could not but feel that progress was woefully
+slow and that seed-time would find them all unprepared.
+
+One bright day an automobile came bumping over the uneven road to pause
+before their field. Out from it popped an old friend.
+
+"Blackie!" Johnny exclaimed. "I thought you'd be in Bristol Bay by now."
+
+"I'm on my way," Blackie puffed. "And so are you.
+
+"Mr. Lawson," he exclaimed, "I must draft your boys into my service."
+
+"What about these stumps," Mr. Lawson straightened his stiff back.
+
+"What'll it cost to have 'em out with a tractor?" Blackie demanded.
+
+Both Johnny and Lawrence looked at him with gleaming eyes.
+
+"Why do you need my boys?" the man among the stumps demanded.
+
+"Two of the men who were to accompany me have been crippled," Blackie
+explained. "They were in an auto accident in Seattle. I had a wire this
+morning. They were so badly hurt they could not let me know sooner. And
+tomorrow we were to sail. Already there has been news of trouble in
+Bristol Bay.
+
+"I tell you, Mr. Lawson," Blackie was pleading now. "It's for Alaska and
+her greatest enterprise I ask it. Yes, and for every humble American who
+makes a simple meal from a can of salmon. As I see it, it's your
+patriotic duty to let them go."
+
+Then Blackie did a strange thing for him. He quoted poetry--
+
+  "'Not once nor twice in our fair Island's story
+  Has the path of duty been the way to glory.'
+
+"Mr. Lawson!" he exploded, "let them go. Here!" he waved a roll of bills.
+"I'll pull your stumps. I'll plow your land and sow your seed. Let them
+go."
+
+Who could have refused? Surely not a man with Tom Lawson's patriotic
+soul. "Al-all right, boys," he said huskily. "Go get your clothes.
+And--and Blackie, I must trust you to bring them safely home."
+
+"No need to worry," Blackie reassured him. "We'll all be back to shoot
+fire-crackers with you on the Fourth of July. And may your fields be
+green by then."
+
+Twenty-four hours later Johnny and Lawrence found themselves standing on
+the narrow deck of the _Stormy Petrel_ watching a familiar shore-line
+fade from their sight.
+
+To Johnny this seemed just one more journey into the great unknown. To
+Lawrence it was something more, his first long trip away from his own
+family. Strange emotions stirred within him. Questions he could not
+answer crowded through his mind. How long was this journey to last? What
+strange, wild adventures would he meet? What would be the outcome? Would
+they be of some real service?
+
+Through his thoughts ran Blackie's two lines of verse,
+
+  "'Not once nor twice in our fair Island's story
+  Has the path of duty been the way to glory.'"
+
+What did it mean? He had only a vague notion.
+
+"MacGregor," he said to the gray-haired engineer who thrust his head up
+from the engine room, "what do these words mean?" He repeated the lines.
+
+"Well, noo, me lad," said the friendly old Scotchman, "I've never been
+too good at poetry. But it seems to me it says if ye think first of yer
+country and her needs, ye'll be likely to get the things you want most
+fer yerself; that is, I meant to say, in the end."
+
+"Thanks." Once again the boy paced the deck. Was this true? He wanted a
+tractor, a humble, earth-digging, sod-plowing, stump-pulling tractor. It
+was a strange thing for a boy to want, he knew. Most boys would have
+wished for an automobile, but he wanted a tractor. Would he get it?
+
+As they left Seward behind and headed west to follow the Alaskan
+Peninsula until they could cross over into Bristol Bay, it seemed to him
+that they were heading directly away from his heart's desire. The pay
+they were to receive was small. It would help very little. "And yet," he
+thought with a firm resolve to do his best in his strange new position,
+"Sometimes fate does seem to take a hand in making things come out just
+right. Here's hoping."
+
+The _Stormy Petrel_ was a sturdy boat with powerful motors. She was
+small--little larger than a good-sized speed boat. But how she could go!
+
+There was a small after-cabin with six bunks ranged along the sides. Here
+George, the colored cook, presided over a small stove producing glorious
+things to eat. The coffee was always hot. And indeed it was needed, for,
+as a gray fog settled down upon them, the air became bitter cold.
+
+Johnny was to take watch for watch with Blackie as steersman. Lawrence
+was to exchange watches with MacGregor and preside over the motors. Had
+this been a week's cruise simply for pleasure, nothing could have been
+more delightful. Johnny loved boats. Lawrence listened to the steady roar
+of his motors and was joyously happy.
+
+And yet, there hung over them a sense of approaching danger.
+
+"Say-ee!" Johnny exclaimed on the third day, after taking their position
+and studying the chart. "We're closer to Asia than we are to Seattle."
+
+"Aye, that we are, me lad," MacGregor agreed.
+
+"Yes, and that's why it's so easy for these Orientals to slip over here
+and trap our fish," Blackie exploded.
+
+"And that," he went on quietly, "is why you settlers in Matanuska Valley
+are given so much financial aid. Your old Uncle Sam wants you there. He's
+going to locate more and more people along these Alaskan shores. You
+watch and see! Why? To give them homes? Not a bit of it. To have people
+here to watch those Orientals, that's why."
+
+"Well," said Johnny with a laugh. "Looks like we'd learn a lot of
+geography and current history on this trip."
+
+"No doubt about that, me lad," MacGregor agreed.
+
+They had been on the water for five days when, touching Johnny on the
+shoulder, Blackie pointed at two spots of white against the sky.
+
+"That's snow on two mountain peaks," he explained. "The cannery we're
+heading for is built on the banks of a small river close to these
+mountains. We'll be there before dark. And after that," he took a deep
+breath. "After that our real work begins."
+
+"A new world," Johnny murmured dreamily.
+
+"You don't know half of it," said Blackie. And Blackie was right.
+
+
+
+
+                               CHAPTER X
+                              A NEW WORLD
+
+
+Next morning Johnny and Blackie Dawson sat on the deck of the _Stormy
+Petrel_. A wild nor'wester was whipping up the ocean spray. Even on the
+river well back from the narrow bay, little whitecaps came racing in.
+
+"No day for going out!" Blackie grumbled. "Pile up on the rocks, that's
+what we'd do."
+
+"Yes," Johnny agreed. Fact is, he at that moment was not thinking of the
+sea, but of the quiet Matanuska valley, of the snug home he and his
+people had built there. He wondered in a vague sort of way how far this,
+his latest venture, would lead him from that home. He was thinking not so
+much for himself as for his cousin Lawrence.
+
+Strange as it might seem, the welcome given them by the people of the
+cannery had not come up to their expectations. Men had stared at them,
+had mumbled something under their breath, then gone about their work.
+
+Work there was to be done, too. There was a pleasant hum of expectancy
+about the place. Every motor, machine and conveyor in the place was being
+given the once-over. Power-boat motors thundered as they went through
+their testing. Johnny felt a desire to become a part of it all. And yet--
+
+"Fool sort of thing this rushing off after adventure," he told himself.
+But, had love of adventure alone brought them this far, hundreds of miles
+from his quiet valley? Love of home was one thing, love of one's country
+another. You didn't--
+
+His thoughts broke off short. There had come the sound of a loud voice.
+The _Stormy Petrel_ was anchored on a narrow dock that ran along the side
+of a long, low building, the cannery. A window was open. The speaker was
+near. Johnny caught every word. As he listened his ears burned. But what
+could he do? He was on his own boat. People who do not mean to be heard
+too far must speak softly.
+
+Perhaps the man meant to be heard. There was more than a suggestion of
+anger and threat in his voice as he said, "Fine fix we're in! Huh! Here
+we are part of the biggest industry in Alaska. Fifteen million dollars a
+year. The Orientals start cuttin' in on us. We call for help, for
+protection. And what do we get? A lousy tub no bigger than a gill-net
+boat. And how's she manned, I ask you?"
+
+A second voice rumbled words that could not be understood.
+
+"She's manned by a crippled young skipper," the first speaker growled.
+"An old Scotch engineer and two kids. Protection! Bah!" There came a
+grunt of disgust. "We'll have to take things into our own hands."
+
+At that a door slammed and they heard no more.
+
+"Well?" Blackie tried to scare up a grin. It was not a huge success.
+"Kids," he said.
+
+"We're not quite that," Johnny said quietly. "We _are_ pinch hitters."
+
+"Sure you are," Blackie agreed. "But I wouldn't trade you for half the
+so-called men in the regular service.
+
+"Say, Johnny!" His voice dropped. "Know who that was talking?"
+
+"No-o."
+
+"It was Red McGee. He is the union agent that looks after the interests
+of these men working in the canneries. They say he's a good man and a
+fighter, but narrow. A--a fighter. Hm'm--" Blackie seemed to play with
+the words.
+
+"Johnny," his whisper sounded like an exploding steam valve. "You _like_
+to box, don't you?"
+
+"Nothing I like better," Johnny grinned. "Started when I was six and
+never stopped."
+
+"Red McGee's a boxer," Blackie said. "Off times like this I'm told these
+men up here go in for boxing bouts. Nothing savage, you understand, just
+a few friendly rounds. And Red's never been beaten by any of them."
+
+"And I suppose you expect me to trim him, at least to try it?" Johnny's
+face was a study.
+
+"No-o, not just that, only a few friendly rounds. I'd like you to
+represent the _Stormy Petrel_."
+
+"I think I get you," Johnny's lips moved in a quiet smile. "You want this
+crowd to know that I'm not a child."
+
+"Johnny," Blackie's tone was almost solemn, "it's important. Mighty
+important! If this fishing mob gets started and if they find a ship out
+there in Bristol Bay catching fish contrary to law, there's going to be
+trouble. More trouble than all our diplomats can clear up in a year.
+
+"There's no getting 'round it, this business has been slighted. But this
+much stands out like your nose--we've got to do what we can. And we can't
+do much if these Alaskans sneer at us.
+
+"So-o, son," he drawled, "if they give you a chance tonight you step in.
+And if a chance doesn't open up, I'll open one.
+
+"Come on," he sprang to his feet. "It's time for chow."
+
+Passionately fond of boxing as Johnny surely was, he found himself
+dreading the encounter Blackie had proposed for that night. Why? He could
+not have told.
+
+A strange audience awaited him in the long, low-ceilinged room where, on
+working days cases of salmon were stored for shipping. Seated on empty
+packing boxes, the men formed a hollow circle. This circle was to be the
+ring for the evening's entertainment.
+
+"They're all here," Blackie grinned. "A dozen nationalities: Italians,
+Finlanders, Swedes, down-east Yankees, an Eskimo or two and what have
+you.
+
+"One thing they've got in common," his voice rang true, "they're all
+Alaskans at heart. Hard fighters, straight shooters, they look you square
+in the eye and treat you fair. But when anyone tries any dirty,
+underhanded work, you'll see sparks fly."
+
+"Well," Johnny smiled. "Whatever else happens, there will be no crooked
+work tonight. I don't fight that way."
+
+"Don't I know it?" Blackie agreed.
+
+"Well, now, here we are," he chuckled a moment later. "Reserved seats.
+Box seats, mind you. Who could ask for more?"
+
+As Johnny sat, quite silent in his place, watching one short three-round
+match after another being fought in a good-natured rough-and-tumble
+fashion between boatmen, cannery workers, carpenters, engineer and
+blacksmith, he became more and more conscious of one fact--the crowd was
+holding back its enthusiasm.
+
+"It's like the preliminary bouts in Madison Square Gardens," he said to
+Blackie at last. "They seem to be waiting for the one big fight. What's
+coming?"
+
+"Can't you guess?"
+
+"No-o, I--"
+
+"It's you and Red McGee. They're waiting for that."
+
+"What?" Johnny half rose to his feet.
+
+"Keep your seat." Blackie pulled him down. "Ever hear of the grapevine
+telegraph?"
+
+"Yes, in--in a sort of way."
+
+"It's the mysterious manner in which news travels up here. These fellows
+know about you. The minute I gave them your name they busted out, 'The
+kid that packs a wallop?'"
+
+"And you--"
+
+"I said, 'Sure! None other. But does Red McGee know it?'
+
+"They said, 'Guess he doesn't. He's been in Seattle, just come up.'
+
+"Then I said, 'Mum's the word. We'll just ask him to give Johnny a few
+pointers in boxing.'"
+
+"And they agreed?" Johnny seemed ready to bolt from the room.
+
+"Sure. Why not?" Blackie grinned. "It's the grandest way to get in with
+all of 'em. They like a good joke. So does Red McGee."
+
+"Even if it's on him?"
+
+"Even if it's on him. Absolutely."
+
+"Then he's a real sport," Johnny settled back in his place. "It will be a
+real joy to box him a few rounds."
+
+"Okie doke," Blackie seemed relieved. "But, Johnny," he added, "pull your
+punches. Murder isn't legal in Alaska, not south of the Arctic Circle."
+
+"I only hope Red McGee remembers that," was Johnny's solemn reply.
+
+
+
+
+                               CHAPTER XI
+                       THE FALL OF THE RED McGEE
+
+
+When by popular request, emphasized by loud shouts, Red McGee was called
+upon to put on the gloves, he stepped forward smiling. Johnny slid to the
+very edge of his box for a good look. This was the first time he had seen
+the man. He was a little startled.
+
+"So that's what I'm going up against?" he murmured low.
+
+Six feet of man, broad shoulders, a shock of red hair that stood straight
+up, a square jaw and glittering eyes, this was Red McGee.
+
+And was he popular? The hoarse shouts of approval that made the rough
+rafters ring as he stepped out on the floor left no room for doubt.
+
+Red was to box three rounds with a man named Tomingo, a dark-faced
+foreigner who piloted a gill-net boat. Johnny was thankful for this brief
+reprieve before he too should step into the ring.
+
+That Red McGee was no mean boxer he learned at once. He had a head on his
+shoulders and a remarkable eye.
+
+"He seems to anticipate every move this Tomingo makes," Johnny groaned in
+a whisper.
+
+"They have boxed together before," was Blackie's answer. "Perhaps many
+times. When you play a game with a man many times, just any game, you
+come to know his tricks. But you, Johnny, he doesn't know you. It's an
+advantage.
+
+"But, Johnny," he cautioned after a moment's silence, "don't let him get
+to you. Look at those arms! If he hits you just once, a good square one,
+you're sunk.
+
+"And, boy," his voice dropped, "this is a big spot. It's important,
+mighty important. These fellows must respect us, have faith in the
+_Stormy Petrel_ and her crew. If they don't, they'll go storming out
+there six hundred strong, looking for trouble. And if they find it! Oh,
+man! They might start a war."
+
+"There!" Johnny breathed. "There's the bell. That match is over. And Red
+McGee is just nicely warmed up."
+
+The tall, lanky boatman who acted as referee shuffled off the floor.
+
+"Who's next?" Red McGee invited with a broad smile.
+
+It was evident at once that few of the men cared to take him on. Tomingo
+was wearing a flaming patch where Red's glove had raked his chin.
+
+"Red," one of his own men volunteered, "there's one of them kids from the
+_Stormy Petrel_ who'd like to learn a little about boxing. Would y' mind
+a teachin' him?"
+
+"One of those boys?" Red looked squarely at Johnny. Johnny flinched. Did
+Red know? "Oh, sure!" Red's lips spread in a broad smile. "I like boys,
+always have. Sure I'll show him.
+
+"Look, Tom," he turned to the referee. "Help the boy on with his gloves.
+Be sure he gets 'em on the right hands. It's awkward boxing if you
+don't." He let out a low chuckle.
+
+Once again Johnny flinched. What did Red know? Probably nothing. This was
+just his way of poking fun at the _Stormy Petrel's_ crew. This made
+Johnny a little angry, but not too much.
+
+"Show 'em, Johnny," Blackie hissed in his ear. Next Johnny found himself
+shaking the great paw of Red McGee. And so the fight began.
+
+Nothing had been said about the number of rounds, nor their length.
+Johnny was a little taken back when the referee settled himself on a box
+in a corner.
+
+"But then," it came to him with a sudden shock, "I'm supposed to be a
+learner. When you're taking lessons there are no rounds. Well, I'll be a
+learner, for a while."
+
+He carried out his plan to the letter, almost. After giving him a few
+words of instruction, Red invited him to "Sail right in. Hit me if you
+can."
+
+The boy did not exactly "sail in." Instead, he danced about the big man
+in an awkward but tantalizing fashion. There is nothing more irritating
+than a fly buzzing around one's head. Johnny was, for the moment, Red
+McGee's fly. He was here, there and everywhere. At times he appeared to
+leave himself wide open to one of Red's sledge-hammer blows, but none of
+these really connected.
+
+All the time Johnny was thinking, "How long will he stand this? How long?
+How--"
+
+The answer came sooner than he expected. His arms were all but at his
+side, he was looking Red squarely in the eyes when he saw those eyes
+change. It was like the change of a traffic light from green to red. Of a
+sudden, a huge gloved paw came squarely at the side of his head.
+
+No one will ever know what that blow might have done had it arrived at
+its proposed destination. It did not arrive. Johnny's head was not there.
+Instead, it was Red who, to his vast surprise, received the lightest of
+taps on the tip of his chin.
+
+The crowd saw and roared. There were men, plenty of them, who knew that,
+had Johnny not pulled that punch, Red would have hit the floor.
+
+Did Red know? For the life of him Johnny could not tell. One thing he did
+know, this was no longer a boxing lesson, nor was it to be a sparring
+match. It was instead to resemble an old-fashioned fight with no gong, no
+referee and no time out. Red McGee was aroused. There could be no doubt
+about that.
+
+Johnny kept his opponent going about the ring in a whirl. Twice he
+stopped and all but fell into Red's waiting fists. Twice he heard the
+whistle of a glove as it brushed his ear.
+
+Once, when he was in Blackie's corner, he heard a hoarse whisper,
+"Steady, there, boy. I can't afford to lose you."
+
+Once, in a mad rush, Red McGee tripped, falling to his knees. Backing
+away into a corner, Johnny gave him time to regain his feet. Gladly would
+the boy have remained in that corner for the count of a hundred. All too
+soon he caught Red's challenge.
+
+"Come out an' box."
+
+"Red's in a tight place," Blackie said in a low tone to Lawrence. "I'm
+almost sorry I got him into it. He's got a bull by the tail and can't let
+go. If he quits now he's afraid he'll lose the respect of his men. If he
+goes on, well, anything may happen."
+
+In the end two things happened. Both were surprises to Johnny.
+
+The older man was tiring. Johnny found that by using a little strategy he
+could tap the man's chin at will. Be it said to his credit, he tapped
+that round red chin only twice. There is little to be gained by an
+unnecessarily large score.
+
+Those two taps, little heavier than love pats, stirred up something deep
+in Red's nature. His men were looking on a new man. Not that they thought
+the less of him for it. Rough and ready men of the northern wilds, they
+understood as few ever do.
+
+Then things began to happen fast. Red lunged at Johnny. The boy dodged.
+The man came at him again. In one of those seconds when reason goes on a
+vacation, Johnny tried one more pulled punch to the chin. He did not pull
+it fast enough. Red McGee fell upon that punch as a polar bear falls upon
+a spear.
+
+There came a resounding thwack. Then, doubling up like an empty sack, Red
+McGee spread himself neatly on the floor. He was out for much more than
+the count of ten.
+
+The hush that followed was appalling. But the shout that followed!
+Nothing Johnny had ever before heard even remotely resembled it. Perhaps
+a gladiator in the Roman Arena, had he returned from the dead, might have
+recognized it with joy or fear.
+
+In vain did Johnny try to analyze that sound. Was it a cheer? Or was it a
+curse? Should he be carried out like a football hero or crushed by an
+infuriated mob?
+
+Strangely enough, as he stood there half paralyzed by the sudden shock of
+it all, he was conscious of one voice. Above the shout had risen a
+woman's scream. And he had not known there was a woman in the place. Who
+was she? Where had she come from? Why was she here?
+
+"It's all right, boys," he heard a big voice boom. "He didn't aim to do
+it. He pulled his punch. Twice he did it. He--"
+
+The speaker broke off short. There was a girl at his side, or perhaps a
+young lady. Johnny was not sure. A round, freckled face and angry eyes,
+that was all he saw. In another second she would have been at him, tooth
+and nail. But the big foreman, who had done the talking, wrapped a long
+arm about her waist as he said, "It's all right, Rusty. Everything is O.
+K., child. He didn't aim to do it. An' your daddy ain't hurt none to
+speak of. It's what they call a knockout. He'll be 'round in a twinkle."
+
+At that the girl hid her face in the foreman's jacket to murmur fiercely,
+"The brute! The ugly little brute!"
+
+And Johnny knew she meant him. Because she was a girl, because he had
+hurt her and he felt miserable, he slipped back into the outer fringe of
+the milling throng.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER XII
+                           A PTARMIGAN FEAST
+
+
+As Red McGee opened his eyes he found the foreman, Dan Weston and his
+daughter, Rusty, bending over him.
+
+"Wh-what!" he exclaimed, struggling to a sitting position, "what in the
+name of--"
+
+"You fell into a fast one, Red." The foreman laughed. The crowd joined in
+this laugh but not the girl. Sober of face, she stood looking down at her
+father.
+
+"Daddy," she began, "are you--"
+
+"Do you mean to say that kid from the _Stormy Petrel_ put me out?" Red
+McGee interrupted.
+
+"Well, you went out," the foreman drawled. "The boy was the only one near
+you so I reckon--"
+
+He was not allowed to finish for at that Red McGee let out a tremendous
+roar of laughter.
+
+"Ho! Ho! Ha-ha-ha!" he roared. "That's one on Red McGee.
+
+"But, boys!" he struggled to his feet. "I want to admit right here. There
+might be something to that _Stormy Petrel_ crew after all. Give 'em a
+chance, I say."
+
+"Sure! Sure!" the crowd boomed. "Give 'em a chance."
+
+"Where's that young roughneck?" Red demanded, staring about him. "I want
+to shake his hand."
+
+"Here--here he is!" Blackie pushed Johnny forward.
+
+"I--I'm sorry--" Johnny began.
+
+"Young man," Red McGee broke in, "never apologize. Your enemies don't
+deserve it, and your friends don't demand it. From now on we're pals.
+Shake on it." Their hands met in the clasp of a grizzly and a bear cub.
+
+"What's more," Red went on, "the treat's on me. You're coming up to
+dinner with me, all four of you fellows from the _Stormy Petrel_. Ever
+eat ptarmigan pot pie?"
+
+"Never have," said Johnny.
+
+"Well, you're going to before this day is ..."
+
+                            * * * * * * * *
+
+... look into her eyes, he found himself seeing cold, blue-gray circles
+expressing as near as he could tell, undying hate.
+
+"Of course," he said to Blackie, "you can't expect a girl to understand
+about boxing, with all of its ups and downs. But it does seem she might
+give a fellow the benefit of the doubt."
+
+"She will, son. She will," Blackie reassured him. "Perhaps sooner than
+you think." Was this prophesy or a guess? Time would tell.
+
+Rusty McGee was the type of girl any real boy might be proud to call a
+pal. With an easy smile, a freckled face and a mass of wavy, rust-colored
+hair, she caught your interest at a glance. The strong, elastic, healthy
+spring of her whole self kept you looking.
+
+More than once during his visit to the McGee summer home, a stout log
+cabin nestling among the barren Alaskan hills, Johnny found his eyes
+following her movements as she glided from room to room.
+
+"Boy, she can cook!" Blackie exclaimed as he set his teeth into the juicy
+breast of "mountain quail," as ptarmigan are often called. And Johnny did
+not disagree.
+
+Since the crew of the _Stormy Petrel_ were her father's friends, it was
+evident that Rusty meant to do her best as a hostess. But to Johnny she
+gave never a smile.
+
+"How she must love that old dad of hers!" Blackie whispered once.
+Johnny's only answer was a scowl.
+
+Yes, Johnny was shunned and slighted by this youthful "queen of the
+canneries," as she had once been called, but the _Stormy Petrel's_
+engineer, old Hugh MacGregor, came in for more than his full share of
+interest.
+
+Hugh MacGregor was truly old. His thatch of gray told that. With
+grandchildren of his own he was just a big-hearted old man. Rusty was not
+long in sensing that.
+
+When the dinner, a truly grand feast, was over, the others, Blackie, Red
+McGee, Lawrence and Johnny retired to the glassed-in porch where they
+might have a look at the barren hills of Alaska and the wide,
+foam-flecked sweep of Bristol Bay, and, at the same time, talk of fish,
+Oriental raiders and the sea.
+
+MacGregor remained behind to "help with the dishes."
+
+"Do you like Alaska?" Rusty asked him.
+
+"Oh, sure I do!" was the old man's quick response. "I spent a winter much
+further north than this many years ago. I was quite young then. It was
+thrilling, truly it was. Cape Prince of Wales on Bering Straits--" his
+voice trailed off dreamily.
+
+"Way up there?" the girl exclaimed. "What were you doing?"
+
+"Herdin' reindeer and Eskimo," he laughed. "I crossed the straits in a
+skin boat with the Eskimo and lived a while in Russia without a passport.
+You do things like that when you are young.
+
+"Ah yes," he sighed, "youth is impulsive, and often wrong." He was
+thinking of Johnny. He knew how Johnny felt about things. He had become
+very fond of the boy.
+
+Did Rusty understand? Who could tell? Burying her hands in foamy suds,
+she washed dishes furiously. Nor did she speak again for some time.
+
+Meanwhile, over their pipes, Red McGee and Blackie were discussing the
+task that lay before them.
+
+"I suppose you know all about this Oriental fishing business," Red
+suggested.
+
+"I'm not sure that I do know all about it," was Blackie's modest reply.
+"Suppose you tell me."
+
+"It's like this," Red cleared his throat. "There was a time when we
+thought the salmon supply off these shores was inexhaustible. We caught
+them in nets and traps just as we pleased.
+
+"Then," he blew out a cloud of smoke, "there came a time when we woke up
+to the fact that the whole run of salmon might vanish. You know what that
+would mean?"
+
+"Yes, I know," Blackie agreed. "The little man in Hoboken, Omaha and
+Detroit who hasn't much pay and has a big family could no longer feed the
+children on a fifteen-cent can of salmon."
+
+"Right," McGee agreed. "More than that, thousands of fine fellows, just
+such men as you saw tonight, fair-minded, honest men that would," he
+paused to chuckle, "that would see one of their best friends knocked cold
+by a stranger in a fair sparring match and not want to kill him, men like
+that would be out of a job. Their families would go hungry. You know,
+about all they understand is salmon catching."
+
+"And so?" Blackie prompted after a moment's silence.
+
+"So the government and the canners got together on a conservation
+program; so many fish to be caught each year, the same number allowed to
+go up stream and spawn.
+
+"The plan was well worked out. We've put the salmon industry on a sound
+foundation. It will continue so for years unless--"
+
+"These Orientals are allowed to come over here and set three-mile-long
+nets across the bay," suggested Blackie.
+
+"That's just it!" McGee struck the table a resounding blow. "They're
+taking advantage of a technicality of international law. And unless we
+drive them out--"
+
+"Not too loud," Blackie cautioned. "There goes one of them now."
+
+"What?" McGee sprang to his feet. A slender, dark-haired person was
+passing down the path before the cabin.
+
+"No," he settled back in his place. "He's not one of 'em. He's one of our
+Eskimos. We have three of them down here. It's a little off their regular
+beat. But they are keen at locating the runs of salmon. Inherited it from
+their fathers, I--
+
+"But say!" his voice rose. "He does look like one of those Orientals."
+
+"Sure he does," Blackie agreed.
+
+"We might use him for a sort of spy," McGee's voice dropped to a whisper.
+"His name's Kopkina. Used to work in a restaurant. He picked up the
+Oriental lingo, at least enough to pass for one of 'em. If some of them
+come around here, we'll have Kopkina mix in with them. He might find
+things out, important facts."
+
+"It's a good idea," Blackie agreed.
+
+
+"Yes," MacGregor was saying to Rusty, as he told more of his adventures
+in the very far north, "it was a bit peculiar goin' up there like that,
+livin' with the Eskimos. And me still a young fellow like Johnny Thompson
+now." He shot her a look. She smiled at him in a peculiar way, but said
+never a word.
+
+"It was the food that was strange," he went on after a chuckle. "Of
+course, you can chew polar bear steak if you've got uncommon good teeth.
+Seal steak's not half-bad and reindeer makes a grand Mulligan stew."
+
+"Yes, I know," the girl agreed. "We have some reindeer meat sent down
+every season. Stay with us and you'll have a taste of it."
+
+"We'll stay, all right," MacGregor declared. "That's what we're here for
+to stay, hunting Orientals and shadows--shadows." He repeated the word
+slowly. "Blackie believes in moving shadows in the fog on the sea."
+
+"Shadows?" the girl stared at him.
+
+"Sure! He says they glide along across the sea with never a sound. Like
+some phantom schooner it was," he said.
+
+"That's strange." The girl's eyes shone. "There was a gill-net fisherman
+last season told something just like that. He was an Italian, sort of a
+dreamer. We didn't believe him. But now--what do you think?"
+
+"I don't know what to think," MacGregor scratched his gray thatch.
+
+"But, Mr. MacGregor," the girl said after a moment, "didn't you have a
+thing to eat except Eskimo food?"
+
+"What? Oh, yes, up there, up there when I was a kid same as Johnny,"
+MacGregor laughed. "Sure--sure we did. It came on a sailin' schooner all
+in cans.
+
+"We had evaporated potatoes and eggs in cans, butter pickled in cans, hot
+dogs in cans, everything. And the Eskimos," he threw back his head and
+laughed. "They'd stand around watchin' to see what we'd take out of a can
+next.
+
+"And then we got a phonograph," he laughed again.
+
+"A phonograph?" Rusty said.
+
+"Sure. First one those little brown boys ever seen. Had a long tin horn
+to it, that phonograph did. The Eskimos looked at it and tapped the tin
+horn. They said, '_Suna una?_' (What is it?) We didn't tell 'em, so they
+tapped it some more and said, 'All same tin can-_emuck_.'
+
+"Bye and bye we cranked it up and started it going. The record was a
+white man singin' 'Meet me in Saint Louis, Louie. Meet me at the Fair.'
+
+"Well, that was funny!" he chuckled. "The Eskimos just looked and
+listened for a long time. Then one of them looked at the others and said,
+'Can you beat that! A white man in that tin can!'"
+
+The merry laugh that rang out from the kitchen was heard by those on the
+porch. Johnny heard it with the others and was glad--glad that that fine
+girl could laugh even if it wasn't his joke.
+
+"See that cannery out there?" Red McGee was saying. "Cost a cool million
+dollars. Paying interest on the investment, too. Also it's giving two
+thousand people a living. But these Orientals with their floating
+canneries--"
+
+"Floating canneries?" Lawrence broke in.
+
+"Sure! That's what they've got. They pick up some big hulk of a ship
+cheap, install some canning equipment, load on a drove of cheap coolies
+and steam away. Pretty soon they're over Bristol Bay, just off the shores
+of Alaska, but beyond the three-mile limit. Three miles! Bah!" he
+exploded.
+
+"I'm in favor of calling every square mile of Bristol Bay American
+waters," Blackie replied.
+
+Red McGee stared at him with sudden approval. "Say!" he roared, "we must
+be brothers."
+
+"We ought to run those Orientals off," Blackie grinned. "We're here to
+start just that. That boat of ours may not seem so hot, but she's got
+speed and power, three airplane motors in her. Good ones, too. Once we
+sight an Oriental fishing boat setting nets too close behind the fog
+they're coming ashore."
+
+"To do a lot of explaining."
+
+"Yes, and for quite a long visit."
+
+"That's the talk," Red McGee stood up. "Here's hoping the wind drops so
+you can get there. The fishing hasn't really started. No foreign boats
+have been seen. But they're there. They made a haul last year. We're sure
+of that. So why shouldn't they come back?"
+
+"Why not?" Blackie agreed.
+
+In all of this time neither Johnny nor Lawrence said a word. For all
+that, they were thinking hard and their young hearts were on fire with a
+desire to do their bit for the good old U. S. A. and Alaska, their
+present home.
+
+"Nice place you've got here," said MacGregor, as he joined the party on
+the porch.
+
+"It will pass," was Red McGee's modest reply. "I built it for my wife.
+She loved these rugged hills and the smell of the sea. She--" his voice
+faltered. He looked away. "She left us a year and a half ago. But Rusty
+and I, we--we sort of carry on.
+
+"But if those Orientals--" his voice rose, "Oh! Well, enough of that for
+today. It's good of you fellows to join us in a feast!"
+
+"It's been swell!" said Blackie.
+
+"Swell! Grand! Mighty keen!" were the impulsive comments of the boys.
+
+"We know each other better," said Blackie.
+
+"A whole lot better," Red McGee agreed.
+
+"Goodbye, Rusty," MacGregor called back through the house.
+
+"Goodbye! Goodbye! Come again soon," came back in a girlish voice.
+
+"I wonder," Johnny thought as he took the winding path leading down to
+the wharf. "Wonder if we'll ever get to come back here?"
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER XIII
+                               THE SHADOW
+
+
+"Fog." There was more than a suggestion of disgust in Johnny's tone as he
+said this word. It was the next morning. After a good night's sleep
+aboard the _Stormy Petrel_ he felt ready for anything. The moment he
+awoke he had listened for the pounding surf.
+
+"Gone!" He had leaped from his bunk. "Storm's over. Now for a good look
+at Bristol Bay and perhaps, just perhaps, some of those Orientals."
+
+"Here's hoping," Lawrence agreed.
+
+Yes, the storm was over, but here instead was a damp, chilling blanket of
+dull, gray fog.
+
+"Can't see a hundred feet," he grumbled.
+
+"You'll get used to that, son." It was Red McGee who spoke. He had been
+leaning on the rail talking to Blackie. "'Men and Fog on the Bering Sea.'
+That's the name of a book. And it's a good name. There are always men and
+nearly always there is fog.
+
+"Fish are coming in," he added as a cheering note. "Two boats are just in
+from a try at the gill-nets. They made a fair catch."
+
+"But this fog," Johnny insisted, "gives those Orientals a chance to slip
+in close, doesn't it?"
+
+"It does!" Red agreed. "Blast their hides! That floatin' factory of
+theirs comes in close to the three-mile limit. Then their other boats,
+small, fast ones, can come over the line and set nets. You couldn't see
+them in the fog. They'd put 'em up early. Three miles of nets.
+
+"Claim they're catchin' crabs. Crabs, me eye!" he exploded. "Crab nets
+are set on the bottom. Salmon nets are set close to the top. Drift nets
+are what they use. We've never found one inside the three-mile line, but
+we think they've been there all the same.
+
+"If you ever do find one," he turned to Blackie, "take it up and bring it
+in. We'll can their fish an' boil their nets.
+
+"Shouldn't be any three-mile line," he continued. "All our shore water
+belongs to us. So do the fish. It's food, son! Food for the millions. And
+these Orientals would have had fish on their own shores if they hadn't
+exterminated them."
+
+"We're going out right now," said Blackie. "Going to have a look for that
+shadow that passes in the fog. We've got a nice swivel cannon up there
+forward. Don't know whether you can hit a shadow, but it won't do any
+harm to try."
+
+"All the same, this _is_ a serious situation," said Blackie as they
+headed out into the fog. "These Alaskans are a strange people. They are
+like the men of the old west, the west that's gone forever; fearless men
+with hearts of gold, fighting devils when they know they've been wronged.
+And this Oriental raiding business is an outrage, providing it's true."
+
+"But is it true?" Johnny asked.
+
+"That," said Blackie, "is what we're going to find out.
+
+"Johnny," he said after a moment, "go up forward and remove that box. Let
+our little brass messenger swing with the boat."
+
+A moment later, up forward, a small swivel cannon swung from side to
+side. As it did so it seemed to point, first right, then left.
+
+"This way or that?" Johnny thought. "I wonder which it will be."
+
+Hour after hour the fog hung on. Hour after hour Johnny squinted his eyes
+for some moving object in that blanket of gray fog. The cold, damp ocean
+air chilled him to the bone. Stamping his feet, he held doggedly to his
+post. When his watch was over he went below to soak in the heat of the
+stove that George, the colored cook, kept roaring hot. He drank two cups
+of scalding black coffee, downed a plate of beans and a whole pan of hot
+biscuits, then spread himself out on a cushioned seat to close his eyes
+and dream.
+
+In those dreams he saw creeping gray shadows, darting fish and a pair of
+laughing eyes. The eyes closed. When they opened the face wore a frown.
+
+"Rusty!" he whispered. "Wonder if she'll ever forgive me?"
+
+All too soon his turn at the watch came. The days were long, twenty hours
+from dark to dawn. By nature a hard driver, inspired by his desire to
+help the Alaskans, Blackie steered his small craft endlessly through the
+gray murk.
+
+Then--of a sudden Johnny rubbed his eyes--stared away to the
+right--closed his eyes--snapped them open again to whisper hoarsely,
+
+"Blackie! The shadow passes."
+
+"The shadow! Where?"
+
+The boy's hand pointed.
+
+"As I live!" Blackie muttered.
+
+A short, slim line, little darker than the fog, moved slowly across the
+spot where sky and sea should meet.
+
+"Ahoy, there!" Blackie roared. "What boat goes there?"
+
+No answer.
+
+"I'll show them!" Blackie put out a hand. Three powerful motors roared.
+The _Stormy Petrel_ lurched forward, all but throwing Johnny into the
+sea.
+
+Sudden as the movement was, it proved too slow. Like a true shadow, the
+thing vanished into the murk.
+
+"It--it went down," Johnny stammered. "Must have been a whale."
+
+"Or a submarine," Lawrence suggested.
+
+"It did not go down," said MacGregor. "It slid away into the fog. And it
+was not a whale. I've seen plenty of whales. They're never like that."
+
+"Wait!" Johnny sprang for the cannon. "I'll give them a shot just to let
+them know we're after them."
+
+"No! No! Not that!" MacGregor waved him back. "'Speak softly and carry a
+big stick.' That was Teddy Roosevelt's motto. The grandest president that
+ever lived. There's time enough to make a noise after we've got 'em under
+our thumb."
+
+"I--I'm sorry," said Johnny.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER XIV
+                           A VOICE IN THE FOG
+
+
+Forty-eight long hours the _Stormy Petrel_ haunted the gray fog. During
+far more than his fair share of that time, eyes blinking but tireless,
+Johnny stood on deck studying the small circle of black waters.
+
+Three times his heart leaped as a dark bulk loomed before them. Three
+times he heaved a sigh of disappointment.
+
+"Only one of the gill-net boats returning to the cannery," was the
+answer.
+
+"They're running strong," was the joyous report of one fisherman. "Full
+load first trip. Looks like a grand season."
+
+"Poor luck," came from the second. "We tried hard. Got only half a load.
+Have to come in anyway. It's the rule. Fish must always be fresh."
+
+The third boat had had even worse luck. It was going back all but empty.
+
+"No new calico dress for Nancy this time," the youthful skipper groaned.
+
+"No gitta da dress," his Italian companion agreed.
+
+At last, out of gas, with her crew half-blind from watching, the _Stormy
+Petrel_ headed for the harbor.
+
+"They're out there somewhere," Red McGee insisted, as he met them at the
+dock. "Must be anchored up north of here somewhere. It's the boys who go
+up that way who come back half-empty.
+
+"But the wheels are turning," he added with a touch of pride. "Ever see a
+cannery in operation?" he turned to the boys.
+
+"No, never have," was the quick response.
+
+"Rusty," said Red, turning to his daughter, "how'd you like to show these
+boys through our plant?"
+
+Did Johnny detect a frown on the girl's face? If so, it was gone like the
+shadow of a summer cloud.
+
+"Sure! Come on!" she welcomed. They were away.
+
+Somewhere Johnny had heard that a fish cannery was a place of evil smells
+and revolting sights. Dirty coolies gouging into half-rotten fish--that
+was his mental picture.
+
+A surprise awaited him. Not a coolie was in sight. The place smelled as
+fresh as a May morning. To his ears came the sound of rushing water.
+
+"Where are the coolies?" he asked a man beside a machine.
+
+"This is him," the man chuckled. "An iron coolie."
+
+As the two boys watched they saw the machine seize a large salmon, sever
+its head and tail, remove the scales and fins, clean it and pass it on in
+a split second.
+
+"Jimminy crickets!" Lawrence exploded. "And I used to think I was the
+champion fish cleaner!"
+
+Rusty favored him with a gorgeous smile.
+
+When, a little later, Johnny made a try for that same young lady's smile,
+the cloud once again passed over her face, but no smile. He was not,
+however, entirely discouraged. It was, he thought, more as if she could
+not forgive him than that she did not want to.
+
+"We saw the shadow pass," Lawrence confided to the girl, as at last they
+stood before a canning machine.
+
+"Oh!" the girl breathed. "Did you? And what--"
+
+"It vanished into the fog."
+
+"I have a small motor-boat," the girl said, in evident excitement. "It's
+the _Krazy Kat_. I--I'm going out to look for the shadow in the fog."
+
+"You--you'd better not do that," Johnny spoke before he thought. "You'd
+be--" He did not finish.
+
+"I was practically born and raised here." She spoke to him, as an
+old-time Alaskan might to a newcomer.
+
+Johnny did not resent it. He had spoken out of turn. And yet he was
+disturbed. He did not care to think of this fine young creature out there
+in the fog alone. Supposing she did find the Orientals setting nets.
+Suppose they found her, alone out there in the fog?
+
+"None of my business," he told himself fiercely. "Just none at all."
+
+The _Stormy Petrel_ remained an entire day in port. Blackie spent his
+time listening to reports from the various fishing grounds. The shores of
+Bristol Bay are hundreds of miles long. Next time he went out he wanted
+to go to the right spot, if there were such a spot.
+
+Johnny made the acquaintance of Kopkino, the Eskimo. From him he learned
+much about salmon, Orientals and the shores of Bristol Bay. And then,
+just at midnight, he passed the sturdy little man standing beside a dark
+pathway. There were three little men with him and they were all talking.
+They were not Eskimos. He was sure of that. But they were Orientals. He
+had heard enough of the languages to know.
+
+At once his mind was filled with questions. Was Kopkino betraying his
+employer for Oriental gold, or was he acting as a spy for his big white
+brother? Who could say?
+
+"He's an Oriental," Johnny told himself. "All Eskimos are. But after
+all--" He came to no conclusion.
+
+Just before dawn the _Stormy Petrel_ crept out into the fog. She was
+bound for an unannounced destination.
+
+"Action," Johnny said to Lawrence. "This time we are to have action. I
+feel it in my bones."
+
+One thing puzzled Johnny not a little. They were provisioned as if for a
+long trip, two weeks or more.
+
+Several hours later the _Stormy Petrel_ was once again circling about in
+the fog.
+
+"Seems like it'll never end, this fog," MacGregor said to Johnny. They
+were on deck working out their watch. "Looks as if nature was on the side
+of those Orientals.
+
+"Orientals," he continued musingly, "I don't suppose they're much
+different from the rest of us, only just some of them."
+
+"Just some of them," Johnny agreed, giving the wheel a turn.
+
+"Come to think of it," MacGregor went on, "there are a few white men who
+are not so honorable."
+
+"Quite a few," Johnny agreed.
+
+Truth is, Johnny was dead tired. He wanted nothing quite so much as to
+crawl into some warm corner and sleep for hours and hours.
+
+"I don't hate them all the same," MacGregor squinted his eyes to look
+through the fog. Then he demanded low, "Hear anything, Johnny?"
+
+"Not a thing."
+
+"Thought I heard a voice coming out of the fog."
+
+For some time after that neither spoke. They were listening with all
+their ears for some sound that might tell them the mysterious moving
+shadow was about to pass.
+
+"What is this shadow?" Johnny asked himself. "Submarine, some fast,
+silent craft, or a whale?"
+
+He liked the idea of a submarine. The Orientals had them. Why not use
+them for laying nets? Easy enough to vanish when danger was near.
+
+"Hate, me lad, is destructive," the aged man's voice was solemn as he
+took up the thread of conversation he had dropped. "Hate destroys you as
+well as the people you hate."
+
+He broke off short to cup a hand behind his ear.
+
+"There _was_ a voice," he insisted in a hoarse whisper.
+
+"Yes, I heard it," Johnny replied, tense with sudden excitement.
+
+Ten minutes had passed. They were beginning to relax when the sound came
+again.
+
+"Over to the right," MacGregor shrilled. "Turn her about quarterin' them.
+Give her top speed."
+
+"Right." Johnny twisted the wheel. The motors roared. It was a bold step
+that might have led to disaster. Should there be a boat out there setting
+nets, and should they crash at that speed, what would it mean? Johnny did
+not dare to think.
+
+"There!" MacGregor gripped the boy's arm.
+
+"Oh--ah!" Johnny groaned. "We missed them."
+
+It was true. Off to the left, for the space of seconds, they saw an
+unmistakable dark, gray bulk. And then it was gone.
+
+"Our own speed defeated us," declared MacGregor. "Ah, well, better luck
+next time."
+
+"Or worse," Johnny grumbled.
+
+Had he but known it, it was to be worse, much worse.
+
+"As for me," MacGregor said a half hour later, resuming his talk, "I
+don't hate anybody. It's not worth while. Sometimes I hate the things
+they do. Mostly, I try to think of good people and the good things they
+do.
+
+"And that," his voice rose, "that's what I like about this job of ours.
+If we can drive these Orientals from our shores we'll be doing good to
+our own people, a whole lot of 'em.
+
+"Know what I see when I'm tired and I close my eyes?" he asked suddenly.
+
+"No. What?" Johnny grinned good-naturedly.
+
+"Children," MacGregor said in a mellow tone. "Children playing before an
+open fire and their mother puttin' the crust on an apple pie in the
+kitchen. And those, Johnny, are the children and wives of men way up here
+scoutin' around in the cold and fog for salmon. We're servin' them,
+Johnny, or at least we're trying to."
+
+Just then Blackie's head popped up out of the hatch.
+
+"See anything?" he demanded.
+
+"Plenty," said Johnny.
+
+"Yes, an' heard 'em," MacGregor added.
+
+They told Blackie what had happened.
+
+"So you think you heard them?" he asked.
+
+"Think?" MacGregor roared. "We _know_ we heard 'em."
+
+"Might have been a seal barking to his mate, or mebby a loon. You can't
+be sure. Question is, if they're here, where's their nets?" Blackie came
+up on deck.
+
+"Turn the boat north by east," he said to Johnny. "We're going in for a
+rest."
+
+"Rest? What's that?" Johnny opened up a grand smile.
+
+"Something we don't have much of," said Blackie. "But this fog burns your
+eyes. You're no good when you've been out too long.
+
+"There's a cabin on shore if only we can find it," he explained. "A
+trapper's place, snug and warm. Red McGee told me about it. Trapper's
+gone south with his furs. We're to make ourselves at home."
+
+Make themselves at home they did. After tying the _Stormy Petrel_ up at a
+narrow dock they helped George up to the cabin with kettles, pans and
+food supplies. Then, while a jolly wood fire roared in the huge stove
+made of a steel gasoline barrel, laid on ends, they sprawled out on
+rustic chairs to sniff the odor of roasting beef and baking pies and to
+dream dreams.
+
+With his eyes closed, MacGregor was seeing "children and their mothers
+putting the top crust on apple pies." In his dream Blackie held a
+struggling Oriental by the collar of his coat and the seat of his
+trousers. As for Johnny, he was seeing a round, freckled face all rosy
+with smiles. Then, to his dismay he was seeing that same face take on a
+somber look.
+
+"Rusty," he thought once again. "Will she ever forgive me?"
+
+The feast George had prepared was one fit for a king or even a big league
+baseball player, and the sleep they had in that cabin resting among the
+bleak Alaskan hills was the soundest Johnny had known for many a day.
+Well it was that this should be, for Fate had much in store for him.
+
+
+
+
+                               CHAPTER XV
+                          A ROAR FROM THE DEEP
+
+
+"It will be an hour or two before I can get out," Blackie said next
+morning, standing up to stretch himself before the fire. "I want to go
+over some maps Red McGee gave me. Lawrence can draw up a simple chart
+that will keep us going right.
+
+"MacGregor," he turned to the aged Scotchman. "How would you like to take
+Johnny for a circle or two in the fog? You might discover some evidence.
+It's nets we want most. If we can discover some of those nets inside the
+three-mile limit it will help a lot."
+
+"Like nothin' better," said MacGregor. "Come on, Johnny, let's get
+goin'."
+
+MacGregor had spoken for both of them. Johnny was fond of the engineer.
+He was old, mellow and kind, was MacGregor. This, he had confided to
+Johnny, was to be his last year with the service. Another twelve months
+and he would be pensioned. "And, Johnny," he had added, "I'm as eager as
+any boy to have a part in something big before I am compelled to go."
+
+"I hope you can have," had been Johnny's heartfelt wish.
+
+So now, with the sun still low and the fog, it seemed, thicker than ever
+before, they slipped out of the snug little natural harbor into the great
+unknown that is any sea in time of fog.
+
+Standing at the wheel, Johnny watched the dark circle of water about
+them. Ever they moved forward, yet never did this circle grow larger. It
+was strange.
+
+There was life at this circle. Now a whole fleet of eider-ducks, resting
+on their way north, came drifting into view. With a startled quack-quack
+they stirred up a great splatter, then went skimming away.
+
+And now a seal with small round head and whiskers like a cat came to the
+surface to stare at them.
+
+"Not worth much, that fellow," was MacGregor's comment. "Not much more
+hair than a pig.
+
+"But look, Johnny!" his voice rose. "There's a real fur seal. His hide's
+worth a pretty penny. Wouldn't have it long either, if those Orientals
+sighted him. We used to have a hot time with 'em over the seals. Had to
+pay 'em to get 'em to leave the seals alone. That was a shame. Have to do
+the same with the salmon, like as not. We--
+
+"Look, Johnny! What's that?" His voice suddenly dropped to a whisper, as
+if he believed the fog had ears. "Right over to the left, Johnny. Ease
+'er over that way."
+
+"Another seal," said Johnny.
+
+"It's no seal," MacGregor whispered. "Johnny!" His whisper rose. "We got
+'em. It's a net marker. Inside the three-mile limit. An' it's none of Red
+McGee's net markers either."
+
+"That--that's right," the boy breathed.
+
+"And there's the floats, Johnny! There they are!"
+
+Sure enough, leading away into the fog was a wavering line of dots.
+
+"We'll follow it," was MacGregor's instant decision. "See how much net
+there is, then--"
+
+"I'll follow it," Johnny agreed.
+
+"Set the boat to go five miles an hour. I'll time you." MacGregor pulled
+out his large, old-fashioned watch. "Now we'll see."
+
+For a full ten minutes, in silence, the two of them watched the
+apparently never-ending line of net floats appear and disappear into the
+fog.
+
+"Near two miles of it," MacGregor growled. "And yet no end. No wonder
+some of our fine boys come in with empty boats. These Orientals, they
+just find a place outside where the salmon run an' head 'em off. They--
+
+"Slow up, Johnny!" he warned. "There's the end. Shut off the motor."
+
+The motor ceased to purr. Silence hung over the fog. A seal bobbed up his
+head, then ducked. A large salmon, caught in the net close to the
+surface, set up a feeble splatter.
+
+"Ease about," said MacGregor. "I'll pick up that net with this pike pole.
+
+"Now," he breathed, leaning far out over the rail, "now I got her. Now--"
+
+He had succeeded in getting his hands on the marker when catastrophe came
+thundering up at them from the deep. A tremendous explosion sent the
+water rocketing toward the sky. The prow of the _Stormy Petrel_ rose
+until it seemed she would go completely over.
+
+Frantically Johnny gripped the wheel to save himself from being plunged
+into the icy water. But where was MacGregor?
+
+For ten tense seconds the boat stood with prow in air. Then with a slow,
+sickening swash, she came down.
+
+"MacGregor!" Johnny cried. "What happened? Where are you?"
+
+"Here--here I am!" MacGregor's voice rose from the sea.
+
+"Johnny!" his voice was hoarse with emotion. "Shove off that life boat.
+Get her off just any way. There's a terrible hole in the _Stormy's_ side.
+She'll sink in another minute. For God's sake, be quick!"
+
+Johnny was quick and strong. If ever his strength stood him in good stead
+it was now.
+
+The life boat hung over the afterdeck. The knots of ropes that held it in
+place were wet and stiff with fog.
+
+"No time," he muttered. With his knife he slashed away the ropes. The
+boat fell on deck with a thud. It was a heavy steel boat. To his
+consternation, he saw that it had fallen squarely between the heavy
+rails. The prow must be lifted. Creeping under it, he put all the
+strength of his back against it. It rose.
+
+"Now!" he breathed. "Now! And now!"
+
+The boat was on the rail. He could fairly feel the _Stormy's_ deck
+sinking beneath him. She was doomed, there was no doubt of that. Those
+heavy motors would take her down fast.
+
+Once again he heaved. The life boat was now a quarter over the rail, now
+a third, now half.
+
+Leaping from beneath it, he executed a double movement, a shove and a
+leap. He was in the life boat. The life boat plunged, all but sank,
+swayed from side to side, then righted herself.
+
+There was a low, sickening rush of water. Johnny looked. The _Stormy_ was
+gone. In her place were swirling water and in the swirl an odd collection
+of articles; a coat, a cap, a pike pole, and MacGregor's checkerboard.
+
+"MacGregor!" Johnny called hoarsely. "MacGregor! Where are you?"
+
+"Here! Over here!" was the cheering response. "I had to get away. She
+would have sucked me down."
+
+Seizing an oar, Johnny began sculling the boat. In a moment he was
+alongside his companion. A brief struggle and MacGregor, watersoaked and
+shivering, tumbled into the boat.
+
+"John--Johnny," his teeth were chattering. "There--there shou-should be
+d-d-dry clothes in the stern."
+
+Dragging a half barrel from the prow, Johnny pulled out shirts,
+underclothing, trousers, socks and shoes.
+
+"Seems you were looking for this," he chuckled as he watched the plucky
+old man disrobe himself.
+
+"Johnny," said MacGregor. "In the Coast Guard service you are always
+looking for it an' all too often you're not disappointed."
+
+When, a few minutes later, after a brisk rub-down, MacGregor had
+struggled into dry clothes and had succeeded in lighting his pipe, he
+said, "Well, me boy, we thought we had 'em an' now they've got us. We're
+miles from anywhere in a fog. And that's bad! Mighty bad."
+
+"Do you suppose Blackie heard it?"
+
+"What? The explosion? 'Tain't likely. We're all of four miles from there.
+Don't forget, we followed that net two miles. An' that explosion was
+muffled by the water.
+
+"An' if he heard," he added after a brief pause, "what could he do? He's
+four miles away. No compass. An' no boat except maybe a fishing skiff.
+No, Johnny," his voice sounded out solemn on the silent sea. "For once in
+our lives we are strictly on our own, you and me.
+
+"Well, me lad," he murmured a moment later. "They got us that time.
+Attached some sort of bomb to their net, that's what they did. Safe
+enough in a way, too, for how you goin' to prove it was their net? Yes,
+they got us. But you wait, me lad, we'll be gettin' them yet."
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER XVI
+                             LOOMING PERIL
+
+
+Many times in his young life Johnny had been on his own, but never quite
+like this.
+
+"Not a bit of good to row," was MacGregor's decision. "We've not the
+least notion which way to go. If there was a breeze we might row by that.
+There's no breeze."
+
+"No sun, moon or stars, either," Johnny agreed.
+
+For a full half hour they sat there in silence. Off in the distance a
+seal barked. Closer at hand an eider-duck quacked to his mate. A sudden
+scream, close at hand, startled them for an instant. It was followed by a
+wild laugh. They joined in the merriment. It was only a loon.
+
+There came a wild whir of wings. A flock of wild ducks, flying low and
+going like the wind, shot past them.
+
+"That's north," Johnny exclaimed. "They're going due north to their
+nesting place. That's east," he pointed. "All we have to do is to row
+that way. We'll come to land."
+
+"If you kept your course, which you couldn't," MacGregor chuckled.
+
+"It's worth trying. Anyway, I'm cold," Johnny began to row. "There may be
+other bird flights to set me right."
+
+There were not, at least not for fifteen minutes. When at last a pair of
+loons with long necks stretched straight before, passed them, to his
+disgust, Johnny saw that the boat was headed due north.
+
+"Well," he sighed, dropping his oars, "At least I--"
+
+"Listen!" MacGregor put up a hand.
+
+Johnny listened. "Say! That's no seal."
+
+"Nor a bird either. That's a human sound."
+
+"Like someone trying to start a motor."
+
+"Just that."
+
+For a time the sound ceased. Then it began again.
+
+"Over to the left." Once again Johnny took up the oars. This time he
+rowed slowly, silently. No telling whose motor had stalled. Fisherman,
+trapper, or Oriental? Who could tell?
+
+Four times the sound ceased. Four times Johnny's oars rested on the
+surface of the water.
+
+When, at last, a small, dark spot appeared on the surface of the sea,
+Johnny fairly ceased to breathe.
+
+"Heck!" said a voice in that fog.
+
+"Doesn't sound like an Oriental," Johnny whispered.
+
+"Fisherman nor trapper either," replied MacGregor.
+
+Leaning even more gently on his oars, Johnny sent his boat gliding
+forward. Then, of a sudden, he dropped his oars to stare.
+
+"It's that girl, Rusty," he whispered hoarsely.
+
+"The same," MacGregor agreed.
+
+There could be no doubt about it. The girl was bending over to give her
+flywheel one more turn. Over her boy's shirt, high boots and knickers she
+had drawn a suit of greasy coveralls. On her face, besides a look of grim
+determination, there was a long, black smudge.
+
+"Heck!" she exclaimed once more.
+
+"Havin' motor trouble?" MacGregor spoke aloud.
+
+The girl started so suddenly that she all but lost her balance. Then,
+after a brief spell of unbelieving silence, she said, "It's you, Mr.
+MacGregor! How glad I am to see you! I've been lost for hours. I--I went
+out to hunt the Shadow, that shadow you know. My motor's stalled. But
+now--"
+
+"Now we're all lost together," MacGregor chuckled.
+
+To Johnny, the girl gave never a second look.
+
+"Do--do you suppose you could start it?" she said to MacGregor, nodding
+at her motor.
+
+"No harm to try. At least we'll come aboard for a cup o' tea," MacGregor
+chuckled.
+
+Johnny rowed the lifeboat alongside the girl's boat, the _Krazy Kat_, and
+they climbed aboard.
+
+"She's not gittin' gas," said MacGregor, after he had turned the motor
+over twice.
+
+"I know," the girl's brow wrinkled.
+
+Without saying a word, Johnny scrambled back to the box covering the gas
+tank. After lifting the box off, he struck the tank a sharp rap. The tank
+gave off a hollow sound.
+
+"You might try putting some gas in your tank," he said with a sly grin.
+
+"Oh, but there must be gas!" the girl exclaimed. "There must be."
+
+"Perhaps," said Johnny. "But it's empty. May be a leak." Drawing a small
+flashlight from his pocket, he bent over and examined the offending tank.
+
+"Yep," he said, "there is a leak, a small hole, but big enough. Your gas
+is in the bottom of the boat, along with the bilge water. Any reserve
+supply?"
+
+"Not a bit."
+
+"Well, then, here we are." Johnny took a seat. "Now we have two boats and
+there are three of us. The motor-boat won't go, but--"
+
+Suddenly he sprang to his feet. "You'd have a compass, wouldn't you?"
+
+"Ye-es," the girl replied with evident reluctance, "but it--it's out of
+order. That's why I got lost."
+
+"Well, anyway," Johnny said with forced cheerfulness, "now there are
+three of us. Two's company and three's a crowd. I always have liked
+crowds. Besides," the corners of his mouth turned up, "you've got
+something of a cabin."
+
+"Oh, yes." The girl seemed, for the moment, to forget that she was
+speaking to one who had knocked her beloved daddy out. "Yes, there is a
+cabin. There's a small stove and--and some wood. There's tea and some
+pilot biscuits."
+
+"A stove, wood, tea and pilot biscuits?" Suddenly MacGregor seized her
+and waltzed her about in a narrow circle. "Rusty, me child, you are an
+angel."
+
+A half hour later found them comfortably crowded into Rusty's small
+cabin. They were sipping tea and munching hard round crackers.
+
+"The fog'll lift after a while," MacGregor rumbled dreamily. "We lost our
+boat. That's bad. But there's marine insurance. That's good. We'll have
+another boat. I wonder," he paused to meditate, "wonder what Blackie and
+the others are thinking by now."
+
+"And doing," Johnny suggested uneasily.
+
+"Yes, and doin'," MacGregor agreed.
+
+A half hour later, growing restless, Johnny crept from his corner, opened
+the cabin door and disappeared up the narrow hatch.
+
+Ten seconds later he poked his head into the door to exclaim in a low,
+tense voice, "MacGregor, come up here quick."
+
+MacGregor came. The girl came too. For a full half minute the three of
+them stood there speechless. They were looking up and away. Their eyes
+were wide and staring.
+
+"MacGregor," Johnny asked, "what is it?"
+
+"A ship," MacGregor whispered. "A thunderin' big ship. She's not two
+hundred leagues away. She's not movin', just driftin'. That's how she
+came close to us."
+
+"Wha-what ship is she?"
+
+"Who knows, son? But I'd lay a bet I could guess the country she came
+from."
+
+"So--so could I." Johnny's throat was dry.
+
+"We--we," Rusty pulled her old sou'wester down hard on her head, "we'd
+better get into the life boat and row away. It--it doesn't matter about
+the _Krazy Kat_. It really doesn't." She swallowed hard.
+
+"We can try it," MacGregor agreed. "But I'm afraid it's too late.
+
+"Well," he added with a low, rumbling laugh. "We were lookin' for 'em.
+Now we found 'em, we don't want 'em. Come on, an' mind you, never a
+sound!"
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER XVII
+                                TRAPPED
+
+
+"It's no use. We're in for it." Five minutes later MacGregor dropped his
+oars. From some spot close to that dark bulk against the sky had come the
+throb of a motor.
+
+"Rusty, me child," the old man's voice was very gentle. "Be sure those
+golden locks of yours are well tucked in. Whatever you do, don't remove
+that sou'wester. For the present you are a boy. You must not forget."
+
+"I--I won't forget." Rusty's fingers were busy with her hair.
+
+"I only hope," the old man added soberly, "that my guess is wrong."
+
+Scarcely were the words out of his mouth when a smart little motor boat,
+bright with red and white paint, hove into view. And on the deck,
+scarcely less smart in brass buttons and braid, stood a small man with
+slanting eyes.
+
+Those eyes appeared a trifle startled at sight of MacGregor. "A thousand
+pardons." The little man's voice was smooth as oil. "What is that which
+you wish?"
+
+"Only a few gallons of gasoline," said MacGregor.
+
+The lightning change on the little man's face was startling. It was as if
+a dagger had suddenly flashed from his belt, yet his tone was smooth as
+before.
+
+"Ah! You are out of gas? Very unfortunate. Your line, please. We shall
+escort you to our ship."
+
+"But we don't want to go to your ship," MacGregor protested. "All we want
+is gas."
+
+"Ah, yes, a thousand apologies. But here there is no gasoline, only at
+the ship. Your line, please."
+
+"Say, you--" Johnny's angry voice was stopped by a heavy pressure on his
+arm.
+
+"Give him our line, son," said MacGregor.
+
+Grudgingly Johnny obeyed. A moment later, with the two boats in tow, the
+bright, little craft went rolling back toward that broad, black bulk.
+
+"It's no use to quarrel with 'em," MacGregor said in a sober whisper.
+"We've fallen into their hands. I think that chap recognized me. I've
+been along the Pacific waterfronts for many years. So have these
+Orientals."
+
+"But--but what will happen?" Rusty asked.
+
+"Who knows?" was MacGregor's sober reply. "Let us hope for the best.
+They'll not let us go now. When they're well beyond the three-mile limit
+they may give us gas and let us go.
+
+"In the meantime, Rusty," he warned, "don't forget you're a boy. It's a
+good thing you've got on knickers instead of a dress."
+
+They were brought alongside. A ladder was let down. They climbed aboard.
+There they were ushered before one more small man who wore even more
+brass and braid. Johnny thought with a touch of humor that he would make
+a very fine monkey if only he had a cap, a tin cup and a string.
+
+When MacGregor requested that they be given gasoline and allowed to
+leave, there were excuses, very profuse and polite, but quite formal.
+There were reasons, very unfortunate reasons; too much fog, a storm
+coming up, too few men to spare even one or two, to find the way alone
+quite impossible. Oh, quite!
+
+The man, who beyond doubt was the captain, talked on and on.
+
+It all ended by the _Krazy Kat's_ being hoisted on board, by the little
+party drinking very black and very hot tea with the much adorned captain,
+and at last by their being escorted, for all the world as if they were
+embarking on a long voyage, to a pair of staterooms on the second deck.
+
+For a time after the stateroom doors had been closed the surprised trio
+stood staring first at one another and then at their surroundings.
+
+The two staterooms were joined by a door. There were two berths in each
+stateroom. There were round portholes, no other windows.
+
+"That will be your stateroom, Rusty," MacGregor opened the door to the
+one beyond. "Keep your outside door locked.
+
+"One thing more," hesitatingly he produced a pair of scissors, "I always
+carry them," he explained. "A man doesn't live everywhere as I have done,
+not in Alaska, without learning to cut hair. I'm a fair hand at it.
+Rusty, me child, those rusty red locks of yours have got to come off."
+
+Without a word the girl dropped to a stool beside the berth.
+
+"Johnny," said MacGregor, "I suggest that you step outside and stand
+guard. Don't leave the door, not more than three steps. If anyone comes
+near, make some noise on the door."
+
+"Right," said Johnny.
+
+"Rusty," said MacGregor, "do you ever box?"
+
+"Oh yes, often." The girl's face flushed. "Often. Daddy and I box by the
+hour." She gave Johnny a strange, fleeting look.
+
+"Good!" MacGregor exclaimed low. "Tonight we'll have an exhibition match,
+just you and Johnny. Two boys showing these Orientals how to play.
+
+"And now," he nodded his head toward the door.
+
+Johnny opened it ever so softly, peered through the crack, and was gone.
+
+At the same moment the old man lifted the shabby sou'wester from the mass
+of lovely hair, blew on his scissors, heaved a heavy sigh, then slashed
+with apparent ruthlessness at a great handful of perfectly natural,
+copper-colored curls.
+
+A half hour later the door opened a crack.
+
+Taking the cue, Johnny stepped inside. He stopped short when he looked at
+Rusty.
+
+It was with the greatest difficulty that he suppressed a smile at what he
+saw. The sou'wester was no longer needed. Good old MacGregor had done his
+work well. Rusty's hair looked like a real boy's.
+
+"What a grand boy!" Johnny thought. And after that, "What a perfect brick
+of a girl she is!"
+
+"Mac," he said a moment later, "there are twenty thousand fine big red
+salmon up forward. I stepped around a hatchway far enough to see."
+
+"Twenty thousand," the old man murmured. "Our boys get fourteen cents
+apiece just for catchin' 'em. Twenty-eight hundred dollars. A grand
+livin' for two happy families. And that's the first haul. There'll be
+many another unless someone stops 'em.
+
+"And we won't stop 'em," he added with a touch of sadness. "Not just yet.
+But you wait!" he sprang to his feet. "We'll get a break yet."
+
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER XVIII
+                        FIVE ROUNDS AND A FRIEND
+
+
+It may seem a little strange that MacGregor and his young companions
+accepted the whole situation so calmly. Yet the old man had lived long
+and in many places. He was wise in the ways of the world. He realized
+that they had already seen too much to be released at once. How long
+would they be detained? To this question he could form no answer. Perhaps
+until the end of the legal fishing season, twenty or more days away.
+Perhaps longer. They might even be taken to the Orient. After that some
+fantastic story might be told of their being picked up adrift on the high
+seas.
+
+Johnny was thinking along these same lines. But he, unlike MacGregor, was
+already laying plans for escape. For the present, however, he was willing
+to bide his time.
+
+Dinner was brought to them by a smiling little brown man. It was not a
+bad meal, as meals go on the sea--boiled rice, baked salmon and tea.
+
+When it was over, MacGregor slipped out into the gathering night. While
+he was gone not a word was spoken. Johnny was busy with his own thoughts.
+So, he supposed, was the girl who now looked so very much like a boy.
+
+He was thinking, "I wonder if there were shadows passing us in the fog.
+Or did we imagine them?" Certainly he had seen nothing resembling a
+shadow here. And this girl. Would she forgive him? Well enough he knew
+that in trying times such as these people were either drawn closer
+together or driven farther apart. He could only wait and see.
+
+"There's hope in the airplane that young Dan MacMillan is bringing up,"
+he thought with fresh courage. "If only he'd arrive and fly over this
+ship we'd manage somehow to signal him and then the whole navy would be
+on this old freighter's heels."
+
+He was thinking now of something told to him in secret by Red McGee. He
+had been speaking of the cannery. It had been built by old Chad
+MacMillan. A crusty, honest, fair-dealing man, he had managed it for many
+years.
+
+"Then he died," Red had gone on, "and young Dan MacMillan, just out of
+university and full of big ideas, inherited it. This winter I suggested
+that he hire a seaplane to go out scouting for these Oriental robbers.
+
+"'It's a fine idea,' he said to me. 'A grand idea. I'll buy a seaplane
+and learn to pilot it. You'll be seeing me up there scouting around as
+soon as the salmon season opens.'
+
+"That's what he said to me," Red McGee had drawn in a deep breath. "These
+wild young millionaires! What can you expect? He's not here now and like
+as not won't show up at all."
+
+"What can you expect?" Johnny was thinking over his words now. "If only
+Dan MacMillan showed up over this old craft all these little brown men
+would be scared out of their skins."
+
+But would he come? He dared not so much as hope.
+
+He wondered about Lawrence and Blackie. He suffered a pang because of
+Lawrence. What a shame that he had dragged the boy up here! He would be
+far better off in Matanuska valley planting turnips and potatoes, hunting
+wild geese, and, perhaps, catching a glacier bear way back in the
+mountains.
+
+But here was MacGregor. And he carried in his hands, of all things, two
+pairs of boxing gloves. Johnny had wondered where they were to come from,
+but now here they were.
+
+"These little brown boys go in strong for boxing," the old man explained.
+
+"I told them," continued MacGregor, "that you were one of America's most
+promising young boxers, but a little out of training."
+
+"Quite a little," Johnny agreed.
+
+"I said you and your boy pal would put on an exhibition match on deck
+tonight."
+
+Rusty shot him a look, but said never a word.
+
+"I hope you understand," the old man said soberly, "that I am asking you
+to do this for your own good." He was talking to Rusty.
+
+She bowed gravely. Then, of a sudden, her face brightened. "I hope they
+take us lightly," she said. "That may give us a chance to escape."
+
+"That's what it will," MacGregor agreed. "And this boxin' stunt is just
+the thing to put them off their guard."
+
+A half hour later, beneath a brilliant electric light, with a circle of
+dark faces about them, Johnny and Rusty shook hands for the first time in
+their lives, then drew on the gloves.
+
+Johnny had boxed strange people in many an out-of-the-way place. Never
+before had he boxed with a girl. He was not sure he was going to like it
+now. But with MacGregor as manager of the strange affair, there was no
+turning back.
+
+It _was_ strange, there was no getting around that. A swaying light, a
+host of sober, brown faces, the gray fog hanging over all, made it seem
+fantastic indeed.
+
+There were to be five short rounds with MacGregor keeping time.
+
+At the very beginning, Johnny discovered that his opponent was fast and
+skillful. Having no sons, Red McGee had taken it upon himself to train
+his daughter in the manly art of boxing. Life on the bleak Alaskan shore
+was often dull. The girl had welcomed each new lesson. And now Johnny was
+discovering that her punches that from time to time reached his cheek or
+chin, were far from love pats. They really stung, nor, try as he would,
+could he entirely escape them.
+
+"She's taking it out on me because of her father," he thought grimly.
+"Well, I can take it."
+
+What did the audience think of this affair? Who could tell? They watched
+in silence. Once when Rusty was tossed into their midst they helped her
+to her feet and pushed her into place. Their movements were so gentle,
+the flitting smiles about their lips so friendly, that, for the moment,
+the girl forgot her role and said, "Thank you."
+
+The rounds passed speedily. When the fourth and last was up, Johnny said
+in a whisper, "Come on, Rusty, let's make this one snappy. Give them a
+real show."
+
+Snappy it was. From the moment MacGregor gave them the signal they
+whipped into it with a wild swinging of gloves. Rusty's footwork was
+perfect. Johnny found himself admiring the manner in which, hornet-like,
+she leaped at him for a sharp, stinging blow, then faded away.
+
+Perhaps he was admiring her too much. However that might be, in the last
+thirty seconds of the bout he stepped into something. Trying for a bit of
+reprisal in the way of a tap on her chin, he left an opening far too
+wide. Rusty's eyes opened wide, her stout right arm shot out and up. It
+took Johnny squarely under the chin and, "believe it or not," he went
+down and out like a match.
+
+He was not out long, perhaps eight seconds. When at last his stubborn
+eyelids opened he found himself looking at a circle of grinning brown men
+and at Rusty who stood staring at him, but not smiling at all.
+
+"Well," he laughed, "that must square the McGee's with Johnny Thompson."
+
+"John--Johnny, please!" she cried. "I didn't mean to. I truly didn't."
+
+"All right." Johnny sprang to his feet. "Shake on it. Let's always be
+friends."
+
+The girl made no response. There was no need. She did clasp his hand in a
+grip that was friendly and strong.
+
+A half hour later they were having one more cup of tea in their
+staterooms and Johnny was thinking, "Life surely is strange. I wonder how
+this affair will end."
+
+Before he fell asleep he went over it all again. Blackie and Lawrence,
+the silent, moving shadow, the hard-working men on shore, the airplane
+that might come. When he was too far gone in sleep to think clearly he
+fancied that he felt the ship's propeller vibrating, that the ship was on
+the move. He was not sure. After all, what did it matter? There was
+nothing he could do about it. And so, he fell fast asleep.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER XIX
+                             ORDERED BELOW
+
+
+Back in the trapper's cabin Blackie was in a rage. He stormed at the
+Orientals, at MacGregor, then at himself. From time to time he rushed out
+on the small dock in a vain attempt to pierce the thick fog and to listen
+with all his ears.
+
+"The robbers have got them," he muttered. "I should have known. That
+shadow! It's done for them and for the _Stormy Petrel_."
+
+As night came on he settled down to sober thinking. "There's a fishing
+skiff out there by the dock," he said to Lawrence. "We'll have to put it
+in the water and make a try for the mainland. This cabin is on an island.
+Mainland must be thirty miles away. We'll make it. We'll find some sort
+of power boat. And then, by thunder! Things will get to popping!"
+
+Lawrence, too, was disturbed in his own quiet way. He knew a great deal
+about Johnny. Many a time Johnny had been in a tight spot. Always,
+somehow, he had come out safely. MacGregor was old and wise. And, after
+all, this was not a time of war. Why need one worry too much?
+
+There were a number of tattered books on the shelf in the corner.
+Evidently this trapper was something of a naturalist, for five of these
+were about animals and birds. In browsing through these, the boy made a
+real find, a picture of a glacier bear, a brief description, and the
+history of the animal as far as known.
+
+It was with the feelings of a real discoverer that he read those words
+over and over. When he had finished he said to himself, "If ever I see
+one of those bears I'll know him."
+
+But would he? At the present moment those bears seemed as far away as the
+moon. And yet, who could tell?
+
+At dawn next morning the three of them, George, the cook, Blackie and
+Lawrence, carried their few supplies down to the dock, tacked a note on
+the door, climbed into the broad, clumsy skiff and rowed into the fog.
+
+"We'll follow the shore as far as we can," said Blackie. "We'll have to
+cross a broad stretch of open water, but I think I can manage that with
+my pocket compass."
+
+When at last Lawrence saw even the small island disappear from sight, he
+regretted the circumstances that appeared to make it necessary to leave
+that comfortable retreat.
+
+
+When Johnny and his friends came on board that same morning, they found
+the fog still with them, but it was thinner. There was a suggestion of a
+breeze in the air.
+
+"Going to clear," was MacGregor's prophecy. This, they were soon to
+discover, did not concern them too much, at least not in the immediate
+future.
+
+When they had eaten a strange mixture of rice and meat and had gulped
+down some very bitter coffee, a little man with neither gold nor braid on
+his uniform came up to them, saluted in a careless manner and said
+simply, "Come."
+
+They followed him from one deck to another until they found themselves in
+a vast place of steam and evil smells.
+
+When their eyes had become accustomed to the light and steam, they saw
+long rows of men toiling and sweating over apparently endless tables.
+Before the tables, on a conveyor, thousands of large salmon moved slowly
+forward.
+
+"No iron coolie here," Johnny chuckled. "Everything is done by hand.
+Heads off, tails, fins, all with big knives."
+
+"Please," said the little man. He was holding out a long, thin, oilskin
+coat. Understanding his wish, Johnny put it on. Still wondering, he
+watched MacGregor and the girl follow his example.
+
+"Please," said the little man again. "A thousand apologies." He was
+holding out three long, sharp knives, at the same time pointing with his
+other hand at a break in the solid line of salmon workers.
+
+"Why, the dirty little shrimp!" Johnny exploded. "He wants us to go to
+work."
+
+"Steady, son," MacGregor warned. "They understand English. I fancy there
+are worse places than this on the ship. We have no choice but to obey."
+
+Johnny muttered, but dropped into place to slash off a large salmon's
+head.
+
+He had worked in a rebellious humor for a quarter of an hour when, on
+looking up, he discovered that Rusty was performing the most disagreeable
+task in the salmon line. She was cleaning the fish. Shoving past
+MacGregor, he turned her half about as he muttered low, "You take my
+place."
+
+To his great astonishment, he felt the girl whirl back to her place, give
+him a hard push, then saw her resume her work.
+
+For a space of seconds he stood there stunned. Then he laughed low. The
+girl was wise, much wiser than he had known. She was supposed to be a
+boy. Boys were not gallant to one another. She would play the part to the
+bitter end. Johnny returned to his task.
+
+"Mac," he was able to whisper at last, "why would they do this to us?"
+
+"You answer," was the old man's reply. "Sh-sh--" he warned. "Here comes a
+big shot, one of the monkeys with gold buttons."
+
+As he passed the "big shot" smiled suavely at them, but said never a
+word.
+
+
+
+
+                               CHAPTER XX
+                          A BATTLE IN THE DARK
+
+
+Even at lunch time the toiling trio, Rusty, Johnny and MacGregor, were
+not invited to have their lunch on deck. Instead, they were served, like
+the coolie with whom they toiled, with great bowls of some mixture that
+looked like soup.
+
+"Hm," MacGregor sighed, "fish chowder. And not bad."
+
+Rusty's eyes shone. "What a lark!" She laughed outright. "I only wish we
+had a camera. My crowd down in Seattle won't believe me."
+
+Johnny looked at her in surprise and admiration. "Here's one girl with a
+spirit that can't be broken," he thought.
+
+"Reminds me of a time I was on the Big Diomede Island on Bering Straits,"
+said MacGregor with a rumble of merriment. "We were cutting up a big
+walrus. I saw an old woman working over the stomach of that walrus. Know
+what the walrus lives on?" he demanded.
+
+"Clams," said Johnny.
+
+"Right. Bright boy," said MacGregor. "The thing that had happened was
+this. The walrus had been down to the bottom. He'd ripped up the sand at
+the bottom of the sea. He'd cracked a lot of clams and had swallowed 'em.
+He hadn't digested 'em yet when we shot 'im. Know what that Eskimo woman
+was doing?"
+
+"Can't guess."
+
+"She had a white pan and was savin' the clams from the walrus' stomach.
+And that night," there came a low rumble from deep down in MacGregor's
+throat, "that night we had seal steak and clam chowder for supper. An' I
+took seal steak."
+
+"O-oh," Johnny breathed.
+
+"Mr. MacGregor," Rusty said with a gurgle, "you wouldn't spoil anyone's
+dinner, would you?"
+
+"Not for the world," was the old man's solemn avowal.
+
+"Listen," MacGregor held up a hand. "I hear an electric generator going.
+It's on this deck. I wonder why? I'm going for a little walk."
+
+"They'll chase you back."
+
+"That's all they can do." He was away.
+
+"The ship's beginning to sway a little," Johnny said. "Shouldn't wonder
+if we'd get a storm." The girl could not suppress an involuntary shudder.
+
+"Johnny," she leaned close to speak almost in a whisper. "When we used
+coolie labor I learned to talk with them a little. I've been talking to
+the coolie who cuts off fish's heads next to me. He says they expect to
+have a boatload of fish in a week or ten days. Then they'll go back to
+the Orient."
+
+"And if we go with them?" Johnny breathed.
+
+"I've seen pictures of the Orient." The girl's eyes were closed. "It's
+gorgeous. It truly must be."
+
+"Do you think we'd get to see anything?"
+
+"Why not?" the girl laughed low. "It's all there to see. At least they
+can't keep us from dreaming."
+
+"No, they surely cannot." At that Johnny did some very choice dreaming,
+all his own.
+
+He was wakened from these dreams by the return of MacGregor. "It's the
+strangest thing!" he exclaimed. "I got a look into that place. There's a
+huge generator an' it's chargin' batteries."
+
+"Batteries!" Johnny exclaimed in surprise.
+
+"Sure! Banks and banks of large batteries."
+
+"When submarines go under water," Johnny spoke slowly, "they use
+batteries for power. What do you think?"
+
+"I don't think," said MacGregor. "Anyway, here's our little boss. He
+wants us to resume our duties as first-class cleaners of sock-eyed
+salmon."
+
+As the day wore on Johnny watched Rusty ever more closely. The heavy,
+unpleasant work, together with the ever-increasing roll of the ship, was
+telling. He was not surprised that, after the day was over and they were
+allowed to go to the upper deck, she took his arm to lean on it heavily.
+
+"Johnny, I won't give up. Please help me not to give up."
+
+Johnny looked down at her with a reassuring smile.
+
+As they stepped on deck they found themselves looking at a new world.
+Gone was the fog. In its place was racing blue waters, flecked with foam.
+
+"A storm!" the girl shuddered.
+
+"Just too dark to see land," Johnny groaned. "If it wasn't, we might get
+our location and then--"
+
+"Then what?" she whispered.
+
+"I have some plans. We--"
+
+"Sh--an officer!" she warned.
+
+At the evening meal Rusty ate hard, dry crackers and drank scalding tea.
+She was still putting up a brave struggle against being sea-sick.
+
+When darkness came they went below. Rusty retired at once. Johnny threw
+himself, all dressed, upon his berth, but did not sleep.
+
+An hour later a shadowy figure passed him. It was Rusty. She was carrying
+blankets. Without a sound, he followed her. Arrived on deck, he saw her
+at the rail. Understanding, he dropped down upon a wooden bench.
+
+After what seemed a long time, she turned and saw him. Swaying as she
+walked, she came toward him to drop down at his side. She did not say, "I
+am so sick!" She was too game for that and there was no need. He wrapped
+her in the blankets. Then they sat there in silence.
+
+The wind was rising steadily. It went whistling through the rigging.
+Ropes banged and yard-arms swayed. A shadow shot past them, a watch on
+duty. Lights shone on the blue-black sea. It was a truly wild night.
+
+Of a sudden a form stood before them. Clutching a steel cable, it clung
+there.
+
+"Thousand pardons," it hissed. "Cannot stay here. It is forbidden."
+
+"My friend is sick. We stay." Johnny felt his anger rising.
+
+"Thousand pardons," came once more. "Cannot stay."
+
+"Million pardons," Johnny half rose. "We stay."
+
+A hand reached out. It touched Rusty's shoulder. That was enough. Johnny
+leaped at the man. They went down in a heap. A second more and Johnny
+felt a steel clamp about his neck, or so it seemed.
+
+"Jujitsu," he thought in sudden consternation. Throwing all his strength
+into an effort to break the man's grip, he failed. Coughing, trying to
+breathe, failing, strangling, he felt his strength going when, of a
+sudden, he caught the sound of a blow, then felt the hated arm relax. Ten
+seconds more and he was free.
+
+"You--you hit him," he managed to breathe. "Is he dead?"
+
+"No--no. Watch out!" the girl warned.
+
+Just in time Johnny caught the man. This time, gripping him by collar and
+trousers, he dragged him from the floor. And then, screaming like some
+wild thing, the brown man found himself hanging out over an angry sea.
+
+"Johnny, don't!" The girl's hand was on his arm.
+
+"Oh, all--all right."
+
+Swinging the brown man in, he dropped him on the deck. Like a scared
+rabbit, the intruder went racing off on all fours.
+
+"Now I've done it," Johnny groaned as he dropped back in his place.
+
+"Perhaps," said Rusty. "Still, you can't tell."
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER XXI
+                             WALL OF GLASS
+
+
+Rusty was not the only one disturbed by this storm. At the very moment
+when Johnny was at grips with the Oriental on the ship's deck, Lawrence,
+Blackie and George were battling for their very lives.
+
+What had happened? The distance from the trapper's cabin to shore was,
+they had discovered, far greater than they had supposed. When at last the
+fog cleared they found themselves far from any shore on a black and
+threatening sea.
+
+"Might as well keep headed for the mainland," was Blackie's decision.
+
+Head for the mainland they did. After that, for hours, with the storm
+ever increasing in intensity, they rowed as never before.
+
+The clumsy oars were rough and hard to manage. Lawrence's hands were soon
+blistered. Tearing strips from his shirt, he bound them up and rowed on.
+
+Fortune favored them in one thing. They were going with the wind. Had
+they been forced to face into the storm, their boat would have been
+swamped at once. As it was, just as darkness began to fall the skiff
+began to fill.
+
+"Lawrence, you start bailing," Blackie commanded. "George and I will
+row."
+
+"Ya-as, sir, we'll row. Don't nebber doubt dat," George agreed. Then he
+began to sing,
+
+  "Roll, Jordan, roll.
+  Oh! Oh! Oh! I want to go dere
+  To hear old Jordan roll."
+
+Lawrence thought with a shudder that he might be there to hear Jordan
+roll before day dawned.
+
+By constant bailing he was able to keep the skiff from swamping. So,
+chilled to the bone, hoping against hope, he labored on.
+
+When at last they found themselves near to some shore, his heart failed
+him.
+
+"Towering rocks," he groaned.
+
+"There's a break in those rocks," said Blackie. "I saw it before dark.
+We'll follow along and here's hoping." Once more he put his stout
+shoulders to the oars.
+
+A half hour passed, an hour, two hours. Numb with cold and ready to drop
+from exhaustion, Lawrence wondered if Blackie could have been wrong. Was
+there a break in that wall? And then--he saw it.
+
+"There!" he exclaimed. "There it is. Straight ahead!"
+
+He dared not add that it seemed a strange break. Not very deep, it
+appeared to give off an odd sort of glimmer at its back.
+
+Just as they were ready to enter the gap, a great cloud went over the
+moon and all was black.
+
+Steering more from instinct than sight, they rowed on. To Lawrence, at
+that moment, the suspense was all but overpowering. Where were they
+going? Could they find a landing? What was the end to be?
+
+One thing was encouraging, the waves in this place were not so wild. They
+no longer dashed into the boat. So with darkness hanging over them they
+rowed, for what seemed an endless time, but could have been only a few
+moments, straight on into the unknown.
+
+And then. "Man! Oh, man! What was that?" The boat had crashed into an
+invisible wall.
+
+Lawrence put out a hand. "Glass!" he exclaimed. "A wall of glass."
+
+"Not glass, son," Blackie's voice was low. "A wall of ice. The end of a
+glacier. This is a spot where icebergs break off. If one of them had been
+jarred loose by the bang of our boat--and if they had been sent tumbling
+by the sound of a voice--man! Oh, man! We would be lost for good and
+all."
+
+"Blackie, look!" Lawrence spoke in a hoarse whisper. "A light."
+
+"It's a star," said Blackie.
+
+"A light," Lawrence insisted.
+
+"Yas, man! A light," George agreed.
+
+Just then the moon came out, revealing a sloping mountain side. And,
+close to a shelving beach was a cabin. The light shone from that cabin.
+
+"Oh! Oh! Lord be praised!" George whispered fervently.
+
+Ten minutes later, as they drew their boat up on the beach, the cabin
+door was thrown open and a man, holding a candle close to his face,
+peered into the darkness to call, "You all come right on up, whoever you
+all are."
+
+"That," said Lawrence in a surprised whisper, "is Smokey Joe."
+
+"Smokey Joe, you old bear-cat!" Blackie shouted.
+
+The grizzled prospector let out a dry cackle. "Come on up an' rest
+yerself," he welcomed. "I got a Mulligan on a-cookin'."
+
+At first Lawrence found it hard to believe that this was really Smokey
+Joe. "How," he asked himself, "could he come all this way?" As he studied
+a faded map on the deserted cabin's wall, however, he realized that the
+distance overland was short compared to the way they had traveled by
+water.
+
+Joe's Mulligan stew proved a rich repast. He had killed a young caribou
+two days before. There had been bacon and hardtack in his kit. Besides
+these, he had found dried beans and seasoning in the cabin.
+
+"Yep," he agreed, as Blackie complimented him after the meal was over,
+"hit's plum grand livin' when you sort of git the breaks.
+
+"An' listen," his voice dropped. "Hit's plumb quare how things git to a
+comin' yer way. Yesterday I found gold. Struck hit rich, you might say."
+From a moose-hide sack he tumbled a handful of nuggets.
+
+"Gold!" Blackie exclaimed.
+
+"Yup. Hit's might nigh pure gold," the old man agreed. "Nuther thing
+that's plumb quare. Hit's nigh onto that little blue bear's den."
+
+"What?" Lawrence started up. "A blue bear! A--a glacier bear?"
+
+"Reckon you might call 'em that," the old man agreed.
+
+"He's been a-stayin' in a sort of cave up thar fer a right smart spell."
+
+"How--how far is it?" Lawrence asked almost in a whisper.
+
+"Hit--I reckon hit's--" the old man studied for a moment. "Why, hit's
+right about three peaks, a look an' a right smart."
+
+"What does that mean?" Blackie asked in a surprised tone.
+
+"Wall, you jest climb one of them thar least mounting peaks," the old man
+explained. "Then another, an' another."
+
+"Three peaks," said Blackie.
+
+"Fer startin'," said Smokey Joe. "Arter that you take a look an' hit's a
+right smart furder than you can see."
+
+"Perhaps about ten miles," suggested Blackie after they had had a good
+laugh, which Smokey Joe took good-naturedly.
+
+"Near on to that," the old man agreed.
+
+Long after the old man had rolled himself in his blankets and fallen
+asleep Lawrence and Blackie sat beside the cracked stove talking.
+
+"Blackie," Lawrence said in a husky voice, "that little blue bear is
+worth a lot of money. The Professor told us he'd trade us a tractor for
+one. They're rare, about the rarest animals on earth. There's not one in
+captivity anywhere."
+
+"That won't help much," Blackie grumbled. "If this wind goes down, we've
+got to get out of here at dawn. Something's happened to Johnny and
+MacGregor. We've got to look for them."
+
+"Yes," Lawrence agreed. "But if the wind doesn't go down?"
+
+"We'll have to stay here," said Blackie. "And," with a low chuckle, "we
+might go 'three peaks, a look and a right smart' looking for your
+blue-eyed bear."
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER XXII
+                                 DREAMS
+
+
+"Johnny," Rusty's voice was low, husky with strangely mingled emotions,
+"when we are back at the cottage, I'll make a big pan of ice-box cookies.
+We'll take them with a big bottle of hot cocoa. We'll go out on a sunny
+rock and have a feast." They were still on the deck of the rolling ship
+and it was still night.
+
+Rusty's voice rose. "And such sunshine! Nowhere in the world is it so
+glorious."
+
+"All right," Johnny agreed. "Ice-box cookies, hot chocolate and sunshine.
+That will be keen."
+
+"Dreams," he was thinking. "How often when things are hard, very hard, we
+dream." As he closed his eyes now he could see dead salmon in endless
+rows. He could hear the monotonous drone of brown men and the endless
+wash-wash of the sea. "How grand at times to dream of other things far
+away!" he said. "And what a joy to know of other places where we have
+been gloriously happy."
+
+"Yes," she agreed, "that is wonderful. And Johnny," she went on, "we have
+a home in Seattle, father and I. It is small, but, oh, so beautiful!
+Climbing roses and pine trees. There's a lake before it. There is a
+dancing pavilion not far away where the boys and girls I know best come.
+There they swing and sway to bewitching waltz time. _Over the Waves_,
+_Blue Danube_ and all the rest. Johnny, will you come sometime and join
+us there?" Her voice seemed dreamy and far away.
+
+"Yes," said Johnny. "Some day I'll come."
+
+"But first," he thought savagely, "I'll see this infernal boat at the
+bottom of the sea."
+
+For a time after that they were silent. Once again they heard the beating
+of ropes against spars, the wail of the wind and the dash of spray on the
+deck. How was all this to end?
+
+"Rusty," Johnny said, "I would like to leave you for a while."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"There's something I want to do. You know," he leaned close, speaking in
+a hoarse whisper, "there's a hole in the gas tank of your boat."
+
+"Yes, but--"
+
+"We may get a break. Your boat was put on deck after two others. That
+means they'll have to put her in the water before taking the others off.
+If there was gas in her tank we might slip down to her and get away."
+
+"But the gas, Johnny?"
+
+"There are two large cans in another boat. I saw them. I--I'm going to
+plug up that hole in your tank, then try to fill it from the cans."
+
+"They--they may catch you." Her voice trembled.
+
+"I'll take a chance." He rose without a sound. "I'm off. If I don't come
+back, tell good old MacGregor."
+
+"I--I'll tell him." Her whisper was lost in the wind. He was gone.
+
+Creeping along the swaying deck, dodging behind a lifeboat when the watch
+appeared, scooting forward, then pausing to listen, he at last reached
+the side of the _Krazy Kat_.
+
+After securing the cans of gasoline, he lifted them to the deck of
+Rusty's small boat. Then, with a deft swing, he threw himself after the
+cans. The deck was wet with fog. Slipping, he went down in a heap, but
+made no sound.
+
+Feeling about in the dark, he found the tank and the leak. A sharpened
+splinter of wood stopped the hole.
+
+"Now the gas," he whispered. This he knew would be most dangerous of all.
+Cans have a way of gurgling and popping in an alarming manner. The
+gurgle, he concluded, would not matter. It would not be heard above the
+roar of the wind and the wash of the sea. But the tinny bangs? Ah, well,
+he'd have to risk it.
+
+When one can was emptied into the _Krazy Kat's_ tank, he heaved a sigh of
+relief. The second was half-emptied when he caught the sound of
+footsteps.
+
+"The watch!" Consternation seized him. Flattening himself on the deck, he
+clung to the still gurgling can.
+
+The sound of footsteps ceased. His heart pounded. Was he caught? Seconds
+seemed minutes. If the can popped he was lost. Ten seconds, twenty,
+thirty--again the footsteps. Then they grew indistinct in the distance.
+
+"Ah," the boy breathed.
+
+Just then the all but empty can gave forth a loud bang!
+
+Johnny jumped, then lay flat, listening with all his ears. For at least
+two full minutes he remained there motionless. The watch did not return.
+
+With great care he lifted the empty cans from the deck of the _Krazy Kat_
+to toss them into the foaming sea. Then, stealthily as before, he made
+his way back to Rusty's side.
+
+"I--I did it," he shrilled. "Now for a good break and we're away."
+
+"Here--here's hoping." She drew her hand from beneath the blankets to
+grip his own.
+
+"MacGregor, what do you think they'll do to me?" Johnny asked an hour
+later. The storm had partially subsided. Rusty was feeling better. They
+were back in their staterooms. Johnny had told the old man of the night's
+adventure.
+
+"It's my opinion," said MacGregor, "that you'll be shot at sunrise."
+
+"That won't be so bad," said Johnny, joining in the joke.
+
+"Not half-bad," MacGregor agreed. "I mind an Eskimo we shot up there in
+the far north. He'd killed a white man. The revenue cutter came along an'
+the judge tried him.
+
+"When the judge's decision had been arrived at, they told this Eskimo to
+stand up.
+
+"Well, sir, he stood there stiff an' straight as any soldier. He was sure
+he had been condemned to die and that he was to be shot. They're a sturdy
+lot, those Eskimos.
+
+"Well," MacGregor paused to laugh. "They set a thing up an' aimed it at
+the Eskimo. Something clicked. The Eskimo blinked. But nothin' else
+happened.
+
+"The white men folded things up and left. But the Eskimo still stood
+there, not knowin', I suppose, whether he was dead or alive.
+
+"Know what happened?" he concluded. "He'd been found innocent and they
+had taken his picture.
+
+"For all I know," he added, "he's livin' still an' so'll you be, me boy,
+forty years from today.
+
+"What can they do?" he demanded. "They don't dare harm us."
+
+"I wouldn't trust them too far," said Johnny.
+
+"Nor I," Rusty agreed.
+
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER XXIII
+                        IN THE BLUE BEAR'S CAVE
+
+
+It was with a feeling of great uneasiness that Johnny came on deck next
+morning. What was to happen? Had that little brown man told the story of
+their struggle in the night? And if he had? He shuddered.
+
+Yet, strange to say, the day wore on in perfect peace. They were not even
+asked to go below and clean fish. The reason for this was apparent, the
+fish on deck had been taken care of. Since the storm was still roaring
+across the sea, no others could be brought in. During the forenoon two
+small, motor-driven crafts came close to stand by.
+
+"They belong to this outfit," MacGregor declared. "They may have salmon
+below-deck. They're afraid of the storm. That's why they don't come in.
+
+"Ah, well," he sighed. "We're here for the day at least. Even if your
+_Krazy Kat_ was in the water, Rusty, we couldn't risk her in a storm like
+this."
+
+"These Orientals are a queer lot," Johnny mused.
+
+"Queer's no name for it, me boy," said MacGregor. "As for me, I don't
+trust 'em. They're like children, just when they're makin' the least
+noise is when you're sure they're up to some mischief."
+
+Was this true? Johnny shuddered anew, but said never a word.
+
+They discovered during their lunch in their stateroom at noon that there
+was something vaguely familiar about the brown boy who brought the lunch.
+Johnny stared at him. But Rusty exclaimed in a whisper, "Kopkina! You
+here?"
+
+The boy made a motion for silence. "I am spy," he whispered. "Red McGee
+good man. Me, I, Red McGee man.
+
+"You listen," his voice dropped to a whisper. "I tell 'em, that one
+captain this ship, tell 'em you Red McGee boy." He nodded to Rusty. "Tell
+'em Red McGee mebby plenty mad. Plenty 'fraid Red McGee. They not punish
+you for fight on deck last night. Must go now." He disappeared through
+the door.
+
+"Boy!" Johnny breathed. "I'm feeling better already."
+
+Two hours later they had added cause for feeling better. Just when the
+sea was beginning to calm a little they caught the drum of a motor. As
+Johnny heard it his heart stood still, then leaped.
+
+"A motor," he breathed. "That's a powerful motor. If only it's Dan
+MacMillan and his seaplane."
+
+"It is! It is!" Rusty's voice rose to a high pitch. "There! There it is.
+See!"
+
+Johnny did see. He pointed it out to MacGregor. They all leaned on the
+rail watching the seaplane approach.
+
+"If it's only Dan," MacGregor breathed.
+
+There came the sound of rushing feet. Apparently every little brown man
+on the boat had heard those motors. They came swarming onto the deck.
+
+"If it's Dan MacMillan," said MacGregor, "there's sure to be someone with
+him."
+
+"They'll be looking for us," said Rusty.
+
+"Yes, and we'll have to find a way to let them know we're here," Johnny
+added.
+
+"That," said MacGregor, "is going to be hard, with all these." His glance
+swept the brown throng.
+
+"Tell you what!" Johnny exclaimed. "Rusty and I might do a little boxing
+bout. There's sure to be someone on the plane who knows us."
+
+"And they'll recognize you by your actions," MacGregor agreed. "It's a
+capital idea. I'll go for the gloves."
+
+And so it happened that, as the seaplane flew over the ship, circled,
+then dipping low, passed within a hundred feet, those in it witnessed a
+strange sight--two white youngsters staging a boxing match for the
+benefit of a host of little brown men, who, truth to tell, gave them
+scant attention.
+
+"I only hope they recognized us," said Johnny, throwing his gloves on the
+deck.
+
+"You and me too," said Rusty. "Anyway," she laughed, "that's one time I
+didn't knock you out."
+
+Whatever impression this little drama may have made upon the occupants of
+the seaplane, the effect of the appearance of the seaplane on the little
+brown men was apparent at once. On every face as the seaplane went
+winging away MacGregor read consternation.
+
+"They're afraid," he grumbled low to his young companions. "Down deep in
+their hearts they are afraid."
+
+"What will they do now?" Rusty asked anxiously.
+
+"They're already doin' it," said MacGregor, calling attention to the rush
+and bustle on board. "Puttin' the ship in shape. It wouldn't surprise me
+if they weighed anchor within the hour. And if they do, me lassie," he
+added, "you may be lookin' on them Oriental cities within a week, for
+they'll be headin' straight for home."
+
+"Oh-o," Rusty breathed. But she said never a word.
+
+
+On that same morning in Smokey Joe's cabin Lawrence was up before the wee
+small hours had passed. After one good look at the sea, which was still
+rolling high, he dashed back into the cabin to find Blackie staring at
+him wide awake.
+
+"Black-Blackie," he stammered. "I--I hate to disturb you. But--but that
+blue bear--"
+
+"I know." Blackie sat up. "Three peaks, a look and a right smart ho,
+hum."
+
+"Blackie! It's terribly important. Just think! A little blue bear. The
+only one in captivity, if we get him."
+
+"I know." Blackie slid out of his bunk. "Get the fire going. Put the
+coffee pot on. We'll be off in a half hour."
+
+"Oh, think--"
+
+"Put the coffee on!" Blackie roared.
+
+After tacking an old shirt to a pole as a signal of distress to any boat
+that might pass and instructing Smokey Joe to be on the lookout, Blackie
+drew a rough map, showing where, according to Smokey's direction, the
+bear's cave might be found. After that he led the way over the first
+"peak."
+
+These peaks were, they discovered, mere ridges. The distance was, in
+reality, much shorter than they had thought.
+
+"This is the place," Lawrence said, an hour and a half later. "It must
+be."
+
+"It is," Blackie agreed. "There are the two scrub spruce trees with
+Smokey's blaze on them."
+
+"And there's the cave!" Lawrence was greatly excited.
+
+"Not much of a cave," said Blackie. "Might be quite some bear at that.
+Wait."
+
+With a small hatchet he hacked away at a dry spruce knot until he had a
+pitch-filled torch. This, with the aid of some dry shavings, he lighted.
+
+"Now," he breathed. "Give me one of the ropes. We'll have to manage to
+tangle him up somehow. I'll lead the way."
+
+"Al-all right," Lawrence's tongue was dry.
+
+The floor of the dark grotto was strewn with pebbles. To walk without
+making a noise was impossible.
+
+"Wait! Listen!" Lawrence whispered when they had covered some twenty
+paces.
+
+As they paused, they caught a low hissing sound.
+
+"Snakes," the boy suggested.
+
+"Not here. Too cold. It's the bear. Get your rope ready."
+
+Slowly, cautiously they moved forward.
+
+"There! There are his eyes." Two balls of fire appeared directly before
+them.
+
+And then things began to happen. A low snarl was followed by the sound of
+scattered pebbles. Blackie was hit by the rushing bear and bowled over
+like a ten pin. But Lawrence, quick as a cat, saw a hairy head, aimed a
+short swing and let go his rope.
+
+Next instant he was shouting: "Blackie! Quick! Help! I got him! I got
+him!"
+
+The husky little blue bear dragged them both to the very entrance of the
+cave. There, panting and tearing at the rope, he paused to glare at them.
+The rope was drawn tight about his shoulders with one foreleg through the
+loop.
+
+Blackie, who was both fast and strong, made quick work of what remained
+to be done. Fifteen minutes later, carrying the live bear slung between
+them on a pole, they headed for the cabin.
+
+To their great joy, as they neared the cabin, they saw one of Red McGee's
+gill-net boats awaiting them in the little bay. Smokey Joe had flagged it
+down.
+
+After a hasty, "Thank you and goodbye" to Smokey, they tossed their
+priceless captive into the after cabin of the stout, little motor-boat to
+head straight away over a rolling sea toward still more adventure, of
+quite a different nature.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER XXIV
+                          OVERTAKING A SHADOW
+
+
+Once again it was night. The wind had gone down with the sun. The sea was
+calm. On board the Oriental ship there was a strained air of tense
+expectancy.
+
+"I can't understand what's keepin' 'em here," MacGregor said in a low
+tone to his young companions. "It's plain that they're scared stiff of
+that seaplane. Looks like they'd heave anchor and be away any minute. And
+if they do--" There was no need to finish. Both Johnny and Rusty knew
+that this would mean a trip to the Orient under circumstances stranger
+than any fiction.
+
+"They seem to be waiting for something," said Johnny.
+
+This was true. All the little brown men not stationed at posts of duty
+were standing along the rail looking away toward the distant shores that
+were lost in the night.
+
+"They'll be back," MacGregor said, thinking of the men on the seaplane.
+"Looks like it's a race against time. But what are they waiting for?"
+
+It was not long until they should know. As they stood there, nerves
+a-tingle, listening, a distant confusion of noises came to them.
+
+"If there were a war," said MacGregor, "I'd say it was rifle and
+machine-gun fire."
+
+This notion was too fantastic to be seriously considered. But what was
+it?
+
+Second by second the sound increased in volume. "Can this be what they're
+looking for?" Johnny asked.
+
+If so, these little men welcomed it in a strange manner. Short, sharp
+commands were given. Scores of men went into frenzied action.
+
+"Look!" Rusty gripped Johnny's arm. "They're lowering my boat into the
+water."
+
+"And it's got gas in the tank. All ready to turn over and start. If
+only--"
+
+"That's motors we're hearin'," MacGregor broke in. "A thunderin' lot of
+'em! I shouldn't wonder--"
+
+"MacGregor," Rusty seized his arm, "our boat is in the water. They are
+all crowding the rail again. This may be our chance."
+
+"So it may," the old man agreed. "Follow me. Not a sound!"
+
+"I'll get Kopkina," offered Johnny. "I just saw him on deck."
+
+Dodging behind a life-raft Rusty and MacGregor went scurrying along in
+the dark and Johnny and Kopkina soon joined them.
+
+"It--it's just here," Rusty whispered.
+
+"We--we need a rope ladder," Johnny exclaimed low.
+
+"Here's one," came in MacGregor's cheering voice. "Let her over easy
+now."
+
+"Now," he breathed. "Over you go."
+
+The speed with which they went down that ladder, all but treading on one
+another's fingers, would have done credit to the U. S. Navy.
+
+"Now I'll cut her loose," said MacGregor. "All right, Rusty, turn her
+over."
+
+The fly-wheel whirled. The splendid motor began a low put-put-put. They
+were away into the dark.
+
+"They'd have trouble findin' us," MacGregor murmured.
+
+"But listen!" Johnny exclaimed.
+
+The sound of many motors had doubled and redoubled. Just as they were
+about to swing around the prow of the ship, something long, dark and
+silent shot past them.
+
+"The Shadow!" Johnny exclaimed.
+
+It was true, this was the Shadow. But at last the Shadow was not going to
+escape. After it thundered a powerful speedboat and as she shot past them
+the excited trio saw a burst of flames and caught the rat-tat-tat of a
+machine gun.
+
+This was followed instantly by a wild scream from the Shadow which
+sounded very much like a sign of surrender. At the same time the sea
+seemed fairly ablaze with lights from many boats.
+
+Johnny's head was in a whirl. What was happening? Without knowing why she
+did it, Rusty seized him by the arm and held him tight while she
+screamed, "Johnny! It's wonderful! Wonderful!"
+
+What had happened may be quickly told. When Blackie and his crew failed
+to return, and Rusty as well, there had been consternation about the
+cannery. There was little use searching Bristol Bay in a fog. When,
+however, Dan MacMillan appeared in his seaplane, they went into action.
+Red McGee climbed into the cockpit and they were away. They had circled
+for an hour when they sighted the Oriental ship.
+
+As they flew over it Red McGee experienced no difficulty in getting the
+unusual signals Johnny and Rusty had set up for him. He recognized the
+boxing forms of both Rusty and Johnny.
+
+Realizing that his daughter would be on board that ship only against her
+will, he went into a wild rage. He demanded that the seaplane be landed
+close to the ship and that he be allowed to "tackle the whole lot of 'em
+single-handed."
+
+To this young MacMillan, would not consent; for, in the first place, the
+sea was too rough for a landing and in the second, he was not willing as
+he later expressed it, "To see a good man commit suicide by tackling a
+hundred Orientals single-handed."
+
+He had flown back to their base. By the time they reached the cannery,
+Red had cooled off.
+
+"I want every last boat gassed up for an emergency run," he commanded.
+"Any of you men that have guns, get 'em loaded and ready. There's a
+couple o' whale-guns up at my cabin. You, Pete and Dan, get 'em an' see
+that they're loaded. We'll show 'em."
+
+They were about ready for a start when Blackie and his men arrived on the
+scene.
+
+"Blackie," Red exploded, "they've got Rusty and your boy, Johnny. They're
+holdin' 'em captive. Come on! We'll start a war!"
+
+For once, Blackie did not say, "No." After they had turned the small,
+blue bear loose in a sheet-metal tool-shed he climbed into Dan
+MacMillan's speed boat, dragging Red and Lawrence with him, and they were
+away.
+
+It was this speedboat that had spied the Shadow. They had given it chase
+and had, as you have seen, at last, after sending a volley of machine-gun
+bullets across its bow, overhauled it.
+
+The Shadow was the very craft that had been awaited by the Oriental ship.
+Had it put in an appearance two hours sooner, the ship must surely have
+weighed anchor and our story might have been much longer. As it was, the
+Orientals were destined to wait a long, long time before lifting the
+Shadow on deck, if at all.
+
+While Johnny and Rusty looked and listened, the whole cannery fleet,
+every small deck bristling with guns, surrounded the ship.
+
+Having overhauled the Shadow, Blackie placed it in charge of another
+craft, then came gliding in alongside the _Krazy Kat_.
+
+"MacGregor," he said in a husky voice, "tell me what happened." MacGregor
+told him. Hardly had he finished when a small motor launch carrying three
+little brown officers arrived. The officers were fairly aglow with gold
+and braid.
+
+"A thousand pardons," their leader began. He was allowed to go no
+farther.
+
+"Listen!" Blackie stood up. He was dressed in corduroy trousers and a
+leather jacket. His face was working strangely.
+
+"Listen," he repeated. "No apologies, not a thousand, nor even one. I'll
+do the talking." His voice was low. "I know why you're here. To catch our
+fish. You sank our boat. You have an hour to get your ship headed out of
+Bristol Bay. We'll take that Shadow of yours with us. We caught her
+lifting nets inside the three-mile limit. That makes her a fair prize.
+
+"As to the sinking of the _Stormy Petrel_, I shall make a complete
+report. The matter shall be taken up by our diplomats.
+
+"I might add, for your further information, that a law is now before our
+Congress making Bristol Bay United States waters, open to our fishermen
+alone. It will pass. If you care to come back next year we will meet you
+with three destroyers.
+
+"And now, gentlemen," he doffed a ragged cap, "I bid you good-night."
+
+Clicking their heels, without a single apology, the officers saluted,
+then the power boat lost itself in the shadows.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER XXV
+                             "BILL" RETURNS
+
+
+"Rusty, my child," said Red McGee, springing aboard the _Krazy Kat_ as
+soon as the Orientals were gone, "are you all right?"
+
+"Never better," Rusty laughed. "And never half so excited. I--I'm all
+right," she added, "except that I'll have to grow a new crop of curls."
+
+"Curls," Red chuckled. "They're not very necessary. Not even for a girl.
+
+"Going back with us in the speed boat?" he asked.
+
+"No-o, if you don't mind," she hesitated. "We've been together so long,
+the three of us, MacGregor, Johnny, and I, that I--I think we'd like to
+follow you back in the _Krazy Kat_."
+
+"O.K.," Red agreed. "Kopkina, suppose you come with me. I want to thank
+you for what you've done for us. Now let's get going."
+
+Already the Oriental ship that had never been welcome was slipping out
+into the night.
+
+On the way back Johnny and Rusty spent most of their time studying the
+stars and the moon. Just what they read there only they will ever know.
+
+The secret of the Shadow was found to be quite simple, as most secrets
+are. It was a long, low craft without deck, cabins, rails or riggings.
+Powered by large storage batteries, it was able to slip in close to
+shore, set a three-mile-long net at night and lift it in the morning. The
+fish were rushed to other motor-boats outside the three-mile zone and
+were then carried to the floating cannery.
+
+After installing a gasoline motor, Blackie used the Shadow for sea
+patrol. No demand for the return of the craft was made. Needless to say,
+the duties of Blackie, MacGregor, Johnny and Lawrence were exceedingly
+light for the remainder of the season.
+
+The small blue bear throve on fish-cleanings and other scraps. He was fat
+and friendly when at last the boys headed for Seward and Matanuska
+Valley. At Seward they left him in the care of a friend until they could
+come in a small truck and cart him home.
+
+At the cabin in the valley Johnny and Lawrence were given an uproarious
+welcome.
+
+One thing surprised them--the Professor was back. "I am waiting for
+Bill," he explained.
+
+"Bill! Who's he?" Lawrence asked. "Oh!" he exclaimed. "He's the man who
+built the shelter and left a note saying he was coming back. Let me
+see--"
+
+"Today," said the Professor. "And here he is now." A smiling young giant
+with a full red beard came tramping down the road.
+
+"Bill, did you get one?" the Professor demanded.
+
+"No," Bill's smile faded. "I did my best. I got the head and hide of one,
+that's all. Had to kill him, or lose him. I--I'm sorry."
+
+"A whole year," the Professor groaned. "And never a bear."
+
+"A bear!" Johnny exclaimed. "Surely there are bears a-plenty."
+
+"Not that kind," the Professor corrected. "I want the kind we talked
+about once, a glacier bear. Nothing else counts."
+
+"Oh, a glacier bear!" Lawrence laughed happily. "Is that all you want? I
+have one coming up on a truck from Seward. It should be here any time."
+
+"Just like that!" Bill dropped weakly down upon a stump. "A whole year.
+Ice, snow, blizzards, glaciers, hunger, a whole year. Never a bear. And
+now this boy calmly says, 'I've got one coming up.'"
+
+"Such," said the professor, "is the luck of the chase."
+
+There was time for Bill to satisfy his craving for a "real feed." Then
+the truck arrived.
+
+The Professor and Bill gave one look at the little blue glacier bear.
+Then, for sheer joy, they fell into each other's arms.
+
+"What do you want for him?" the Professor demanded at last.
+
+"A tractor," said Lawrence.
+
+"The best in the settlement!"
+
+"The Titan."
+
+"Agreed and for good measure, a gang plow, a harrow, two drums of gas and
+three log chains."
+
+Lawrence could not say a word. He could only stand and stare. All his
+dreams had come true in a moment.
+
+"I only wish we might do better," the Professor half apologized. "But
+we've spent a great deal of money in the search. So-o, I--"
+
+"I think," said Lawrence, "that you're a very good sport. And--and we
+thank you."
+
+Three days later Johnny and Lawrence were in Seward for a day with
+Blackie when a trim power boat glided up to the dock.
+
+"Hello, Johnny!" came in a girl's voice. It was Rusty.
+
+"Come on down to Seattle with us," Red McGee boomed.
+
+"We'll show you a roarin' good time, just to celebrate the finest salmon
+season ever known."
+
+"What do you say?" Johnny turned to Lawrence.
+
+"You go," said Lawrence. "I'm a farmer now. I've got to stay with my
+crops, and I'm anxious to get started with the new tractor."
+
+Johnny went. If there were further adventures awaiting him at the end of
+that short journey you may find them recorded in a book called, _Sign of
+the Green Arrow_.
+
+
+
+
+                          Transcriber's Notes
+
+
+--Copyright notice provided as in the original printed text--this e-text
+  is public domain in the country of publication.
+
+--Silently corrected palpable typos; left non-standard spellings and
+  dialect unchanged.
+
+--In the text versions, delimited italics text in _underscores_ (the HTML
+  version reproduces the font form of the printed book.)
+
+--Marked with ellipses the end of page 129, where the printed edition
+  apparently dropped a page or two from the manuscript.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Shadow Passes, by Roy J. Snell
+
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