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margin-right:auto; max-width:23em; } + hr { max-width:20em; } + +</style> +</head> +<body> +<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’s Logo" width="200" height="91" /></div> +<p class="tbcenter">The Reilly & Lee Co. +<br /><span class="small">Chicago</span></p> +<p class="center"><span class="small">COPYRIGHT 1938 +<br />BY +<br />THE REILLY & 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’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’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’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’s Cave</a> 216</dt> +<dt><a href="#c24">XXIV Overtaking a Shadow</a> 225</dt> +<dt><a href="#c25">XXV “Bill” 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>“And then I saw it—the Shadow.”</p> +<p>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.”</p> +<p>“And then?” Johnny Thompson whispered.</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“But think of it!” he exclaimed after a second’s +pause. ”Think of the thing just disappearing +in the fog like that!”</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’s +entertainment was ever half so thrilling as +Blackie’s stories.</p> +<p>“It was spring then,” Blackie added, “late +May, when the salmon run was on.”</p> +<p>“It was a whale after salmon, that shadow,” +someone suggested.</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“You going back into the Coast Guard Service?” +Johnny asked eagerly.</p> +<p>“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!”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_13">[13]</div> +<p>“Take me along,” Johnny suggested impulsively.</p> +<p>“Me too!” put in Lawrence, his slim, bright-eyed +cousin.</p> +<p>“What do you know about boats?” Blackie +asked.</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“And Lawrence here,” he added after a brief +pause, “he knows about motors.”</p> +<p>“I—I was assistant mechanic in an airplane +hangar for a season,” Lawrence agreed modestly.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_14">[14]</div> +<p>“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!</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>“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.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_15">[15]</div> +<p>“And the Shadow, that mysterious gray +form that goes streaking through the fog. +What could it be?</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>As if reading his thoughts, Lawrence murmured +dreamily, “We’ll go after him again +tomorrow.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” Johnny agreed, “tomorrow.”</p> +<p class="tb">“Lawrence! Look! There he is!” Johnny +pointed excitedly up the glistening expanse of +frozen river. Tomorrow had come. They +were on the river.</p> +<p>“Wh—where?” Lawrence whispered.</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“Yes—yes, I see.” Lawrence took the field +glasses.</p> +<p>“At this end of that pool. I saw him move. +Look quick!”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_16">[16]</div> +<p>For a space of ten seconds Lawrence studied +that pool. “Yes,” he exclaimed at last, “he <i>is</i> +there! I saw him move over to the right.”</p> +<p>“Lawrence!” Johnny’s voice was tense with +emotion. “I’m going after him!”</p> +<p>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.”</p> +<p>“Al—all right, Johnny. Be careful! You—”</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’s spirits rose. They were “after +him again.” And “he” was a grand prize +indeed.</p> +<p>“If only we can get him,” Johnny was thinking. +“If we only can.”</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>“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.</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>“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.</p> +<p>“We’ll not go in debt,” his father had insisted +stoutly. “Not for a single thing we can +do without.”</p> +<p>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?</p> +<p>“You have to know your river,” an old-timer +had said to them. “Every foot of it.” +Did Johnny know it well enough, or—</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’s plaid mackinaw.</p> +<p>“He—he’s all right,” he breathed. “Just +getting a look.”</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>“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.</p> +<p>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!”</p> +<p>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.</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! “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!”</p> +<p>“Oh, no you won’t!” Jack Morgan, an old-time +settler in the valley, had laughed.</p> +<p>“What? Why not?” the boy demanded.</p> +<p>“Who’ll you sell ’em to?” the old-timer +asked in a kindly voice.</p> +<p>“Why, we—we’ll ship ’em out.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“But how do you get any money?” Lawrence +had demanded.</p> +<p>“Trap foxes, minks, martin. Good money +in trappin’,” was the old-timer’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’s father’s +smiling face draw into sober lines.</p> +<p>“No, boys,” he said quietly. “Not that. Anything +but trapping. It’s too cruel. I’d rather +you went out with a gun.”</p> +<p>“But we haven’t a gun,” Lawrence protested.</p> +<p>“That’s right,” the father agreed. “And +it’s not to be regretted.</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_22">[22]</div> +<p>“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>“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.’</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“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.”</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>“Chicken for Thanksgiving and Christmas +and eggs all winter long! What luck!” 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>“Something must be done about that,” he +insisted at once. “If we can’t trap the foxes, +what then?”</p> +<p>“Take them alive,” was his father’s prompt +reply.</p> +<p>“Alive! Alive!” both boys cried.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_24">[24]</div> +<p>“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—”</p> +<p>“We’ll do it,” Lawrence exclaimed. “But +then,” his face sobered, “how’ll we ever catch +up with a fox?”</p> +<p>“When I was a boy,” said his father, “we +used to catch muskrats on skates.”</p> +<p>“Muskrats on skates?” Lawrence laughed.</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_25">[25]</div> +<p>“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.”</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>“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.”</p> +<p>“A tractor!” Johnny doubted. “Oh! No! +Surely not that much!”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_26">[26]</div> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“No such luck as that,” 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>“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.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_27">[27]</div> +<p>“He—Johnny’s starting,” 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. “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.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_28">[28]</div> +<p>“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!”</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—“Now!” he breathed. “Now!”</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>“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.</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>“Never mind,” Lawrence consoled. “We’ll +get him another time.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_29">[29]</div> +<p>“But a silver fox and a beauty!” Johnny +exclaimed. “Think of losing him!”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Never a word,” Lawrence agreed.</p> +<p>They were a rather disconsolate pair as they +pulled off their skates a half hour later.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“The price of a tractor,” Lawrence agreed. +“It’s too bad.”</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>“If only I hadn’t lost him!” Johnny groaned.</p> +<p>“Aw! Forget it!” Lawrence exclaimed. +“Come on! Let’s go home by the camp.”</p> +<p>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.</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, “Look! Here’s +a bit of cloth tacked to this post. And there’s +a note written on it in indelible ink!”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_31">[31]</div> +<p>Johnny did look. “Read it!” he exclaimed.</p> +<p>“I will,” Lawrence began to read. “Can’t +quite make it out,” he murmured. “Oh, yes, +this is it.</p> +<p>“‘I WILL BE BACK ON JULY 1st. +BILL.’”</p> +<p>“So he’s coming back,” Johnny’s tone was +strange.</p> +<p>“Coming back,” Lawrence agreed. “All +right, Bill, old boy,” he laughed. “We’ll keep +your snug little camp ship-shape till you arrive.”</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’S STORY</h2> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“Oh, that—” 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>“Sure, tell us,” Johnny encouraged.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_33">[33]</div> +<p>“Hello! You here?” Blackie demanded, as +if he had not seen them before. “What’d you +come in for on a night like this?”</p> +<p>“Wedges,” said Johnny. “Steel wedges for +splitting logs.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“They’ve all got tough spots,” Johnny replied +quietly. “Where the limbs have been +cut off.”</p> +<p>“Oh, the knotty pines!” Jack laughed again. +“Roll ’em into the fence row an’ leave ’em. +That’s the way we do.”</p> +<p>“We don’t,” said Lawrence. “We aim to +take them as they come, tough or not tough, +they’ve got to bust.”</p> +<p>“Why?” Blackie fixed his piercing black +eyes on the boy.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_34">[34]</div> +<p>“That’s great!” Blackie slapped his knee. +“And I suppose you feel the same way?” he +asked of Johnny.</p> +<p>“Sure do,” was Johnny’s prompt reply. +“They can’t come too tough for me.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Not afraid,” Johnny replied quietly. “Just +don’t want to.”</p> +<p>“Tell us, Blackie,” Joe, the store-keeper, +broke in, sensing a possible row, “tell us how +you got that leg.”</p> +<p>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.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_35">[35]</div> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“We were there to protect American citizens. +There were twenty or more of them on +board, reporters and missionaries and the like.</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“You should have seen us scatter,” 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. “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>“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.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_37">[37]</div> +<p>“Here’s luck,” said Johnny, lifting a cup of +coffee just poured by Joe’s motherly wife. +“Here’s luck to the service.”</p> +<p>“And may you be my buddy!” 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>“May,” Lawrence said at last. “That’s a +long time yet.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” Johnny agreed, “and there’s plenty +to get excited about tomorrow. What do you +say we turn in?”</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, “Did you call me?”</p> +<p>“They’re great!” Lawrence chuckled. “Got +a dog beat a mile. They never bark.”</p> +<p>“And yet they can find where wild creatures +live,” 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>“We must find him,” Johnny had exclaimed +only an hour before.</p> +<p>“We surely must,” 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—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.</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>“Got your tractor yet?” he had asked of Mr. +Lawson.</p> +<p>“Not yet,” had been the reply.</p> +<p>“Well, you better hurry. They’re going fast. +May not be another shipment until it is too +late for spring’s work.”</p> +<p>“No money just now.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_40">[40]</div> +<p>“Money!” Mack exploded. “Who said anything +about money? Government gives ’em to +you on time.”</p> +<p>“But time has a way of rolling around,” Mr. +Lawson had replied quietly.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_41">[41]</div> +<p>“Johnny,” he said suddenly. “Do you think +father should let us use traps?”</p> +<p>“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?’</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“If only one of those trapping fellows +doesn’t get him first,” 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>“It comes from under that rock,” Johnny +had said.</p> +<p>“No, over here beneath this dead tree +trunk,” 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, “Too bad. He +was here three hours ago. Now he’s gone.”</p> +<p>At other times they put their noses in the +air and sang triumphantly, “He’s there. He’s +right in that hole this minute.”</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. “We’ll find ’em, +you catch ’em,” 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>“Look!” Lawrence exclaimed suddenly, +“there are Old Silver’s tracks!”</p> +<p>“Yes, sir! He just cut in from the hill to +the river. He—” Suddenly Johnny broke off +to peer upstream.</p> +<p>“Something moving up there,” he whispered. +“Maybe—”</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>“It’s the old fellow or his brother,” he murmured. +“No other fox around here has such +large feet. Boy! He’s a humdinger!”</p> +<p>Once more his keen eyes swept the upper +reaches of the river. “Huh!” he grunted. +“Whatever that was, it’s vanished now.”</p> +<p>“Might as well follow the otters,” 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. “Look +at those feathers!” Lawrence whispered.</p> +<p>“Got a ptarmigan,” said Johnny. “After that +he should have made a bee line for his lair.”</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>“Good old otters!” Lawrence exclaimed in a +hoarse whisper.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_45">[45]</div> +<p>“They’ve found us his hiding place,” Johnny +agreed. “And will we watch it? We—”</p> +<p>Suddenly he broke off short to point excitedly +upstream.</p> +<p>“A bear cub!” Lawrence exclaimed low. +“He’s going to cross the river.”</p> +<p>“We—we’ll get on our sk-ates,” said Johnny +excitedly. “Then let’s take him.”</p> +<p>“Can we?” Lawrence was doubtful.</p> +<p>“Sure! We’ll lasso him and tie him up. +He’ll make a grand addition to our zoo. Come +on!”</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 “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.</p> +<p>“I’ll toss the lasso over his head, then you +watch the fun,” Johnny chuckled.</p> +<p>“I’ll watch all right,” 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’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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“Hey! Hey! Look out!” Lawrence shouted. +“Drop your rope and beat it.”</p> +<p>“I—I can’t,” Johnny cried in sudden consternation. +“He—he’s got me tied.”</p> +<p>“Tied!” Lawrence gasped.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_48">[48]</div> +<p>“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.</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’s +paw.</p> +<p>“Cut the rope,” Lawrence shouted.</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“It’s gone,” 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’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>“I—I’ll get it next time,” 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>“I’m coming in,” Lawrence shouted.</p> +<p>“No, you—”</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>“Got to be an artful dodger,” 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>“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.</p> +<p>“That,” said Johnny with a chuckle, “was +almost funny.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” Lawrence agreed, “almost.” He did +not laugh. “Almost, but not quite.”</p> +<p>A moment later he exclaimed, “Johnny! +Where are the otters? We can’t lose them.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_52">[52]</div> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>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.”</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>“If he starts!” 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>“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.”</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’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. “We came to make our own +way,” they insisted. “We are pioneers. Pioneers +must work.”</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>“Pioneers!” he whispered. “We are pioneers.” +How he loved that thought.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“Look,” Johnny gripped his arm. “There is +the fox. He hasn’t started across yet and—”</p> +<p>“And there are the otters!” Lawrence broke +in with a shrill whisper.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Like one boy daring another to come out +and fight,” Lawrence laughed low.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_56">[56]</div> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>He had spoken the truth, the fox was after +one of the otters.</p> +<p>“Little good it will do him,” Lawrence +chuckled. “Those otters are more at home on +ice and in water than on land.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Al-all right,” the younger boy agreed.</p> +<p>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.</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’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>“For all the world like a game of tag!” +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>“Good old otters!” 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>“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.</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’s hands, like a +brass collar, were about his neck.</p> +<p>“You got him!” Lawrence shouted, springing +into action. “You got him! Hurray!”</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>“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.</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’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>“It—it’s the end,” 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, “Hold on, +I’m coming.”</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>“Now!” he shouted. “Out you come.” And +out he came.</p> +<p>Weak from excitement and exhaustion, he +lay there for a time motionless.</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“It’s you for skates and the ice, then home +as fast as ever you can.” 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’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>“Who do you suppose he left that note for?” +he exclaimed suddenly.</p> +<p>“Haven’t—the—slightest-notion,” Lawrence +panted, still racing along. “One—thing—is—sure. +I’m—going—to—be—there—when +that day comes.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_62">[62]</div> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“You—you’ve seen silver foxes.” Johnny +was on his feet.</p> +<p>“Hundreds of ’em.” The stranger smiled.</p> +<p>“Hun-hundreds,” Johnny stammered. “I +thought they were rare.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_63">[63]</div> +<p>“Used to be,” admitted Jim Clem. “Still +are, fairly so. Did you get a good one?”</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“Oh! He’s alive. Hurt much?” Jim asked.</p> +<p>“Not hurt at all.”</p> +<p>“Not hurt?” Jim stared. “How’d you catch +him?”</p> +<p>“With my hands,” Johnny chuckled. Then, +seeing that this would not stand as a bare +statement, he explained briefly their method of +capture.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Yes, we—”</p> +<p>“But not now,” Jim broke in. “Never again. +Know much about foxes?”</p> +<p>“No, we—”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_64">[64]</div> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Not one?” Lawrence sat up.</p> +<p>“That’s it,” Jim agreed. “You’d get two or +three little red foxes and, with great luck, a +cross fox, that’s all.”</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_65">[65]</div> +<p>“That’s what our fox is worth,” Lawrence +groaned. “And we’d have to kill him to get +that?”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“I’d never sell ours to a fox farm,” Lawrence +said with conviction.</p> +<p>“How about selling him alive to some zoo?” +Johnny asked hopefully.</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_66">[66]</div> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“Well,” Johnny drawled slowly, “Old Silver +won’t buy us a tractor, that’s sure.”</p> +<p>“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.”</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>“I think you’d better,” said Johnny. “There +are only a few left and they are going fast.”</p> +<p>“There’ll always be the Titan,” Lawrence +laughed.</p> +<p>“Yes, the Titan,” Johnny agreed. “But who +could ever pay for that tractor?”</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>“We’ll wait a little longer,” was Mr. Lawson’s +decision. “The tide of fortune may turn +our way.”</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>“Here they come,” someone shouted as, +stamping the snow from their feet, they entered +the smoke-filled room.</p> +<p>“Here they come. They bring ’em back +alive!” someone else shouted.</p> +<p>“Well,” Lawrence drawled, “we bring them +anyway. Got two minks today. That’s two +more that won’t carry off folks’ chickens.”</p> +<p>“I hear you boys got a silver fox.” There +was a suggestion of antagonism in Jack Mayhorn’s +voice as he said this.</p> +<p>“Yes,” Johnny replied. “And we’ve still got +him.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_69">[69]</div> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Net marks?” someone said.</p> +<p>“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’.”</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. +“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.”</p> +<p>Jack made no reply, but Johnny did.</p> +<p>“I’m sorry,” he said, speaking slowly. “It +doesn’t mean a fight to me.”</p> +<p>“You won’t fight?” Blackie stared at him.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Take a beating you mean,” Jack sneered. +He was nearly twice Johnny’s size.</p> +<p>“Joe,” said Johnny, turning to the store-keeper, +“you told me you got two pairs of boxing +gloves through the mail.”</p> +<p>“Sure, Johnny, I did. Here they are.” +Reaching behind him the store-keeper drew +out two pairs of gloves.</p> +<p>“Put ’em on, Johnny,” Blackie encouraged.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_71">[71]</div> +<p>“Put ’em on! Put ’em on!” came from all +over the room. There was a stir of expectancy +in the air.</p> +<p>“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.”</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, “Sure, Johnny, I’ll box you, not +for money or marbles, but just, you might say, +for fun.”</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’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, “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.</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>“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.</p> +<p>“Not a chance,” Johnny laughed. “I didn’t +know what I was stepping into but I did my +best.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_74">[74]</div> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“So it’s <i>your</i> foot that’s bad and not that +silver fox’s foot?” Blackie bantered.</p> +<p>The crowd let out a roar that could have +been heard a mile.</p> +<p>“That’ll about fix Jack Mayhorn,” said Joe. +“He’s not likely to bother you much now.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“Johnny,” said Joe, feeling a plaster on his +chin, “why did you do it?”</p> +<p>“Do what?” Johnny stared.</p> +<p>“Pick on me for a fight. I never done you no +wrong.”</p> +<p>“That’s why,” was Johnny’s astonishing reply. +“It’s an old Eskimo custom.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_75">[75]</div> +<p>“What is?” They all stared at him.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“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.”</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>“Perhaps we can get more foxes?” Lawrence +said, thinking out loud.</p> +<p>“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?”</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’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. “Must +have dreamed it,” 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. “What a change a few hours +can make,” he thought. They were sleeping in +the mysterious Bill’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’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>“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.</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? “No. Too +chilly,” he shuddered. “Wait till morning.”</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>“With a tractor and a stout sled we’d have +it hauled home in no time,” Lawrence had +said to his father. “Without it—”</p> +<p>“Wait a little longer,” his father had counseled.</p> +<p>So they were waiting and tonight, sleeping +in Bill’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>“Law-Lawrence!” he shouted in wild consternation. +“The bear! The bear!”</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>“That’s no bear,” said a gruff, good-natured +voice. “That’s my pack. Sorry! Didn’t know +you was here.”</p> +<p>“Lawrence!” Johnny exclaimed. “It’s Bill!”</p> +<p>“Not Bill neither,” the stranger disagreed. +“They call me Smokey Joe.”</p> +<p>“Smokey Joe!” Johnny peered into the darkness, +trying to get a look at the man’s face. +“Smokey Joe. I’ve heard of you.”</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>“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.</p> +<p>“But he’s no boy,” she added. “He came to +Alaska in the gold rush of ’97.”</p> +<p>“Eighteen-ninety-seven!” Johnny had exclaimed. +“More than forty years ago!”</p> +<p>“He never left,” the gray-haired lady had +added. “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>“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.”</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>“It’s about morning,” he said, at last looking +into Smokey Joe’s seamed face. “Did you +come far?”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“We’ll have coffee before you know it,” +Johnny said cheerily. “Coffee and sour-dough +flap-jacks.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_82">[82]</div> +<p>Lawrence grinned. This old man spoke a +strange language.</p> +<p>“A bear!” Smokey chuckled. “You all +thought I were a bear! That’s right smart +quare.”</p> +<p>“We almost caught a cub,” Johnny explained. +“Caught him alive, I mean.”</p> +<p>“Almost.” Lawrence laughed. “But his +mother objected.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Why?” Johnny sat up. “What’s strange +about them?”</p> +<p>“Might nigh everythin’s quare, I reckon. +Hm,” the old man sniffed the coffee, “smells +powerful good.”</p> +<p>“It’ll be boiled in a minute or two,” said +Johnny. “But tell me about those bears.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_83">[83]</div> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Polar bears?” Johnny suggested.</p> +<p>“Polar bears, big as good-sized hounds!” +Smokey sniffed. “Who’s ever hearn tell of +sech polar bears?”</p> +<p>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?”</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>“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.”</p> +<p>“But, Johnny,” Lawrence was not smiling, +“do you really suppose there are any such +bears as he described?”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_84">[84]</div> +<p>“Of course not,” was Johnny’s prompt reply.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Forget it. It’s all a pipe dream, I tell you.”</p> +<p>But Lawrence did not forget Smokey Joe’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>“Hello, boys,” was his surprising greeting. +“I hear you bring ’em back alive.”</p> +<p>“Why, yes, we—Sometimes we do,” Johnny +replied in confusion.</p> +<p>“Blackie Dawson told me about you.”</p> +<p>“Oh, Blackie.” Johnny’s face brightened.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Help you? Oh, sure!” Things were looking +better and better. “Here’s where we get a +start,” Johnny was thinking.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_86">[86]</div> +<p>“What have you?” the man asked.</p> +<p>“Well, er—mister—”</p> +<p>“They call me Professor Ormsby,” said the +stranger. “You may call me what you please.”</p> +<p>“Well, then, Professor,” Johnny went on, +“we have a silver fox, a perfectly keen fox.”</p> +<p>“Caught in a trap, I suppose?”</p> +<p>“No. By hand.”</p> +<p>“By hand!” The Professor stared. “How +do you do it?”</p> +<p>Johnny told him in as few words as possible +and with no dramatics at all, just how it was +done.</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“We haven’t taken any beaver. We—well, +we were afraid it might be against the law +even to catch them alive.”</p> +<p>“I have a government permit,” said the Professor. +“But if you haven’t any beaver—”</p> +<p>“Catching beaver would be easy. We have +a grand colony not three miles away,” Lawrence +put in. “We might—”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_87">[87]</div> +<p>“How about mink?” Johnny asked. “We +have some fine ones. Or snow-shoe rabbits?”</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“I think,” he tried to make his voice seem +very cheerful, “I think we can supply the beaver. +Can’t we, Lawrence?”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_88">[88]</div> +<p>“What? Yes. Oh, yes,” Lawrence replied.</p> +<p>“One of them must be a big one, a real boss +of the village,” warned the Professor.</p> +<p>“We’ve got him,” Johnny laughed uncertainly. +“Napoleon himself.”</p> +<p>“Yes. Oh, yes. We’ve got him, all right,” +Lawrence did not laugh.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“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—</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>“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.</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>“What’ll they do now?” Lawrence had +asked.</p> +<p>“Wait and see,” was Johnny’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>“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.</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>“It’s a wolf,” Johnny whispered. “Let’s follow +him.”</p> +<p>Follow him they did, and to their consternation +saw that he was headed for the beaver +colony.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>This, Johnny knew, was good advice, but +for some reason scarcely known to himself, he +said, “Let’s wait.”</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>“He’ll kill him,” 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, +“What’s a wolf that one should fear him?”</p> +<p>“He—he’s great!” Johnny shrilled.</p> +<p>“Magnificent,” 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>“We—we’d better step in,” came from Lawrence.</p> +<p>“Wait,” Johnny gripped his arm hard. Perhaps +he should stop the wolf, but he waited, +fascinated.</p> +<p>“Now!” 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’s closed jaws.</p> +<p>“Great Scott!” 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’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. “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.”</p> +<p>“What’s more, he’s no coward,” Johnny +added.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_94">[94]</div> +<p>“Johnny, I can’t do it,” Lawrence dangled +his lasso.</p> +<p>“Neither can I,” said Johnny. “Let’s go.”</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>“Johnny,” said Lawrence, “we’re a pair of +old softies.”</p> +<p>“That’s right,” said Johnny. “But I don’t +mind, do you?”</p> +<p>“Not a bit. Let’s go.”</p> +<p class="tb">“Get ’em?” the Professor asked as they +came stamping into the cabin.</p> +<p>“No—er, well, no we didn’t,” Johnny stammered.</p> +<p>“How come?” the man’s face sobered. “That +was your big moment.”</p> +<p>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?”</p> +<p>“That—that would be splendid!” 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’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—”</p> +<p>“We—we’ll manage,” Lawrence replied +slowly. Then, “By the way, Professor. You +must know about bears. Are there any light +blue bears?”</p> +<p>“Blue bears? Let me think! Oh, certainly! +They belong up this way, too. Very rare they +are, though.”</p> +<p>“Blue bears!” Lawrence became greatly excited. +“Small blue bears, no larger than a +good-sized dog, with woolly hair? They—they +live on fish?”</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“Sure—sure,” Lawrence stammered. “No, +I mean we haven’t. That is, we could, I—I’m +sure we could.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_96">[96]</div> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Smokey Joe? Who is that?” the Professor +asked.</p> +<p>“An old prospector,” Johnny explained. +“He’s been all over this country.”</p> +<p>“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—”</p> +<p>“So another bubble bursts,” Johnny +groaned.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_97">[97]</div> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_98">[98]</div> +<h2 id="c8"><span class="small">CHAPTER VIII</span> +<br />THE STORMY PETREL’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 “bringing +them home alive” 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>“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.</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_99">[99]</div> +<p>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.</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>“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.”</p> +<p>“If we can find Smokey Joe,” Johnny would +smilingly agree. “And if they don’t need us +for service in Bristol Bay.”</p> +<p>“Bristol Bay,” Lawrence would reply doubtfully. +“Seems as if I’d rather catch animals +alive than go after those Orientals.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_100">[100]</div> +<p>“We’ll take them alive, too,” 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>“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>“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.’</p> +<p>“Think we’ll do that?” he would storm. +“Not on your life! We’ll get ’em. You’ll see.</p> +<p>“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.</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>“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.”</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, “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.</p> +<p>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.”</p> +<p>“Well,” said Johnny, “how did you like it?”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_102">[102]</div> +<p>“Time and fate will decide,” Johnny said +soberly.</p> +<p>“Time and Blackie,” Lawrence added with +a laugh.</p> +<p>“And Smokey Joe,” 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’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—boom—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>“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.”</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>“Blackie!” Johnny exclaimed. “I thought +you’d be in Bristol Bay by now.”</p> +<p>“I’m on my way,” Blackie puffed. “And so +are you.</p> +<p>“Mr. Lawson,” he exclaimed, “I must draft +your boys into my service.”</p> +<p>“What about these stumps,” Mr. Lawson +straightened his stiff back.</p> +<p>“What’ll it cost to have ’em out with a +tractor?” Blackie demanded.</p> +<p>Both Johnny and Lawrence looked at him +with gleaming eyes.</p> +<p>“Why do you need my boys?” the man +among the stumps demanded.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_105">[105]</div> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>Then Blackie did a strange thing for him. +He quoted poetry—</p> +<div class="verse"> +<p class="t0">“‘Not once nor twice in our fair Island’s story</p> +<p class="t0">Has the path of duty been the way to glory.’</p> +</div> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>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.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_106">[106]</div> +<p>“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.”</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’s two +lines of verse,</p> +<div class="verse"> +<p class="t0">“‘Not once nor twice in our fair Island’s story</p> +<p class="t0">Has the path of duty been the way to glory.’”</p> +</div> +<p>What did it mean? He had only a vague +notion.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_107">[107]</div> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“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?</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’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.”</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—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’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>“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.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_109">[109]</div> +<p>“Aye, that we are, me lad,” MacGregor +agreed.</p> +<p>“Yes, and that’s why it’s so easy for these +Orientals to slip over here and trap our fish,” +Blackie exploded.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Well,” said Johnny with a laugh. “Looks +like we’d learn a lot of geography and current +history on this trip.”</p> +<p>“No doubt about that, me lad,” 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>“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.”</p> +<p>“A new world,” Johnny murmured dreamily.</p> +<p>“You don’t know half of it,” 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’wester was whipping up the ocean +spray. Even on the river well back from the +narrow bay, little whitecaps came racing in.</p> +<p>“No day for going out!” Blackie grumbled. +“Pile up on the rocks, that’s what we’d do.”</p> +<p>“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.</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—</p> +<p>“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—</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, “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?”</p> +<p>A second voice rumbled words that could +not be understood.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>At that a door slammed and they heard no +more.</p> +<p>“Well?” Blackie tried to scare up a grin. It +was not a huge success. “Kids,” he said.</p> +<p>“We’re not quite that,” Johnny said quietly. +“We <i>are</i> pinch hitters.”</p> +<p>“Sure you are,” Blackie agreed. “But I +wouldn’t trade you for half the so-called men +in the regular service.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_114">[114]</div> +<p>“Say, Johnny!” His voice dropped. “Know +who that was talking?”</p> +<p>“No-o.”</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“Johnny,” his whisper sounded like an exploding +steam valve. “You <i>like</i> to box, don’t +you?”</p> +<p>“Nothing I like better,” Johnny grinned. +“Started when I was six and never stopped.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“And I suppose you expect me to trim him, +at least to try it?” Johnny’s face was a study.</p> +<p>“No-o, not just that, only a few friendly +rounds. I’d like you to represent the <i>Stormy +Petrel</i>.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_115">[115]</div> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“Come on,” he sprang to his feet. “It’s time +for chow.”</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’s entertainment.</p> +<p>“They’re all here,” Blackie grinned. “A +dozen nationalities: Italians, Finlanders, +Swedes, down-east Yankees, an Eskimo or +two and what have you.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Well,” Johnny smiled. “Whatever else +happens, there will be no crooked work tonight. +I don’t fight that way.”</p> +<p>“Don’t I know it?” Blackie agreed.</p> +<p>“Well, now, here we are,” he chuckled a +moment later. “Reserved seats. Box seats, +mind you. Who could ask for more?”</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—the crowd was holding back its enthusiasm.</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“Can’t you guess?”</p> +<p>“No-o, I—”</p> +<p>“It’s you and Red McGee. They’re waiting +for that.”</p> +<p>“What?” Johnny half rose to his feet.</p> +<p>“Keep your seat.” Blackie pulled him down. +“Ever hear of the grapevine telegraph?”</p> +<p>“Yes, in—in a sort of way.”</p> +<p>“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?’”</p> +<p>“And you—”</p> +<p>“I said, ‘Sure! None other. But does Red +McGee know it?’</p> +<p>“They said, ‘Guess he doesn’t. He’s been in +Seattle, just come up.’</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_118">[118]</div> +<p>“Then I said, ‘Mum’s the word. We’ll just +ask him to give Johnny a few pointers in boxing.’”</p> +<p>“And they agreed?” Johnny seemed ready +to bolt from the room.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Even if it’s on him?”</p> +<p>“Even if it’s on him. Absolutely.”</p> +<p>“Then he’s a real sport,” Johnny settled +back in his place. “It will be a real joy to box +him a few rounds.”</p> +<p>“Okie doke,” Blackie seemed relieved. “But, +Johnny,” he added, “pull your punches. Murder +isn’t legal in Alaska, not south of the Arctic +Circle.”</p> +<p>“I only hope Red McGee remembers that,” +was Johnny’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>“So that’s what I’m going up against?” 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>“He seems to anticipate every move this Tomingo +makes,” Johnny groaned in a whisper.</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“And, boy,” his voice dropped, “this is a +big spot. It’s important, mighty important. +These fellows must respect us, have faith in +the <i>Stormy Petrel</i> 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.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_121">[121]</div> +<p>“There!” Johnny breathed. “There’s the +bell. That match is over. And Red McGee is +just nicely warmed up.”</p> +<p>The tall, lanky boatman who acted as referee +shuffled off the floor.</p> +<p>“Who’s next?” 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’s glove had raked +his chin.</p> +<p>“Red,” one of his own men volunteered, +“there’s one of them kids from the <i>Stormy +Petrel</i> who’d like to learn a little about boxing. +Would y’ mind a teachin’ him?”</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“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.</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’s</i> crew. +This made Johnny a little angry, but not too +much.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_122">[122]</div> +<p>“Show ’em, Johnny,” 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>“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.”</p> +<p>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.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_123">[123]</div> +<p>All the time Johnny was thinking, “How +long will he stand this? How long? How—”</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’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’s waiting fists. Twice he heard +the whistle of a glove as it brushed his ear.</p> +<p>Once, when he was in Blackie’s corner, he +heard a hoarse whisper, “Steady, there, boy. +I can’t afford to lose you.”</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’s challenge.</p> +<p>“Come out an’ box.”</p> +<p>“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.”</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’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’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’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>“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—”</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, “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.”</p> +<p>At that the girl hid her face in the foreman’s +jacket to murmur fiercely, “The brute! The +ugly little brute!”</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>“Wh-what!” he exclaimed, struggling to +a sitting position, “what in the name of—”</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“Daddy,” she began, “are you—”</p> +<p>“Do you mean to say that kid from the +<i>Stormy Petrel</i> put me out?” Red McGee interrupted.</p> +<p>“Well, you went out,” the foreman drawled. +“The boy was the only one near you so I +reckon—”</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>“Ho! Ho! Ha-ha-ha!” he roared. “That’s +one on Red McGee.</p> +<p>“But, boys!” he struggled to his feet. “I +want to admit right here. There might be +something to that <i>Stormy Petrel</i> crew after all. +Give ’em a chance, I say.”</p> +<p>“Sure! Sure!” the crowd boomed. “Give +’em a chance.”</p> +<p>“Where’s that young roughneck?” Red demanded, +staring about him. “I want to shake +his hand.”</p> +<p>“Here—here he is!” Blackie pushed Johnny +forward.</p> +<p>“I—I’m sorry—” Johnny began.</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“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 <i>Stormy Petrel</i>. +Ever eat ptarmigan pot pie?”</p> +<p>“Never have,” said Johnny.</p> +<p>“Well, you’re going to before this day is ...”</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>“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.”</p> +<p>“She will, son. She will,” Blackie reassured +him. “Perhaps sooner than you think.” 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>“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.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_131">[131]</div> +<p>Since the crew of the <i>Stormy Petrel</i> 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.</p> +<p>“How she must love that old dad of hers!” +Blackie whispered once. Johnny’s only answer +was a scowl.</p> +<p>Yes, Johnny was shunned and slighted by +this youthful “queen of the canneries,” as she +had once been called, but the <i>Stormy Petrel’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 “help with +the dishes.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_132">[132]</div> +<p>“Do you like Alaska?” Rusty asked him.</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“Way up there?” the girl exclaimed. “What +were you doing?”</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“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.</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>“I suppose you know all about this Oriental +fishing business,” Red suggested.</p> +<p>“I’m not sure that I do know all about it,” +was Blackie’s modest reply. “Suppose you tell +me.”</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_134">[134]</div> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“And so?” Blackie prompted after a moment’s +silence.</p> +<p>“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>“The plan was well worked out. We’ve put +the salmon industry on a sound foundation. +It will continue so for years unless—”</p> +<p>“These Orientals are allowed to come over +here and set three-mile-long nets across the +bay,” suggested Blackie.</p> +<p>“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—”</p> +<p>“Not too loud,” Blackie cautioned. “There +goes one of them now.”</p> +<p>“What?” 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>“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—</p> +<p>“But say!” his voice rose. “He does look +like one of those Orientals.”</p> +<p>“Sure he does,” Blackie agreed.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“It’s a good idea,” Blackie agreed.</p> +<p class="tb">“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.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_136">[136]</div> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Shadows?” the girl stared at him.</p> +<p>“Sure! He says they glide along across the +sea with never a sound. Like some phantom +schooner it was,” he said.</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“I don’t know what to think,” MacGregor +scratched his gray thatch.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_137">[137]</div> +<p>“But, Mr. MacGregor,” the girl said after +a moment, “didn’t you have a thing to eat except +Eskimo food?”</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“And then we got a phonograph,” he +laughed again.</p> +<p>“A phonograph?” Rusty said.</p> +<p>“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, ‘<i>Suna una?</i>’ +(What is it?) We didn’t tell ’em, so they +tapped it some more and said, ‘All same tin +can-<i>emuck</i>.’</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_138">[138]</div> +<p>“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.’</p> +<p>“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!’”</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—glad +that that fine girl could laugh even if +it wasn’t his joke.</p> +<p>“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—”</p> +<p>“Floating canneries?” Lawrence broke in.</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_139">[139]</div> +<p>“I’m in favor of calling every square mile +of Bristol Bay American waters,” Blackie replied.</p> +<p>Red McGee stared at him with sudden approval. +“Say!” he roared, “we must be brothers.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“To do a lot of explaining.”</p> +<p>“Yes, and for quite a long visit.”</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“Why not?” 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>“Nice place you’ve got here,” said MacGregor, +as he joined the party on the porch.</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“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!”</p> +<p>“It’s been swell!” said Blackie.</p> +<p>“Swell! Grand! Mighty keen!” were the +impulsive comments of the boys.</p> +<p>“We know each other better,” said Blackie.</p> +<p>“A whole lot better,” Red McGee agreed.</p> +<p>“Goodbye, Rusty,” MacGregor called back +through the house.</p> +<p>“Goodbye! Goodbye! Come again soon,” +came back in a girlish voice.</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_141">[141]</div> +<h2 id="c13"><span class="small">CHAPTER XIII</span> +<br />THE SHADOW</h2> +<p>“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 <i>Stormy +Petrel</i> he felt ready for anything. The moment +he awoke he had listened for the pounding +surf.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Here’s hoping,” Lawrence agreed.</p> +<p>Yes, the storm was over, but here instead +was a damp, chilling blanket of dull, gray fog.</p> +<p>“Can’t see a hundred feet,” he grumbled.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_142">[142]</div> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“But this fog,” Johnny insisted, “gives those +Orientals a chance to slip in close, doesn’t it?”</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_143">[143]</div> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“All the same, this <i>is</i> 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.”</p> +<p>“But is it true?” Johnny asked.</p> +<p>“That,” said Blackie, “is what we’re going +to find out.</p> +<p>“Johnny,” he said after a moment, “go up +forward and remove that box. Let our little +brass messenger swing with the boat.”</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>“This way or that?” Johnny thought. “I +wonder which it will be.”</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>“Rusty!” he whispered. “Wonder if she’ll +ever forgive me?”</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—of a sudden Johnny rubbed his eyes—stared +away to the right—closed his eyes—snapped +them open again to whisper hoarsely,</p> +<p>“Blackie! The shadow passes.”</p> +<p>“The shadow! Where?”</p> +<p>The boy’s hand pointed.</p> +<p>“As I live!” 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>“Ahoy, there!” Blackie roared. “What boat +goes there?”</p> +<p>No answer.</p> +<p>“I’ll show them!” 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>“It—it went down,” Johnny stammered. +“Must have been a whale.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_146">[146]</div> +<p>“Or a submarine,” Lawrence suggested.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Wait!” Johnny sprang for the cannon. +“I’ll give them a shot just to let them know +we’re after them.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“I—I’m sorry,” 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>“Only one of the gill-net boats returning to +the cannery,” was the answer.</p> +<p>“They’re running strong,” was the joyous +report of one fisherman. “Full load first trip. +Looks like a grand season.”</p> +<p>“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.”</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>“No new calico dress for Nancy this time,” +the youthful skipper groaned.</p> +<p>“No gitta da dress,” 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>“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.</p> +<p>“But the wheels are turning,” he added with +a touch of pride. “Ever see a cannery in operation?” +he turned to the boys.</p> +<p>“No, never have,” was the quick response.</p> +<p>“Rusty,” said Red, turning to his daughter, +“how’d you like to show these boys through +our plant?”</p> +<p>Did Johnny detect a frown on the girl’s +face? If so, it was gone like the shadow of a +summer cloud.</p> +<p>“Sure! Come on!” 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—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>“Where are the coolies?” he asked a man +beside a machine.</p> +<p>“This is him,” the man chuckled. “An iron +coolie.”</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>“Jimminy crickets!” Lawrence exploded. +“And I used to think I was the champion fish +cleaner!”</p> +<p>Rusty favored him with a gorgeous smile.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_150">[150]</div> +<p>“We saw the shadow pass,” Lawrence confided +to the girl, as at last they stood before a +canning machine.</p> +<p>“Oh!” the girl breathed. “Did you? And +what—”</p> +<p>“It vanished into the fog.”</p> +<p>“I have a small motor-boat,” the girl said, +in evident excitement. “It’s the <i>Krazy Kat</i>. +I—I’m going out to look for the shadow in the +fog.”</p> +<p>“You—you’d better not do that,” Johnny +spoke before he thought. “You’d be—” He +did not finish.</p> +<p>“I was practically born and raised here.” +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>“None of my business,” he told himself +fiercely. “Just none at all.”</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>“He’s an Oriental,” Johnny told himself. +“All Eskimos are. But after all—” 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>“Action,” Johnny said to Lawrence. “This +time we are to have action. I feel it in my +bones.”</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>“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.</p> +<p>“Orientals,” he continued musingly, “I +don’t suppose they’re much different from the +rest of us, only just some of them.”</p> +<p>“Just some of them,” Johnny agreed, giving +the wheel a turn.</p> +<p>“Come to think of it,” MacGregor went on, +“there are a few white men who are not so +honorable.”</p> +<p>“Quite a few,” 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>“I don’t hate them all the same,” MacGregor +squinted his eyes to look through the fog. +Then he demanded low, “Hear anything, +Johnny?”</p> +<p>“Not a thing.”</p> +<p>“Thought I heard a voice coming out of the +fog.”</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>“What is this shadow?” Johnny asked himself. +“Submarine, some fast, silent craft, or a +whale?”</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>“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.”</p> +<p>He broke off short to cup a hand behind his +ear.</p> +<p>“There <i>was</i> a voice,” he insisted in a hoarse +whisper.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_154">[154]</div> +<p>“Yes, I heard it,” Johnny replied, tense with +sudden excitement.</p> +<p>Ten minutes had passed. They were beginning +to relax when the sound came again.</p> +<p>“Over to the right,” MacGregor shrilled. +“Turn her about quarterin’ them. Give her top +speed.”</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“There!” MacGregor gripped the boy’s +arm.</p> +<p>“Oh—ah!” Johnny groaned. “We missed +them.”</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>“Our own speed defeated us,” declared MacGregor. +“Ah, well, better luck next time.”</p> +<p>“Or worse,” 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>“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.</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“Know what I see when I’m tired and I +close my eyes?” he asked suddenly.</p> +<p>“No. What?” Johnny grinned good-naturedly.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>Just then Blackie’s head popped up out of +the hatch.</p> +<p>“See anything?” he demanded.</p> +<p>“Plenty,” said Johnny.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_156">[156]</div> +<p>“Yes, an’ heard ’em,” MacGregor added.</p> +<p>They told Blackie what had happened.</p> +<p>“So you think you heard them?” he asked.</p> +<p>“Think?” MacGregor roared. “We <i>know</i> +we heard ’em.”</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“Turn the boat north by east,” he said to +Johnny. “We’re going in for a rest.”</p> +<p>“Rest? What’s that?” Johnny opened up a +grand smile.</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“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.”</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 +“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.</p> +<p>“Rusty,” he thought once again. “Will she +ever forgive me?”</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>“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.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Like nothin’ better,” said MacGregor. +“Come on, Johnny, let’s get goin’.”</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. “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.”</p> +<p>“I hope you can have,” had been Johnny’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>“Not worth much, that fellow,” was MacGregor’s +comment. “Not much more hair than +a pig.</p> +<p>“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—</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Another seal,” said Johnny.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“That—that’s right,” the boy breathed.</p> +<p>“And there’s the floats, Johnny! There they +are!”</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>“We’ll follow it,” was MacGregor’s instant +decision. “See how much net there is, then—”</p> +<p>“I’ll follow it,” Johnny agreed.</p> +<p>“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.”</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>“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—</p> +<p>“Slow up, Johnny!” he warned. “There’s +the end. Shut off the motor.”</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>“Ease about,” said MacGregor. “I’ll pick up +that net with this pike pole.</p> +<p>“Now,” he breathed, leaning far out over +the rail, “now I got her. Now—”</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>“MacGregor!” Johnny cried. “What happened? +Where are you?”</p> +<p>“Here—here I am!” MacGregor’s voice rose +from the sea.</p> +<p>“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 +<i>Stormy’s</i> side. She’ll sink in another minute. +For God’s sake, be quick!”</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>“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.</p> +<p>“Now!” he breathed. “Now! And now!”</p> +<p>The boat was on the rail. He could fairly +feel the <i>Stormy’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’s checkerboard.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_164">[164]</div> +<p>“MacGregor!” Johnny called hoarsely. +“MacGregor! Where are you?”</p> +<p>“Here! Over here!” was the cheering response. +“I had to get away. She would have +sucked me down.”</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>“John—Johnny,” his teeth were chattering. +“There—there shou-should be d-d-dry clothes +in the stern.”</p> +<p>Dragging a half barrel from the prow, Johnny +pulled out shirts, underclothing, trousers, +socks and shoes.</p> +<p>“Seems you were looking for this,” he +chuckled as he watched the plucky old man +disrobe himself.</p> +<p>“Johnny,” said MacGregor. “In the Coast +Guard service you are always looking for it an’ +all too often you’re not disappointed.”</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, “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.”</p> +<p>“Do you suppose Blackie heard it?”</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“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.”</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>“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.”</p> +<p>“No sun, moon or stars, either,” 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>“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.”</p> +<p>“If you kept your course, which you +couldn’t,” MacGregor chuckled.</p> +<p>“It’s worth trying. Anyway, I’m cold,” +Johnny began to row. “There may be other +bird flights to set me right.”</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>“Well,” he sighed, dropping his oars, “At +least I—”</p> +<p>“Listen!” MacGregor put up a hand.</p> +<p>Johnny listened. “Say! That’s no seal.”</p> +<p>“Nor a bird either. That’s a human sound.”</p> +<p>“Like someone trying to start a motor.”</p> +<p>“Just that.”</p> +<p>For a time the sound ceased. Then it began +again.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_168">[168]</div> +<p>“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?</p> +<p>Four times the sound ceased. Four times +Johnny’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>“Heck!” said a voice in that fog.</p> +<p>“Doesn’t sound like an Oriental,” Johnny +whispered.</p> +<p>“Fisherman nor trapper either,” 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>“It’s that girl, Rusty,” he whispered hoarsely.</p> +<p>“The same,” 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’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>“Heck!” she exclaimed once more.</p> +<p>“Havin’ motor trouble?” 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, “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—”</p> +<p>“Now we’re all lost together,” MacGregor +chuckled.</p> +<p>To Johnny, the girl gave never a second +look.</p> +<p>“Do—do you suppose you could start it?” +she said to MacGregor, nodding at her motor.</p> +<p>“No harm to try. At least we’ll come aboard +for a cup o’ tea,” MacGregor chuckled.</p> +<p>Johnny rowed the lifeboat alongside the +girl’s boat, the <i>Krazy Kat</i>, and they climbed +aboard.</p> +<p>“She’s not gittin’ gas,” said MacGregor, +after he had turned the motor over twice.</p> +<p>“I know,” the girl’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>“You might try putting some gas in your +tank,” he said with a sly grin.</p> +<p>“Oh, but there must be gas!” the girl exclaimed. +“There must be.”</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“Not a bit.”</p> +<p>“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—”</p> +<p>Suddenly he sprang to his feet. “You’d have +a compass, wouldn’t you?”</p> +<p>“Ye-es,” the girl replied with evident reluctance, +“but it—it’s out of order. That’s why +I got lost.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_171">[171]</div> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>A half hour later found them comfortably +crowded into Rusty’s small cabin. They were +sipping tea and munching hard round crackers.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“And doing,” Johnny suggested uneasily.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_172">[172]</div> +<p>“Yes, and doin’,” 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, “MacGregor, +come up here quick.”</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>“MacGregor,” Johnny asked, “what is it?”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Wha-what ship is she?”</p> +<p>“Who knows, son? But I’d lay a bet I could +guess the country she came from.”</p> +<p>“So—so could I.” Johnny’s throat was dry.</p> +<p>“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 <i>Krazy Kat</i>. It really doesn’t.” +She swallowed hard.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_173">[173]</div> +<p>“We can try it,” MacGregor agreed. “But +I’m afraid it’s too late.</p> +<p>“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!”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_174">[174]</div> +<h2 id="c17"><span class="small">CHAPTER XVII</span> +<br />TRAPPED</h2> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“I—I won’t forget.” Rusty’s fingers were +busy with her hair.</p> +<p>“I only hope,” the old man added soberly, +“that my guess is wrong.”</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. “A thousand pardons.” The +little man’s voice was smooth as oil. “What +is that which you wish?”</p> +<p>“Only a few gallons of gasoline,” said MacGregor.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“Ah! You are out of gas? Very unfortunate. +Your line, please. We shall escort you +to our ship.”</p> +<p>“But we don’t want to go to your ship,” +MacGregor protested. “All we want is gas.”</p> +<p>“Ah, yes, a thousand apologies. But here +there is no gasoline, only at the ship. Your +line, please.”</p> +<p>“Say, you—” Johnny’s angry voice was +stopped by a heavy pressure on his arm.</p> +<p>“Give him our line, son,” 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>“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.”</p> +<p>“But—but what will happen?” Rusty asked.</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“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.”</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’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>“That will be your stateroom, Rusty,” MacGregor +opened the door to the one beyond. +“Keep your outside door locked.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_178">[178]</div> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>Without a word the girl dropped to a stool +beside the berth.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Right,” said Johnny.</p> +<p>“Rusty,” said MacGregor, “do you ever +box?”</p> +<p>“Oh yes, often.” The girl’s face flushed. +“Often. Daddy and I box by the hour.” She +gave Johnny a strange, fleeting look.</p> +<p>“Good!” MacGregor exclaimed low. “Tonight +we’ll have an exhibition match, just you +and Johnny. Two boys showing these Orientals +how to play.</p> +<p>“And now,” 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’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’wester +was no longer needed. Good old MacGregor +had done his work well. Rusty’s hair +looked like a real boy’s.</p> +<p>“What a grand boy!” Johnny thought. And +after that, “What a perfect brick of a girl she +is!”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_180">[180]</div> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“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.”</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—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, “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.</p> +<p>“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.”</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>“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.</p> +<p>“‘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.’</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“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.”</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>“These little brown boys go in strong for +boxing,” the old man explained.</p> +<p>“I told them,” continued MacGregor, “that +you were one of America’s most promising +young boxers, but a little out of training.”</p> +<p>“Quite a little,” Johnny agreed.</p> +<p>“I said you and your boy pal would put on +an exhibition match on deck tonight.”</p> +<p>Rusty shot him a look, but said never a +word.</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_185">[185]</div> +<p>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.”</p> +<p>“That’s what it will,” MacGregor agreed. +“And this boxin’ stunt is just the thing to put +them off their guard.”</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>“She’s taking it out on me because of her +father,” he thought grimly. “Well, I can take +it.”</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, “Thank you.”</p> +<p>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.”</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’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’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.</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>“Well,” he laughed, “that must square the +McGee’s with Johnny Thompson.”</p> +<p>“John—Johnny, please!” she cried. “I didn’t +mean to. I truly didn’t.”</p> +<p>“All right.” Johnny sprang to his feet. +“Shake on it. Let’s always be friends.”</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, “Life surely is strange. I +wonder how this affair will end.”</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’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’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>“The robbers have got them,” he muttered. +“I should have known. That shadow! It’s +done for them and for the <i>Stormy Petrel</i>.”</p> +<p>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!”</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, “If ever I +see one of those bears I’ll know him.”</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>“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.”</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>“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.</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, “Come.”</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>“No iron coolie here,” Johnny chuckled. +“Everything is done by hand. Heads off, tails, +fins, all with big knives.”</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“Why, the dirty little shrimp!” Johnny exploded. +“He wants us to go to work.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_193">[193]</div> +<p>Johnny muttered, but dropped into place to +slash off a large salmon’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, “You take my place.”</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>“Mac,” he was able to whisper at last, “why +would they do this to us?”</p> +<p>“You answer,” was the old man’s reply. +“Sh-sh—” he warned. “Here comes a big shot, +one of the monkeys with gold buttons.”</p> +<p>As he passed the “big shot” 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>“Hm,” MacGregor sighed, “fish chowder. +And not bad.”</p> +<p>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.”</p> +<p>Johnny looked at her in surprise and admiration. +“Here’s one girl with a spirit that can’t +be broken,” he thought.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_195">[195]</div> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“Clams,” said Johnny.</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“Can’t guess.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“O-oh,” Johnny breathed.</p> +<p>“Mr. MacGregor,” Rusty said with a gurgle, +“you wouldn’t spoil anyone’s dinner, +would you?”</p> +<p>“Not for the world,” was the old man’s solemn +avowal.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_196">[196]</div> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“They’ll chase you back.”</p> +<p>“That’s all they can do.” He was away.</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“And if we go with them?” Johnny breathed.</p> +<p>“I’ve seen pictures of the Orient.” The +girl’s eyes were closed. “It’s gorgeous. It +truly must be.”</p> +<p>“Do you think we’d get to see anything?”</p> +<p>“Why not?” the girl laughed low. “It’s all +there to see. At least they can’t keep us from +dreaming.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_197">[197]</div> +<p>“No, they surely cannot.” At that Johnny +did some very choice dreaming, all his own.</p> +<p>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.”</p> +<p>“Batteries!” Johnny exclaimed in surprise.</p> +<p>“Sure! Banks and banks of large batteries.”</p> +<p>“When submarines go under water,” Johnny +spoke slowly, “they use batteries for power. +What do you think?”</p> +<p>“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.”</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>“Johnny, I won’t give up. Please help me +not to give up.”</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>“A storm!” the girl shuddered.</p> +<p>“Just too dark to see land,” Johnny groaned. +“If it wasn’t, we might get our location and +then—”</p> +<p>“Then what?” she whispered.</p> +<p>“I have some plans. We—”</p> +<p>“Sh—an officer!” 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, “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.</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>“Thousand pardons,” it hissed. “Cannot +stay here. It is forbidden.”</p> +<p>“My friend is sick. We stay.” Johnny felt +his anger rising.</p> +<p>“Thousand pardons,” came once more. +“Cannot stay.”</p> +<p>“Million pardons,” Johnny half rose. “We +stay.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_200">[200]</div> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“You—you hit him,” he managed to breathe. +“Is he dead?”</p> +<p>“No—no. Watch out!” 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>“Johnny, don’t!” The girl’s hand was on his +arm.</p> +<p>“Oh, all—all right.”</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>“Now I’ve done it,” Johnny groaned as he +dropped back in his place.</p> +<p>“Perhaps,” said Rusty. “Still, you can’t tell.”</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’s deck, Lawrence, Blackie and +George were battling for their very lives.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“Might as well keep headed for the mainland,” +was Blackie’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’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>“Lawrence, you start bailing,” Blackie commanded. +“George and I will row.”</p> +<p>“Ya-as, sir, we’ll row. Don’t nebber doubt +dat,” George agreed. Then he began to sing,</p> +<div class="verse"> +<p class="t0">“Roll, Jordan, roll.</p> +<p class="t0">Oh! Oh! Oh! I want to go dere</p> +<p class="t0">To hear old Jordan roll.”</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>“Towering rocks,” he groaned.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_203">[203]</div> +<p>“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.</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—he saw it.</p> +<p>“There!” he exclaimed. “There it is. Straight +ahead!”</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. “Man! Oh, man! What was +that?” The boat had crashed into an invisible +wall.</p> +<p>Lawrence put out a hand. “Glass!” he exclaimed. +“A wall of glass.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Blackie, look!” Lawrence spoke in a hoarse +whisper. “A light.”</p> +<p>“It’s a star,” said Blackie.</p> +<p>“A light,” Lawrence insisted.</p> +<p>“Yas, man! A light,” 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>“Oh! Oh! Lord be praised!” 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, “You all +come right on up, whoever you all are.”</p> +<p>“That,” said Lawrence in a surprised whisper, +“is Smokey Joe.”</p> +<p>“Smokey Joe, you old bear-cat!” Blackie +shouted.</p> +<p>The grizzled prospector let out a dry cackle. +“Come on up an’ rest yerself,” he welcomed. +“I got a Mulligan on a-cookin’.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_206">[206]</div> +<p>“Yep,” he agreed, as Blackie complimented +him after the meal was over, “hit’s plum grand +livin’ when you sort of git the breaks.</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“Gold!” Blackie exclaimed.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“What?” Lawrence started up. “A blue +bear! A—a glacier bear?”</p> +<p>“Reckon you might call ’em that,” the old +man agreed.</p> +<p>“He’s been a-stayin’ in a sort of cave up thar +fer a right smart spell.”</p> +<p>“How—how far is it?” Lawrence asked almost +in a whisper.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“What does that mean?” Blackie asked in a +surprised tone.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_207">[207]</div> +<p>“Wall, you jest climb one of them thar least +mounting peaks,” the old man explained. +“Then another, an’ another.”</p> +<p>“Three peaks,” said Blackie.</p> +<p>“Fer startin’,” said Smokey Joe. “Arter that +you take a look an’ hit’s a right smart furder +than you can see.”</p> +<p>“Perhaps about ten miles,” suggested +Blackie after they had had a good laugh, +which Smokey Joe took good-naturedly.</p> +<p>“Near on to that,” 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>“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.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_208">[208]</div> +<p>“Yes,” Lawrence agreed. “But if the wind +doesn’t go down?”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_209">[209]</div> +<h2 id="c22"><span class="small">CHAPTER XXII</span> +<br />DREAMS</h2> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>Rusty’s voice rose. “And such sunshine! +Nowhere in the world is it so glorious.”</p> +<p>“All right,” Johnny agreed. “Ice-box cookies, +hot chocolate and sunshine. That will be +keen.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_210">[210]</div> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“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. <i>Over the +Waves</i>, <i>Blue Danube</i> and all the rest. Johnny, +will you come sometime and join us there?” +Her voice seemed dreamy and far away.</p> +<p>“Yes,” said Johnny. “Some day I’ll come.”</p> +<p>“But first,” he thought savagely, “I’ll see +this infernal boat at the bottom of the sea.”</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>“Rusty,” Johnny said, “I would like to leave +you for a while.”</p> +<p>“Why?”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_211">[211]</div> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Yes, but—”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“But the gas, Johnny?”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“They—they may catch you.” Her voice +trembled.</p> +<p>“I’ll take a chance.” He rose without a +sound. “I’m off. If I don’t come back, tell good +old MacGregor.”</p> +<p>“I—I’ll tell him.” 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’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>“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.</p> +<p>When one can was emptied into the <i>Krazy +Kat’s</i> tank, he heaved a sigh of relief. The second +was half-emptied when he caught the +sound of footsteps.</p> +<p>“The watch!” 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—again the footsteps. +Then they grew indistinct in the distance.</p> +<p>“Ah,” 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’s side.</p> +<p>“I—I did it,” he shrilled. “Now for a good +break and we’re away.”</p> +<p>“Here—here’s hoping.” She drew her hand +from beneath the blankets to grip his own.</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“It’s my opinion,” said MacGregor, “that +you’ll be shot at sunrise.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_214">[214]</div> +<p>“That won’t be so bad,” said Johnny, joining +in the joke.</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“When the judge’s decision had been arrived +at, they told this Eskimo to stand up.</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“The white men folded things up and left. +But the Eskimo still stood there, not knowin’, +I suppose, whether he was dead or alive.</p> +<p>“Know what happened?” he concluded. +“He’d been found innocent and they had taken +his picture.</p> +<p>“For all I know,” he added, “he’s livin’ still +an’ so’ll you be, me boy, forty years from +today.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_215">[215]</div> +<p>“What can they do?” he demanded. “They +don’t dare harm us.”</p> +<p>“I wouldn’t trust them too far,” said Johnny.</p> +<p>“Nor I,” 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’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>“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.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_217">[217]</div> +<p>“Ah, well,” he sighed. “We’re here for the +day at least. Even if your <i>Krazy Kat</i> was in +the water, Rusty, we couldn’t risk her in a +storm like this.”</p> +<p>“These Orientals are a queer lot,” Johnny +mused.</p> +<p>“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.”</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, “Kopkina! You +here?”</p> +<p>The boy made a motion for silence. “I am +spy,” he whispered. “Red McGee good man. +Me, I, Red McGee man.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_218">[218]</div> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“Boy!” Johnny breathed. “I’m feeling better +already.”</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>“A motor,” he breathed. “That’s a powerful +motor. If only it’s Dan MacMillan and his +seaplane.”</p> +<p>“It is! It is!” Rusty’s voice rose to a high +pitch. “There! There it is. See!”</p> +<p>Johnny did see. He pointed it out to MacGregor. +They all leaned on the rail watching +the seaplane approach.</p> +<p>“If it’s only Dan,” 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>“If it’s Dan MacMillan,” said MacGregor, +“there’s sure to be someone with him.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_219">[219]</div> +<p>“They’ll be looking for us,” said Rusty.</p> +<p>“Yes, and we’ll have to find a way to let +them know we’re here,” Johnny added.</p> +<p>“That,” said MacGregor, “is going to be +hard, with all these.” His glance swept the +brown throng.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“And they’ll recognize you by your actions,” +MacGregor agreed. “It’s a capital idea. I’ll +go for the gloves.”</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—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>“I only hope they recognized us,” said Johnny, +throwing his gloves on the deck.</p> +<p>“You and me too,” said Rusty. “Anyway,” +she laughed, “that’s one time I didn’t knock +you out.”</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>“They’re afraid,” he grumbled low to his +young companions. “Down deep in their hearts +they are afraid.”</p> +<p>“What will they do now?” Rusty asked +anxiously.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Oh-o,” 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’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>“Black-Blackie,” he stammered. “I—I hate +to disturb you. But—but that blue bear—”</p> +<p>“I know.” Blackie sat up. “Three peaks, a +look and a right smart ho, hum.”</p> +<p>“Blackie! It’s terribly important. Just think! +A little blue bear. The only one in captivity, +if we get him.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Oh, think—”</p> +<p>“Put the coffee on!” 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’s direction, the +bear’s cave might be found. After that he led +the way over the first “peak.”</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>“This is the place,” Lawrence said, an hour +and a half later. “It must be.”</p> +<p>“It is,” Blackie agreed. “There are the two +scrub spruce trees with Smokey’s blaze on +them.”</p> +<p>“And there’s the cave!” Lawrence was +greatly excited.</p> +<p>“Not much of a cave,” said Blackie. “Might +be quite some bear at that. Wait.”</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>“Now,” he breathed. “Give me one of the +ropes. We’ll have to manage to tangle him +up somehow. I’ll lead the way.”</p> +<p>“Al-all right,” Lawrence’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>“Wait! Listen!” Lawrence whispered +when they had covered some twenty paces.</p> +<p>As they paused, they caught a low hissing +sound.</p> +<p>“Snakes,” the boy suggested.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_223">[223]</div> +<p>“Not here. Too cold. It’s the bear. Get +your rope ready.”</p> +<p>Slowly, cautiously they moved forward.</p> +<p>“There! There are his eyes.” 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: “Blackie! +Quick! Help! I got him! I got him!”</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’s gill-net boats +awaiting them in the little bay. Smokey Joe +had flagged it down.</p> +<p>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.</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>“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.</p> +<p>“They seem to be waiting for something,” +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>“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?”</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>“If there were a war,” said MacGregor, “I’d +say it was rifle and machine-gun fire.”</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. “Can this be what they’re looking +for?” 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>“Look!” Rusty gripped Johnny’s arm. +“They’re lowering my boat into the water.”</p> +<p>“And it’s got gas in the tank. All ready to +turn over and start. If only—”</p> +<p>“That’s motors we’re hearin’,” MacGregor +broke in. “A thunderin’ lot of ’em! I shouldn’t +wonder—”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_227">[227]</div> +<p>“MacGregor,” Rusty seized his arm, “our +boat is in the water. They are all crowding +the rail again. This may be our chance.”</p> +<p>“So it may,” the old man agreed. “Follow +me. Not a sound!”</p> +<p>“I’ll get Kopkina,” offered Johnny. “I just +saw him on deck.”</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>“It—it’s just here,” Rusty whispered.</p> +<p>“We—we need a rope ladder,” Johnny exclaimed +low.</p> +<p>“Here’s one,” came in MacGregor’s cheering +voice. “Let her over easy now.”</p> +<p>“Now,” he breathed. “Over you go.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“Now I’ll cut her loose,” said MacGregor. +“All right, Rusty, turn her over.”</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>“They’d have trouble findin’ us,” MacGregor +murmured.</p> +<p>“But listen!” 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>“The Shadow!” 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’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!”</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 “tackle the whole lot of ’em +single-handed.”</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, “To see a +good man commit suicide by tackling a hundred +Orientals single-handed.”</p> +<p>He had flown back to their base. By the +time they reached the cannery, Red had cooled +off.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>They were about ready for a start when +Blackie and his men arrived on the scene.</p> +<p>“Blackie,” Red exploded, “they’ve got Rusty +and your boy, Johnny. They’re holdin’ ’em +captive. Come on! We’ll start a war!”</p> +<p>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.</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>“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.</p> +<p>“A thousand pardons,” their leader began. +He was allowed to go no farther.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_232">[232]</div> +<p>“Listen!” Blackie stood up. He was dressed +in corduroy trousers and a leather jacket. His +face was working strangely.</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“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>“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>“And now, gentlemen,” he doffed a ragged +cap, “I bid you good-night.”</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 />“BILL” RETURNS</h2> +<p>“Rusty, my child,” said Red McGee, +springing aboard the <i>Krazy Kat</i> as soon +as the Orientals were gone, “are you all +right?”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Curls,” Red chuckled. “They’re not very +necessary. Not even for a girl.</p> +<p>“Going back with us in the speed boat?” he +asked.</p> +<p>“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 <i>Krazy Kat</i>.”</p> +<p>“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.”</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—the Professor +was back. “I am waiting for Bill,” he explained.</p> +<p>“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—”</p> +<p>“Today,” said the Professor. “And here he +is now.” A smiling young giant with a full +red beard came tramping down the road.</p> +<p>“Bill, did you get one?” the Professor demanded.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“A whole year,” the Professor groaned. +“And never a bear.”</p> +<p>“A bear!” Johnny exclaimed. “Surely there +are bears a-plenty.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_236">[236]</div> +<p>“Not that kind,” the Professor corrected. +“I want the kind we talked about once, a glacier +bear. Nothing else counts.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“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.’”</p> +<p>“Such,” said the professor, “is the luck of +the chase.”</p> +<p>There was time for Bill to satisfy his craving +for a “real feed.” 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’s arms.</p> +<p>“What do you want for him?” the Professor +demanded at last.</p> +<p>“A tractor,” said Lawrence.</p> +<p>“The best in the settlement!”</p> +<p>“The Titan.”</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_237">[237]</div> +<p>“Agreed and for good measure, a gang +plow, a harrow, two drums of gas and three +log chains.”</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>“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—”</p> +<p>“I think,” said Lawrence, “that you’re a +very good sport. And—and we thank you.”</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>“Hello, Johnny!” came in a girl’s voice. It +was Rusty.</p> +<p>“Come on down to Seattle with us,” Red +McGee boomed.</p> +<p>“We’ll show you a roarin’ good time, just to +celebrate the finest salmon season ever +known.”</p> +<p>“What do you say?” Johnny turned to +Lawrence.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_238">[238]</div> +<p>“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.”</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’s Notes</span></h2> +<ul><li>Copyright notice provided as in the original printed text—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> diff --git a/44352-h/images/cover.jpg b/44352-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..c28371d --- /dev/null +++ b/44352-h/images/cover.jpg diff --git a/44352-h/images/jacket.jpg b/44352-h/images/jacket.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..2fd6360 --- /dev/null +++ b/44352-h/images/jacket.jpg diff --git a/44352-h/images/logo.jpg b/44352-h/images/logo.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..0e55429 --- /dev/null +++ b/44352-h/images/logo.jpg |
