So at last the old chief fumbled in his jacket, and pulled out a soiled and crumpled paper nearly worn in bits. Enough of it at least remained to show the searchers that when it was written the boys were all alive and well, and were expecting help.
“The old fellow says he was expecting to take the paper up to town sometime this fall,” went on the interpreter. “Says the boys had plenty to eat—fish and birds, and they had killed three bears—”
“Nonsense!” exclaimed Captain Stephens.
“Yes, says they had killed an old she bear and two cubs, and had the hides hung up—says the Aleut man had run away when they left—says they all killed a whale before they left, and left the boys as well fixed as they are here in this village. He can’t understand why you should be anxious about them, when his own boy is over there, too. Says he can take you over there all right if you want to go.”
“The little beggars!” said Mr. Hazlett, smiling for the first time in weeks. “We may get them yet.”
“Get them? Of course we will!” growled Captain Stephens. “We’ll have them aboard by this time to-morrow. Their camp isn’t more than seventy-five miles from here at most.”
The whistle of the Bennington once more roared out, and with the rattle of her anchor chains again the cutter pushed on up the coast, carrying with her, without asking their consent, the entire party of natives, who now fell flat on the deck in terror, supposing that they were being carried off to the white man’s punishment for native misdeeds.