“Probably discussing how soon we can get away,” said big Bob, speaking for the first time. “At any rate,” he added, “I see your father and his companion pointing to that gasoline schooner off shore.”
At this moment, their doubts were resolved, for Mr. Hampton and his companion ended their conversation and approached the boys.
“Well, boys, we’ll soon be under way,” said Mr. Hampton. Whereupon he introduced Farnum all around. The latter was a prepossessing man with a weather-beaten face and a grizzled mustache, above which jutted a promontory of a nose between deep-set, wide, blue eyes.
“That is our schooner out there,” Mr. Hampton continued, indicating the boat to which Bob earlier had drawn attention. “Mr. Farnum,” he added, “has stated casually around Nome that he is taking a party of hunters up the MacKenzie. We’ll get away at once, as nothing is to be gained by a stay in Nome and as, furthermore, we wish to avoid inquiries into our aims. The story Farnum has told will do well enough.”
Farnum nodded.
“Just a white lie,” he said, grinning. “No use letting the curious know all your secrets.”
Then followed an hour of brisk work, at the end of which period the luggage was safely stowed aboard the gasoline schooner, and its screw began to turn. As the little vessel began to throb and draw away from Nome, the boys leaned overside and watched the prospect dwindle in the distance until the houses seemed like toys and the mountainside like a painted backdrop in the theater.
“Hurray,” cried Bob, at last, “we’re off for the Great Unknown.”
“Yes,” agreed Frank, “I really feel that way, too. All the way up from Seattle, I felt as if I were nothing more than a tourist, traveling a beaten route. But this, well, this is different.”
After that they were silent a long time, while the schooner shook and throbbed and steadily pushed its way up the coast, each boy busy with his thoughts. Yet those thoughts were much the same.