Montreal slowly lighted his pipe and looked at the stove, while Donegal smiled. "Ye do not tell a story well, and 'tis after leaving the point av it out ye are," he said. "There would be no big freight locomotive going through that trestle into the river, which is a disthressful accident that is not quite uncommon in the country ye and Stickine come from. But bad thrade mends again, and ye have not told us what is keeping ye at sea."
Montreal sighed a little and did not turn his head. "My brother was raised a sealer, and he's up here or in Siberia still," he said. "I don't know that he's living, but I seem to feel it in me that if I can wait long enough I shall find him."
Donegal slowly closed one big hand, and Appleby saw the glint which showed in his eyes creep into those of the other men.
"Dead or living he's not alone," he said with a hoarseness that expressed more than sympathy. "May them that watch above send him back to ye!"
Then he turned to the others and his laugh had a little ominous ring as he pointed towards the west. "He's finding the time long, but wan day you and me or better men than us will call on them folks down there with clubs and rifles, and ask them what they've done with the men who sailed with us."
Nobody spoke, but Niven, glancing round at the stern brown faces, felt that whether they were right or wrong he would not care to be the man of whom the sealers asked that grim question.
CHAPTER XV
IN PERIL
Early next morning the lads took their places in Stickine's boat, and the chunk of Montreal's axe followed them as they pulled towards the opening in the reef. He had not spoken to any one since he finished his story the previous night, and when they last saw him he was chipping grimly at the mast. The lads, however, forgot him as they watched the long, grey seas crumble on the reef, and once they reeled out and met the swell the rowing occupied all their attention, for it was needful to watch every stroke and check the boat now and then when the top of the heave frothed a little.
There was no wind, but the sea still rolled rumbling on the reefs, and the grey shadow which apparently never lifted there lay heavily upon the waters. Appleby did not remember how long they had rowed, but the schooner had faded into the haze, when the Indian pointed to a blurred line of rocks that showed here and there amidst a white upheaval. The lads fancied there was land behind them, but the smoky vapours were rolled in thicker belts in that direction, and they could see nothing but dim seas and foam as they pulled slowly under the lee of the reef. Now and then they crept close in with a rock, where long streamers of weed swayed about them as the sea that poured in frothy cataracts down the stone rolled in and out. It did not, however, only float off from the rock, but swung up with the heave from what appeared to be deep water, and Appleby had never seen any seaweed that would compare with this. The stems of it were apparently as thick as a man's arm, and the leaves a good deal longer than the boat. It gave him a curious, unpleasant sensation while he watched it writhe and twist as if alive, as far as he could see down into the icy brine.