His boat slid in towards the froth-swept stone, and when she swung up with the swell two men sprang out of her and floundered along a perilous ledge over the slimy weed. Then the boats pulled out, and for what seemed a very long time moved one way and another, while every now and then a rifle flashed. The lads, however, could see nothing but the weed streaming in the water, and surmised by Stickine's face that he saw little more, for it was the Indians who took command now.
At last a grey patch showed for a moment amidst the froth that swirled about the rock, and sank from sight as suddenly when a man floundered towards it swinging up a club. Then as they dipped the oars the Indian stood up and with a hoarse shout launched himself from the boat. Appleby saw his tense figure for a second, and then held his breath as he plunged down, a dim shadow, into the waving weed. He felt a little shivery, for it seemed scarcely possible that the swimmer could evade the horrible embrace of those whirling sterns. Then a head rose from the surface, there was a muffled shout, and when the man went down again Stickine stood up on a thwart.
"A white man's as good as an Indian, anyway," he said. "We'll head him in to you on the rock, boys."
The boat rocked as he plunged down with hollowed back and stiffened arms, and Appleby shivered again. He could swim, but he felt that only the direst necessity would have sent him down amidst that clinging weed. Now they pulled in to the rock, and now back again, while between times the men beat the water with their oars and for a moment or two an arm or face rose up. Twice the boats drove together, and there was a shouting while a man thrust down a long-shafted weapon which resembled both a hook and a spear. Still, the lads could see no sign of the otter, until at last, when they were quivering with excitement, there was a shout from the rock, and a man clinging to it swung up his club, and then dropped it into the water. Next moment both boats had driven against the stone, and Appleby grabbed Stickine, who clung panting to the stern, while when somebody had helped him to drag him in, the Indian flung a limp object into the boat. Its head was flattened in apparently by a club, and the lads found it somewhat difficult to believe that it would reward them for their exertions in capturing it. There was, however, no mistaking the content in the faces of the men, and presently Stickine, who spoke to the Indian, pulled off his jacket.
"I guess we'll head for the schooner, boys. It's quite likely it would take us a week to find another otter, if we did it then, and that water's kind of cold," he said.
They turned back towards the Champlain while Charley's boat went on, and when Stickine had shaken off the chill by pulling and they had rested a few moments on their oars, Appleby said to him, "I fancied these Indians could shoot well, but it took them a long while to hit the otter."
Stickine laughed. "They didn't want to unless they could get him in the head. Nobody wants to drill big holes in a skin that's worth a bagful of dollars," he said.
Niven nodded, and turning round grinned at his comrade. "Of course, if you hadn't been so thick you'd have seen that, Tom," he said.
"Well," said Appleby dryly. "No doubt this is different, but I once went shooting with a friend at Sandycombe who gave a farmer's lad half-a-crown to meet him with a gun, and he would creep up so close to the first thing he fired at that all he could find afterwards was a few pieces."
Stickine's eyes twinkled. "Now, I knew a man down in British Columbia who found a fur seal on a reef, and got out his axe to catch him with," he said. "He'd never been sealing, and he wanted to make quite sure of him. I guess he did it, for when we went into that place for water the skipper laughed when he asked him to buy the skin.