"'One dollar for a seal?' says the man.
"'Yes,' says the skipper, solemn. 'You've chopped the rest of them right out of him. Nobody has much use for a pelt that's made of holes instead of skin.'"
It was noon when they reached the Champlain, and they spent the rest of the day helping Montreal to drive the iron bands Brulée whipped out of the galley fire on to the patched mast, so that they would shrink and bind the joint together, and refitting the rigging, while it was dusk when Charley came back without having seen another otter. Jordan, however, did not appear surprised at this.
"I've heard of the Indians prowling round for three months and getting nothing," he said.
The next day was spent in arduous and anxious toil replacing the mast, but worn out as everybody was, Jordan slipped out to sea when they hove the last shroud taut in the dusk, and they were busy afterwards reeving halliards and bending on the mainsail half the night.
"Every hour means dollars, boys," he said.
It was, however, fortunate they finished the work, for on the next evening the Champlain had need of all her speed. They had crept along slowly through the drizzle all day, but towards sundown the breeze suddenly freshened, and a dull red glare flickered for a few minutes on the horizon. It smote a coppery track across the heaving waters as they sailed westwards into it, but the smoky vapours came rolling up astern, and a low island along which the surf beat white showed up blurred and grey to the south of them. The sea rolled out of the north foam-flecked here and there, and the Champlain swung with the heave of it, hurling the spray from her bows as she drove along with a fresh beam wind.
The ominous red glare was, however, fading rapidly, and the lads, who sought shelter from the cold wind under the lee of the galley, knew that in half-an-hour or so the dimness that was creeping up from the east and south would close about them. There is no night in the north at that season, but for a few hours the light almost dies away, and times, when the skies are veiled by haze and rain, there is very little day.
It was very cold and clammy, and the lads' faces smarted from the stinging of the spray, while as the coppery streaks grew dimmer, the seas turned grey, and the wet rocks to the south of them became dim and shadowy. The surf was to leeward so they could not hear it, and the splashing at the bows and shrill moan of wind seemed to intensify the silence that descended on the sea. Then just before the last paling rays flickered out in the north, something showed up black and sharp against it. In another moment the Champlain had slid down a sea and the thing had gone, but Niven stared at Appleby because the form of it had been curiously familiar.
Appleby nodded. "Yes," he said. "I believe it was the gunboat, but wait until she lifts again."