Both gentlemen knew that if any suspicion of the real object of their voyage leaked out, much trouble might be made for them, although it was still rather early in the year for any trappers to be going "inside," as penetrating into the interior of Alaska is called.
A shed near the waterfront had been rented and ways constructed, and here the Yukon Rover had been rapidly put together by the engineers from the Northerner. But on her trip up the river the boys were to act as machinists and stokers, and as the Yukon Rover's machinery was simple enough, this was a delightful and interesting task to them. Like most healthy, normal boys, our young friends liked to tinker with machinery, and they had had plenty of instruction in their new duties on the trial trips of the stern-wheeler.
Tom, who had been relieved at the engines by Jack, while Sandy attended to stoking the small boiler, adapted to either wood or coal burning, came on deck and surveyed the scene they were leaving behind them.
Astern was St. Michael, lying on the island which bears its name and which is separated from the mainland by a shallow strip of water known as St. Michael's Slough. The town was uninteresting and he was not sorry to leave it, a feeling that his two chums fully shared.
The white houses, the spire of the old Russian Church and the odd-looking fort, half ruinous, which stood near the Alaska Trading Company's hotel, were the most conspicuous features of the dull, drab town. There was hardly a tree on the island, and fuel was in the main supplied by the timber which in flood time drifted down the Yukon from the interior in great quantities and was washed up on the beach or secured in boats.
"Good-by, St. Michael, and ho, for the Yukon!" thought Tom, as turning his face in the other direction, he gazed forward.
The Yukon Rover was ploughing along at about eight knots an hour. Black smoke pouring from her stack showed that Sandy was keeping up his furnace faithfully. Forward of the bow-like structure which contained sleeping and eating accommodations, was a miniature pilot house. In this was Mr. Dacre at the wheel, while beside him Mr. Chillingworth was poring over charts of the treacherous sandy delta that marks the junction of the Yukon and the sea. The course was southwest, along a flat, dreary-looking coast that afforded nothing much worthy of notice.
Since their memorable adventures at Kadiak, life had moved dully for the excitement-loving Bungalow Boys. Tom found himself hoping that now that their voyage for the Yukon had fairly begun, they would find some lively times. How near at hand these were and how lively they were to be, he did not dream as the Yukon Rover, rolling slightly in the swell, made her way toward the "Golden River."
Jack joined his brother on deck.
"Everything running smoothly?" asked Tom.