“No. We haven’t time for that. Land him wherever it happens.”
“Look here, boys,” said the man, humbly, as he cast a shuddering glance over the icy waters and at the bleak desolation of the shore beyond. “I weaken. Take me back, and I’ll go to work.”
“Will you run the engine as far as Anvik?”
“I’ll run her till you give the word to stop.”
“And promise on your honor not to touch another drop of liquor before this steamer is laid up in winter-quarters?”
“Yes.”
So that was the end of the mutiny, and once more the Chimo held her way up the great river, whose swift current was now covered with floating ice as far as the eye could reach.
Late that afternoon a new bewilderment confronted the anxious lads. They were involved in a labyrinth of channels, all of about the same width, and apparently pouring forth equal volumes of water. But while they all looked equally inviting, only one was that of the main river; the others were mouths of the great Shagelook slough, which would lead them into an unknown wilderness. One meant safety and the others disaster. But which was which?
In this dilemma Phil decided to anchor and wait for another daylight. While they thus waited—wearied, anxious, and wellnigh despairing—there came a shout from out of the darkness that thrilled them with a new life, for the words were in their own tongue.