Of course, if every reader of this story had also read its forerunner there would be no need of introducing its characters, for they would already be old friends. We would merely meet them at the place where they have been patiently awaiting us all this time, give them an encouraging nod of recognition, and tell them to go ahead with their adventures as fast as they pleased. That would be well enough for us who are acquainted with them; but to those who may chance to read this sequel without having first read the story that gives it a reason for being, the references to people, things, and incidents of the past that must necessarily be made from time to time would be confusing. Therefore it seems fitting that those characters of the previous story who are to figure with any prominence in this one should be properly introduced; and in order to avoid the discriminating partiality of the author, who would be apt to say too much concerning those whom he fancied, or too little about those whom he disliked, each one shall be given the privilege of introducing himself. To begin with, here is our old friend Phil Ryder.
“Yes, that is my name right enough, and I want to say first thing that I think it is high time some notice were taken of us, after the unsatisfactory conclusion of that other book, and the wretched state of uncertainty in which we were all left. It seemed to me the very worst ending to a story that I ever heard of.”
“But, Phil, it wasn’t the end. There was to be a sequel.”
“Well, you didn’t say so, and nobody knew, and I for one have been greatly mortified ever since, without a chance to say a word on the subject either. Now, as to myself, if any one cares to know who I am, and where I am, and how I got here, I am the son of Mr. John Ryder, of New London, Connecticut. He is a mining expert, and is at present engaged to investigate some properties near Sitka, Alaska, where I was to have joined him last May. It is now September, and I haven’t got there yet, though I have been travelling steadily ever since April, and trying my very best to reach Sitka. I’m sure it isn’t my fault that things have happened to take me most everywhere else, and finally to drop me away up here in northern Alaska, two thousand miles or so beyond Sitka. I’m on the right track now, though, for I am on a steamboat belonging to Mr. Hamer, bound up the Yukon River. It will take me to the head of navigation. Then all I shall have to do will be to cross the Divide to Chilkat, and take another steamer for Sitka, which place I expect to reach before the winter is over. Then my father’s anxiety will be relieved, for I suppose he is anxious, though I can’t see why he should be. He must know that I am perfectly well able to take care of myself, and will turn up all right some time. Both he and Aunt Ruth seem to think that I am careless and liable to get into scrapes, while really I never do anything important without the most careful consideration—that is, whenever there is time for considering.
“For instance, I didn’t decide that to go up the Yukon was the very best and shortest way to reach Sitka until I had talked it all over with Serge. I’m awfully glad it is the best thing to do, though, for it is so much more interesting to travel over a new route than back by the one you have just come. That’s one reason I wouldn’t pay any attention to that schooner we passed soon after leaving St. Michaels, though she did seem to be trying to signal us. I was afraid she might be bound south to Oonalaska, or even to Sitka itself, in which case our plans would have been all upset again. I should have hated that, for if there is any one thing I believe in it is sticking to a plan and carrying it out after it is once decided upon. So does Serge, who is one of the very best fellows that ever lived, even if he is a little slow. I am mighty glad to have him for a travelling companion, for he is true as steel and awfully level-headed. I only wish old Jalap were with us, for he is about the best fun of any one I know. I don’t suppose we shall ever see him again, though; and, now that I come to think of it, it does seem as if we ought to have made a search for him on Oonimak before leaving in such a hurry. But as we were prisoners of war on board the cutter, I don’t exactly see how we could have done anything but what we did. Here comes Serge now, and you really ought to know him; so allow me to—”
“Hold on, Phil; we are to introduce ourselves, you know, and I don’t want to be handicapped by all the nice things you would be certain to say about me. Yes, I am Serge—Serge Belcofsky, born in Sitka long after Alaska became part of the United States. I went to school there, of course, but after graduating I still longed for a better education than Sitka afforded, so I shipped aboard a homeward-bound whaler for New London, Connecticut, where I went to school for a year. There I met Phil Ryder, who was not only the most popular fellow and the best athlete in the whole school, but who became the best friend I ever had. If he wasn’t, I should never have given him the fur-seal’s tooth which a Chilkat chief gave to my father. On his death my mother gave it to me, and soon after it passed into Phil’s hands he lost it. Since then it has turned up so many times, in such mysterious ways, and has had so much to do with shaping our fortunes, that I can’t help believing at least part of the old tales concerning it. Anyhow, the way it has managed to follow us right up to date is certainly wonderful. It isn’t likely that we shall see it again, though, now that the old Eskimo has got hold of it, for he evidently realizes its value.
“Where am I now? On a river steamer bound for Sitka by way of the Yukon, of course. You see, I left New London almost a year ago and started for Sitka on the schooner Seamew. At Victoria, British Columbia, who should I meet but Phil Ryder, who also shipped on the Seamew. She got to Sitka, but we didn’t, and though we seem to be headed that way now, while Phil is confident that we are going straight there, no one knows what may happen. I hope my dear mother isn’t worrying about me. If I was only sure of that, and that I should land Phil in Sitka some time, I know I should enjoy this trip immensely. But, as Mr. Coombs says—”
“Hold hard there, hearty! You may allow that I’m a thousand miles away; but I’m not. And when it comes to taking words out of my very mouth, you’ll find that I’m right alongside. As my friend old Kite Roberson uster say, ‘A man what can’t speak up for hisself hadn’t orter be allowed to vote.’ My name is Jalap Coombs, half Yankee and half British subject, late mate of the Seamew, now acting cap’n of the schooner Philomeel, in which me and Mr. Ryder is sarching for the slippery young chaps what has jest now interdooced theirselves. A while ago we thought we had ’em, but things happened, and now we’re all at sea again without an idee of how the wind’ll blow next. But as old Kite uster offen say, ‘When you don’t know what to do, the best thing is to do nothing.’ That is what we are liable to do for some time, seeing as the Philomeel are hard and fast aground on a mud bank, with a nor’ wind blowing all the water outer Norton Sound.”
“And to think that I, John Ryder, after spending the whole summer in searching for my son Phil, should at length have actually got within sight of him away up here almost to the North Pole, only to have the young scamp sail away and disappear again, as oblivious of my presence as though I had never existed! And now this miserable accident, that puts an end to my following him any farther! Oh, it is too bad! too bad! I did think that all this miscarriage of plans and getting lost and being whisked off to all sorts of out-of-the-way places was purely accidental, or only owing to the extraordinary carelessness for which Phil has always been noted. Now, however, I must confess that it really does look as though he were ready and willing to go in any direction save towards Sitka. I can’t conceive what inducements that trader-fellow of whom Nikrik told us can have offered to entice my son up the Yukon at this time of the year. From all accounts the trader must be a pretty bad lot, and I tremble to think of what may happen to my Phil under his influence. What did Nikrik say his name was?”