“It’s on the northwest coast, ain’t it?”
“Yes,” answered Frank.
“Why did Ben Bolt go there?”
“Very likely to avoid the whalers in the strait.”
“You think he must have had an object in so doing?”
“It is my impression that he yet has the shanghaied boy on his craft, and did not want the other whalers to know it. In a lonely, desolate place like the bay is where the Red Eric lies, he can put the unlucky boy out of the way, and no one will be the wiser. Don’t you see the point?”
“That’s just what I thought, Frank.”
At this moment a fine big reindeer bounded into view from behind a mass of icy blocks.
The beast cast a frightened glance of its big soft eyes at the boat, and wheeling around, it sped away.
“There’s fine game!” ejaculated Frank.