A hasty examination of the surroundings gave them no sign of the missing men.
“Must have broken loose and sailed away with them.”
At that instant he caught the gleam of a light on the western sky.
“Camp fire of the Bolsheviki. We can’t wait another moment,” he muttered. “And it wouldn’t do any good if we did. They’re gone.”
He turned and led his men back to the ship.
A half hour later the little schooner was pop-popping her way through a narrow channel to open water beyond. She carried, besides her crew and provisions, a hundredweight of gold taken in the last three days from Mine No. 2, and twice as much taken from the robber yellow men. Thirty-five per cent of this would do wonders in Vladivostok. Johnny was sitting and thinking of these things and of a wireless message he had received but a few days before, when he suddenly began wondering where Pant was.
“Say,” he exclaimed, turning to one of his men, “where’s Pant? Haven’t seen him since we put out.”
Sure enough, where was he? They searched the ship. He was not to be found. At last Johnny spied a note pinned to his spare parka. It was written by Pant.
“Dear Johnny,” it read, “you will pardon me, I am sure, for leaving your service at this time. But you won’t need me down there and Vladivostok sounds too tame. Up here there is real adventure.
| “Good-bye, “PANT.” |