Johnny was still thinking of all this when two hours later, he crept beneath the blankets in the small log cabin room occupied by Lawrence and himself.
“That would be great!” he was telling himself. In fancy, he allowed his mind to wander. Bristol Bay, a hundred and fifty miles wide and a hundred and fifty long, fishing boats on the water, canneries on the shore and back behind all this in the fog somewhere, beyond the three-mile line, great dark bulks that were Oriental ships. Why these ships? No one knew exactly. “Spying out our shore-line,” some said, “stealing our salmon,” said others. And perhaps they were smugglers. It was known that these ships carried smaller crafts that could be lowered to the water. “Could do anything, go anywhere, these small boats,” Johnny assured himself.
“And the Shadow, that mysterious gray form that goes streaking through the fog. What could it be?
“Ah, well,“ he settled deeper among the blankets. “It’s a long time till spring, and here, right in Matanuska Valley is exciting adventure aplenty.”
As if reading his thoughts, Lawrence murmured dreamily, “We’ll go after him again tomorrow.”
“Yes,” Johnny agreed, “tomorrow.”
“Lawrence! Look! There he is!” Johnny pointed excitedly up the glistening expanse of frozen river. Tomorrow had come. They were on the river.
“Wh—where?” Lawrence whispered.
“You don’t have to whisper.” Johnny laughed low. “He’s way up there. I can scarcely see him with the glass. Here! Take it. See that pool of water on the right side?”
“Yes—yes, I see.” Lawrence took the field glasses.