“Why do you need my boys?” the man among the stumps demanded.
“Two of the men who were to accompany me have been crippled,” Blackie explained. “They were in an auto accident in Seattle. I had a wire this morning. They were so badly hurt they could not let me know sooner. And tomorrow we were to sail. Already there has been news of trouble in Bristol Bay.
“I tell you, Mr. Lawson,” Blackie was pleading now. “It’s for Alaska and her greatest enterprise I ask it. Yes, and for every humble American who makes a simple meal from a can of salmon. As I see it, it’s your patriotic duty to let them go.”
Then Blackie did a strange thing for him. He quoted poetry—
“‘Not once nor twice in our fair Island’s story
Has the path of duty been the way to glory.’
“Mr. Lawson!” he exploded, “let them go. Here!” he waved a roll of bills. “I’ll pull your stumps. I’ll plow your land and sow your seed. Let them go.”
Who could have refused? Surely not a man with Tom Lawson’s patriotic soul. “Al-all right, boys,” he said huskily. “Go get your clothes. And—and Blackie, I must trust you to bring them safely home.”
“No need to worry,” Blackie reassured him. “We’ll all be back to shoot fire-crackers with you on the Fourth of July. And may your fields be green by then.”
Twenty-four hours later Johnny and Lawrence found themselves standing on the narrow deck of the Stormy Petrel watching a familiar shore-line fade from their sight.