There was a small after-cabin with six bunks ranged along the sides. Here George, the colored cook, presided over a small stove producing glorious things to eat. The coffee was always hot. And indeed it was needed, for, as a gray fog settled down upon them, the air became bitter cold.
Johnny was to take watch for watch with Blackie as steersman. Lawrence was to exchange watches with MacGregor and preside over the motors. Had this been a week’s cruise simply for pleasure, nothing could have been more delightful. Johnny loved boats. Lawrence listened to the steady roar of his motors and was joyously happy.
And yet, there hung over them a sense of approaching danger.
“Say-ee!” Johnny exclaimed on the third day, after taking their position and studying the chart. “We’re closer to Asia than we are to Seattle.”
“Aye, that we are, me lad,” MacGregor agreed.
“Yes, and that’s why it’s so easy for these Orientals to slip over here and trap our fish,” Blackie exploded.
“And that,” he went on quietly, “is why you settlers in Matanuska Valley are given so much financial aid. Your old Uncle Sam wants you there. He’s going to locate more and more people along these Alaskan shores. You watch and see! Why? To give them homes? Not a bit of it. To have people here to watch those Orientals, that’s why.”
“Well,” said Johnny with a laugh. “Looks like we’d learn a lot of geography and current history on this trip.”
“No doubt about that, me lad,” MacGregor agreed.
They had been on the water for five days when, touching Johnny on the shoulder, Blackie pointed at two spots of white against the sky.