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The Bungalow Boys along the Yukon
DEXTER J. FORRESTER

Sandy was a good swimmer and he struck out valiantly.
Page [58].

THE BUNGALOW BOYS ALONG THE YUKON

BY
DEXTER J. FORRESTER

AUTHOR OF "THE BUNGALOW BOYS," "THE BUNGALOW BOYS MAROONED
IN THE TROPICS," "THE BUNGALOW BOYS IN THE GREAT
NORTHWEST," "THE BUNGALOW BOYS ON THE
GREAT LAKES," ETC., ETC.

WITH FOUR ILLUSTRATIONS
BY CHARLES L. WRENN

NEW YORK
HURST & COMPANY
PUBLISHERS

Copyright, 1913
BY
HURST & COMPANY

CONTENTS

THE BUNGALOW BOYS ALONG THE YUKON

[CHAPTER I.]

A MYSTERIOUS CRAFT.

On a certain May afternoon, Tom Jessop, assigned to "cover" the Seattle waterfront for his paper, the Seattle Post-Intelligencer, had his curiosity aroused by a craft that lay at the Spring Street dock. The vessel was newly painted, trim and trig in appearance and was seemingly of about two thousand tons register. Amidships was a single yellow funnel. From the aftermost of the two masts fluttered a blue flag with a square of white in the center. The reporter knew that this was the "Blue Peter," flown in token that the steamer was about to sail.

But the steamer, which bore the name of Northerner, flew no house flag to indicate the line she belonged to, nor in the shipping news of the day did her name appear. The reporter scented a "story" at once. From some hangerson about the dock he found out that the strange craft had formerly been the James K. Thompson, of San Francisco, in the coastwise trade. She had been refitted and equipped at the Aetna Iron Works by her purchaser, a Mr. Chisholm Dacre. That was all that the longshoremen could tell him.

On the bridge was a stalwart form in a goldlaced cap indicating the rank of captain. By his side stood a well-built man of middle age with a crisp iron-gray beard neatly clipped and a sunburned face, from which two keen blue eyes twinkled quizzically as he gazed down at the figure of the reporter on the dock.

"Are you Mr. Dacre?" hailed the reporter, guessing that the bearded man was the Northerner'snew owner.

"That is my name. What can I do for you?" was the rejoinder.

"My name is Jessop. Ship-news man for the Post-Intelligencer. Can I come on board?"

"I am afraid not, Mr. Jessop," rejoined Mr. Dacre, whom our readers know as the Bungalow Boys' uncle. "What do you want?"

"Why, your destination, the object of your voyage and so forth."

"That will have to remain my private property for the time being," was the reply in a kindly tone. "I appreciate your keenness in looking for news, but I cannot divulge what you would like to know just now."

"It's no time for visiting, anyhow," said the sailor-like man at Mr. Dacre's side, who Tom Jessop had guessed was the skipper of the mysterious craft, "we'll soon be getting under way."

The young reporter's face grew fiery red.

"What line are you?" he demanded. "What's the game, anyway?"

"I am not at liberty to answer questions."

"Private craft, eh? Tramp?"

There was almost a sneer in his tones as he spoke. He was trying to make the captain angry and by that means get him to talk. But the other remained quite unruffled.

"Not in trade at all."

"Pleasure trip, eh? Why can't I come aboard?"

"Against orders."

Just then, and before the young newsgatherer could vent his indignation further a cab came rattling up the dock and disgorged at the foot of the Northerner's gangplank three brightfaced, happy-looking lads. They were Tom and Jack Dacre and their inseparable chum, Sandy MacTavish, the voluble Scotch youth whose "thatch" and freckles gave him his nickname. Jack was Tom's junior by two years, but he was almost as muscular and tall as his brother. Both lads were nephews of Mr. Dacre, who had given them their home in the Sawmill Valley of Maine where they had acquired the name of "Bungalow Boys," by which they were known to a large circle of friends.

Tom Jessop turned from the captain to the new arrivals.

"Where is this vessel bound?" he asked.

"She clears this afternoon for Alaska," responded Tom Dacre.

The reporter's eye flashed a look of triumph upward at the bridge.

"In the northern trade?" he asked.

"I didn't say that," was the quiet rejoinder.

Tom Jessop began to get mad in good earnest. He swept his eyes over the ship's decks. Amidships she carried an odd-looking pile of timber and metal.

"A small steamer in sections, eh?" he questioned with a knowing look.

"You're right as to that," spoke Tom.

"Going gold dredging?"

"I can't say."

"Training ship for kids, maybe?"

"Well, I know some folks who might take lessons in good manners without its hurting them a bit," flashed Jack angrily.

The reporter changed his tone to a more conciliatory one.

"You might help a fellow out," he said. "What are your names?"

"I guess we can tell you that much," said Tom. "I am Tom Dacre, this is my brother, Jack, and this is our friend, Mr. MacTavish."

The good-natured Sandy broke into a grin at this formal introduction. He was about to speak, but the reporter interrupted him.

"Dacre!" he exclaimed. "You're the kids that broke up that gang of Chinese smugglers on the Sound a while ago!"

"You're unco canny to guess it," said Sandy. "We're the boys."

At this instant another figure appeared on the bridge—a tall man with rough-looking clothes and a battered derby hat. It was the pilot. He addressed Mr. Dacre.

"The tide serves, sir. If you are all ready, we'll get under way."

"Come, boys," hailed Mr. Dacre from the bridge. "Time to get aboard."

The three lads hastily gathered up the few packages that they had been purchasing at the last moment. The cabman was paid and they bounded with elastic strides up the gangway. As they reached the end of it, the stern lines were cast off.

"Let go breast and bow lines," bawled the foghorn voice of the pilot.

The order was quickly executed. Jessop shouted something, but his voice was drowned in the three mournful blasts of her siren that were the Northerner's farewell to Seattle. But the instant the whistle ceased and the tug that was to tow the Northerner into the stream began to puff energetically, he found his voice again.

"S-a-y!" he shouted across the widening breach between the steamer and the dock.

"Hullo!" hailed back Tom, who, with his two companions, stood at the rail amidships watching the city they were leaving.

"Won't you tell me anything about this trip?"

"That's just it," hurled back Tom at the top of his voice, "we don't know ourselves!"

"Well, I'll be jiggered!" exclaimed Tom Jessop as he turned away from the dock and the moving vessel, which he now felt certain held a mystery within her gray steel sides.

[CHAPTER II.]

NORTHWARD HO!

It was hardly surprising that the ship-news reporter had instantly recognized the Bungalow Boys when he heard their names. Their exploits in many quarters had received numerous columns of newspaper space, much to their amusement. The clever manner in which they had broken up forever the operations of the gang of counterfeiters in the Sawmill Valley, as related in the first volume of this series, "The Bungalow Boys," had brought them before the public. Further interesting "copy" had been made by their wonderful adventures in search of a sunken treasure galleon. Readers of this series were given full details of that adventurous voyage on the surface and below the ocean, in the second volume dealing with our young friends' experiences, which was called "The Bungalow Boys Marooned in the Tropics."

In the third volume we followed them throughout their venturesome doings in the northwest. "The Bungalow Boys in the Great Northwest" showed how pluck and self-reliance can win out even against such a combination as the boys found in the "Chinese runners." The fourth volume dealt with their voyage on the Great Lakes. The mysteries of Castle Rock Island, the ways of the wreckers who captured the lads, and the daring manner in which the boys escaped from the ruined lighthouse, all were set forth in the book in question, which bore the title, "The Bungalow Boys on the Great Lakes."

Now the Bungalow Boys found themselves setting forth on a voyage to the Northland on board a fine, staunch steamer. That adventures and possibly perils lay ahead of them they could not doubt; but just what the object of the voyage was, had not been revealed to them.

Tom had stuck to the strict truth when he told the reporter that he did not know anything about the voyage. His uncle had merely invited Jack and himself to take a "sea voyage." At the lad's solicitation, Sandy had been allowed to make one of the party. Of course, the boys would not have been taken from their studies to make this trip, but the headmaster of the academy that they all attended had been taken very ill a short time before and the school had been temporarily closed.

The pilot had been dropped and the Northerner was in free sea room, forging ahead through the great swells of the ocean. The steamer appeared oddly silent. There were no passengers rushing about, no bustle and confusion. The voyage had begun as unobtrusively as the departure from the dock. The small crew moved about under the direction of a mate, setting things to rights, coiling ropes and making everything snug. On the bridge were Captain Goodrich and Mr. Dacre. Presently a third person joined them—a man of massive build with crisply curling hair and a big beard. This was Colton Chillingworth, the rancher friend of Mr. Dacre, whose Washington ranch had formed the scene of some of the boys' most exciting adventures in the northwest.

"Where are we headed for?" asked Jack, as the three lads stood at the stern of the steamer watching the white wake that was rolling outward from the vessel's counter at a twelve-knot gait.

"Bang for the Straits of San Juan de Fuca. I heard the captain tell the pilot so when we dropped him," replied Tom.

On one side of the steamer were the picturesque, snow-capped Selkirks, on the other the Olympics, calm and majestic in the afternoon light. Along the shore were small settlements fringing the deep woods. Above all towered Mount Rainier, sharply chiseled against the sky. The pearly whiteness of its eternal snow-cap glistened in the sunlight like a field of diamonds.

Broken at intervals by cliffs of chalk, white or dark brown stone, immense forests of somber green fir and cedar stretched from the hills almost to the water's edge. Here and there a cascading stream like a silver thread could be seen dashing its troubled way down the steep mountainside. It was a beautiful, impressive sight, and the boys felt it so as they gazed. But uppermost in their minds was the question of the object of the trip, of its destination. In this regard they were not to be left long in the dark.

"And after the Straits?"

The question came from the Scotch boy.

"Northward, I guess, to Alaska. That's positively all we know," came from Jack.

"Awell, we're entitled to a guess, I ken," hazarded Sandy. "Suppose we are going pole hunting?"

"What!"

"Looking for the north pole," responded the other stoutly, while Tom and Jack exploded with laughter.

"Nonsense," said Tom. "Uncle Chisholm has too much sound common sense to go off on a wild goose chase like that."

"Anyhow, the pole has been found," quoth Jack in tones of finality.

"You can be sure of one thing at least," put in Tom; "whatever we are after, the whole expedition has been carefully thought out. That steamer on the upper deck, for instance."

"She's all in numbered sections to be put together when we get ready," said Jack. "Doesn't that suggest something to you?"

"How do you mean?" questioned Tom in his turn.

"Just this. In my opinion, we are going to ascend some river."

"But what for?"

"Ah! that's just what we shan't know till they choose to tell us."

"Hoot, mon," exclaimed Sandy, "gie ower guessing! We'll ken all aboot it in gude time. In the meanwhile, we're three mighty lucky boys to have a chance to make such a trip."

"Them's my sentiments," coincided Tom heartily.

They looked seaward. The air had a sharp brisk tang in it, a veritable sea tonic that braced and invigorated. The waves were choppy and as the Northerner steamed onward through them, from time to time a glistening cloud of spray was hurled high above her sharp bow. From her funnel poured a column of wind-whipped black smoke, showing that coal was not being spared to drive her along at her best gait.

"Oh, but this is great!" exclaimed Jack, pulling off his cap and letting the wind blow through his tousled hair.

"One thing is certain, this is no idle cruise. There's an object in it," said Tom, "and I reckon that we boys are due to play a part in whatever enterprise is on hand."

"Well, I hope we make good, whatever it is," said Jack.

"Nae fear o' that," spoke up Sandy confidently.

The Northerner arose on a higher swell than usual, and then with a sidewise motion settled glidingly down into a watery hollow, rising the next instant on the crest of another roller. Her masts swept the sky in broad arcs. All at once Sandy released his hold on the rail and slid half across the deck before he brought up. His face had suddenly grown very pale. His freckles stood out on it in bright relief.

"What's the matter?" demanded Jack, noticing the woe-begone expression of his friend's face.

"Um?" inquired Sandy. "Matter? Naething's the matter, mon. O-h-h-h-h!"

"Seasick, eh? That's the last meal you ate ashore. I warned you against all that pie."

Sandy shuddered.

"Don't talk of pie," he groaned.

Just as Tom was about to suggest that Sandy go to his stateroom and lie down for a while, the second mate approached them.

"You young gentlemen are to go to the charthouse. Mr. Dacre says he has something to tell you."

The boys exchanged glances. Even Sandy forgot his woes in the interest aroused by this communication. The officer walked on aft while Tom exclaimed in a low tone:

"At last we'll find out where we are bound, and what for. Come on, Jack."

"How about me?" inquired Sandy.

"Thought you were seasick."

"I was," rejoined Sandy, "but, mon, I feel grond again. If Mr. Dacre is going to talk, I'm a weel boy the noo."

[CHAPTER III.]

MR. DACRE EXPLAINS.

Both Mr. Dacre and his companion, Colton Chillingworth, regarded the boys smilingly as the latter filed into the charthouse, wide-eyed with expectation at the news they were confident they were to hear.

"Well," began Mr. Dacre, "I suppose you young men are anxious to know a good deal more about this voyage than you have yet been told?"

"Anxious is no word for it," rejoined Tom. "Sandy has even forgotten seasickness so that he can hear what you have to tell us."

"It will not take long. Mr. Chillingworth, here, is my partner in the enterprise on which we are bound. We are going to Alaska in search of foxes."

Had Mr. Dacre said that they were going to the moon in search of green cheese, the boys could not have looked more astonished.

"Foxes!" exclaimed Tom. "Just common foxes?"

"By no means. The kind we are after are silver grays and blacks. Mr. Chillingworth and I have decided to start raising them on his ranch. When I tell you that a good skin of a silver fox is worth anywhere from twenty-five hundred dollars upward, you will see why we have spent so much in equipping this expedition and chartering this steamer. You will wonder why we did not embark on a regular passenger steamer. For many reasons. One was that we could not care properly for such valuable and timid animals on a regular craft. Another was that we do not want any details of our plans to leak out till the business is well established. Such creatures as silver foxes might well tempt unscrupulous persons to steal or kill them, so that on all considerations, it was deemed best to charter this craft, which we managed to get cheap, and to form our own expedition."

"What country are we going to hunt for the foxes in?" asked Tom, his eyes shining at the prospect before them. The other boys looked equally excited and delighted.

"Along the Yukon River," was the reply. "That is why that light draught portable steam launch is on deck."

"How long shall we be gone?" came the next question.

"That is impossible to say. If we do not 'get out,' as they call it, before the winter sets in, we may have to remain in the north till the spring."

The boys exchanged delighted glances.

"The prospect appears to please you," said Mr. Chillingworth.

"Please us!" cried Tom. "We're tickled to death."

"Well, I think you will have an instructive and, I hope, a pleasant time," said Mr. Dacre, "and at the same time be useful to us. Both Mr. Chillingworth and myself have been in the Yukon country before, and I can assure you that it won't be all picnicking. It is a wild country we are going to. North of fifty-three lies one of the few really wild territories left in the world. It's a great chance for you boys to show what you are made of."

Soon afterward the boys left the charthouse, half wild with excitement. The lure of the north was upon them. Each hastily went over in his mind all that he could recall about the land for which they were bound. There was magic in the name of Yukon, that mighty river of frozen lands, whose course winds through golden sands and solitudes undisturbed by the foot of man.

"Fellows, it seems too good to be true," exclaimed Jack warmly. "It's the chance of a lifetime."

"We'll have lots of good hunting. I'm glad we brought our rifles," said Jack.

"Maybe we'll find gold!" exclaimed Sandy.

"Well, at the market rate for silver and black foxes, a few of them would be as good as a gold mine," declared Tom.

"But who ever heard of raising foxes to sell?" objected Jack.

"Foxes wi' siller coats, too!" added Sandy incredulously.

"Don't try to be funny, Sandy," struck in Tom. "It appeals to me as a great business and one with lots of possibilities in it for the future."

"Well, it seems at any rate that we are going to get plenty of fun out of it," declared Jack. "I wouldn't much mind if we did get stuck up north for the winter. It would be a great experience."

The gong for dinner cut short their chat, and they hastened to their cabins to get ready for the meal. As the Northerner had once been a passenger steamer, she was well provided with cabins, and each boy had a well-equipped stateroom on the main deck. Their elders occupied cabins forward of midships, and on the opposite side of the superstructure the captain, his two mates and the engineers had their quarters.

They entered the dining saloon to find it a handsomely fitted white and gold affair, a relic of the passenger-carrying days of their ship. Electric lights gleamed down on the table and the boys, when joined by their elders, set to with sharp appetites on a meal excellently cooked and served by two Chinese stewards. As they ate, the object of the trip was, of course, the main topic of conversation, and Mr. Dacre gave them much valuable information concerning the country whither they were bound. As we shall accompany the boys in their own experiences "north of fifty-three," there is no need to set down here all that the enthusiastic man told his eager young listeners.

Absorbed in the wonders which were being described, the two Bungalow Boys and Sandy MacTavish sat late at the table, listening to accounts of the great river for which they were bound, of the flaming volcanoes of the Aleutian Archipelago, of the seal poachers, the midnight sun and the vast undeveloped riches of Uncle Sam's northerly possession. The thought that soon they would be up there themselves, participating in the marvelous life of which they had heard, sent them to bed in anything but restful moods. It was long before they slept, and then their dreams were of the most jumbled description, in which huge bears and other denizens of the wild figured, together with golden rivers and snow-capped mountains.

When they awakened and hastily dressed, it was to find the Northerner out of sight of land and rolling briskly along in a sea flecked with white-caps. Ahead of the ship flashed the wet backs of a school of porpoises, seemingly intent on a race with the Northerner. The boys watched them with interest, although they were no novelty to them, many such schools having been encountered during their cruise in the tropics. But there was, nevertheless, a fascination in watching the sportive creatures as they rolled and tumbled along, from time to time leaping right out of the water and showing their black, glistening bodies.

"This is the life for me," exclaimed Jack. "How is the seasickness, Sandy?"

The sandy-haired youth gave him a reproachful look.

"I dinna ken what you mean," he said. "I wonder how soon breakfast will be ready?"

"You're cured, all right," chuckled Tom. "But glorious as all this is, I can hardly wait till we get that steamer together and go chugging up the Yukon into the heart of Alaska."

"I guess we all subscribe to that," echoed Jack with enthusiasm. Just then the breakfast gong boomed out its summons.

"I'll beat you to the table!" shouted Jack. The challenge was accepted and off they all dashed, while the long silent decks of the converted Northerner rang with their shouts of merriment.

[CHAPTER IV.]

SANDY FINDS A MASCOT.

Northward, along the rugged, rock-bound Alaskan coast, the good ship Northerner plowed her way. The boys by this time had become quite used to life on board the staunch craft and every day found something new to rouse their interest and enthusiasm. Among the equipment left on the craft when she had been chartered by her present navigators was a wireless outfit.

Mr. MacKenzie, the second officer, could work this, and the boys whiled away some of their time in studying the use of the apparatus. As they all knew something of telegraphy they speedily became quite proficient, considering the short time they had to pick up a knowledge of the wireless operator's methods.

One bright noonday the vessel's course was changed and she nosed her way into the entrance of that great indentation of the coast known as Resurrection Bay. Her destination was the town of Seward, which lies at the head of the harbor. The boys were all excitement as they passed the rugged rocks at the bay's mouth and saw hundreds of sea lions crawling on them like huge slugs, or else plunging into the water after fish. As the Northerner's whistle gave a shrill blast, the seals set up an answering shout, barking and leaping from the rocks in hosts.

The purpose of the stop at Seward was to purchase some supplies which had been overlooked in the haste with which the departure from Seattle had been made. Some minor repairs to the machinery, too, were necessary, and it was decided to stop over two days. The boys found plenty to interest them. They wrote voluminous letters and sent them home, as well as post cards, which were readily obtained even in that out-of-the-way corner of the world.

The second morning of their stay, while Tom and Jack remained on board writing letters, Sandy elected to go ashore in one of the small boats. He returned just before dinner time. As he approached the ship, pulling laboriously at the oars, it was seen that some object was being towed astern.

"Hey! what's your souvenir?" hailed Tom, with a grin. "Looks like a log."

"We're not hard up for firewood," added Jack.

"Whist!" exclaimed the Scotch youth, with a knowing look. "Bide a wee and be more respectful."

He shipped his oars and turned his face up toward his two companions, who stood leaning over the rail good-naturedly chaffing him.

"If you've naething else to do, you may rig a block and tackle, the noo," said he.

"What for? To hoist that old saw-log on board?" disrespectfully inquired Tom.

"It's nae a saw-log," protested Sandy with spirit.

"Then what on earth is it?" demanded Jack.

"It's an idol."

"An idol!" echoed both boys in a breath.

"Aye, an idol, or rather a 'totem,' is what they call 'em up here. No home is complete without one."

Jack broke into a laugh.

"Why, you bonehead, there's nothing sacred about a totem. They're simply family records, that's all. Something like the crests that our newly rich keep librarians so busy digging up."

Sandy looked blank.

"And that's all they are?" he questioned doubtingly.

"That's all. The natives used to set them up outside their houses like door-plates to show who lived within. For instance, John Smith Aleut would be known by a seagull's head at the top of his totem pole, while on the stalk of the thing would be carved some of his big stunts and those of his ancestors."

With a disgusted look, Sandy pulled out his knife. He bent over the tow-rope, ready to cut loose the bulky object bobbing about astern. But Tom checked him.

"What are you up to now?"

"Hoot, mon! I've been stung by an innocent native. The gloomeroon that sold me yon totem told me that it was a sacred idol. That's why I bought it. Whist! back she goes, and I paid five dollars of my good money for it!"

"Hold on a minute!" cried Tom checking him. "Maybe we have found a mascot after all."

"Yes," declared Jack, who had been leaning over the rail closely scanning the figure of the totem as it bobbed about alongside the Northerner, "it looks as if it were the figure of some old gent of these parts. Maybe the old fellow is the 'Good Genius of the White North.'"

"Anyhow, that's a good name for him," agreed Tom. "Come on, fellows, let's rig a block and tackle and get him on board."

The three boys set about preparing to hoist the "Genius of the White North" on board. It was a crudely carved figure about seven feet in height. A fierce-looking face with big chunks of wood inserted for teeth and a large, round stomach were the chief characteristics of the totem, which was about two feet wide and tapered toward the grotesquely small feet. Carved on the body was what appeared to be meant for a whale or a seal hunt. The figure had once been brightly daubed with red, yellow, black and white, but these colors were faded now.

"Well, he was a beauty, whoever he was," declared Tom, when the boys had hoisted the dripping figure on deck.

"Looks like an 'ad' for a dentist, with those teeth of his," laughed Jack.

"That is meant for a good-natured grin," maintained Sandy, confronting his purchase critically.

"Appears more as if he was getting ready to tackle a whale steak or something of that kind," declared Tom.

"I guess it will bring good luck," went on Sandy, poking his prize in the ribs. "The native told me that if you kept it handy, say in your pocket, you'd have good luck all the time. Never go hungry or get sick."

"That alone is worth the price of admission," chuckled Jack skeptically. "How does it work?"

"You just stick it up in front of your house, and as long as it is planted there and kept painted it'll stay on the job," was Sandy's glowing reply.

"That's simple," said Tom, "about as cheap a way of maintaining a mascot as you could find."

At this point Mr. Dacre, who had been busy below consulting with the engineering force, came on deck. A smile overspread his face as he saw the totem.

"Well, well. You young men are certainly acquiring the rudiments of a museum," he said amusedly. "Who is the owner of the gentleman with the 'bowsprit' teeth?"

Sandy proudly proclaimed his ownership and the manner in which he had come by it. Mr. Dacre declared that he had not been unduly cheated except in the declaration of the native that the totem possessed magic powers.

"The use of the totem pole may fitly be termed 'Alaskan heraldry,'" said he. "It acts as the shield of the various tribes or families. Among the totems of the Haidas, to mention only one tribe, the insignias of the eagle, whale, crow, wolf and bear are found. To anyone who can decipher it, the totem pole in front of a house forms a history of the family within.

"The figure at the top may sometimes be a rude portrait, as in the case of Sandy's old gentleman, or it may be any symbol similar to those I have mentioned. The carvings on the pole usually represent traditional events connected with the history of the tribe.

"According to ethnologists, the totem was first adopted to distinguish the four social clans into which the Alaskan Indians were formerly divided, namely, the Kishpootwadda, the Lacheboo, the Canadda and the Lackshkeak. The Kishpootwadda symbolically were represented by the fish-back whale on the sea, the grizzly bear on land, the grouse in the air and the sun and stars in the heavens.

"The Canadda tribes adopted the frog, raven, starfish and bull's-head. The wolf, heron and grizzly proclaimed the Lacheboo, and the Lackshkeaks selected the eagle, beaver and halibut. Members of a clan, though living hundreds of miles apart, are recognized as blood relations by means of their totems.

"According to Indian legends, in the dim past they lived in a beautiful land where there was unlimited game and fish. The creatures on the totem poles were the divinities of this mystic land, just as the ibis and the cat are held sacred in Egyptian lore.

"Families having the same crest may not intermarry. A Frog may not marry a Frog, or an Eagle an Eagle. A young Lochinvar of the Frog family may woo and win,—sometimes with a club,—a maiden of the Whale family. But it would be considered very bad form for a Wolf and an Eagle to marry, as both are creatures of prey.

"Like most other races, the Alaskan Indians have a 'bogyman' story with which to frighten naughty children. In a northern village there is a totem pole surmounted by the whitened face of a Caucasian, flanked on each side by the figure of a child wearing a tall hat. The story is that long, long ago a chief's wife left a temporary summer camp. Taking her two children with her she crossed a channel in a bidarka or native canoe, and landed on an island where she gathered spruce boughs for holding salmon eggs.

"Before she entered the woods, she drew the canoe up on the beach and told the children to stay right by it. When she came back the children had vanished. She called and called, but in vain. From the woods came back the mocking voices of crows and that was all. In despair she returned to the camp and told her story. The Shaman, or medicine man of the tribe, brewed potions and wrought spells and found out that a white man had stolen the children and that they had been taken to America to wear tall hats and forget their tribe. The white man is supposed still to haunt the woods and waters looking for disobedient children, and if the story is doubted, there is the totem pole to show the recorded history of the fate of the two youngsters in the dim past. And that, young gentlemen, will conclude what I'm afraid has been a tedious lecture on totem poles."

But the interested faces of the boys showed that they had appreciated Mr. Dacre's little talk, and the figure of the old gentleman with the prominent teeth took on a new interest in their eyes.

"That Indian told me that if you poured oil on this totem when you were going fishing, your boat would go where you wanted to go and make no trouble for you," said Sandy.

"Well, he certainly gave you your five dollars' worth," smiled Mr. Dacre.

At five o'clock that night the Northerner's anchor rumbled home. She was off once more. In the extreme bow of the vessel, erect and boldly facing the north, was Sandy's totem. Its head glistened with oil. Although rather dubious as to whether it was the right brand, the boys had used kerosene for the baptism. But so far as the totem displayed his feelings, he had no preference in the matter!

[CHAPTER V.]

A MID-OCEAN HUNTING TRIP.

"Well," remarked Jack after breakfast the next day, "old 'Frozen Face' seems to be on the job all right."

"Yes, but, mon, we should have baptized him wi' seal oil! I've just remembered that that was what the native told me to use."

"Seal oil, eh?" laughed Tom. "Well, there's a scarcity of that article on board just now, so I'm afraid that Mister Totem will just have to job along without any."

"Huh!" grunted Sandy, "then dinna depend on yon old gent to treat us right. I'll bet he's got it in for us richt noo."

The next day it appeared, indeed, as if Sandy's dire predictions were about to be verified. The Northerner ran into a storm that buffeted her about sadly. Her speed had to be cut down till she made scarcely any headway. It was a difficult matter to get about on deck owing to the great seas that washed over the laboring vessel. By orders of Mr. Dacre the lads were kept below much to their disgust.

The gale finally blew itself out and the boys found that the old totem had remained at his post through it all, although they had more than half expected to find him washed overboard. But their faith in him as a mascot was sadly shaken.

From time to time, as they nosed northward, the ship encountered floating icebergs. None of them were so large as to cause alarm, however, and for the most part they were low and islandlike in appearance.

The boys were idly watching one of these as the ship approached it, when Tom made out several black objects on the floe. What these specks were did not become apparent till some time later when Jack proclaimed their nature.

"Seals!" cried he. "Don't I wish we had a harpoon! We'd have a seal hunt!"

Tom smiled and drew from his pocket his automatic revolver which he had been cleaning.

"I guess this is as good as any harpoon that ever harpooned," he said, tapping its heavy stock.

"I wonder if we could get permission to go after them?" pondered Jack. "I'm sick of being penned up on board here."

"I'll be the lad to go and ask," declared Sandy boldly. "If we can kill a seal it'll be a chance to baptize old 'Frozen Face' in the richt style. I'll point oot to Mr. Dacre that all the hurlyburly the other day came from shampooing him with kerosene instead of seal oil."

"I hope he puts the seal of approval on your plan," declared Jack.

"Don't repeat that offense, or in case we do get leave to go, you'll be left behind," said Tom.

"I'll seal you later," cried Sandy, dashing off before a justly merited punishment could be visited upon him.

He was back in a few minutes.

"It's a' richt, fellows!" he exclaimed. "We're to take the small boat and not delay longer than we have to. They won't give us more than half an hour."

"Then we'll have to hustle. We'll be up to that floe before long," cried Jack.

The boys darted to their cabins to get ready for the hunt. Their faces glowed with pleasure at this unexpected break in the monotony of the voyage. When they returned on deck, they found Mr. Dacre awaiting them and the boat lowered alongside with the accommodation ladder dangling above it.

"Boys," he exclaimed with some excitement, "we've been looking at that floe through the glasses. They're not seals that have taken passage on it, but walruses, a herd of them."

"Good!" cried Tom. "We'll get a fine lot of tusks to send home."

"Steady on, steady on," warned his uncle, "walrus hunting is a very different matter from chasing seals. An old bull makes a formidable enemy."

"Are you coming along?" asked Tom, who saw that his uncle had his rifle.

"Yes, I wouldn't care to let you lads go on such an expedition alone. Seals, as I said, are too tame to afford real sport. Walrus hunting is another thing altogether."

While the steamer lay by, the adventurous little party clambered down into the boat. From the bridge, Mr. Chillingworth, who had elected to remain on board, waved a farewell to them and shouted his wishes for their good luck.

Tom and Jack took the oars and rowed with strong, swift strokes toward the drifting berg. As they neared it, it was seen that its sides were higher than they had looked from the steamer's decks. It was no easy task to make a landing. Finally, however, Mr. Dacre scaled a four-foot shelf and then pulled Tom up after him. Jack followed, and Sandy, who had not much fancied a closer view of the big-tusked, formidable-looking walruses, was not sorry to be told to stay behind and look after the boat, which there was no means of mooring to the smooth, slippery floe.

When the hunters gained the top of the berg, they saw that had they rowed around to the other side, a landing might have been effected much more easily. A depression ran like a small valley down to the water's edge, making an almost perfect landing place on the ice floe. Jack was ordered back to tell Sandy to row the boat around the floe to this point and await the hunters there.

In the meantime, Mr. Dacre and Tom had crept cautiously forward, crouching behind every projection that afforded cover, for at the approach of the boat the big walruses had flopped clumsily to the other side of the drifting berg.

As Jack made his way back from his errand to Sandy, he saw Mr. Dacre suddenly crouch low, and Tom, who was at his side, did the same. The boy suspected that the game had been sighted and was within range. He made his way cautiously to the hunters' sides, and was rewarded with the sight of about a dozen huge black masses lying along the outer edge of a ridge of ice that ran into the "valley" before mentioned.

Mr. Dacre put a warning hand on Jack's arm to prevent his making any outcry. He pointed to the highest point of the ice valley. There, with his great, clumsy head erect, his hairy nostrils distended and his long tusks gleaming white against his fat, shiny body, was a huge bull walrus. The sentinel, perhaps the leader of the herd of formidable-looking creatures.

"We're on his wind," whispered Mr. Dacre, "we must creep along this ridge. Follow me and make no noise. He's scented us, but he hasn't seen us yet."

With nerves athrill the two boys followed their elder, wriggling cautiously over the ice.

Suddenly Mr. Dacre stiffened. His rifle was jerked to his shoulder. Taking careful sight, the hunter's weapon rang out echoingly above the ice floe. Tom and Jack saw the great bull shake his head, roar angrily and emit a hoarse, shrill bellow of pain and rage. He had been shot, but he stood his ground. All about him the herd gathered.

"You hit him!" shouted Tom, half wild with excitement. He was about to run forward exultingly, but his uncle jerked him backward.

"You stay right here," he said as he pulled the boy down beside him.

[CHAPTER VI.]

A LIBATION TO THE TOTEM.

Mr. Dacre rose to his feet and began scrambling forward over the rough ice. Slipping and bumping, he pushed toward the stricken bull, with the two boys close behind him.

"He looks ready for a fight," whispered Tom.

"He sure does. Wow! Look at those tusks! I'd hate to have them bite into me," rejoined his brother.

"Halt!" cried out Mr. Dacre suddenly.

Before them was the roaring bull. Behind him were grouped his companions. They appeared to be unsettled whether to fly or give battle. Apparently they were waiting to see what action their leader would take.

The boys came to a standstill. As they did so, Mr. Dacre raised his rifle for a second shot. But as he was about to shoot something jammed in the repeating mechanism of his weapon. At the same time, with a roar of rage, the wounded bull threw himself forward on his awkward flippers.

"They're going to attack us!" called Tom. "Why don't you fire?"

"I can't. Something's gone wrong with the magazine of my rifle!" explained his uncle. "You boys run for the boat. These fellows are ugly customers when they get roused."

But Tom's automatic revolver was out of his pocket in a jiffy. He leveled it and then pulled the trigger. There was a spiteful crack as the weapon began shooting lead. The big walrus sank to the surface of the floe with an earpiercing squeal, but wounded as he was, he turned and managed to propel himself along over the ice on his clumsy flippers.

"After him. He's the prize of the herd!" cried Mr. Dacre.

As their leader had turned tail, the others had swung round. Now their great bulks were in full retreat across the ice. The boys ran forward while Mr. Dacre struggled to get his rifle into working order once more.

Tom swiftly reloaded and threw up his automatic. But as he ran his eye along the barrel he dropped the weapon with a gasp of alarm.

At the landing place to which he had been directed was Sandy, standing erect in the boat. Toward him, down the valley leading to the break in the ice, wallowed the retreating walrus herd. The boy was directly in their path.

"Look out! Look out!" screamed Tom, but Sandy, if he heard him, paid no attention.

Tom saw the Scotch lad pick up an oar and stand brandishing it as the herd, in full retreat and snorting alarmedly, bore down upon him. Behind them lumbered the great creature that carried the bullets of Mr. Dacre and Tom in his gigantic carcass.

Bloodstains showed that the monster had been severely wounded, but Tom did not dare risk another shot at it. Right in line of fire with it was Sandy's upstanding form.

"Gracious, they'll charge right down on him and maybe stave the boat!" cried Tom, almost sick with apprehension.

But Sandy appeared quite unaware of his danger. With uplifted oar he awaited the oncoming of the vanguard of the retreating herd. But it now appeared that they did not intend to attack the boat.

With noisy splashes they flopped into the water all about it, while Sandy, in a frenzy of excitement, waved his extemporized weapon and yelled at the top of his voice.

"Let 'em all come! Hooray!" he shouted, and whacked one of the animals between the eyes as it plunged below.

He actually appeared delighted at the novel combat.

"Whoop! Overboard with ye!" he shouted shrilly, "get along now"; and down would come the oar with a resounding thwack!

Mr. Dacre and Jack came running up. The former had got his rifle under control again.

"The boy's gone crazy!" he cried. "If he doesn't look out, one of those creatures will turn on him and then there'll be trouble."

"Look! Look!" broke in Jack suddenly.

The wounded bull had reached the water's edge. He raised his head and snorted as he glared with angry eyes at the upstanding boy. Then, with a snort, he lunged downward into the water out of sight.

"It's gone! The prize one's gone!" shouted Jack.

"What a shame," echoed Tom, and then the next instant, "No, see there! He's coming up again."

Sure enough, the next moment a bulky, hideous head appeared above the water close to the boat. The animal was gnashing his teeth as if determined to wreak vengeance on one at least of the party that had attacked him and his companions.

"Hoots!" yelled Sandy. "Take that, you old oomeroon!"

He brought down his oar on the walrus, but the creature caught the blade in his tusks and split it with a rending sound as if it had been merely matchwood.

"Look out for him!" shouted Mr. Dacre as, having accomplished this destruction, the monster dived once again. "He hasn't gone yet. Look behind you!"

But although Sandy turned quickly, he was not swift enough. The great sea monster had only dived a few feet. Now he came up like a battering ram. He drove his big, fleshy nose right against the boat's side. Had the craft not been of the stoutest construction, it must have been stove in.

As it was, caught unawares, the shock threw Sandy from his feet. He made an ineffectual effort to save himself, but the next instant, while his friends set up a shout of dismay, he toppled overboard into the cold water which was now alive with bobbing black heads.

Directly they had recovered from their first shock at the accident, the boys, followed by Mr. Dacre, set off faster than ever over the rough ice. As they ran they shouted encouragement to their chum. Sandy's head could be seen in the water. He was striking out for the side of the boat. But behind him came the blunt head of the big walrus. The others appeared to be taking no notice, leaving the task of demolishing the boat and Sandy to the wounded animal.

"Good boy, Sandy! Strike out! You'll make it!" roared Tom, all a-quiver with apprehension.

"Swim for your life, my boy!" shouted Mr. Dacre. "Make the boat and you'll be all right. I'll attend to the walrus."

Sandy was a good swimmer and he struck out valiantly. But the monster head, with its huge gleaming tusks, was terribly close behind him as he made his way through the water.

Mr. Dacre raised his rifle. He was going to try a desperate shot. The head of the walrus, huge though it was, was moving too swiftly to offer a good target, and yet it was the only chance to save Sandy. Steadying his aim with an effort, Mr. Dacre drew a careful bead on the creature, aiming for a spot between the eyes.

Between his sights appeared the oily head, the bristling whiskers and the fierce tusks of the creature. He pulled the trigger. In the churn of the water and the wave of spray that succeeded the sharp report, it could be seen that the wounded walrus had been struck again and had sunk from sight. But his tenacity of life had been such that they were still by no means sure that he was dead.

"Get into the boat! The boat!" called Mr. Dacre as he saw the blood-stained swirl of waters where the walrus had last been seen.

Sandy was clinging to the bulwark of the craft, and after some difficulty climbed on board. Just as he reached safety, there came a shout from his friends.

"Behind you! Behind you!" shrieked Tom.

Sandy looked. Coming toward the boat was once more a swirl of water. The old bull was rushing down on the boat, rearing his head aloft. His ugly creased neck tilted back. His great tusks impended above the boat's side ready to crush on it as a terrier seizes on a rat. But before the ponderous jaws could close, "Spit!" came from Tom's automatic, and dazed and finally wounded unto death, the huge bull slipped back harmlessly into the water.

As the craft careened in the swell of the sinking body, Sandy almost went overboard for a second time. But he managed to save himself just as the carcass came bobbing up alongside. He seized the boat hook, jabbing it down into the great body, and gave a yell of triumph.

"I got him," he yelled, as the others came running and stumbling toward him. "Come on, and get your dead walrus!"

A cheer answered him. Not long after, with the shivering Sandy wrapped in what dry clothing they could spare, the boat, with its prize in tow, was sculled back to the ship where, as you may imagine, all hands had a thrilling tale to tell.

Sandy was made to gulp down boiling coffee and was hustled into a change of garments, while the others examined the body of the monster in whose slaying it might be said that they all had had a more or less active share. Tom felt not a little proud of his part as they gazed at the dead bull and admired his huge proportions. Soon Sandy joined them.

"Aweel, I'm thinking that we'll have a christening the noo," said he.

While the sailors were skinning the walrus and cutting out the four foot tusks, Sandy snatched up some strips of blubber and vanished. In a quarter of an hour or so he appeared with a cooking pan in his hands. Its contents was steaming and emitted a rank and fishy odor.

"What in the world have you got there?" Tom wanted to know.

"Give you three guesses," rejoined Sandy.

"It smells like sixty," observed Jack.

"Yes; keep to leeward of us, my lad," put in the captain.

"Well, what is it?" asked Mr. Dacre.

"Soup,—walrus soup," guessed Jack.

"If it is, I don't want any of it," declared Tom, sniffing the fishy odor.

"Don't worry, you won't get any," chortled Sandy.

"What are you going to do with it?" asked Jack.

"As I observed some time ago, we'll have a christening the noo," was the rejoinder.

"A christening!"

"Aye! That native said that old 'Frozen Face' needed a shampoo wi' seal oil, but I'm thinking that walrus oil will be just as good or better."

A shout broke from the boys.

"Good for you, Sandy," cried Tom. "Come on, we'll give the old boy a bath in it. He surely looked out well for you to-day."

While their elders looked on amusedly, the lads doused the long suffering totem with the ill-smelling oil and danced around the aged figure with mock solemnity, intoning what was meant to be a mystic chant:

"Oh, totem in our hours of ease,
Uncertain, coy and hard to please;
Now you have had your walrus bath,
Be nice and kind, and smile and laugh;
And kindly watch our destiny,
Northward, toward the Arctic Sea."

[CHAPTER VII.]

AN ADVENTURE OF JACK'S.

"What's that yonder, uncle?" asked Tom.

It was the morning after the adventure with the walrus and the Northerner was steaming steadily on toward Valdez, her next port of call on her voyage north. At that place she would take on coal for the final stage of her journey to St. Michaels near the mouth of the Yukon, where the party would be left after the small steamer had been put together.

Tom was a great boy to lean against the rail scanning the sea in search of something that might prove exciting. He had been gazing steadily against the far horizon for some minutes. Mr. Dacre hastened to his cabin and came back with a pair of binoculars.

He raised them and looked fixedly in the direction that Tom had indicated.

"It's a whale," he declared, "or rather a whole school of them, if I'm not mistaken. They are dead ahead of us. If we keep on this course, we shall run almost squarely into them."

He hastened off to inform the captain and Mr. Chillingworth while Tom set out to find his chums. He found them in the wireless room practicing on the key. At his news they speedily jumped up and joined him in the bow.

Within an hour they came into plain sight of what appeared at first to be so many giant logs rolling about in the sea. All at once, among the "logs," which of course were the whales, appeared splashes of white water. The leviathans swam swiftly here and there as though in fear.

"What's the matter with them?" wondered Tom.

"Maybe it's the ship's coming that has scared them," suggested Jack.

"It's the totem at the bow, mon," declared the Scotch boy solemnly.

The captain leaned over the bridge rail and shouted to them.

"There's a school of killers in among them."

"Killers?"

"Yes, the killer whales. They are the enemies of the other kind and just naturally take after them when they meet. Watch close now!"

The boys needed no second bidding. Strangely fascinated by the turbulent scene below, they leaned far out to watch the thrashing water. It was a strange combat of the sea. The monster fish appeared, in their panic at the advent among them of the killers, not to notice the oncoming steamer.

"Look close now and you'll see tall, upright fins moving about among 'em," sung out the captain.

"I see them!" cried Tom. "Are those the killers?"

"That's what. Sea tigers, they ought to call 'em. They're as bad as sharks," was the reply.

Mr. Dacre joined the boys. One of the biggest of the whales appeared to be an especial target for the "killers." They pursued it relentlessly in a body.

"Wow!" cried Tom suddenly, "look at that!" The big whale had leaped clear out of the water, breached, as the whalers call it. Its body shone in the sunlight like a burnished surface. They saw its whole enormous bulk as if it had been a leaping trout.

"He's as big as a house!" cried Jack.

"I've seen houses that were smaller!" laughed Mr. Dacre; "your bungalow, for example."

Down came the whale again with a splash that sent the spray flying as high as the Northerner's mast tops.

"How do they fight the whales?" Tom wanted to know, when their excitement over this episode had subsided.

"They tear them with their teeth," replied his uncle. "They get round them like dogs worrying a cat. They literally tear the poor creatures to bits piecemeal."

"Looks like one of the whale hunts that old 'Frozen Face' here must have had a hand in," said Jack. "Here, old sport, take a look for auld lang syne."

He loosened the lashings that held the totem in place in the bow, and while they all laughed, he tilted the old relic till "old Frozen Face," as they called him, actually appeared to be gazing at the conflict raging about them.

"See, the big fellow is acting kind of sleepy!" cried Jack suddenly.

"Yes, he must have got his death warrant," declared Mr. Dacre.

"Look! He's coming right across our bows!" yelled Sandy.

"Hey! Look out, captain, you'll hit him!" roared out Tom.

But even as he spoke, there came a heavy jar that almost stopped the sturdy steamer. Her steel bow had struck the whale amidships with stunning force. The craft appeared to quiver in every rib and frame.

The party on the fore deck, taken by surprise, went over like so many ninepins. They recovered themselves in a jiffy.

"Goodness! Don't run into any more whales! You'll have the ship stove in the first thing you know," cried Mr. Dacre. "I don't think——"

But a shout from Tom checked him.

"Jack! Where's Jack?"

"He was there a minute ago. By the totem."

"I know, but the totem has gone!"

"Great Scott, it must have gone overboard when that shock came and carried the boy with it."

They darted to the rail where Jack had last been seen. The next instant they set up a mingled cheer and groan. The cheer was in token that Jack was alive, the groan was at his precarious position. Clinging to the totem as if it had been a life buoy, the lad was drifting rapidly astern, and toward him was advancing the mad turmoil of waters that signified the battle royal raging between the killers and their huge awkward prey.

As he saw his friends, the boy on the floating totem waved his hand in a plucky effort to reassure them. He shouted something encouraging that they could not catch. But the peril of his position was only too plain.

Only a short distance separated the killers and their frightened quarry from the drifting boy. Once in the midst of that seething turmoil his life would be in grave danger.

It was a moment for action, swift and decisive. Within a few seconds, although to Jack's excited friends it appeared infinitely longer, a boat had been lowered and the steamer's way checked. This latter was the more easy to accomplish for the huge carcass impending at her bow had almost brought her to a standstill.

Manned by two sailors, the boat flew toward the imperiled boy. In the stern, with pale faces, stood Tom and Sandy, side by side with Mr. Dacre and Mr. Chillingworth. All carried rifles. Jack's position was a grave one as the school of whales, pursued by their remorseless foes, rushed down upon him. But those in the boat were in equal danger. One flip of those giant tails or a chance collision, and the stout boat would inevitably be sent to the bottom with a slender chance of its occupants being saved.

No wonder that little was said as they rowed swiftly toward Jack and that many anxious glances were cast at the waters astern, which were boiling like a maelstrom as the huge bodies of the whales and their foes dashed blindly hither and thither!

[CHAPTER VIII.]

"THE TALE OF A WHALE."

"Give way, men!" implored Mr. Dacre anxiously, as the sailors bent to their task vigorously.

There was small need to admonish the men. The affair had literally become a race for life between the boat and the surging, battling whales. As they came alongside Jack, who was clinging to the totem, he gave an encouraging wave of the hand.

"Gee! I'm glad you've come. This water is pretty cold, I can tell you."

He was hauled on board with all swiftness.

"Don't forget old 'Frozen Face,'" he begged anxiously as he heard his uncle give orders to take to the oars again.

"No time to wait for him now, Jack," declared Mr. Dacre; "look there!"

He pointed behind them. Rushing toward the boat with the speed of an express locomotive was a mighty head. It parted the water like an oncoming torpedo boat. The boys gave a shout of alarm.

"It's coming straight for us!"

The sailors pulled on their oars till the stout ash wood bent as if it had been bamboo. Suddenly there came a loud crack. One of the oars had snapped. No doubt, as sometimes occurs, there was a flaw in the wood. The man who was pulling it rolled off his seat into the bottom of the boat.

As he did so, there came a second loud cry of affright. The whale was almost upon them. On either side of its enormous blunt head was a mountainous wall of water. Even if it did not hit them, the mighty "wash" that its onrush made was likely to swamp the little craft, deeply loaded as she was.

The snapping of the oar had cost valuable time. A collision appeared to be inevitable. The second sailor seemed to be paralyzed with fright. He stared stupidly at the great bulk bearing down upon them.

With a sharp exclamation Mr. Dacre seized an oar out of the fellow's hand. In the stern of the boat was a "becket." He thrust the oar through this, and with a few powerful strokes moved the boat forward. It was then out of the direct path of the whale, but still in peril of the mighty wave the great body of the creature upreared.

It was at this juncture that Tom proved his mettle. He grabbed the other oar from the stupefied sailor's hands and thrusting it overboard on the port side tugged on it with all his might.

"That's right! Good lad! Head her into it!" cried Mr. Dacre, perceiving the object of Tom's maneuver, which was to force the boat bow first against the towering wave sweeping down upon them. It was the only thing to do, and Tom's experience had taught him to act quickly.

Hardly had the boat's bow been swung till it was facing the onrushing wave, than, with a roar and smother of foam, a huge black bulk shot by, drenching them with spray. Carried away by excitement, Jack did a foolish thing. Raising his revolver he fired point blank at the huge wet side of the whale.

Instantly, as the bullet struck it, the great creature spouted. From its nostrils two jets of water shot up with a roar like that of escaping steam.

"Duck your heads!" roared out Mr. Chillingworth.

He had hardly time to get out the words before the spouted water came down with the force of a cloudburst upon the boat. It was half filled, but they had hardly time to notice this before the great wave that the speeding whale had caused to rise swept under them. The small boat, half full of water and overcrowded, rose sullenly. To the boys it seemed that they were rushed dizzily heavenward and then let down into an abyss that was fathomless. But a few seconds later a glad cry from Mr. Dacre announced that the danger had passed. The boat had ridden the wave nobly, and as for the killers and their quarry, all that could be seen of them was a fast receding commotion in the water.

"Phew, what a narrow escape!" gasped out Tom. "I thought we were goners sure that time!"

"Same here," agreed Sandy with deep conviction.

The strained faces of the others showed what they had thought. Mr. Dacre relieved the tension by ordering all hands to get busy and bale out the boat with some baling cans that were under the thwarts. They were in the midst of this task when Jack gave a sudden outcry and pointed over the side.

"What's up now, another whale?" cried Sandy, his face showing his alarm.

"Whale nothing!" scoffed Jack. "Look, it's the 'Good Genius of the Frozen North!'"

"The mascot!" cried Sandy.

"The mascot, sure enough," declared Mr. Dacre. "It undoubtedly helped to save Jack's life."

"Yes, after carrying me overboard first!" snorted Jack.

Sure enough, alongside the boat old "Frozen Face" was bobbing serenely about.

"We've got to take him back to the ship," declared Sandy.

"Yes, since he's inviting himself we can't be so impolite as to leave him," said Mr. Chillingworth.

Accordingly, a line was made fast to the totem and he was towed back to the ship and once more restored to office as official mascot in the bow of the Northerner. But the ship did not get under way at once following the adventure of part of her crew. The body of the wounded whale still hung limply to her bow. Sailors with tackles had to be called into requisition before the vast obstruction could be cleared.

By this time, as if by magic, thousands of birds had appeared. They fell upon the carcass, paying scant attention to the men at work on it, and fought and tore and devoured flesh and blubber as if they were famished. The captain said that they were whale birds, such as haunt the track of ships engaged in whale trade for weeks at a time.

"Gracious, we certainly are having exciting times!" said Tom as the ship once more got under way bound for her next port of call, Valdez, to the east of the great Kenai Peninsula.

"I expect you boys will have more exciting times later than any you have yet experienced," remarked the captain, who happened to be passing along the deck at the time. "Your adventure with the whales reminds me of a yarn that a certain old Captain Peleg Maybe used to spin, of the perils of whaling. Like to hear it?"

The boys chorused assent. They knew something of the captain's ability as a spinner of yarns.

"Well, it appears, according to the way old Captain Peleg used to tell it, that his ship, the Cachelot, was becalmed in these seas while out after whales," began the skipper with somewhat of a twinkle in his eye. "One day he decided to enliven the monotony of the constant doldrums by having his small dory lowered and going a-fishing after halibut. Well, the boat was lowered away and the skipper pulled off to some distance from the ship before he cast his lines.

"Now it seems strange, doesn't it, in an ocean five hundred miles wide and a thousand feet deep, that when he cast his light anchor overboard, the fluke of it should land in the blow-hole of a whale, which isn't much bigger than a man's fist?"

"What's a blow-hole?" demanded Sandy.

"Why, the orifice through which a whale spouts or sounds, as whalemen call it. You had a specimen of spouting when that whale Master Jack shot at gave you a shower bath. But, according to Captain Peleg, that was just what happened to him. The fluke of his anchor lodged right in that whale's nostril.

"As soon as the anchor hit that whale where the apple hit the man who discovered the law of gravitation, off he dashed, and naturally the boat being fast to him, off dashed the boat, too. The line was drawn as tight as the 'G' string on a bull fiddle.

"Cap'n Peleg was standing up in the stern just ready to cast a line over, when 'bang!' the fun started. He almost went overboard, but recovered himself in time to find that he was being drawn through the water at 'sixty-'leven' miles an hour or more. He said afterward it was the fastest he'd ever traveled. The wind hit his face as if he was coasting down a forty-five grade mountainside in a runaway six-cylinder auto without brakes or windshield.

"The cap'n said that the wind blew in his face so hard that every time he tried to get to the bow of the boat to cut the line, he was blown back again. All this time he couldn't think what he was hitched to. In fact he didn't do much thinking at all. It wasn't till the whale had gone what Peleg said must have been a hundred miles or more, that it turned plum round and headed right back for his ship again.

"They made the trip in as fast time as if he'd been hitched to a runaway cyclone. As they came near the ship there was the greatest excitement on board that they'd had since they ran into a herd of sperms up in Bering Sea.

"'Come aboard, cap!' yelled the mate.

"'Can't, you're only a way station,' yells back the skipper, 'and this is the Alaskan flyer.'

"Just then, the way Cap'n Peleg told it, up comes the whale to spout. Seems funny it didn't think of doing that before, but the way Peleg told it, the creature hadn't. Anyhow, just as they were passing the ship, up comes the whale and gives an almighty sneeze. That blew the anchor out of its nose and off it goes, while Peleg takes an oar and guides the boat alongside his ship after the most exciting ride he ever had. The boat was going so fast when the whale cut loose, that he didn't need to row her alongside; all he had to do was to steer her like a launch and then he had to make two circles to reduce speed before he dared try to reach his ship.

"Peleg said that when they hoisted the boat on deck they found she had stood the trip all right, except that paint on her sides was blistered and burned by reason of the friction kicked up by the terrific pace they had traveled through the water."

The boys burst into a roar of laughter at the conclusion of this surprising anecdote. The captain's eyes twinkled.

"Remember, I don't vouch for it," he said; "I'm only telling the tale to you as it was told to me."

"The tale of a whale," chuckled Tom.

"A whale of a tale, I guess you mean," spoke Jack.

"Captain, what did you say the name of that skipper was?" inquired Sandy innocently.

"Maybe," was the answer.

"Aweel," said the Scotch lad soberly, "I'm thinking he was well named."

[CHAPTER IX.]

WILD WATERS.

Early one morning the boys were awakened by the steady booming of the Northerner's whistle. By the lack of vibration they knew that she was proceeding slowly. Wondering what could be the cause of the reduced speed and the constant raucous bellowing of the whistle, they hustled into their clothes and met each other on deck.

It was at once apparent what was the matter. Thick, steamy sea-fog enveloped the ship. Through a fleece of blanket-like vapor, she was forging ahead at a snail's pace. The boys made their way to the bridge. There they found their elders in anxious consultation. And there, too, the blowing of the whistle was explained to them. It was not, as they had at first thought, for fear of encountering other vessels that the big siren was kept incessantly roaring its hoarse warning.

The whistle was sounding to enable the captain to get his bearings in the dense smother. Sea captains along the part of the coast where they were now steaming, keep their whistles going in thick weather so as to catch the sound of an echo. When they hear one reverberating back through the fog, they know that they are in dangerous proximity to the cliffy, rockbound coast, and keep outward toward the open sea.

"Where are we?" was naturally the first thing that the boys wanted to know.

"We are somewhere off the coast of Afognok Island," was the rejoinder.

"That's a misnomer for it," declared Jack.

"How's that?" unsuspectingly inquired Tom.

"Why, it's the last place I'd think of calling A-fog-not," rejoined Jack, dodging quickly to a place of safety behind a stanchion.

"Are we near a harbor?" inquired Sandy.

"As well as I can tell, we ought to be off the mouth of Kadiak Harbor soon after breakfast," rejoined the captain, squinting at the compass and giving a brief direction to the man at the wheel.

Sure enough, after breakfast the anchor was let go with a rattle and roar and the Northerner came to a standstill. The whistle was blown in impatient short toots as a signal to the pilot to come off, if, as the captain was certain, they were really near the harbor mouth. Mr. Dacre was anxious to go ashore, as he had some friends living in the Alaskan town whom he had not seen for many years.

At last, out of the fog came the sound of oars, and then came a rough voice roaring out through a megaphone a message to the Northerner's company.

"Steamer, ahoy! Who are you?"

"Northerner, under charter, San Francisco to St. Michael," rejoined the captain succinctly. "Are you the pilot?"

"Aye! aye!" was bellowed back through the all-enveloping mist.

"Come aboard then, will you?" admonished the captain, and jerked the whistle cord sharply so as to give the pilot his bearings.

In a few minutes a big, capable-looking dory, manned by two Aleuts appeared alongside. In the stern sat a grizzled, red-faced man in oilskins. This was Bill Rainier, the pilot.

"How about taking her in, pilot?" demanded the captain anxiously.

The man grinned.

"All right, if you've no further use for her, cap," he rejoined. "If you don't mind piling her up on the rocks, we'll go right ahead."

"Mr. Dacre here is anxious to go ashore," responded the captain. "He has some goods to give to some friends of his, Mr. Beattie and his brother. How long before this fog is likely to lift?"

"Can't say," was the noncommittal reply; "it may last a week. But tell you what you do. The Beatties are good friends of mine. I'll take your man ashore if you like."

But here arose a question about carrying the goods which Mr. Dacre had for his friends, who were storekeepers, and which he had brought up freight free. The question was finally decided in this way: A ship's boat would be used to transport the goods and Bill Rainier and Mr. Dacre would go ashore in her. The boys, who had begged to go ashore, too, would follow in the pilot's dory with the two natives as guides.

It did not take long to get out the goods from the hold and lower them overside. Then the boys scrambled down and took their places in the dory, while the natives, with grinning faces, stared at them.

Bill Rainier roared something at the Aleuts in their native tongue and off glided the dory into the fog, bearing three happy, excited boys as cargo.

Mr. Dacre, busy superintending the work of getting the goods transferred, did not notice their departure till some minutes later. Then he asked sharply:

"Where's that dory gone?"

"That's all right, cap," rejoined Bill easily, "I sent it ahead. Those Aleuts know the way as well as I do."

"Just the same, I wish they had waited for us," said Mr. Dacre with a slight frown.

"Oh, they'll be waiting for us when we get there," declared Bill confidently, and no more was said.

But when the steamer's boat reached the dock, no dory was there. Nor had any of the loungers hanging about seen one.

"Maybe they've got into another channel and gone down Wolf Island way," suggested Bill, looking rather grave. "Don't you worry, sir, they'll be along."

"Well, if an Aleut can do anything pig-headed and plum foolish, that's what he's a-goin' to do," opined the dock superintendent, who knew the facts in the case.

"I'd suggest we get up to the store with these goods," said Bill, "and by the time we're through that dory'll be here."

"But it should have reached here long ago," said Mr. Dacre. "I tell you, Rainier, I don't half like the look of this."

"No harm can come to 'em," Bill assured him.

But nevertheless, for some time both men stood motionless, with lips compressed, staring out into the blanket of fog without exchanging speech.

In the meantime, the dory was being rowed through the fog by the two stolid natives without the boys suspecting in the least that anything was wrong. As a matter of fact, the two natives, for reasons apparent to those who know the native Aleut, had decided to take a short cut through a passage behind Wolf Island. But the fog had shut in thicker now and they were not at all sure of their bearings, skilled boatmen though they were. They rowed stolidly on and on through the dripping mist without speaking.

Tom was the first to notice that, although they had been rowing for an hour or more, the dory was still rolling on the heavy swells of the open sea. Suspecting that something was amiss, he signaled to the men to stop rowing. Without a change of expression, the flat-faced, lank-haired Aleuts rested on their oars.

Everything about the tossing dory was silent except for the swish and sigh of the waves as they swept under her. Listen as they would, they could hear no other sound from any quarter.

"I don't like the appearance of things much," said Tom in reply to a question from Jack; "we ought to have reached the dock by now."

"Looks that way to me," was the response.

"How far did the captain say it was?" inquired Sandy.

"Not more than half an hour's row from the ship. If these fellows know their business, we ought to be there by now."

"That's evident. How silent it all is," said Jack in a rather awestruck voice. "Surely if we were near the town even, we would be able to hear something."

"Just what I was thinking, more particularly as fog exaggerates sound," responded Tom. "What makes it worse, too, is that the steamer has stopped sounding her whistle. We can't even get back to her now."

"I wish we'd stuck to the pilot boat," put in Sandy dismally.

"See if you can get anything out of those Aleuts," suggested Jack.

But although Tom tried to get something understandable from the natives, they only grinned and shook their heads. But at last they fell to their oars again.

"They don't know where they're going, but they're on the way," said Jack with a rather weak attempt at humor.

The sea began to come tumbling up astern of them in long black water rows that broke and whitened with spray now and again. The dory swung skyward and then plunged down as if bound for the bottom of the sea, as the swell nosed under her keel.

The boys exchanged serious glances. Their faces looked several shades paler than when they had left the steamer. The fog lent a ghastly grayish hue to everything. The dismal quality of the weather only added to their perplexity and alarm.

The Aleuts rowed steadily on without a shade of an expression on their greasy, yellow faces.

"Maybe they do know where they are going, after all," said Tom hopefully. "We may be ashore in a short time and laughing over our scare."

The others did not reply and the Aleuts rowed stolidly on like two images as lifeless as Sandy's totem. But in spite of Tom's hopeful prophecy, there was no sign that they were approaching land and friends. Instead, the water grew rougher, the white caps more frequent. The boys exchanged looks of dismay. In all their lives they had never been in such wild waters as these.

[CHAPTER X.]

THE TIDAL "BORE."

"What's the matter, Sandy?"

Tom spoke as the dory swung dizzily between heaven and earth.

"I—I'm scared!" confessed Sandy, turning a white face to his chum.

"Pshaw! Cheer up, Sandy," said Tom, trying to put a bold face on the matter, as was always his way.

"Yes, we'll come out of it all right," struck in Jack bravely, concealing his real fear of the outcome of the adventure.

"We've been in worse fixes than this before and got through all right," supplemented Tom, and Sandy appeared to pluck up some heart from the confident tones of his companions.

"Tell you what," suggested Jack suddenly, "I've got an idea."

"What is it?"

"Why, to find out where we are. It's no use asking those wooden Indians; they wouldn't say if they did know, and couldn't if they didn't."

"Well, but what's your plan?" asked Tom impatiently.

"Just this. You remember how the captain on the Northerner found out when he was dangerously near to the coast by blowing the whistle and waiting for the echo?"

Tom nodded.

"Well, why can't we do the same by hollering at the top of our voices?"

"Good boy! I see your idea. If we're near land, we ought to catch the echo of our voices."

"That's the scheme exactly."

The boat was tossing too violently to stand up in it, but the boys placed their hands to their mouths, funnel-wise, and set up as loud an uproar as they could.

Sure enough, back out of the fog faint and obscure, but still audible, came an unmistakable reply.

"Hul-l-o-o-o-o!"

Their faces brightened. Even Sandy broke into a grin.

"We're aboon the land!" he cried out.

"Must be," declared Tom positively.

He looked at the two natives, who had been regarding the proceedings with no more interest than they appeared to display in anything else.

"Row that way," he ordered in a loud, clear voice, pointing off into the fog in the direction from whence the answer to their shouting had come. The natives obeyed without a word. Whether they understood him or not Tom never knew, but they appeared to apprehend his vigorous gesture well enough.

As they rowed along, the boys repeated their practice, and every time the echo came louder and more clearly.

"Wish we'd thought of that before," sighed Jack, "we might be in the harbor by this time."

"Better late than never," Tom assured him cheerily.

Before long they could hear the roar of waves breaking on the coast. The natives apparently heard them, too, and kept the boat out a little. The angry sound of the breaking waters was sufficient warning that no landing could be attempted there.

"We must be running along the coast," decided Tom.

"How can you guess that?" inquired Jack.

"Yes, I dinna ken how you know, unless you hae the second sight," agreed Sandy, who had in a large measure recovered his self-possession at the idea of the proximity of land.

"Easy enough," responded Tom, "the echo only comes from one side. If we were in a harbor or channel it would come from both sides."

"So much the worse," declared Jack. "We know now that we are not anywhere near Kadiak, for that is rock walled on either side and we should get the echo from both directions."

"Still, it's something to know that we are even within touch of land," said Tom, and in this they all agreed.

After a while the roaring of the surge grew less loud. This gave Tom an idea.

"We must be near to an inlet or something that will afford a landing place," he said, as the thunder of the surf diminished and finally almost died away. "What do you say if we go ashore?"

"What kind of a country will we find?" objected Jack.

"It couldn't be worse than tossing about in this dory, could it?" demanded Tom. "At any rate, we might find people ashore and a shelter and some food."

Both Jack and Sandy agreed to this, and Tom made motions to the native oarsmen that they were to make a landing if possible. In response to his gesture the men nodded as if they understood what was wanted, and began rowing directly toward the direction in which they had guessed the landing place lay.

As they neared the shore, which was still, however, invisible through the mist, the surf thunder grew louder. But the natives did not appear alarmed. No doubt they were thoroughly used to handling their craft in the surf and such proved to be the case.

When they got quite close to the shore and the boys could see a dark outline against the mist which they judged was a wall of cliffs, the two natives stopped rowing and back-watered. They did this till a big wave came along behind the dory, lifting its stern high in the air. Then, with a piercing yell they dug their blades into the water.

The dory was flung forward like a stone from a sling. The men leaped out as the wave broke, and ran the craft amidst the surf and spume high and dry upon what proved to be a sandy beach in a little covet between two frowning battlements of rocky cliff.

The boys scrambled out. Even though they had not the remotest idea where they were, the touch of solid earth felt good under their feet after that blundering voyage in the mist. But their surroundings were cheerless enough. Above them, except where the soft blanket of fog obscured the view, towered the dripping walls of black rock, all moist and shiny with the mist.

On the beach, the surf thundered and screamed as the waves broke and receded. Now and then the sharp shriek of some sea-bird rose startlingly clear above the voice of the sea. The boys felt lonely and wretched. But this feeling, seemingly, was not shared by the stoical Aleuts. They drew out pipes and began to smoke in silence. They appeared to pay no attention to the boys whatever, and Tom began to get angry at their indifference. After all, their blundering had placed the boys in their predicament, and Tom felt, and so did his companions, that the natives ought to make at least some effort to right their error.

"Here, you," he said angrily, addressing one of them, "where are we?"

The man shook his head. If he knew, he did not betray it by a change of expression or a spoken syllable.

"Ask him about getting something to eat," said Sandy. "Mon, but I'm famished."

Tom tried to convey this idea to the natives in speech, but it was plain they did not understand. Then he fell back on the sign language. Here he succeeded better. He pointed to his mouth and then rubbed his stomach, a sign understood from the Arctic Ocean to Statenland. The native grinned and gave over smoking a minute. He nodded his head.

"Bye'm bye," he said, "bye'm bye."

"Well, at least he understands that much English," cried Tom triumphantly. "I wish I could tell him to hurry up. 'Bye'm bye' might mean any time."

But in answer to further efforts, the native only nodded and smiled amiably. After a while, during which the boys strolled about disconsolately, the natives smoked their pipes out, and then began to talk in their guttural, grunting tongue. Of course, the boys could not understand what they were saying, but as well as they could judge the two men were coming to some sort of a decision. Suddenly they got to their feet and made off through the fog at a swift pace. The boys ran after them, shouting, but the Aleuts speedily vanished.

It was a pity that the boys could not know that the two natives, after a discussion, had decided to set off across the island to a fishing settlement for help. For it was Wolf Island on which the party had landed and the natives had only delayed to get a smoke before starting for aid. But of this the boys knew nothing.

Hour after hour they waited with despairing faces for the two Aleuts, whom they thought had basely deserted them. At length Tom reached a decision.

"Those fellows have left us. We'll leave them," he declared.

"How?" inquired Jack.

"In the dory."

"Which way will we go?"

"Toward the direction from which we came. We are bound to get somewhere, and at any rate the fog seems to be lifting. We can keep track of the shore by the echo, and so find our way back to Kadiak."

"The sea's pretty rough," objected Jack.

"The dory's a good sea boat, and anyway it isn't as rough as it was. I'm for pulling out of here right away before we waste any more time."

"So am I," agreed Jack, and Sandy, although he looked rather sober at the thought of venturing out on the big swells again, assented to Tom's plan.

By good luck they managed to get the dory launched on a big sea, and almost before they knew it, they were out on the tossing waves once more. The dory proved heavy and hard to pull, but the boys all had well-seasoned muscles and they made fairly good progress.

They were laboriously toiling in the direction Tom had pointed out, when Jack gave a shrill cry of real fear.

"Look! Look there!" he cried.

For a moment they all stopped rowing and gazed ahead.

Bearing down on them was a towering, walllike ridge of white, foamy waves. They were higher than their heads, even had the boys been standing upright in the boat. The mighty phalanx of water appeared to be rushing down on them with the purpose of engulfing them in its maw.

"What is it?" gasped Jack, cowering.

"More whales!" shouted Sandy.

But it was something far worse than any creature of the deep. Although they did not know it, the mighty waves that it appeared certain would presently engulf them, were caused by the tide-bore, the irresistible wall of water that twice each day sweeps down the east coast of Kadiak between the islands that form what is virtually an inland channel. The mighty forces of the Pacific tide and the Japan current unite to make the titanic tide-rip which now threatened the boys.

With blanched faces they watched its oncoming. Escape was impossible. Sandy covered his eyes and crouched in the bottom of the dory. Jack shook with fear. Tom alone kept a grip on his faculties.

"Get her round. Let her head into the wave quartering, or we're goners!" he shouted.

Swirling and breaking and crying out with a thousand voices, the parapet of water marched down on the seemingly doomed boat.

[CHAPTER XI.]

ADRIFT ON THE OCEAN.

The dory was a better sea boat than they had imagined. In a situation where a craft of another build would not have lived an instant, she succeeded in riding the first onslaught of the tide-bore. In another instant, Tom and Jack had her around with stern to the stampeding seas and were being borne swiftly along.

Alongside, a thousand angry, choppy waves reached up like hungry hands, as though determined to come on board and drag the craft to her doom. The manner in which the boat handled surprised and delighted Tom, and Jack was no less pleased. True their position was still a highly precarious one, but at least the watery grave they had dreaded had not yet engulfed them.

Sandy sat up in the bottom of the boat and looked about with wondering eyes.

"We're all right the noo?" he asked.

"I won't say that," rejoined Tom, "but at least we have got over the first great danger."

"What are we doing?"

"Riding along on the top of the tide-rip, for that's what it must be, and now I remember hearing of such a thing on this coast."

"How long will it keep on, I wonder?" questioned Sandy.

"I don't know. I suppose till the tide is full or till we get out of the passage that we must be in."

The others looked at him silently.

"But this is a dandy boat," went on Tom cheerily, plying his steering oar, for there was no need to row in that rushing current, "she rides like a chip."

Even a powerful steamer, if caught where the boys were, could have done little more than they were doing to meet the emergency. Her only course would have been to run before the furious tide. The boys began to be resigned to their fortune. The fog seemed to lift occasionally now and then, shutting down, however, as densely as ever between the intervals of lighter weather.

Wild screams of sea birds that flew by like spirits of mist assailed their ears. Now and then the herculean splash of a great dolphin feeding in the tide came close alongside and startled them smartly.

True it was that they were still afloat and now appeared likely to remain so, but each moment was carrying them rapidly further from their friends and closer and closer to dangers whose nature they could only surmise.

As Sandy thought of all this, his fears began to return. His lip quivered.

"I wish we'd never left the ship," he said at last.

"That's a fine way to talk," spoke Tom sternly. "When you're in a scrape the only thing to do is to try to get out of it as best you can."

"That's the stuff," assented Jack, "but if we only had something to eat, I'd feel a little better."

"Maybe there's something under that stern seat," suggested Tom, indicating the place he meant. Sandy raised the seat, which tilted back disclosing a locker, and gave a cry of delight. Two tins of beef, some packages of crackers and a big pie reposed there. Evidently Bill Rainier, the pilot, believed in carrying lunch with him when he went out in a fog.

"Jiminy crickets," roared Jack, as one after another Sandy held up the eatables, "just think, those have been there all this time! Let's eat and forget our troubles."

"Better go slow," admonished Tom, no less pleased, however, than the others at this unexpected good fortune.

Jack cut open the meat tins with his knife and they fell to eating as they discussed their situation. They made a good meal, not forgetting liberal portions of the pie. But the lack of water troubled them. Crackers and salt beef with dried raisin pie do not make a lunch calculated to allay thirst. But they were in no mood to complain. The food alone heartened them wonderfully and put them in a mood to face their dilemma less despairingly.

Little by little the waves began to grow smaller. The current grew less swift.

"We must have reached some place where the channel widens and the tide can spread out," observed Tom, noticing this. "Now if the fog would only lift, maybe we could get ashore some place."

"Let's try the oars again," suggested Jack.

"That's a fine idea if we only knew where to row to," rejoined Tom. "I'm afraid we'll have to drift till the fog lifts. I've no more idea which way our course lies than the man in the moon."

"Same here. I'm all twisted up like a ball of yarn," admitted Jack.

Although they had been afloat for such a long time, it was still daylight. At that time of year in those regions it is light almost all day long. This was a good thing, for if darkness had overtaken them they would doubtless have become even more alarmed than they were. For some time they drifted on, when all at once a sudden shift of the wind came. The fog was whipped into white ropy wreaths that drifted off like smoke. And there before them, not half a mile off, was a fair sized bay edged by rocky cliffs, but green and tree-grown close by the water. The blue bay, smooth and calm compared to the open sea, led back into the heart of a noble mountain panorama. Beyond the coast hills were snow-covered peaks and inaccessible valleys. Between the hills that formed the bay, the vegetation was plainly fresh and verdant.

"Hurray!" shouted Jack, carried away by enthusiasm at the sight of land once more.

Tom checked him gently.

"Remember we have no idea where we are yet," he said. "This country is sparsely settled and we may have stumbled on some desert part of it."

Jack's face fell, and Sandy, who had been about to share his rejoicing, remained silent.

"Can't you figure out what land this is?" asked Jack.

"I've not the remotest idea. I'm like you, all twisted up as to locality."

"That bore gave us such a shaking up, I couldn't tell east from west," observed Sandy.

"At any rate, that land yonder is no illusion," declared Tom cheerily. "Come on, boys, get busy with the oars and we'll be ashore in no time."

"I hope it is inhabited," said Jack.

"Same here; but that remains to be seen. At any rate, judging by the green trees and grass there's water there from the mountains beyond. We can stop some place ashore and make camp."

[CHAPTER XII.]

SHIFTING FOR THEMSELVES.

This was voted a good idea. As they drew closer to the shore the aspect of the little bay became more inviting.

Tom pointed to a strip of beach which bordered a rather deeper indentation on the edge of the inlet.

"I guess that's the place for us to land," he said. "Looks like there is water there and a good beach."

Wearily—for now that the strain of their wild ride on the tide-rip was over, they felt exhausted—wearily they pulled on the oars, moving the heavy dory slowly over the placid waters of the inlet. The sea, its force broken by an outcropping reef across the mouth of the miniature bay, broke gently on the shore, and it was an easy matter to make a landing. The dory was pulled as far up the beach as they in their tired state could manage, and its painter made fast to a stunted willow tree.

The beach, bordered with trees and stunted shrubs, rose upward. They mounted it and found themselves on a yielding, marshy carpet of moss. It was the tundra of Alaska. It would have made hard walking to cross it, but while they were pondering the advisability of doing so, Tom made a discovery.

"Look! a path!" he exclaimed. "It runs right along here."

He pointed to a beaten path, plainly enough made by human beings, leading along the top of the "sea-wall" between the tundra marsh and the beach.

"There must be people here. Somebody must have made it."

"Evidently, and look over there, that's the answer."

Tom had followed the path slightly in advance of the others. Now he had come to a halt, pointing toward a singular structure at some little distance, toward which it was clear that the path led. The hut was shaped like a low beehive and appeared to be built of drift-wood and peat.

"It's a native hut of some sort," declared Jack, rather an alarmed look coming into his eyes.

The boys' experience with Aleuts had not inclined them to place much confidence in the natives, for it will be recalled that our heroes thought that their two boatmen had deliberately left them on the beach.

"There's no smoke coming from it," said Tom.

"In that case, maybe it is deserted."

"Perhaps so. But we had better be careful."

"That's right, after what we experienced from those two rascals of the pilot's, I'm taking no chances with these people."

Tom did not confide to his chums another bit of information that he had acquired concerning this part of Alaska from the captain of the Northerner. This was that in a part of the country in which they were cast away, the native tribes are ugly and vicious, never visiting a white settlement except when they must, and refusing to have any intercourse with Caucasians.

He had heard many tales of the bloodshed and theft attributed to these renegade natives, and as may be imagined, the thought that perhaps they had stumbled on a camp of them was not a pleasant one. However, Tom said nothing for fear of unnecessarily scaring his companions. The landscape looked wild enough to form the dwelling place of any desperate natives who, for any reason, wished to evade the United States revenue cutters and missionary ships.

But the need of water was imperative, and judging by the greater luxuriance of the trees and grass near the hut, there was water there. In fact, the presence of the hut in that site argued the existence of water near by. They watched the solitary structure for some minutes. But no sign of life appeared about it. Seemingly, they were the only human beings for many miles in that wild country.

"Well, come on," said Tom at length; "anything is better than enduring this thirst any longer, and I'm pretty sure there must be water yonder."

They followed the path and soon found themselves on the threshold of the hut. Its door, a clumsy contrivance, was ajar, and littered all about were fish bones, scales, and bones and remnants of animals. A rank odor assailed their nostrils, the true smell of an Aleut settlement.

Tom strode boldly forward and was about to cross the threshold when something dashed out of the hut, making him jump back with an involuntary shout of alarm. For a minute he was sure they had been attacked by whoever dwelt within. His companions, too, echoed his cry, but the next instant they all burst out laughing. What had alarmed them so was a small red fox that had darted off like a flash.

"That shows us no one is inside," chuckled Tom, turning to his comrades. "I guess we've dispossessed the sole inhabitant."

They crossed the threshold and found themselves in a low, smoke-begrimed structure with a dome-shaped roof. In the middle of the roof was a hole presumably for the smoke to escape, although soot hung thick on the rafters that supported the grass-sods, peat and earth that formed the covering of the rude dwelling.

Tom bent and examined a heap of ashes in the middle of the dirt floor under the hole.

"Nobody has been here for a long time," he declared, "except wild beasts."

"I wonder who put it up?" inquired Sandy.

"Trappers, maybe; but most likely Aleuts," replied Tom. "I've seen pictures of their huts and they are very like this one. I never thought we'd have to take up quarters in one, though."

"Hoot! d'ye think we'll have to stay here lang?" asked Sandy.

"Impossible to tell," rejoined Tom. "Of course, as soon as they find we're gone they will start on a search for us; but unless they find those rascally Aleuts they'll never know what became of us, unless they stumble on us accidentally."

There was a brief but eloquent silence, which Tom dispelled cheerily.

"The first job is to look for water," said he. "Let's explore a little."

They left the hut, but before they went Tom picked up an old tin pail that lay on the floor in a corner. He did not explain what he wanted this for. As he had expected, where the luxuriant growth flourished, was a stream which ran down crystal clear and cold as ice from the snow mountains to the sea.

The sight of this made the boys forget all their troubles temporarily. They lay flat on their stomachs and drank to repletion. Never had anything tasted half so good as the waters of that mountain stream. Their thirst quenched, Tom methodically filled his pail with water and then started back.

"What are you going to do?" demanded Jack in some astonishment.

"Clean out the hut and get ready for supper while you fellows catch some fish."

"Fish for supper? Where?" demanded Jack.

"Right in this creek. I saw them dart off when we came down, but they will soon be back."

"How about hooks?"

"I saw some in the bottom of the boat. And by turning over some of those stones, I guess you'll find some sort of things that will do for bait. Hurry up now, boys, and while you're getting the tackle, bring the rest of the grub and the oars out of the boat."

Glad to be busy, the boys all hurried off on their tasks. When Jack and Sandy had brought the oars and tackle from the boat, they set off on their fishing expedition. Long alder limbs broken off from the bushes that overhung the creek, served them for poles. Under the rocks, as Tom had surmised, they found fat, white grubs in abundance. The fish bit hungrily, for it was still early in the year. Soon they each had a fine string. With lighter hearts, for now they had at least the essentials of existence, they set out on the return journey to the hut.

When they got back, they found that Tom had made a fire, using matches from his water-proof box, which none of the boys would have gone without. It crackled up cheerily. When he had a good bed of red coals, Tom split the fish which the others had scaled and cleaned, and held them on sharpened sticks above the blaze till they were cooked. With crackers and the broiled fish they made a rough but sufficient meal.

There was plenty of firewood in the hut and they made a roaring blaze, so that, lacking blankets as they did, they would not get cold. In a corner was a pile of sweet-scented dried grass, evidently used as beds by whoever had occupied the hut before them. On this they threw themselves down while the fire glowed cheerily, warming the hut comfortably since the door had been closed.

Despite the strangeness of their position on this wild, unknown coast, they were too weary to remain awake long. Outside came occasionally the cry of a bird or the booming of the sea, but it all acted as a lullaby to the three tired boys.

One by one their eyes closed and they dropped off into the deep, dreamless slumber of exhaustion. Never, in fact, had they slept more profoundly and peaceably than they did in the smoky native hut on the wild shores upon which they had been so strangely cast away.

[CHAPTER XIII.]

AN ISLAND LIFE.

Tom was awakened by the sun streaming down into his face. It came through the vent-hole in the roof. At first he could not recall for the life of him where he was, and for a time thought that the vent hole was the port hole of his cabin, oddly misplaced by some accident to the roof. But he soon realized all that had happened, and aroused the others, who at first were equally confused.

"The steward has called for breakfast!" said Tom laughing.

"Humph! And where is the breakfast coming from?" grunted Sandy, looking at the remains of the fried fish and thinking of the scant store of crackers and tinned beef that remained.

The others did not reply to this, and Tom devoted himself to dressing. As he had taken off only his outer garments, this did not take long. Shoving open the door he looked outside.

"Gee whiz, fellows, a dandy day!" he exclaimed. "Clear as a bell and the sea is quite calm."

In a few minutes the others joined Tom at the door. They stood looking about a while, when suddenly a loud splash not far off made them all exclaim.

"What was that?" asked Jack.

"Don't know. Sounded like somebody throwing a big rock into the water," was Tom's reply.

"It did, too," declared Sandy. "Hark! there it is again!"

"It's down by the creek," announced Tom. "I tell you what, fellows, it's fish!"

"Fish!"

"Surely. Fish leaping. Big ones, too, by the sound of them."

Two or three more splashes came while the boys were talking. They hurried down to the creek, and as they went they noted that a great cloud of crows and ravens were hovering above it. Wondering greatly what all this could mean, they quickened their footsteps.

Arrived at the creek, they found the shallow sand bar between its mouth and the sea all aboil with confusion. Masses of fish seemed to be trying to get from the sea into the creek. All at once a great fish eagle swooped down out of a cottonwood on the opposite side of the creek. It struck the water with a splash. There was a brief struggle and then the bird of prey shot upward again. In its talons it held a silver-scaled fish of large size.

"Well, he's going to breakfast all right," remarked Jack ruefully. "My, what a whumping big fish!"

"No wonder: it was a salmon," declared Tom. "This must be the season when they rush up into the rivers to spawn."

"Look! there's lots of them wriggling about on the sand bar!" cried Jack.

"Hookey! So there are. If only we could grab some of them we'd solve the breakfast problem in jig-time."

All this time Sandy had been quietly whittling a long stick to a sharp point. Now he rushed suddenly forward, wading waist deep in the creek to the sand bar. Half a dozen salmon lay wriggling there, their silvery scales flashing in the sun. Sandy's arm holding the spear shot up and then descended, spearing one of the stranded fish. Before he could strike again, the others had escaped and joined the rest of the "run" in their mad rush up the creek for their spawning grounds. With a cry of triumph Sandy came ashore again and received the congratulations of his comrades. Broiled salmon and the remainder of the crackers formed their breakfast, which they ate with much gusto.

The food problem appeared to be solved by the salmon run and the other fish with which the creek abounded; but a bread supply offered a further puzzle. However, the boys did not worry much about this at the time. After breakfast they visited the dory and found everything all right with the boat.

"I don't know that we'll be so badly off here for a time," said Tom.

"Yes, but we can't stay here forever," objected Jack gloomily.

"Oh, dinna fear but they'll find us oot," declared Sandy hopefully. "What do you say if we hoist up a flag on the point yonder?"

"That's a good idea," declared Tom, "but in any event we won't stay here long. If no help comes before many days, we'll set out in the dory and keep along the coast till we reach some settlement where we can get into communication with our friends."

The flag question bothered them sadly for a time, but it was solved by utilizing an old bit of canvas that was in the dory. With this they improvised a signal, affixing it to a tall limb of a tree which they had lopped off and anchored on the rocky point by piling stones about its base.

They were coming back from this task, having vainly scanned the sea for a sail, when Tom halted suddenly and pointed toward the hillside that sloped upward behind the hut. The others likewise came to a standstill at his sudden exclamation.

Among the bushes, which grew thickly on the lower part of the slope, some large animal was moving. A glimpse of a shaggy back could be seen and the bushes waved and swayed as some big body came lumbering through them.

"What can it be?" wondered Jack, round-eyed, gazing at the disturbance.

The mystery was soon explained and in no very pleasant way. Out into an open space there suddenly emerged the huge, clumsy form of an enormous bear. It was almost as big as a colt, and shaggy and ferocious looking.

"O-o-oh!" cried Sandy, his cheeks turning white.

There was good reason for the boys to feel scared. The bears of Kadiak Island are the largest in the world. The specimen the boys were now gazing at with awestruck faces was a giant even among his own kind.

"Cracky!" cried Jack. "That fellow could eat us all without salt. What'll we do?"

"Get back to the hut as soon as possible. We must make a detour to avoid him," decided Tom quickly.

"Is he after us do you think?" asked Sandy.

"No, I guess he's come after salmon. See, he's heading for the creek."

"Wow! Christmas!" yelled Jack suddenly. "Look, there come two more!"

Out of the brush from which the first bear had emerged there came two more shaggy, lumbering brutes. One was quite tiny, plainly a cub. The larger animal, which was a sort of yellowish-gray color, the boys guessed to be the little fellow's mother. It certainly was an exciting moment as, crouching behind a friendly patch of brier bushes, the boys watched the mother and cub join the head of the family.

Luckily the wind was blowing offshore, that is from the bears toward the boys. But, nevertheless, the great animals appeared suspicious. The mother stopped suddenly and sat up on her haunches. Then she began swaying a huge head from side to side as if puzzled. But evidently her suspicions were lulled soon afterward, for after a few minutes in this attitude of listening, she dropped on all fours and the three bears began to advance once more.

"Now's our chance," declared Tom as the bears vanished in the tall, thick growth between the hillside and the creek.

The boys raced down the hill at top speed. They were between the bears and the sea, and it was their object to cross the creek and gain the hut on the further side before the bears sighted them. They made good time and reached the creek and crossed it, while the bears were still in the thick growth.

They reached the hut and Tom closed the door. Then the boys exchanged blank glances. Unless the bears went away they would be prisoners, for the hut was quite visible from the creek. Tom found a peephole in the sod covering of the shack and peered through. Then he beckoned to the others. The bears had reached the creek and were fishing. The old mother sat in midstream with her offspring beside her, while father bear was further up the creek on a sand bar.

Serious as their position was, the boys could hardly help laughing at the antics of the old bear and her cub. The cub was apparently learning to fish. And it was not an easy lesson. His mother proved a hard task mistress. The boys could see her long hairy paw swoop out in scoop fashion, land a fine salmon and throw it up on the bank. The cub wanted to start for the bank every time this was done. But the old lady would have none of this.

Every time it happened, she raised her huge paw and struck the cub a box on the ears that knocked him into the water. He would get up whining and crying pitifully and then try to fish on his own account. But his small paws failed to land the fish. All his efforts were failures. At last his mother appeared to relent. She waded ashore followed by Master Bruin, who was then allowed to regale himself on the pile of fish the old bear had landed.

While both mother and son were eating greedily, up came the old father bear. He, apparently, was not much of a success at fishing. At any rate, with growls and blows he drove his wife and son away from their pile of fish and pitched into it himself. His blows must have had the force of a sledge hammer, for huge as she was, the mother bear reeled under them.

"One of those blows would mean good-night to the strongest man that ever lived," declared Tom.

"And to think that if they don't go away we've got to stick in here, or run the risk of getting a dose of the same medicine or worse," groaned Jack despairingly.

"Hoot, mon, we're nae sae safe even in here," put in Sandy. "We're caught in a fine trap and yon bears hae the key."

[CHAPTER XIV.]

THE GREAT BEARS OF KADIAK.

This appeared to be only too true. The bears, so far as the boys could observe through their peephole, were thin and famished from the long winter they had spent in some cave back in the mountains, and intended probably to remain camped by the creek as long as the salmon were running.

Having finished his meal, the father bear lay down and rolled over in sleep, while the mother and cub set about catching some more fish, which they devoured. But instead of going to sleep as the boys hoped, the old mother kept herself on sentry duty. Once or twice they caught her looking toward the hut. It caused an uncomfortable sensation to run through them.

Luckily they had a little water in the place, although none too much. At any rate it would not satisfy more than their immediate needs. For food there were a few crackers, the remains of the salmon that they had broiled for breakfast, a few fragments of tinned beef and that was all. The situation was about as serious as it could well be. All that afternoon they took turns watching the creek, awaiting an opportunity to sally forth after water. But the bears remained as if they meant to take up permanent quarters there.

The question of how they were to make their escape began to be a serious one with the practically imprisoned boys. The door of the hut opened toward the creek and to attempt egress by that way would at once attract the attention of the monster bears, with what results the boys guessed only too well.

So the afternoon hours dragged away. Although tormented with thirst, the boys decided to refrain from drinking more than enough of the precious water to cool their mouths. From time to time one of them would relieve his comrade at the peephole. But the bears remained there as if firmly determined to stay. When the old mother bear took a snooze, either the cub or the largest of the bruins was on sentry duty.

"If only we had some rifles," sighed Tom. "This is a lesson to me as long as we are in this country, I'll never leave ship or camp again without a weapon of some sort."

"Wait till we get back to the ship or to a camp," scoffed Jack; "it's my belief that we will be prisoners here till winter."

"Nonsense," said Tom sharply. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Jack Dacre, for talking like that. It's no use giving way to despair. Maybe we'll hit on some way of getting out before long."

"Not unless those bears change their minds and go back to their happy mountain home," said Jack positively.

They sat in silence for a while.

"If it would only get dark up here like it does in more southerly latitudes, we could take a chance on sneaking down to the dory and getting away to some other part of the coast," said Tom at length.

"Couldn't we make it anyhow?" inquired Sandy.

Tom shook his head.

"I don't see how. The minute we came out of the hut one of the bears would be bound to see us and take after us. They can run mighty fast, too, in spite of their clumsy forms."

Another silence ensued. All the boys were thinking hard, from time to time approaching the peephole to watch the bears.

"We might as well eat, I guess," said Tom at length.

The embers of the fire were still alive and fresh wood was piled on till there was a cheerful blaze. The boys warmed their salmon above it and fell to on what was the gloomiest meal they had ever eaten. In the middle of his supper, Jack got up and went to the peephole. He turned from it with a face full of alarm.

"The wind has carried the smoke down toward the bears and they are sniffing at it suspiciously," he announced.

"Maybe it'll drive 'em away," suggested Sandy.

"They're not mosquitoes," scoffed Jack.

"Wow! they are coming this way, Tom! What in the world shall we do now?"

"Sit tight. I don't know what else to do."

"But suppose they claw down the door?"

"In that case, our troubles will soon be over," was the brief reply.

What Jack had said was correct. The smoke drifting down on the bears had caused them to sniff suspiciously. Hunters came to Kadiak Island frequently, and doubtless they knew that smoke betokened the presence of human beings. The big bear's fur bristled angrily. He gave a low growl, which was echoed by his mate.

After sniffing and listening for a few seconds the great creatures, the most formidable foes the boys had ever encountered, began slowly to lumber up the slope from the creek toward the hut.

That they did not advance hastily made their approach even more sinister in its effect. It was as if they were in no hurry to reach the hut, as though they realized that they could afford to take their time, their prey was so certain. The boys all realized, too, that when animals are accompanied by their young they are rendered three times as ferocious as on ordinary occasions.

"Maybe they'll sheer off after all," suggested Tom hopefully.

But his confidence was misplaced. The bears lumbered steadily forward till they were wading through the tall, half dry grass that grew almost up to the shack's sides. Then the female and the cub stopped, and the big father bruin came on to investigate. For all the world like some huge dog, he began sniffing around the walls at the base of the oven-shaped structure.

Then, all at once, in an unlucky moment, he discovered the door. There was quite a big crack under it, and the boys watched with horror-struck eyes as the huge creature's sniffing and poking sent the dust on the floor of the place flying up in little clouds. Then they heard a heavy body hurled against the door and the scratching of feet shod with claws as keen and sharp as steel chisels.

It was a thrilling moment for all of them. Jack and Sandy in particular were badly scared. Their faces blanched and their knees knocked. It hardly seemed possible that the door could survive the attack of the monstrous creature that assailed it. But although built of driftwood fastened together with old iron bolts and strips of skin, the portal held its own much better than might have been expected. It shook and trembled, but remained standing. After a while the bear appeared to tire of this method of attack and ceased.

The boys breathed more easily.

"Perhaps he'll go away now," suggested Jack.

But a glimpse through the peephole showed that the bear had no intention of doing anything of the sort. With the stubbornness of his kind, he began pacing up and down in front of the hut, from time to time emitting a low growl.

"Looks as if he meant to keep up the campaign on these lines if it takes all summer," said Tom with grim pleasantry.

[CHAPTER XV.]

HEMMED IN.

"We must get to the boat," said Tom.

"Yes, but how?" questioned Jack.

"If only we'd gone to the boat at first instead of bolting in here, we'd have been safe the noo," spoke Sandy.

"That's obvious," agreed Tom, "but having foolishly allowed ourselves to be bottled up, it's up to us now to devise some means of getting out."

"Well, we're all open for suggestions," struck in Jack. "Bother that smoke, it was that which brought the bears to the hut to investigate."

"No question about that," agreed Tom, "but I've just got an idea, fellows."

"Good, let's have it," chorused his young companions.

"Well, it is granted that we can't stay in here forever."

"Nor even for many more hours," supplemented Jack.

"Very well. Then it is up to us to take a chance on escaping, no matter how desperate the scheme may appear."

"It's a case of life or death, it seems to me," said Sandy soberly.

"What's your plan?" asked Jack impatiently.

"Just this. We must burn those bears out."

"Burn them out!"

Sandy and Jack stared at the lad, who, by common consent, was their leader.

"That is what I said. Don't look at me as if I was crazy. This hut is surrounded almost up to its walls by semi-dry grass which ought to burn easily, isn't it?"

"Yes; but I don't see your drift," spoke Jack.

"We'll set the grass on fire. That will drive the bears off, and while they are on the run we can make our escape to the boat."

"But the grass will burn all round the hut. How can we get out through the flames ourselves?" objected Jack.

"Hold on a minute. Wait till I explain. We can set the grass alight by throwing out some of the hot brands from our fire."

"Of course, that's easy," assented Jack, and then with the air of somebody pronouncing an unanswerable question he went on: "But how are you going to get your burning embers outside? If you open the door, the bears will rush us at once."

For answer Tom indicated the hole in the top of the roof.

"I must get up there and roll the blazing embers down the roof into the grass. Then when it is on fire, we'll have to scramble out somehow, slip down to the boat before the fire surrounds the hut, and then row out to sea."

"Sounds delightfully easy," said Jack rather sneeringly, for the plan did not appeal to him, "but in the first place, how are you going to get on the roof?"

"The simplest part of it. This hut isn't more than seven feet, or so, high. You 'give me a back' and then I can reach the hole easily and boost myself through."

"Well, I admit that is possible, but after the fire is started, and supposing everything goes all right, how are Sandy and I going to get up?"

"Sandy is the lightest. He will have to give you 'a back' and I'll haul you through somehow. Then Sandy must stand up, and together I guess we can hoist him through without much difficulty."

Jack shrugged his shoulders. Sandy looked dubious.

"I know it's a desperate chance," admitted Tom, "but ours is a desperate situation. Now then, let's lose no time in putting it into effect. If it fails, we can't be much worse off."

"No, that is true enough, unless the hut burns down."

"Oh, the damp, thick sod that covers it wouldn't ignite as easily as all that," declared Tom, who was waxing enthusiastic over his plan.

Jack got down on all fours and Tom mounted on his back. He was able in this way, being a tall boy, to grasp the edges of the hole. This done he hoisted himself up with his muscular young arms, much as a lad "chins the bar." Once up on the roof, he reached down into the hole for the firebrand, which it had been arranged that Jack was to hand up.

He had hardly grasped it when an angry growl from close at hand apprised him that the bears had perceived him. There was no time to be lost. Raising a wild, blood-curdling yell that awoke the echoes of the cliffs, Tom flung his firebrand down into the thick grass.

Almost instantly it ignited and a thick smoke curled up. The bears sniffed uneasily. Any boy who has seen marsh land burned off in the spring knows how swiftly flames spread among dried grass and weeds. The herbage amidst which Tom had flung the blazing bit of wood proved no exception. Fanned by a brisk breeze it ran literally like wildfire among the dried grasses. Luckily the wind was from the side of the hut in which Tom was perched and blew toward the bears. As the flames swept down on them, they uttered loud snorts of terror and turned tail ingloriously.

The mother bear, with her frightened cub, was the first to depart, and she stood not on the order of her going, but galloped off at top speed. The huge male bear lingered but a few minutes longer, then he, too, fled before the fiery terror which Tom's clever strategem had kindled.

"Hooray, boys, they're on the run!" shouted Tom, unable to restrain his enthusiasm.

He swung down his arms and dragged up Jack without much difficulty. Then came Sandy's turn. They had just hauled the Scotch lad to the roof, however, when an alarming thing occurred. The covering of the Aleut hut had not been built to withstand any such strain as the weight of the three lads now perched upon it.

Without warning, save for a sharp crack, it suddenly sagged.

"Look out! It's caving in!" roared Tom.

"Cracky, so it is!" echoed Jack as he felt the sod roof begin to sink under them.

"Roll!" shouted Tom. "Roll down it!"

He seized Sandy, who appeared to be paralyzed from alarm, and gave him a shove. Down the roof rolled the Scotch lad, landing in a heap on the ground, shaken and bruised, but not otherwise injured. Close behind him came Tom and Jack. Behind them the roof fell in with a roar, leaving a big gaping cavity.

But the boys had no time to notice this just then. Scrambling to their feet they dashed off toward the beach where the dory lay. The flames almost reached them as they left the hut. But looking back Tom saw something worse than the flames pursuing them. They could easily distance the blazing grass and that gave him no alarm. But what did cause his heart to stand still for an instant and then resume beating furiously was the sight of the bears.

They had rallied from their fright and perceived the escape of the boys. Now, skirting the flames by outflanking them, they were lumbering toward the fugitives at a speed that would not have been thought possible in such bulky creatures.

[CHAPTER XVI.]

UNCERTAINTY.

"Run! Run for your lives! Run!"

Tom panted out the words as he pointed behind them. The others saw almost as soon as he, and quickened their pace, though they had been running almost at their top speed before. There was a reason for Tom's thus urging them to hurry, although they had a good start of the bears. The tide, as he had seen, was low. The dory lay at some distance from the water.

That the craft was a heavy one he knew, and it was likely that it might take some time for them to get her to the water's edge. In the circumstances even a brief delay was a thing to be avoided, and it was important that they should gain every second that they could.

They reached the boat and seized hold of her on either side. But although the beach was hard and sloping, it was terribly slow work to drag the heavy craft along.

Tom spied some dead limbs lying below a cottonwood tree and they used these as rollers, after which their progress was swifter. But just as they reached the water's edge the bears were upon them. One good shove and they were knee deep in the water.

"She's afloat!" cried Jack gleefully.

He sprang into the boat. Sandy was not a minute behind him. But Tom's foot caught on a boulder as he shoved off the bow, and he fell headlong into the water. As he fell, he was conscious of a hot breath and a deafening roar almost in his very ear. Then he heard something crash downward with a dull thud, followed by a scream of pain.

The next instant Jack had him in a strong grip and pulled him on board the dory. Sandy plied the oars furiously. In a few moments more they were out of danger and Jack was telling Tom how, just as the big bear prepared to seize him, following his unlucky stumble, it had come into his, Jack's, head like a flash of inspiration that in the grapple that lay in the bottom of the boat was a weapon that could be utilized against the monster.

He had snatched it up and whirled it around his head for an instant, and then let the weighty mud-hook, with its sharp points, come crashing down on the bear's head. One of the points had wounded the creature too badly for it to give its attention to anything but a gaping cut for the next few seconds, during which the dory had been rowed far out of reach of the big bears of Kadiak with which the boys had had such a thrilling encounter.

"Well, where away?" asked Sandy, as they gazed back at the shore.

On the beach stood the three bears, while beyond them the smoke of the fire they had kindled towered high into the sky in a wavering pillar.

He let the weighty mud-hook … come crashing down on the bear's head.—Page [154].

"We'll pull right along the shore," decided Tom after a moment's thought, "we may fall in with some ship, or at any rate a native canoe."

Accordingly the oars were manned and the dory rowed along the coast, while the boys all kept a sharp lookout to seaward for any sign of a vessel.

"There's one good thing," said Tom presently; "the smoke from that fire would attract the attention of anyone who might be in the neighborhood and lead them to make inquiries."

"Yes, but there's not a vessel in sight," objected Jack.

"Never mind. That smoke must be visible at a great distance. I don't doubt that the Northerner is out hunting for us and they would not be likely to neglect such a clue as that smoke column will afford."

"I think you're right there," agreed Jack, "but they may have started the search in another direction."

"That is a chance we shall have to take."

The brief darkness of the Alaskan night fell without a single sign of a ship being detected on the lonely ocean. Thoroughly disheartened, hungry and half crazy from thirst, the boys rowed on till Tom ordered Jack and Sandy to take some sleep. They obeyed and were soon wrapped in deep slumber. Tom allowed the dory to drift. Rowing only increased his thirst, and in any event could not accomplish much good.

They would have rowed ashore long before and searched for water, but the land off to their right was a frowning escarpment of rugged cliff which offered no hope of water. The boy found himself wishing that they had had the foresight to stock up the dory in case of their leaving the cove hurriedly; but it was too late for such regrets now.

Tom caught himself dropping off to sleep. He dozed half awake and half in the land of nod for some time. How long it was he did not know, but he was suddenly awakened by a harsh shout that appeared to come from the air above him.

"Hard over your helm! It's a boat!"

"Where away!"

"Right under our bow! Sheer off! Hard over!"

Tom sprang to his feet, broad awake in an instant. Right above, like an immense black cliff, towered the bow of a steamer. He could see the bright running lights shining like jewels.

"Jack! Sandy!" he bawled out. "Get up! They'll run us down!"

The huge black bulk of the strange craft did, indeed, appear as if it must inevitably cut the drifting dory in two. But the outcry of the bow watch had come in time. Just as Jack and Sandy sprang up and Tom was thinking that everything was over, the great bow swung off. The steamer rushed by so close that Tom could almost have touched her with his hand.

"Ahoy!" roared a voice from the bridge. "What boat is that?"

"It's a native canoe," came another voice.

"Not on your life it isn't," yelled Tom. "This is an unofficial exploring expedition and——"

"Tom Dacre!" bellowed a voice from the bridge.

"Ahoy, uncle!" hailed back Tom, who had caught the word Northerner on the steamer's bow as she was swinging by.

"Tom, is it you? Are you all right?"

There was a ring in Mr. Dacre's tone that showed how he had suffered since the strange disappearance of his nephews and their chum.

"We never were better in our lives," cried Tom, deftly catching a rope that came snaking down as the steamer's speed diminished. "But how in the world did you come to run across us? Talk about a needle in a haystack!"

"Never mind the details now, my boy. Come on board at once. I can hardly wait till I see you."

Not many minutes later, in the comfortable cabin of the Northerner, Tom, Jack and Sandy, ragged and begrimed, were telling, between intervals of eating and drinking, the tale of their strange adventures since they were lost in the fog. When they had concluded the tale, Tom inquired of his uncle how it was that he had so miraculously found them.

"If you hadn't almost run us down we'd never have seen you," Tom continued, "for I was too sleepy to keep my eyes open."

Mr. Dacre's story was soon told. The two Aleuts who had apparently deserted the boys had really come back from the village with food. They were terrified when they found the boys and the dory gone, for they knew that it was time for the daily tide-bore to sweep through the straits. Getting a native canoe, they made their way to Kadiak, sought out Mr. Dacre and told him what had happened. The Northerner was at once put in commission for the hunt, although Mr. Dacre confessed that he had had a dreadful fear, not unshared by Mr. Chillingworth and the captain, that the boys had been caught in the tidal bore and lost.

From the captain's knowledge of the coast, they had been able to make a fairly intelligent search. Just before the brief darkness closed in that night they had made out a column of smoke rising on the horizon, and more as a forlorn hope than anything else, had made toward it, hoping against hope that it had been kindled by the young castaways.

"And so it was," laughed Tom happily, his hand finding his uncle's. "After all, maybe those bears were a blessing in disguise. If it hadn't been for them, we wouldn't have lighted that fire, and if it hadn't been for the fire, you'd like as not never have found us."

[CHAPTER XVII.]

THE "YUKON ROVER."

Some weeks later there steamed away from the wharf side at St. Michaels, a small, stern-wheeled craft of light draught. So light was it, in fact, that the loungers on the dock who watched its departure declared that it would be possible to navigate it on a heavy dew.

It bore the name Yukon Rover, and was painted white with a single black smoke-stack. As it drew away from the dock, it blew a salute of three whistles which was answered by a fair-sized steamer lying in the roads.

As our readers will have guessed, the Yukon Rover was the portable steam craft which had been shipped north to the Yukon on the deck of the Northerner, which latter was the vessel that replied to the small craft's farewell. The Northerner was to return to Seattle, carrying down what cargo she could pick up, and come back late in the year with a cargo for the needs of the country during the rigid Alaskan winter, when little can be shipped. In this way Mr. Dacre and Mr. Chillingworth hoped to make their venture additionally profitable.

On the bow of the small light-draught craft was a strange ornament. This figure-head, if such it can be called, was nothing more nor less than the figure of a buck-toothed man roughly carved out of wood and daubed with faded paint. In a word, it was Sandy MacTavish's mascot, now assigned to duty on the small craft which was to carry the adventurers up the turbulent currents of the mighty Yukon.

As to the Yukon Rover's mission, there was much speculation in St. Michaels concerning it. But the consensus of opinion was that the two gentlemen and the boys were going on a scientific expedition of some sort. The "Bug Hunters" was the name bestowed upon them in the far northern town from whence embarkation for the mouth of the Yukon was made.

This suited Mr. Dacre and his partner well enough, as they had no wish for the real object of their expedition to become known. The hunters and trappers of the Far North are a jealous, vindictive lot when they imagine that what they consider their inalienable rights to the fur and feather of the land are being invaded by outsiders.

Both gentlemen knew that if any suspicion of the real object of their voyage leaked out, much trouble might be made for them, although it was still rather early in the year for any trappers to be going "inside," as penetrating into the interior of Alaska is called.

A shed near the waterfront had been rented and ways constructed, and here the Yukon Rover had been rapidly put together by the engineers from the Northerner. But on her trip up the river the boys were to act as machinists and stokers, and as the Yukon Rover's machinery was simple enough, this was a delightful and interesting task to them. Like most healthy, normal boys, our young friends liked to tinker with machinery, and they had had plenty of instruction in their new duties on the trial trips of the stern-wheeler.

Tom, who had been relieved at the engines by Jack, while Sandy attended to stoking the small boiler, adapted to either wood or coal burning, came on deck and surveyed the scene they were leaving behind them.

Astern was St. Michael, lying on the island which bears its name and which is separated from the mainland by a shallow strip of water known as St. Michael's Slough. The town was uninteresting and he was not sorry to leave it, a feeling that his two chums fully shared.

The white houses, the spire of the old Russian Church and the odd-looking fort, half ruinous, which stood near the Alaska Trading Company's hotel, were the most conspicuous features of the dull, drab town. There was hardly a tree on the island, and fuel was in the main supplied by the timber which in flood time drifted down the Yukon from the interior in great quantities and was washed up on the beach or secured in boats.

"Good-by, St. Michael, and ho, for the Yukon!" thought Tom, as turning his face in the other direction, he gazed forward.

The Yukon Rover was ploughing along at about eight knots an hour. Black smoke pouring from her stack showed that Sandy was keeping up his furnace faithfully. Forward of the bow-like structure which contained sleeping and eating accommodations, was a miniature pilot house. In this was Mr. Dacre at the wheel, while beside him Mr. Chillingworth was poring over charts of the treacherous sandy delta that marks the junction of the Yukon and the sea. The course was southwest, along a flat, dreary-looking coast that afforded nothing much worthy of notice.

Since their memorable adventures at Kadiak, life had moved dully for the excitement-loving Bungalow Boys. Tom found himself hoping that now that their voyage for the Yukon had fairly begun, they would find some lively times. How near at hand these were and how lively they were to be, he did not dream as the Yukon Rover, rolling slightly in the swell, made her way toward the "Golden River."

Jack joined his brother on deck.

"Everything running smoothly?" asked Tom.

"Smooth as silk," declared Jack. "Say, isn't it fine to be under way again after sticking around St. Michael like bumps on a log?"

"I should say so. I have a notion that we are going to have some fun, too, before we get through."

"Same here. Well, I'm ready for whatever happens, short of another tidal bore. One was quite enough for me."

That afternoon they came in sight of the northern mouth of the Yukon, by which they were to enter the stream. It required skillful steering to guide the Yukon Rover through the maze of sand bars and shoals that encompassed her, and they had not gone far between the low, marshy shores when Mr. Dacre gave a hail from the pilot house through the speaking tube that connected the steering compartment with the engine-room.

"Leave your engines a while to Sandy's care," he ordered Jack, who answered the hail, "and come on deck."

Tom and Jack lost no time in obeying the summons, and found that they were required to manipulate the big poles, with which it was necessary to help guide the small steamer against the stiff current. It was hard work, even with the aid of Mr. Chillingworth, to keep the Yukon Rover on her course, but from time to time the stream widened out and became deeper and they got a short respite.

Toward dusk they passed a native canoe or bidarka, a narrow-beamed, cranky craft of walrus skins stretched over frames. In it sat two high-cheek-boned natives with slanting eyes, bearing remarkable resemblances to the inhabitants of Japan. The small, cranky craft shot swiftly past and was followed, round a bend in the river, by three more. The natives appeared not to pay much attention to the steamer, although the boys shouted and hulloed in salute as they passed.

A short time after passing the natives, Jack announced that the engine, a new one, was heating up badly and that it would be necessary to stop and make a thorough inspection of the machinery. Accordingly, the Yukon Rover was tied to the bank and preparations made for a somewhat lengthy stop.

Flocks of wild geese and other birds could be seen settling down above the flat country surrounding them, and the boys begged permission to go out with their guns. That is, Tom and Sandy did. Jack was too busy on his engines to spare the time. The notion of a hunting trip to kill time till supper was voted a good one, and Mr. Dacre and Mr. Chillingworth decided to accompany the boys.

Full of high spirits, the party struck off across the tundra, leaving Jack hard at work on the machinery. They had been gone perhaps an hour when the boy was surprised to hear a step in the engine-room. He looked up quickly, thinking that possibly it was his friends returning, but instead, facing him, he saw the yellow face and skin-clad figure of one of the natives who had passed them in the canoes. Jack possessed a mind that worked quickly. A notion shot into his head that the fellow was there on mischief bent, and certainly the startled way in which he regarded the boy supported that suspicion.

It was plain that the native had not expected to find anyone on board the Yukon Rover, and that he and his companions, some of whom now swarmed into the engine-room, had imagined, from the fact that they had seen the hunting party, that the craft was deserted by all hands. This being the case, they had returned to see what they could find in the way of small plunder. Jack recalled having heard at St. Michaels that the natives of the Yukon are notorious small thieves and he at once decided that knavery was the purpose of their visit.

He stood up, monkey-wrench in hand, and facing the first arrival, who seemed to be the leader, he demanded of him what he wanted. The man appeared not to understand him. It was at this instant that Jack noticed that under the arms of the other natives were cans of provisions and other small articles plainly pilfered from the store-room of the steamer.

The boy was in a quandary for a moment. There were six of the natives and he was alone on the boat. Doubtless, too, the hunting party was out of ear-shot. It was an anxious moment for the boy as he stood there facing the pilfering natives and undecided how to act.

But the next moment there came to him that indignation which everyone feels when marauders intrude upon his possessions.

"Hey, you! What do you mean by stealing those things?" demanded Jack, indicating the cans and other articles which the natives had tucked under their arms.

The chief broke silence with what was meant for a friendly grin.

"Me good mans! All good mans!" he said.

"Humph! Well, that being the case, it's funny you should come aboard here when you thought no one was about and steal our food."

"You give us. We good mens," said the chief, with unruffled amiability.

"We might have been willing to do that if you hadn't helped yourselves," said Jack indignantly, "but under the circumstances you'll have to put those things back and get off this boat."

Unquestionably the chief did not understand all of this speech, but part of it was within his comprehension for he said:

"No, no; you give us."

"Not on your life," declared Jack, coming forward wrench in hand.

Now, whether the chief interpreted this move into a hostile signal or not cannot be decided, but it is certain that he uttered some quick, guttural words to his followers and instantly all sorts of weapons appeared as if by magic—rifles, harpoons and nogocks, or whale-killing weapons. Things began to look grave. But Jack held his ground.

He looked the chief right between the eyes and then spoke slowly, giving every word due emphasis.

"You give back all you take. We, Uncle Sam's men. Understand?"

This remark appeared to give the chief ground for reflection, for he hesitated an instant before replying. But when he did, it was in an irritated voice.

"You no give 'um,—we take."

So saying, the natives backed slowly out of the engine-room, which was flush with the deck. Jack, completely taken aback, hesitated for a moment, which gave the men time to clamber over the low sides of the Yukon Rover and into their bidarkas. As Jack emerged on deck, they started paddling swiftly off.

Jack bounded into his cabin and came back with a rifle. He had no intention of shooting the men, but he wanted to give them a good scare. He had hardly raised the weapon to his shoulder before he saw the chief rise up in his wabbly skin boat and whirl his nogock. From the weapon there flew, much as a stone is projected from a sling, a sharp-barbed dart of steel.

The boy by some instinct dodged swiftly, and the barbed dart whistled by his ear and sank into the woodwork of the deck-house.

In his indignation, he discharged the rifle. The bullet must have gone uncomfortably close to the natives, although he did not aim it at them, for they fell to their paddles with feverish energy and vanished around a bend in the stream, working furiously to get out of range.

"Well," remarked Jack to himself, "our adventures are surely beginning without losing any time over it."

[CHAPTER XVIII.]

AN ENCOUNTER WITH THE NATIVES.

Jack hastened to the store-room and found that the wily natives in their soft-soled skin shoes had wrought great havoc there, while he, all unconsciously in the engine-room, was working without dreaming that there were unwelcome visitors on board. The Yukon Rover was well stocked with food and there were settlements up the river where the raided stock could be replenished, but it annoyed the boy to think that the plundering rascals had had such an easy time in absconding with what they had abstracted from the steamer's larder.

"It's a lesson to keep a sharp lookout," thought the boy to himself. "In future we'll keep all bidarkas at long range unless they can give an account of themselves."

The boy went back to his work, but this time with a rifle beside him. He was still at his task when he heard voices.

"Cracky! It's those rascals coming back, I'll bet a doughnut," he exclaimed to himself excitedly.

With hands that shook a little, he picked up the rifle and prepared to give them a warm reception. As he was stepping out on deck, he collided with a figure just entering the engine-room door.

"Stop right where you are or I'll fire!" he cried out in a loud tone.

"What's the matter with you, Jack, are you crazy?" cried a voice that he instantly recognized as Tom's.

His relief was great, and as the hunting party, laden with three geese, some ducks and shore birds, came into the deck-house, explanations ensued. It appeared that the hunting party had been almost as much alarmed as Jack, for they had heard the report of his rifle and had hastened back at once without lingering at their sport.

Naturally Jack's tale of the occurrences during their absence aroused a good deal of indignation. Mr. Chillingworth, however, said he was not surprised. The Yukon Indians are great thieves, and it is necessary to be on constant watch against them. He was astonished, though, at Jack's story of the dart from the nogock.

"These Indians don't usually resort to anything like that," he said. "That old chief must be what the police in the Yukon country call a 'bad one.' I suppose he saw that only a boy opposed him and his men, and he intended to give you a good scare."

"Well, he succeeded all right," declared Jack, with conviction, "but I guess I managed to give him as good as he gave me. The way those bidarkas shot around that bend was a caution."

"Do you think there is any chance of their coming back again?" asked Tom. "Because if there is, we might give them a warm reception."

"I hardly think they'll return," said Mr. Dacre. "They were probably on their way to St. Michaels. That raid on our store-room must have been a wind-fall for them."

"Hoot! I'd take a wind-fall oot of them if I had my way," grunted Sandy. "Can't we take the dinghy" (for the Rover carried a small boat), "and get after them?"

"They are probably miles away by this time," said Mr. Chillingworth. "I guess the shot that Jack fired after them gave them considerable to think about. I doubt if they'll be in a hurry to attack another boat."

Supper, cooked on a gasolene stove in a small galley by Tom and Jack, who were quite expert as cooks, was served in the large cabin which did duty as both living and dining room.

Jack announced that his engines were once more in A1 shape, but it was decided that as they were all tired it would be better to remain where they were for the night. By this time the boys had become quite used to going to bed by daylight, although at first it had been a very odd sensation. They were soon asleep, and their elders, after discussing the prospects of the trip for some little time longer, followed the lads' example and sought their cabins. Before long the Yukon Rover was wrapped in slumber and silence, only the swift ripple of the current, as it ran by, breaking the stillness.

It was Tom who first opened his eyes with the indefinable but distinct idea that something was wrong. It was almost dark, so he knew that it must be after midnight. What the trouble he vaguely guessed at could be, he was at an utter loss to determine, but the feeling was so strong that he slipped on some clothes and emerged on deck.

He looked about him for a minute and almost decided that he had been the victim of one of those transient impressions that often come to those abruptly awakened from sleep.

But almost simultaneously with this idea the truth broke sharply upon him like a thunderclap.

"Uncle!" he shouted. "Boys! Wake up! We are drifting down stream!"

The others were awake in an instant, and in all sorts of costumes they crowded out on deck. Jack carried a rifle under the impression that they had been attacked.

"What's the matter?"

"Is it the natives again?"

"Are we attacked?"

These and half a dozen other questions assailed Tom's ears before he was enabled to point out the true state of affairs.

"We are drifting rapidly down the stream," he said. "We must be far from where we tied up."

This was unquestionably the truth. The Yukon Rover was not only drifting on the swift current, but was near the middle of the stream where the tide was more rapid than at the sides. In the deep twilight, which is the far northern night, they could see the low-lying banks slipping by like a moving panorama.

The profound stillness rendered the scene still more impressive as the alarmed party stood thunderstruck on the deck of the castaway steamer.

"What can have happened?" demanded Jack.

"Perhaps the mooring rope broke," suggested Sandy.

"Not likely. It was a brand new one of the best manilla," declared Mr. Dacre. "There is more in this than appears."

"The first thing to do is to get out an anchor before we drift down on a sand-bar," said Mr. Chillingworth.

"Yes, it's a miracle we haven't struck one already," agreed Mr. Dacre.

The boys hustled off to get overboard the heavy spare anchor that the drifting steamer carried on her bow. But as the splash that announced that it was in the stream came to their ears and the rope began to tauten, there was a heavy shock that almost threw them all off their feet.

"Let out more rope!" cried Tom, thinking that the sudden tautening of the anchor rope had caused the shock.

"No need to do that," said Mr. Dacre, "we are anchored hard and fast."

"Where?"

"On a sand-bar."

[CHAPTER XIX.]

HARD ASHORE.

It was at this juncture that Tom came aft with a rope trailing in his hand. It was the original rope. He had drawn it aboard when he discovered it dangling from the mooring bitts into the water.

"Look at this rope," he cried excitedly. "It was no accident that we went adrift."

"What do you mean?" asked Mr. Dacre.

"That it was cut."

"Cut?"

"Yes."

"How do you know that?"