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.
"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."