“Roll, Jordan, roll.Oh! Oh! Oh! I want to go dereTo hear old Jordan roll.”
“Roll, Jordan, roll.
Oh! Oh! Oh! I want to go dere
To hear old Jordan roll.”
Lawrence thought with a shudder that he might be there to hear Jordan roll before day dawned.
By constant bailing he was able to keep the skiff from swamping. So, chilled to the bone, hoping against hope, he labored on.
When at last they found themselves near to some shore, his heart failed him.
“Towering rocks,” he groaned.
“There’s a break in those rocks,” said Blackie. “I saw it before dark. We’ll follow along and here’s hoping.” Once more he put his stout shoulders to the oars.
A half hour passed, an hour, two hours. Numb with cold and ready to drop from exhaustion, Lawrence wondered if Blackie could have been wrong. Was there a break in that wall? And then—he saw it.
“There!” he exclaimed. “There it is. Straight ahead!”
He dared not add that it seemed a strange break. Not very deep, it appeared to give off an odd sort of glimmer at its back.
Just as they were ready to enter the gap, a great cloud went over the moon and all was black.
Steering more from instinct than sight, they rowed on. To Lawrence, at that moment, the suspense was all but overpowering. Where were they going? Could they find a landing? What was the end to be?
One thing was encouraging, the waves in this place were not so wild. They no longer dashed into the boat. So with darkness hanging over them they rowed, for what seemed an endless time, but could have been only a few moments, straight on into the unknown.
And then. “Man! Oh, man! What was that?” The boat had crashed into an invisible wall.
Lawrence put out a hand. “Glass!” he exclaimed. “A wall of glass.”
“Not glass, son,” Blackie’s voice was low. “A wall of ice. The end of a glacier. This is a spot where icebergs break off. If one of them had been jarred loose by the bang of our boat—and if they had been sent tumbling by the sound of a voice—man! Oh, man! We would be lost for good and all.”
“Blackie, look!” Lawrence spoke in a hoarse whisper. “A light.”
“It’s a star,” said Blackie.
“A light,” Lawrence insisted.
“Yas, man! A light,” George agreed.
Just then the moon came out, revealing a sloping mountain side. And, close to a shelving beach was a cabin. The light shone from that cabin.
“Oh! Oh! Lord be praised!” George whispered fervently.
Ten minutes later, as they drew their boat up on the beach, the cabin door was thrown open and a man, holding a candle close to his face, peered into the darkness to call, “You all come right on up, whoever you all are.”
“That,” said Lawrence in a surprised whisper, “is Smokey Joe.”
“Smokey Joe, you old bear-cat!” Blackie shouted.
The grizzled prospector let out a dry cackle. “Come on up an’ rest yerself,” he welcomed. “I got a Mulligan on a-cookin’.”
At first Lawrence found it hard to believe that this was really Smokey Joe. “How,” he asked himself, “could he come all this way?” As he studied a faded map on the deserted cabin’s wall, however, he realized that the distance overland was short compared to the way they had traveled by water.
Joe’s Mulligan stew proved a rich repast. He had killed a young caribou two days before. There had been bacon and hardtack in his kit. Besides these, he had found dried beans and seasoning in the cabin.
“Yep,” he agreed, as Blackie complimented him after the meal was over, “hit’s plum grand livin’ when you sort of git the breaks.
“An’ listen,” his voice dropped. “Hit’s plumb quare how things git to a comin’ yer way. Yesterday I found gold. Struck hit rich, you might say.” From a moose-hide sack he tumbled a handful of nuggets.
“Gold!” Blackie exclaimed.
“Yup. Hit’s might nigh pure gold,” the old man agreed. “Nuther thing that’s plumb quare. Hit’s nigh onto that little blue bear’s den.”
“What?” Lawrence started up. “A blue bear! A—a glacier bear?”
“Reckon you might call ’em that,” the old man agreed.
“He’s been a-stayin’ in a sort of cave up thar fer a right smart spell.”
“How—how far is it?” Lawrence asked almost in a whisper.
“Hit—I reckon hit’s—” the old man studied for a moment. “Why, hit’s right about three peaks, a look an’ a right smart.”
“What does that mean?” Blackie asked in a surprised tone.
“Wall, you jest climb one of them thar least mounting peaks,” the old man explained. “Then another, an’ another.”
“Three peaks,” said Blackie.
“Fer startin’,” said Smokey Joe. “Arter that you take a look an’ hit’s a right smart furder than you can see.”
“Perhaps about ten miles,” suggested Blackie after they had had a good laugh, which Smokey Joe took good-naturedly.
“Near on to that,” the old man agreed.
Long after the old man had rolled himself in his blankets and fallen asleep Lawrence and Blackie sat beside the cracked stove talking.
“Blackie,” Lawrence said in a husky voice, “that little blue bear is worth a lot of money. The Professor told us he’d trade us a tractor for one. They’re rare, about the rarest animals on earth. There’s not one in captivity anywhere.”
“That won’t help much,” Blackie grumbled. “If this wind goes down, we’ve got to get out of here at dawn. Something’s happened to Johnny and MacGregor. We’ve got to look for them.”
“Yes,” Lawrence agreed. “But if the wind doesn’t go down?”
“We’ll have to stay here,” said Blackie. “And,” with a low chuckle, “we might go ‘three peaks, a look and a right smart’ looking for your blue-eyed bear.”
“Johnny,” Rusty’s voice was low, husky with strangely mingled emotions, “when we are back at the cottage, I’ll make a big pan of ice-box cookies. We’ll take them with a big bottle of hot cocoa. We’ll go out on a sunny rock and have a feast.” They were still on the deck of the rolling ship and it was still night.
Rusty’s voice rose. “And such sunshine! Nowhere in the world is it so glorious.”
“All right,” Johnny agreed. “Ice-box cookies, hot chocolate and sunshine. That will be keen.”
“Dreams,” he was thinking. “How often when things are hard, very hard, we dream.” As he closed his eyes now he could see dead salmon in endless rows. He could hear the monotonous drone of brown men and the endless wash-wash of the sea. “How grand at times to dream of other things far away!” he said. “And what a joy to know of other places where we have been gloriously happy.”
“Yes,” she agreed, “that is wonderful. And Johnny,” she went on, “we have a home in Seattle, father and I. It is small, but, oh, so beautiful! Climbing roses and pine trees. There’s a lake before it. There is a dancing pavilion not far away where the boys and girls I know best come. There they swing and sway to bewitching waltz time.Over the Waves,Blue Danubeand all the rest. Johnny, will you come sometime and join us there?” Her voice seemed dreamy and far away.
“Yes,” said Johnny. “Some day I’ll come.”
“But first,” he thought savagely, “I’ll see this infernal boat at the bottom of the sea.”
For a time after that they were silent. Once again they heard the beating of ropes against spars, the wail of the wind and the dash of spray on the deck. How was all this to end?
“Rusty,” Johnny said, “I would like to leave you for a while.”
“Why?”
“There’s something I want to do. You know,” he leaned close, speaking in a hoarse whisper, “there’s a hole in the gas tank of your boat.”
“Yes, but—”
“We may get a break. Your boat was put on deck after two others. That means they’ll have to put her in the water before taking the others off. If there was gas in her tank we might slip down to her and get away.”
“But the gas, Johnny?”
“There are two large cans in another boat. I saw them. I—I’m going to plug up that hole in your tank, then try to fill it from the cans.”
“They—they may catch you.” Her voice trembled.
“I’ll take a chance.” He rose without a sound. “I’m off. If I don’t come back, tell good old MacGregor.”
“I—I’ll tell him.” Her whisper was lost in the wind. He was gone.
Creeping along the swaying deck, dodging behind a lifeboat when the watch appeared, scooting forward, then pausing to listen, he at last reached the side of theKrazy Kat.
After securing the cans of gasoline, he lifted them to the deck of Rusty’s small boat. Then, with a deft swing, he threw himself after the cans. The deck was wet with fog. Slipping, he went down in a heap, but made no sound.
Feeling about in the dark, he found the tank and the leak. A sharpened splinter of wood stopped the hole.
“Now the gas,” he whispered. This he knew would be most dangerous of all. Cans have a way of gurgling and popping in an alarming manner. The gurgle, he concluded, would not matter. It would not be heard above the roar of the wind and the wash of the sea. But the tinny bangs? Ah, well, he’d have to risk it.
When one can was emptied into theKrazy Kat’stank, he heaved a sigh of relief. The second was half-emptied when he caught the sound of footsteps.
“The watch!” Consternation seized him. Flattening himself on the deck, he clung to the still gurgling can.
The sound of footsteps ceased. His heart pounded. Was he caught? Seconds seemed minutes. If the can popped he was lost. Ten seconds, twenty, thirty—again the footsteps. Then they grew indistinct in the distance.
“Ah,” the boy breathed.
Just then the all but empty can gave forth a loud bang!
Johnny jumped, then lay flat, listening with all his ears. For at least two full minutes he remained there motionless. The watch did not return.
With great care he lifted the empty cans from the deck of theKrazy Katto toss them into the foaming sea. Then, stealthily as before, he made his way back to Rusty’s side.
“I—I did it,” he shrilled. “Now for a good break and we’re away.”
“Here—here’s hoping.” She drew her hand from beneath the blankets to grip his own.
“MacGregor, what do you think they’ll do to me?” Johnny asked an hour later. The storm had partially subsided. Rusty was feeling better. They were back in their staterooms. Johnny had told the old man of the night’s adventure.
“It’s my opinion,” said MacGregor, “that you’ll be shot at sunrise.”
“That won’t be so bad,” said Johnny, joining in the joke.
“Not half-bad,” MacGregor agreed. “I mind an Eskimo we shot up there in the far north. He’d killed a white man. The revenue cutter came along an’ the judge tried him.
“When the judge’s decision had been arrived at, they told this Eskimo to stand up.
“Well, sir, he stood there stiff an’ straight as any soldier. He was sure he had been condemned to die and that he was to be shot. They’re a sturdy lot, those Eskimos.
“Well,” MacGregor paused to laugh. “They set a thing up an’ aimed it at the Eskimo. Something clicked. The Eskimo blinked. But nothin’ else happened.
“The white men folded things up and left. But the Eskimo still stood there, not knowin’, I suppose, whether he was dead or alive.
“Know what happened?” he concluded. “He’d been found innocent and they had taken his picture.
“For all I know,” he added, “he’s livin’ still an’ so’ll you be, me boy, forty years from today.
“What can they do?” he demanded. “They don’t dare harm us.”
“I wouldn’t trust them too far,” said Johnny.
“Nor I,” Rusty agreed.
It was with a feeling of great uneasiness that Johnny came on deck next morning. What was to happen? Had that little brown man told the story of their struggle in the night? And if he had? He shuddered.
Yet, strange to say, the day wore on in perfect peace. They were not even asked to go below and clean fish. The reason for this was apparent, the fish on deck had been taken care of. Since the storm was still roaring across the sea, no others could be brought in. During the forenoon two small, motor-driven crafts came close to stand by.
“They belong to this outfit,” MacGregor declared. “They may have salmon below-deck. They’re afraid of the storm. That’s why they don’t come in.
“Ah, well,” he sighed. “We’re here for the day at least. Even if yourKrazy Katwas in the water, Rusty, we couldn’t risk her in a storm like this.”
“These Orientals are a queer lot,” Johnny mused.
“Queer’s no name for it, me boy,” said MacGregor. “As for me, I don’t trust ’em. They’re like children, just when they’re makin’ the least noise is when you’re sure they’re up to some mischief.”
Was this true? Johnny shuddered anew, but said never a word.
They discovered during their lunch in their stateroom at noon that there was something vaguely familiar about the brown boy who brought the lunch. Johnny stared at him. But Rusty exclaimed in a whisper, “Kopkina! You here?”
The boy made a motion for silence. “I am spy,” he whispered. “Red McGee good man. Me, I, Red McGee man.
“You listen,” his voice dropped to a whisper. “I tell ’em, that one captain this ship, tell ’em you Red McGee boy.” He nodded to Rusty. “Tell ’em Red McGee mebby plenty mad. Plenty ’fraid Red McGee. They not punish you for fight on deck last night. Must go now.” He disappeared through the door.
“Boy!” Johnny breathed. “I’m feeling better already.”
Two hours later they had added cause for feeling better. Just when the sea was beginning to calm a little they caught the drum of a motor. As Johnny heard it his heart stood still, then leaped.
“A motor,” he breathed. “That’s a powerful motor. If only it’s Dan MacMillan and his seaplane.”
“It is! It is!” Rusty’s voice rose to a high pitch. “There! There it is. See!”
Johnny did see. He pointed it out to MacGregor. They all leaned on the rail watching the seaplane approach.
“If it’s only Dan,” MacGregor breathed.
There came the sound of rushing feet. Apparently every little brown man on the boat had heard those motors. They came swarming onto the deck.
“If it’s Dan MacMillan,” said MacGregor, “there’s sure to be someone with him.”
“They’ll be looking for us,” said Rusty.
“Yes, and we’ll have to find a way to let them know we’re here,” Johnny added.
“That,” said MacGregor, “is going to be hard, with all these.” His glance swept the brown throng.
“Tell you what!” Johnny exclaimed. “Rusty and I might do a little boxing bout. There’s sure to be someone on the plane who knows us.”
“And they’ll recognize you by your actions,” MacGregor agreed. “It’s a capital idea. I’ll go for the gloves.”
And so it happened that, as the seaplane flew over the ship, circled, then dipping low, passed within a hundred feet, those in it witnessed a strange sight—two white youngsters staging a boxing match for the benefit of a host of little brown men, who, truth to tell, gave them scant attention.
“I only hope they recognized us,” said Johnny, throwing his gloves on the deck.
“You and me too,” said Rusty. “Anyway,” she laughed, “that’s one time I didn’t knock you out.”
Whatever impression this little drama may have made upon the occupants of the seaplane, the effect of the appearance of the seaplane on the little brown men was apparent at once. On every face as the seaplane went winging away MacGregor read consternation.
“They’re afraid,” he grumbled low to his young companions. “Down deep in their hearts they are afraid.”
“What will they do now?” Rusty asked anxiously.
“They’re already doin’ it,” said MacGregor, calling attention to the rush and bustle on board. “Puttin’ the ship in shape. It wouldn’t surprise me if they weighed anchor within the hour. And if they do, me lassie,” he added, “you may be lookin’ on them Oriental cities within a week, for they’ll be headin’ straight for home.”
“Oh-o,” Rusty breathed. But she said never a word.
On that same morning in Smokey Joe’s cabin Lawrence was up before the wee small hours had passed. After one good look at the sea, which was still rolling high, he dashed back into the cabin to find Blackie staring at him wide awake.
“Black-Blackie,” he stammered. “I—I hate to disturb you. But—but that blue bear—”
“I know.” Blackie sat up. “Three peaks, a look and a right smart ho, hum.”
“Blackie! It’s terribly important. Just think! A little blue bear. The only one in captivity, if we get him.”
“I know.” Blackie slid out of his bunk. “Get the fire going. Put the coffee pot on. We’ll be off in a half hour.”
“Oh, think—”
“Put the coffee on!” Blackie roared.
After tacking an old shirt to a pole as a signal of distress to any boat that might pass and instructing Smokey Joe to be on the lookout, Blackie drew a rough map, showing where, according to Smokey’s direction, the bear’s cave might be found. After that he led the way over the first “peak.”
These peaks were, they discovered, mere ridges. The distance was, in reality, much shorter than they had thought.
“This is the place,” Lawrence said, an hour and a half later. “It must be.”
“It is,” Blackie agreed. “There are the two scrub spruce trees with Smokey’s blaze on them.”
“And there’s the cave!” Lawrence was greatly excited.
“Not much of a cave,” said Blackie. “Might be quite some bear at that. Wait.”
With a small hatchet he hacked away at a dry spruce knot until he had a pitch-filled torch. This, with the aid of some dry shavings, he lighted.
“Now,” he breathed. “Give me one of the ropes. We’ll have to manage to tangle him up somehow. I’ll lead the way.”
“Al-all right,” Lawrence’s tongue was dry.
The floor of the dark grotto was strewn with pebbles. To walk without making a noise was impossible.
“Wait! Listen!” Lawrence whispered when they had covered some twenty paces.
As they paused, they caught a low hissing sound.
“Snakes,” the boy suggested.
“Not here. Too cold. It’s the bear. Get your rope ready.”
Slowly, cautiously they moved forward.
“There! There are his eyes.” Two balls of fire appeared directly before them.
And then things began to happen. A low snarl was followed by the sound of scattered pebbles. Blackie was hit by the rushing bear and bowled over like a ten pin. But Lawrence, quick as a cat, saw a hairy head, aimed a short swing and let go his rope.
Next instant he was shouting: “Blackie! Quick! Help! I got him! I got him!”
The husky little blue bear dragged them both to the very entrance of the cave. There, panting and tearing at the rope, he paused to glare at them. The rope was drawn tight about his shoulders with one foreleg through the loop.
Blackie, who was both fast and strong, made quick work of what remained to be done. Fifteen minutes later, carrying the live bear slung between them on a pole, they headed for the cabin.
To their great joy, as they neared the cabin, they saw one of Red McGee’s gill-net boats awaiting them in the little bay. Smokey Joe had flagged it down.
After a hasty, “Thank you and goodbye” to Smokey, they tossed their priceless captive into the after cabin of the stout, little motor-boat to head straight away over a rolling sea toward still more adventure, of quite a different nature.
Once again it was night. The wind had gone down with the sun. The sea was calm. On board the Oriental ship there was a strained air of tense expectancy.
“I can’t understand what’s keepin’ ’em here,” MacGregor said in a low tone to his young companions. “It’s plain that they’re scared stiff of that seaplane. Looks like they’d heave anchor and be away any minute. And if they do—” There was no need to finish. Both Johnny and Rusty knew that this would mean a trip to the Orient under circumstances stranger than any fiction.
“They seem to be waiting for something,” said Johnny.
This was true. All the little brown men not stationed at posts of duty were standing along the rail looking away toward the distant shores that were lost in the night.
“They’ll be back,” MacGregor said, thinking of the men on the seaplane. “Looks like it’s a race against time. But what are they waiting for?”
It was not long until they should know. As they stood there, nerves a-tingle, listening, a distant confusion of noises came to them.
“If there were a war,” said MacGregor, “I’d say it was rifle and machine-gun fire.”
This notion was too fantastic to be seriously considered. But what was it?
Second by second the sound increased in volume. “Can this be what they’re looking for?” Johnny asked.
If so, these little men welcomed it in a strange manner. Short, sharp commands were given. Scores of men went into frenzied action.
“Look!” Rusty gripped Johnny’s arm. “They’re lowering my boat into the water.”
“And it’s got gas in the tank. All ready to turn over and start. If only—”
“That’s motors we’re hearin’,” MacGregor broke in. “A thunderin’ lot of ’em! I shouldn’t wonder—”
“MacGregor,” Rusty seized his arm, “our boat is in the water. They are all crowding the rail again. This may be our chance.”
“So it may,” the old man agreed. “Follow me. Not a sound!”
“I’ll get Kopkina,” offered Johnny. “I just saw him on deck.”
Dodging behind a life-raft Rusty and MacGregor went scurrying along in the dark and Johnny and Kopkina soon joined them.
“It—it’s just here,” Rusty whispered.
“We—we need a rope ladder,” Johnny exclaimed low.
“Here’s one,” came in MacGregor’s cheering voice. “Let her over easy now.”
“Now,” he breathed. “Over you go.”
The speed with which they went down that ladder, all but treading on one another’s fingers, would have done credit to the U. S. Navy.
“Now I’ll cut her loose,” said MacGregor. “All right, Rusty, turn her over.”
The fly-wheel whirled. The splendid motor began a low put-put-put. They were away into the dark.
“They’d have trouble findin’ us,” MacGregor murmured.
“But listen!” Johnny exclaimed.
The sound of many motors had doubled and redoubled. Just as they were about to swing around the prow of the ship, something long, dark and silent shot past them.
“The Shadow!” Johnny exclaimed.
It was true, this was the Shadow. But at last the Shadow was not going to escape. After it thundered a powerful speedboat and as she shot past them the excited trio saw a burst of flames and caught the rat-tat-tat of a machine gun.
This was followed instantly by a wild scream from the Shadow which sounded very much like a sign of surrender. At the same time the sea seemed fairly ablaze with lights from many boats.
Johnny’s head was in a whirl. What was happening? Without knowing why she did it, Rusty seized him by the arm and held him tight while she screamed, “Johnny! It’s wonderful! Wonderful!”
What had happened may be quickly told. When Blackie and his crew failed to return, and Rusty as well, there had been consternation about the cannery. There was little use searching Bristol Bay in a fog. When, however, Dan MacMillan appeared in his seaplane, they went into action. Red McGee climbed into the cockpit and they were away. They had circled for an hour when they sighted the Oriental ship.
As they flew over it Red McGee experienced no difficulty in getting the unusual signals Johnny and Rusty had set up for him. He recognized the boxing forms of both Rusty and Johnny.
Realizing that his daughter would be on board that ship only against her will, he went into a wild rage. He demanded that the seaplane be landed close to the ship and that he be allowed to “tackle the whole lot of ’em single-handed.”
To this young MacMillan, would not consent; for, in the first place, the sea was too rough for a landing and in the second, he was not willing as he later expressed it, “To see a good man commit suicide by tackling a hundred Orientals single-handed.”
He had flown back to their base. By the time they reached the cannery, Red had cooled off.
“I want every last boat gassed up for an emergency run,” he commanded. “Any of you men that have guns, get ’em loaded and ready. There’s a couple o’ whale-guns up at my cabin. You, Pete and Dan, get ’em an’ see that they’re loaded. We’ll show ’em.”
They were about ready for a start when Blackie and his men arrived on the scene.
“Blackie,” Red exploded, “they’ve got Rusty and your boy, Johnny. They’re holdin’ ’em captive. Come on! We’ll start a war!”
For once, Blackie did not say, “No.” After they had turned the small, blue bear loose in a sheet-metal tool-shed he climbed into Dan MacMillan’s speed boat, dragging Red and Lawrence with him, and they were away.
It was this speedboat that had spied the Shadow. They had given it chase and had, as you have seen, at last, after sending a volley of machine-gun bullets across its bow, overhauled it.
The Shadow was the very craft that had been awaited by the Oriental ship. Had it put in an appearance two hours sooner, the ship must surely have weighed anchor and our story might have been much longer. As it was, the Orientals were destined to wait a long, long time before lifting the Shadow on deck, if at all.
While Johnny and Rusty looked and listened, the whole cannery fleet, every small deck bristling with guns, surrounded the ship.
Having overhauled the Shadow, Blackie placed it in charge of another craft, then came gliding in alongside theKrazy Kat.
“MacGregor,” he said in a husky voice, “tell me what happened.” MacGregor told him. Hardly had he finished when a small motor launch carrying three little brown officers arrived. The officers were fairly aglow with gold and braid.
“A thousand pardons,” their leader began. He was allowed to go no farther.
“Listen!” Blackie stood up. He was dressed in corduroy trousers and a leather jacket. His face was working strangely.
“Listen,” he repeated. “No apologies, not a thousand, nor even one. I’ll do the talking.” His voice was low. “I know why you’re here. To catch our fish. You sank our boat. You have an hour to get your ship headed out of Bristol Bay. We’ll take that Shadow of yours with us. We caught her lifting nets inside the three-mile limit. That makes her a fair prize.
“As to the sinking of theStormy Petrel, I shall make a complete report. The matter shall be taken up by our diplomats.
“I might add, for your further information, that a law is now before our Congress making Bristol Bay United States waters, open to our fishermen alone. It will pass. If you care to come back next year we will meet you with three destroyers.
“And now, gentlemen,” he doffed a ragged cap, “I bid you good-night.”
Clicking their heels, without a single apology, the officers saluted, then the power boat lost itself in the shadows.
“Rusty, my child,” said Red McGee, springing aboard theKrazy Katas soon as the Orientals were gone, “are you all right?”
“Never better,” Rusty laughed. “And never half so excited. I—I’m all right,” she added, “except that I’ll have to grow a new crop of curls.”
“Curls,” Red chuckled. “They’re not very necessary. Not even for a girl.
“Going back with us in the speed boat?” he asked.
“No-o, if you don’t mind,” she hesitated. “We’ve been together so long, the three of us, MacGregor, Johnny, and I, that I—I think we’d like to follow you back in theKrazy Kat.”
“O.K.,” Red agreed. “Kopkina, suppose you come with me. I want to thank you for what you’ve done for us. Now let’s get going.”
Already the Oriental ship that had never been welcome was slipping out into the night.
On the way back Johnny and Rusty spent most of their time studying the stars and the moon. Just what they read there only they will ever know.
The secret of the Shadow was found to be quite simple, as most secrets are. It was a long, low craft without deck, cabins, rails or riggings. Powered by large storage batteries, it was able to slip in close to shore, set a three-mile-long net at night and lift it in the morning. The fish were rushed to other motor-boats outside the three-mile zone and were then carried to the floating cannery.
After installing a gasoline motor, Blackie used the Shadow for sea patrol. No demand for the return of the craft was made. Needless to say, the duties of Blackie, MacGregor, Johnny and Lawrence were exceedingly light for the remainder of the season.
The small blue bear throve on fish-cleanings and other scraps. He was fat and friendly when at last the boys headed for Seward and Matanuska Valley. At Seward they left him in the care of a friend until they could come in a small truck and cart him home.
At the cabin in the valley Johnny and Lawrence were given an uproarious welcome.
One thing surprised them—the Professor was back. “I am waiting for Bill,” he explained.
“Bill! Who’s he?” Lawrence asked. “Oh!” he exclaimed. “He’s the man who built the shelter and left a note saying he was coming back. Let me see—”
“Today,” said the Professor. “And here he is now.” A smiling young giant with a full red beard came tramping down the road.
“Bill, did you get one?” the Professor demanded.
“No,” Bill’s smile faded. “I did my best. I got the head and hide of one, that’s all. Had to kill him, or lose him. I—I’m sorry.”
“A whole year,” the Professor groaned. “And never a bear.”
“A bear!” Johnny exclaimed. “Surely there are bears a-plenty.”
“Not that kind,” the Professor corrected. “I want the kind we talked about once, a glacier bear. Nothing else counts.”
“Oh, a glacier bear!” Lawrence laughed happily. “Is that all you want? I have one coming up on a truck from Seward. It should be here any time.”
“Just like that!” Bill dropped weakly down upon a stump. “A whole year. Ice, snow, blizzards, glaciers, hunger, a whole year. Never a bear. And now this boy calmly says, ‘I’ve got one coming up.’”
“Such,” said the professor, “is the luck of the chase.”
There was time for Bill to satisfy his craving for a “real feed.” Then the truck arrived.
The Professor and Bill gave one look at the little blue glacier bear. Then, for sheer joy, they fell into each other’s arms.
“What do you want for him?” the Professor demanded at last.
“A tractor,” said Lawrence.
“The best in the settlement!”
“The Titan.”
“Agreed and for good measure, a gang plow, a harrow, two drums of gas and three log chains.”
Lawrence could not say a word. He could only stand and stare. All his dreams had come true in a moment.
“I only wish we might do better,” the Professor half apologized. “But we’ve spent a great deal of money in the search. So-o, I—”
“I think,” said Lawrence, “that you’re a very good sport. And—and we thank you.”
Three days later Johnny and Lawrence were in Seward for a day with Blackie when a trim power boat glided up to the dock.
“Hello, Johnny!” came in a girl’s voice. It was Rusty.
“Come on down to Seattle with us,” Red McGee boomed.
“We’ll show you a roarin’ good time, just to celebrate the finest salmon season ever known.”
“What do you say?” Johnny turned to Lawrence.
“You go,” said Lawrence. “I’m a farmer now. I’ve got to stay with my crops, and I’m anxious to get started with the new tractor.”
Johnny went. If there were further adventures awaiting him at the end of that short journey you may find them recorded in a book called,Sign of the Green Arrow.
The Shadow Passes: A Mystery Story for Boys