of a curious and unpleasant feeling in his interior.

He had, however, no difficulty in eating his share of the crackers and
canned provisions Mr. Oliver presently handed around, and after that he
was kept too busy bailing to notice anything until late in the afternoon
when he heard the two Indians muttering to one another. The result of
the discussion was that one of them pulled the sprit out, and folding
down the peak left only a small three-cornered strip of sail. Frank
understood the cause for this when he glanced at the seas, which looked
alarmingly big. It was disconcerting to realize that they could take no
more sail off the canoe unless they lowered the mast altogether, and
where the beach was he could not tell. He had seen no sign of it for the
last two hours, and it was now raining viciously hard.

Nobody seemed inclined to talk, and there was only the roar and splash
of the combers behind them as they drove wildly on, until when dusk was
close at hand the dim shadow of a hill rose up suddenly on one side of
them. Then the Indian hauled the sheet, and presently when the water
became smoother, called to his companion, who thrust the sprit up again.
After that the canoe put her lee side in every now and then, but very
soon a foam-fringed point stretched out ahead. They swept around it, and
after skirting a half-seen, rocky beach ran with spritsail thrashing
into a little basin down to which there crept rows of mist-wrapped
trees.

Frank was thankful to get out when the helmsman ran her ashore, and the
work of assisting the Indians to chop branches and make a fire put a
little warmth into him. They made supper when darkness closed down, and
afterward the Indians erected a rude branch-and-bark shelter, while the
white men and the boys huddled together in the tent. It was better than
sitting in the foam-swept canoe, but Frank longed for the sloop's
low-roofed cabin.

He went to sleep, however, wet as he was, and after an early breakfast
next morning they started again, with both spritsails up in torrential
rain. The water was comparatively smooth, though the doleful moaning of
the firs fell from the half-seen hills, and Mr. Oliver announced that
the entrance to the canal they had come down was not far away. Frank had
learned that on the Pacific Slope canal generally means a natural arm
of the sea.

They reached its entrance presently, sailing close-hauled, and on
stretching across it the canoe plunged viciously on a short,
white-topped sea. The wind was blowing straight down the deep rift in
the hills, and Frank remembered with regret that Alberni stood a long
way up at the head of the inlet. They came back on the other tack,
making almost nothing, and the Siwash pulled the masts down before one
of them spoke to Mr. Oliver.

"I suppose they can't get the canoe to windward?" suggested Mr. Barclay.

"He says we'll have to paddle," Mr. Oliver answered. "There seem to be
four paddles in her and that will leave two of us to relieve the rest in
turn."

Harry and Frank took the first spell with the Indians, and they had had
enough of it before an hour had passed. The wind was dead ahead of them,
and though they crept in close with the beach they were met by little,
spiteful seas. It was necessary to fight for every fathom, thrashing her
slowly ahead by sheer force of muscle. Frank's hands were soon sore and
one knee raw from pressing it against the craft's bottom. He got hot and
breathless, the rain was in his face, and his side began to ache, and it
was a vast relief to him when Mr. Oliver finally took his place.

The mists were thinning when he sat down limply in the bottom of the
craft, and great rocky hills and dusky firs crawled slowly by, except
when now and then a fiercer gust swept down, whitening all the inlet,
and they barely held their own by desperate paddling. Then as it dropped
a little they forged ahead again. It was dreary as well as very arduous
work, but there was no avoiding it, for their provisions were almost
gone and there was no trail of any kind through the bush. Frank felt
that even paddling into a strong head wind was better than smashing
through continuous thorny brakes and floundering over great fallen logs.

One hand commenced to bleed when he next took his turn, but that was, as
he realized, not a matter of much importance. They had to reach Alberni
sometime next day, and his chief concern was how it could be done. Then
the pain in his side set in again and became rapidly worse, and he set
his lips tight as he swung gasping with each stroke of the splashing
blade. They won a foot or so each time the paddles came down, and it was
somewhat consoling to recognize it. He felt that if he had been called
upon to do this kind of thing after sleeping wet through upon the ground
when he first came out he would have immediately collapsed, but he was
steadily acquiring the power to disregard bodily fatigue.

There was no change as the day slipped by. It rained pitilessly, and the
wind continually headed them as they labored on wearily with set, wet
faces and straining muscles. The stroke must not slacken, for the moment
it grew feebler the canoe would drive astern. They kept it up until
nightfall, and then beaching the canoe lay down once more in the tent,
which strained in the wind. They were aching all over when they rose
next morning, and the work was still the same, but they reached Alberni,
worn out, early in the evening. It was a very small place then, though
it afterward sprang up into a mining town. Two or three ranch houses
stood in their clearings beside a crystal river, and a few more
buildings clustered at the head of the inlet half hidden in the bush.
There was a store and a frame hotel among them, and Mr. Oliver, who took
up quarters in the latter, told the boys that the stage would start on
the following morning. The Indians were given shelter in one of the
outbuildings, and the hotelkeeper insisted on locking up the dog, who
growled at everybody about the place.

"I'm not scared of dogs," he explained, "but that one of yours won't let
me get about my own house. Besides, I guess he'd eat some of those
Chinamen before morning if you leave him loose."

They were standing near a window, and Mr. Oliver glanced at one or two
blue-clad figures lounging under the dripping trees.

"You seem to have a number of them about," he remarked. "I saw another
lot as I came in. What are they doing here?"

"Stopping for the night," was the answer. "They're camping in a barn of
mine and going on to the gold creek at sun-up, though they may start
earlier if the rain stops. Quite a few of them have come in over the
trail lately."

"Then there must be a regular colony in the bush," broke in Mr. Barclay,
who had strolled up.

"No," replied the hotelkeeper, "that's the curious thing. They keep on
coming in by threes and fours, but Blake from the ranch higher up the
river was through that way not long ago, and he said he didn't see many
of them yonder. About two dozen, he figured, but more than that have
come through here to my certain knowledge."

"It looks as if the gold-washing didn't pay and the rest had gone on
somewhere," Mr. Barclay suggested carelessly.

The hotelkeeper looked bewildered. "Well," he said, "this is the only
trail to the settlements, and they certainly haven't come back this way.
It's mighty rough traveling through the bush, as you ought to know."

Mr. Barclay smiled ruefully as he glanced down at his torn clothing and
badly damaged boots. "That's a sure thing. Besides, they'd have their
truck to pack along, which would make it more difficult. Those fellows
generally bring a lot of odds and ends with them."

"Oh, yes," assented the hotelkeeper. "Most of them have their slung
baskets on poles. Anyway, I've no fault to find with them. They make no
trouble."

He walked off, and when Mr. Barclay and Mr. Oliver went out, Harry gave
a triumphant glance at Frank.

"Now," he said, "you see what our friend has found out without giving
himself away. The question is, where do those Chinamen who don't stay
with the gold-washing get to?"

Frank laughed. "I expect Barclay could give you an answer. There's
another thing he could probably guess at, and that's what they've got in
some of those slung baskets."

Then they moved back toward the lighted stove, for the rain drove
against the frame walls and it was damp and chilly in the big bare
room.

CHAPTER XV

A MIDNIGHT VISITOR

It was getting dark when the boys retired to their room, in which two
beds were standing at opposite corners. Harry chose the one nearest the
door, and they left the window open. The room was, as usual in such
places, very scantily furnished, but it appeared very comfortable after
their camps in the dripping bush, and Frank found it a luxury to get his
clothes off and lie down upon a comparatively soft mattress.

A draught blew in at intervals through the window, and the door, which
would not shut, swung to and fro. It was raining as hard as ever, for
Frank could hear a muffled roar upon the shingled roof, and the pines
outside were wailing dolefully. He soon went to sleep, however, but was
awakened later by the sound of voices and a soft patter of feet below.
The rain seemed to have stopped at last, though he could hear a heavy
splashing from the branches of the firs close by, and he fancied that
the Chinamen must be starting. There was, however, no sign of morning
when he glanced toward the window, which showed only as a faintly
lighter square in the surrounding obscurity. In fact, it seemed
unusually dark, which struck him as curious, since there was a moon, but
the hotel stood in a valley shrouded by giant trees and he supposed that
the sky was thick with cloud.

He heard the voices grow fainter and the footsteps gradually recede
until they were lost in the moaning of the pines, and he felt that he
did not envy the Chinamen their journey. He wondered why they had not
waited until sunrise before starting, and then remembered that a rancher
he had met had told him that a trail led out of the settlement for some
distance. He supposed it would be light before the Chinamen should reach
the end of it and plunge into the forest. About a quarter of an hour had
slipped away when, lying half asleep, he thought that he heard some one
in the room. He could see nothing but the window, and could hear little
else than the sound of the wind among the trees, but raising himself
very cautiously on one elbow he distinctly heard a faint sound that
suggested a stealthy movement. This seemed very curious, for he felt
almost certain that if his companion had had any idea of trying to find
out something about the Chinamen he would have told him, besides which,
the Chinamen had gone.

While he lay still listening with tingling nerves there was a soft
scraping and presently a very pale blue flame broke out, showing a
shadowy figure in a loose robe bending over Harry's bed with a light in
its hand. Frank did not pause to consider what the stranger's intentions
might be, but reached for his boot, which was a heavy one, and flung it
with all his might at the shadowy object's head. It struck the boarded
wall with a startling crash, the light suddenly went out, and he sprang
from his bed in the darkness with a cry of "Harry!"

"Well," said his companion drowsily, "what's the matter?"

"Where's the Chinaman?" shouted Frank, darting toward the door.

He ran out into a passage with Harry blundering half awake behind him,
and noticed that there was an open window near the door which had been
shut when he had last seen it. On reaching it he espied what seemed to
be the roof of a low outbuilding not far below, but there was very
little else to be seen except the loom of the dusky pines which were
beginning to stand out against the sky. Then he heard a rush of
pattering feet and a yelp on the stairway close by, and a furry body
flung itself against his knee. He recognized the dog, who almost
immediately darted into the room. It came out again, sprang to the
window ledge, and bounded to the roof beneath. He heard a soft thud on
the shingles and a bark that sounded farther off, and then for a moment
or two there was silence again.

It was broken by the sound of a door flung open, and Mr. Barclay came
along the passage very lightly dressed, with a lamp in his hand. Telling
them to follow, he walked into the boys' room, and placed the lamp on a
bureau before he sat down on the nearest bed.

"Now," he asked, "what's the cause of this commotion?"

"I don't know," said Harry. "Perhaps Frank can tell you. He seems to
have been throwing his boots about."

Frank, a little nettled, narrated what he had seen. Mr. Barclay smiled.

"You say the man was standing by Harry's bed," he observed. "Did you
notice if he had a big knife in his hand?"

"He'd nothing but a match," Frank answered shortly.

"Now that's curious," said Mr. Barclay. "Do you suppose he meant to set
the bed on fire, or have you any idea what he was doing?"

Frank heard a slight sound and looking around saw Mr. Oliver standing in
the doorway, while just then a shout came down the passage, apparently
from the hotelkeeper.

"What's the trouble? Is there anything wrong?"

"We're trying to find out," Mr. Barclay replied. "It doesn't seem to be
serious, anyway."

"Then I'll put a few clothes on before I come along," said the voice,
and a door banged.

"He seemed to be looking down at Harry's face," said Frank, who saw
that Mr. Barclay was waiting an answer.

Mr. Barclay now turned and favored Harry with a critical gaze.

"I can't understand what the fellow wanted to do that for." Then he
smiled back at Frank. "These are decadent days. He wouldn't have got
away with his scalp on if he'd come creeping into the room of the James
boys."

Harry flushed. "I suppose you mean to hint that Frank imagined it all,
sir? Well, he told you the man struck a match, and though sulphur
matches don't give much light they make a considerable smell. Do you
notice any particular odor in this room?" Then he stooped suddenly and
picked up a half-burned match. "What do you make of this? I haven't
struck one."

Mr. Barclay examined the match with an abstracted expression, and while
he did so the dog pattered into the room wagging his tail in a
deprecatory manner, as if to excuse himself for not overtaking the
intruder. He jumped distractedly around the boys for a moment and then
crouched down upon the floor with a short length of broken cord trailing
from his collar. Mr. Oliver pointed to it with an amused smile.

"It seems to me the dog must have imagined something of the same kind as
Frank did," he observed.

By this time the hotelkeeper arrived and gazed on with astonishment
while Mr. Barclay briefly explained the cause of the commotion.

"I've never heard anything like this since I've been in the place," he
declared. "The Chinamen are out on the trail now. Better see if you have
lost anything."

The couple of dollars that Frank had brought with him proved to be still
in his pocket, and Harry fished out the dollar which belonged to him.
His cheap watch was safe beneath his pillow, and Frank declared that he
had left his silver one at the ranch. This appeared to make the matter
more inexplicable to the hotelkeeper.

"If the fellow had gone off with something, I could have understood it,"
he said in a puzzled way.

"It's most likely that Frank saw him almost immediately after he came
in," said Mr. Oliver. "As he pitched his boot at him, the man was
probably startled and got out without wasting any time in looking round.
Then the dog broke loose and went after him."

The hotelkeeper agreed with this and shortly afterward Mr. Oliver,
telling the boys not to trouble themselves any further about the matter,
followed him out with Mr. Barclay. They turned into the latter's room,
where Mr. Oliver sat down.

"I imagine that Frank's notion is correct," he said. "As Harry told you,
he and Frank once paid a visit to the Chinese camp near our ranch where
he saw the man with the high shoulder and followed him to a shack from
which he disappeared. If the Chinaman who crept into the room chanced to
have been about the camp when the boys were there, it's quite possible
that he did wish to see Harry's face."

"That," Mr. Barclay admitted, "is my own opinion, though it seemed wiser
not to impress it on the boys. I don't suppose you want them to get to
making any investigations on their own account?"

"No," rejoined Mr. Oliver. "On the other hand, they've taken a certain
part in the matter already. In fact, it might have been better if I'd
left them behind. The trouble is that if the Chinaman recognized Harry
it would probably give him some idea as to why we made this visit."

Mr. Barclay nodded his head. "Yes," he said. "It's a pity, but, after
all, I'm rather glad I made this trip. It's going to prove worth while."

Nothing further was said on the subject and silence settled down again
on the hotel. There was bright sunshine when the party started with the
stage next morning, and after spending the night at a little colliery
town they took the train south. Getting off at a small station they
found the sloop safe in the cove where they had left her. Mr. Barclay,
however, went on with the peltries to Victoria, which was not far away,
and there managed to dispose of them, after which he hired a horse and
rode back to the inlet. They set sail as soon as he arrived, and after
two days of light winds duly reached the cove near the ranch.

A few months slipped by peacefully. The smugglers showed no sign of
further activity, and Mr. Oliver got his oat crop in undisturbed. One
way or another he kept the boys busy from morning until night, but at
last when the maple leaves were beginning to turn he told them to take
their rifles and go hunting, and they set off one morning after
breakfast.

It was a still, clear morning, and now that the fall was drawing on
there was a change in the bush. Here and there a maple leaf caught a ray
of sunshine and burned like a crimson lamp, the fern was growing yellow,
and the undergrowth was splashed and spattered with flecks of varying
color. Even the light in the openings seemed different. It was at once
softer and clearer than the glare of summer, and the shadows seemed
thinner and bluer than they had been. But there was no difference in the
great black firs. They lifted their fretted spires high against the sky,
as they had done for centuries, and they would remain the same until the
white man's ax should sweep the wilderness away.

The boys were floundering waist-deep in withered fern and tangled
undergrowth when they heard a rustling and scurrying somewhere near
their feet, and Harry, breaking off a rotten branch from a fallen fir,
hurled it into a neighboring thicket.

"A fool hen!" he shouted. "Jump round this bush, and try to put it up."

Frank fell into the thicket in his haste, but he still heard the
scurrying in front of him when he scrambled to his feet. He kicked a
clump of fern, and there was no doubt that something rushed away from
underneath it, after which he plunged through the brake with Harry some
yards away on one side of him, but there was nothing visible. They
hunted the unseen creature for what he supposed was about ten minutes
with no better result. Then a plainly colored bird about the size of a
pigeon rose from almost under his feet and flew to a fir branch some
twenty yards away, where it perched and looked down at its pursuers
unconcernedly.

"It doesn't seem scared now," said Frank in astonishment.

"It isn't," Harry answered with a laugh. "The thing feels quite safe
once it's on a branch. I guess that's why it's called the fool hen,
though its proper name is the willow grouse. Walk up and try a shot at
it--only you must cut its head off."

Frank crept up nearer with a caution which was wholly unnecessary, for
the bird did not seem to mind him in the least when he stopped close
beneath it and pitched his rifle to his shoulder, but as he gazed at it
over the half-moon of the rearsight it seemed to him that its neck was
exceedingly small. He could not keep the forebead fixed on it, and
bringing the rifle down he rested before he tried it again. Then he felt
the butt thump his shoulder and the barrel jerk, and a little wisp of
smoke drifted across his eyes and hung about the bushes. When it
cleared, the grouse, to his astonishment, was sitting on the branch as
calmly as ever.

"It likes it," said Harry. "Try again--only at its neck."

Trying again, Frank succeeded in inducing the bird to move to a
neighboring branch, after which he braced himself with desperate
determination for the third attempt. This time the jar upon his shoulder
was followed by a soft thud, and he understood why he had been warned
to shoot only at its neck when he picked up his victim. The big .44
bullet had horribly shattered it.

"Could _you_ have shot its head off?" he asked after he had thrown it
down in disgust.

"Why, yes," said Harry. "Anyway, I can generally manage it if the thing
sits still. Most of the bush ranchers could do it every time."

He made this good presently when they found another bird, for it dropped
at his first shot without its head. Half an hour later they saw a blue
grouse perched rather high up in a cedar.

"This fellow won't sit to be fired at," Harry explained. "Better try it
kneeling where you are, if you can get the foresight up enough."

Frank knelt with his right foot tucked under him and his left elbow on
his knee. It steadied the rifle considerably, but he had to cramp
himself a little to raise the muzzle. Holding his breath he squeezed the
trigger when a part of the bird filled up the curve of the rearsight,
but he was mildly astonished when Harry walked toward him with the
grouse in his hand.

"I guess this one could be cooked," he said dubiously. "We'll take it
along."

Frank surveyed his victim with a thrill of pride. It was larger than the
willow grouse. In fact, it seemed to him a remarkably big and handsome
bird in spite of the hole in it, and he thrust it into the flour bag on
his back with unalloyed satisfaction.

"Is this the thing that makes the drumming in the spring?" he asked.

Harry said that it was, and they scrambled through the bush for a couple
of hours without seeing anything further, until they approached a swampy
hollow with a steep hillside over which the undergrowth hung unusually
thick.

"There ought to be a black bear yonder; they like the wild cabbage,"
said Harry. "We'll try to crawl in. It's a pity there isn't a little
wind ahead of us."

They spent half an hour over the operation, and Frank realized that
trailing had its drawbacks when he found that it entailed burrowing
among thorny thickets and crawling across quaggy places on his hands and
knees. In spite of his caution sticks would snap and it seemed to his
strung-up imagination that he was making a prodigious noise. At last,
however, there was another sound some distance in front of him which
suddenly became louder.

"A bear, sure," cried Harry excitedly. "Going off up hill. Shoot if you
can see it."

Frank gazed intently ahead, but could see absolutely nothing, though he
could hear a smashing and crashing which presently died away again on
the slope. Then Harry brought down his rifle and turned away.

"You can generally hear a black bear," he said. "He goes straight and
rips right through the things a deer would jump. He's a kind of harmless
beast, anyway."

"Could we find a deer?" Frank asked, his hopes still high.

"We'll try when we've had dinner," replied his companion. "I haven't
seen any lately, though that doesn't count for much, because it would be
possible not to notice one if the woods were full of them. Still, they
seem to have a way of clearing right out of the country every now and
then for no particular reason. The bear and the timber wolves do the
same thing."

They ate their dinner sitting among the roots of a big cedar, while a
gorgeous green and red woodpecker climbed about a neighboring trunk.
Then Harry stood up and shouldered his rifle.

"After this we'll leave the birds alone," he announced. "You don't want
to make a noise when you're trailing deer."

CHAPTER XVI

FRANK KILLS A DEER

They plodded through the bush for an hour or two without seeing any
living thing except a few pigeons, and Harry began to look doubtful.

"If it was early morning, I'd try one of the rock outcrops where nothing
grows," he observed. "The deer get up on to those places out of the dew
then. As it's afternoon, I don't know which way to head."

Frank glanced at his clothes. Keen as he was on hunting, he would not
have been sorry to head for home, for his duck trousers were badly torn
and one of his boots which had been rather the worse for wear when he
started was almost dropping off his foot. They trudged on, however, and
accident favored them, as it often does when one is hunting, for at last
when they were in very thick bush Harry dropped suddenly behind a patch
of withered fern.

"Look there!" he said softly. "Right ahead of you yonder."

Frank gazed ahead with straining eyes, but he could only see the great
trunks stretching back in serried ranks. He had heard somewhat to his
astonishment that it is not often that a novice can see a deer in the
bush even when it is pointed out to him, but now, it seemed, the thing
was true. He could have declared that there was not a deer anywhere
within the range of his vision.

"Right in front," whispered Harry, impatiently. "About seventy yards
off. Oh, look yonder!"

He stretched his hand out and at last Frank noticed what seemed to be a
very slightly different colored strip of something behind a narrow
opening in a thicket. It might have been withering fern, or a cluster of
fading leaves, but he would never have imagined it to be a portion of a
deer. Then his doubts vanished, for it suddenly moved.

"Where shall I shoot?" he asked beneath his breath.

"At the bottom of the bit you can see," was the low answer.

Frank threw up his rifle. He was too eager to kneel or lie down, and it
scarcely seemed probable that the deer would wait until he was
comfortably ready. He lined the sights on a twig immediately in front of
the object, and though his hands had quivered he found them growing
steadier as he squeezed the trigger. He heard no report, but there was a
crash in the thicket as the smoke came drifting back, and Harry ran
forward with a shout.

"Come on!" he cried. "You've hit it!"

Frank ran his fastest, though running of any kind was extraordinarily
difficult. In places the withered fern was higher than his head and
there seemed to be innumerable bushes in his way, while when he
endeavored to avoid them he generally came upon a giant tree which had
to be scrambled around. Still, there was no doubt that the deer was not
far off, for he could hear it floundering through the brakes and fern,
and by and by he came upon a trail of red splashes scattered here and
there upon the leaves.

"It's hit bad," panted Harry. "If we can hold out we'll get it yet."

They did their utmost for the next half hour, but they never once saw
the deer, which by the decreasing sound seemed to be drawing away from
them, and Frank felt that it would be impossible for him to keep up the
pace many minutes longer. He was breathless, and dripping with
perspiration, and his clothes were torn all over. Indeed, eager as he
was, it was almost a relief when the sound in front of him gradually
died away, and Harry stopped, gasping, and leaned against a fir.

"What are we going to do about it now?" Frank asked.

"Trail that deer," was the breathless answer. "It's not going very far.
You can tell by the noise it made that it was hit too bad to jump."

Frank was of the opinion that it had gone quite far enough already, but
he silently watched Harry, who began to walk up and down, looking
carefully about him.

"It went through this bush," he said at length. "After that it must have
crossed the fern yonder." Then scrambling forward he waved his hand.
"Come on! The trail's quite plain."

Frank followed him with some trouble and once more saw the red splashes
on the leaves. Now and then they lost them for a little while and the
undergrowth did not seem to have been disturbed, but on each occasion
Harry contrived to find the spots again. He traced them from place to
place, moving more slowly and cautiously, while Frank painfully broke
through the thickets in his wake. They were both nearly exhausted when
an hour after the shot was fired they came to a little creek.

"It lay down here," said Harry. "We'll stop a minute or two. Guess that
deer's 'most as played out as we are."

This seemed very probable to Frank as he glanced at the broad red smear
upon the damp soil, and for the first time he was troubled by a sense of
compunction as he realized that there were two sides to hunting. The
pursuers' labor was severe enough, but he could imagine what the flight
must have cost the sorely wounded creature who had so far managed to
keep in front of them. He was scratched and torn and exhausted, but at
least he was sound in limb, while the deer must have staggered on in
anguished terror with its life steadily draining from the cruel bullet
hole. Somewhere in his mind there was now a wish that he had not made so
good a shot.

"Do you think we're far behind it?" he asked.

"I don't, but that doesn't count," answered Harry. "We have to follow
it, anyway. I remember when I got my first deer. Dad was with me, and
before I fired he asked if I thought I could hit it where I wanted. I
said I did, and he told me to make sure, because if the beast got away
with a bullet in it I'd have to trail it until it dropped." He stopped
with a significant laugh. "As it happened, we followed it close on three
hours, through the thickest kind of bush, and--I wasn't so big then--it
was mighty hard work to get back to the ranch afterward."

Frank fancied that in the present case he might drop before the deer
did, though he realized that Mr. Oliver's rule was in one way a merciful
one and undoubtedly calculated to encourage careful shooting. When he
had recovered his breath a little they started again, but it was half an
hour later when they caught a glimpse of the deer painfully laboring
through a clump of fern on the slope of a steep rise. Harry pitched up
his rifle, and though the animal disappeared again immediately after
they fired, they knew it was still going on by the snapping of twigs and
the rustling in the fern.

Harry was sure that he had hit it, and making a last effort, they broke
into a run which Frank remembered for a considerable time afterward. The
slope seemed to be getting remarkably steep, he could scarcely see a
dozen yards in front of him through the undergrowth, and several times
he stuck fast for a moment or two in tangled thickets. Then he fell into
a horrible tangle of rotting branches, dropping his rifle and bruising
himself cruelly, and he only succeeded in forcing himself along because
his companion shouted breathlessly that the deer was rapidly flagging.
Frank could hear it very plainly now.

At last when they reached the summit of the rise it came out into open
view for a moment. The bush was thinner there, with less growth between
the trees, and he saw the animal limp out from a thicket, dragging an
injured limb. He flung up his rifle, and Harry who was a little in front
fired almost as he did. The deer staggered, made a feeble bound, and
vanished as if the earth had opened under it. A moment or two later
Harry stopped with a hoarse, gasping shout.

Frank stumbled forward and found him standing on the brink of what
seemed to be a very deep ravine, the almost precipitous sides of which
were shrouded in young firs and densely growing bushes. Harry was gazing
dubiously into the gully.

"I don't quite know how we're going to get down, but we'll have to try,"
he said. "The deer's at the bottom done for, and I don't feel like going
home and telling dad we left it. Besides, it's quite likely he might
send us back for it."

"Then if it has to be done, we may as well get about it," said Frank
wearily.

Slinging his rifle, he crawled over the edge and went sliding and
slipping down for about a dozen yards until he fell into the branches of
a young fir. After that he plunged into several bushes before he could
stop again, and eventually lowered himself foot by foot, clutching at
whatever seemed strong enough to hold him, until he alighted knee-deep
in a splashing creek. Nearby the deer lay motionless where it had fallen
upon the stones. It was a beautifully symmetrical creature, but it
seemed to Frank smaller than he had expected.

"A young black-tail," said Harry. "Anyway, that's what we call them,
though I believe it's really the mule-deer. There's another black-tail.
We've got the deer names kind of mixed up on the Pacific Slope."

Frank regarded the animal dubiously. "It seems to me the most important
question is how we're going to get it home."

"Pack it," answered Harry. "But I'd better open it up first. You can sit
down while I do it, if you'd rather."

Frank would very much have preferred to sit down out of sight while the
deer was dressed, but it occurred to him that it would scarcely be
fitting to leave the disagreeable part of the work to his companion.

"No," he persisted, "I'll help as much as I can."

"Well," said Harry dryly, "if you want to go hunting it's a thing you'll
have to learn."

The operations that followed were singularly unpleasant, and Frank felt
a good deal less enthusiastic about hunting when he washed his hands and
the sleeves of his jacket in the creek after they were over.

"I don't know if I'll eat any of that deer," he said.

"You'll get over it," Harry assured him with a smile. "Anyway, in my
opinion deer meat isn't much of a delicacy. It's that stringy you could
'most make lariats of it, unless you keep it until it's bad."

Frank felt inclined later to agree with this statement, but in the
meanwhile Harry got the deer, which he had not yet skinned, upon his
shoulders with its fore legs pulled over in front of him, and they
started back for the ranch. It was, however, some time before they could
find a way out of the gulch, and then they only gained the summit by an
arduous scramble. After that they found themselves in exceedingly thick
bush, with nothing that Frank could see to guide them. There was
probably not much light at any time down among those great trunks whose
branches met and crossed high overhead, and what there was seemed to be
getting dim.

"If we keep on going down we'll strike something by and by," urged
Harry. "The slope's naturally toward the beach."

The first thing they struck was a remarkably steep hillside, up which
they struggled, Frank now carrying the deer, which he found heavy enough
before he reached the top. Then a narrow valley opened up before them,
which did not seem to be what Harry had expected. There were one or two
ponds in the bottom of it, and he gazed at them thoughtfully.

"We might get a duck," he mused. "They ought to be coming down from
Alaska now. It's freezing up there."

They floundered down the declivity, and, though Frank would have
preferred to push on straight for home, Harry insisted on creeping
through the long harsh grass about the edge of the water. They tried one
of the ponds with no result, but at last Harry dropped suddenly behind a
tall clump of grass.

"Look!" he said. "There are two or three ducks yonder. You take the
nearest. Keep the foresight as fine as you can."

Frank saw one or two small objects floating just outside the grass
across the pond. They seemed to be a very long way off, and though he
feared that he could not keep the sights upon any of them standing, the
ground looked horribly quaggy to kneel in. This could not be helped,
however, for it seemed that getting wet and torn did not count when one
was hunting, and he pressed his right knee down into the mire. He could
just see one of the ducks when he closed his left eye, and he had
misgivings as to the result when he squeezed the trigger. Harry's rifle
flashed immediately after his, there was a rattle of wings and a
startled quacking, and he saw two ducks with long necks stretched out
fly off above the trees. Another seemed to be lying on the water, and
remembering the size of the bullet, he had no fear of that one getting
away.

"The next thing is to get it," said Harry. "It's not going to be easy."

He was perfectly right. They spent a long while struggling around the
pond, into which they had to wade nearly waist-deep before Harry
contrived to rake the duck in toward him with the muzzle of his rifle.
It did not look a sightly object when he had secured it, but he decided
that there was enough of it left to eat.

"Is it the one you shot at?" he asked with a grin.

"I can't say," Frank answered. "I shouldn't be surprised if it wasn't."

"Well," said Harry, "we're not going to quarrel about the thing. What we
have to do is to make a bee-line home. We'll come along again in a week
or two. The ponds are full of ducks for a little in the spring and
fall."

"Only then?"

"They're not so plentiful between-whiles," Harry answered. "Of course,
our worst winters aren't marked by the cold snaps you have back East,
and quite a few of the ducks stay with us, while some put in the summer,
too; but in a general way every swimming bird of any size heads north to
the tundra marshes by the Polar Sea in spring. In the fall they come
back again, how far I don't know--lower California, Mexico, perhaps,
right away to Bolivia and Peru. Going and coming, the big flocks stop
around here to rest a while." He smiled at his companion. "A mallard
duck's a little thing, but he covers a considerable sweep of country."

He picked up the deer and they went on again, but darkness overtook them
before they reached the ranch, utterly worn out, with most of their
garments rent to tatters; and Frank, who had carried the deer the last
mile or two, gave a gasp of relief when he laid it down.

CHAPTER XVII

MR. WEBSTER'S GUNS

It was about a week after the boys' hunting trip when Mr. Oliver's
nearest neighbor, Mr. Webster, drove up to the ranch in a dilapidated
wagon. It was dark when he arrived, for the days were rapidly getting
shorter. When Jake had taken his horse away he laid what appeared to be
a small armory on the kitchen table and sat down by the stove. He was a
young man with a careless, good-humored expression, and Harry aside
informed Frank that his ranch was not much of a place.

"I've brought you my guns along," said Mr. Webster, addressing Mr.
Oliver, and then looked down at the dog, who had walked up to him in the
meanwhile and now stood regarding him with its head on one side.
"Hello!" he added, patting it, "I'd 'most forgotten you. You have
managed to put up with him, Miss Oliver?"

Miss Oliver said that she had grown fond of him, and the dog, after
standing up with a paw upon the man's knee, dropped down on all fours at
the sound of her voice and trotted back to her without waiting for
another pat.

"I always had a notion he was an ungrateful as well as an ordinary
beast," said Mr. Webster. "Would you have fancied my dog would leave me
like that after all I've done for him? I guess I've laid into him with
'most everything about the ranch from the grubhoe handle to the riding
quirt."

Mr. Oliver laughed. "But why have you brought your guns?"

"For you to take care of. My place gets damp in winter without the stove
on and I'm going away for a month or two. I've taken on a log-bridge
contract with a fellow I used to work with, on one of the new settlement
roads. The man who's been clearing land up the creek took the few head
of stock I had off my hands and the fruit trees will grow along all
right without worrying anybody until I get back again. If one hadn't to
do so much cutting every now and then, they'd be a long sight handier
than raising stock."

"Well," Mr. Oliver assured, "I think we can promise to look after the
guns. I didn't know you had so many of them."

Mr. Webster arose and walked toward the table. "Though I never was a
great shot, guns are rather a hobby of mine. I needn't say anything
about these two--single-shot Marlin, Winchester repeater--but the
old-timers seem to have a notion that a man must excuse himself for
keeping a scatter gun. This"--and he picked up what seemed to Frank a
handsome single barrel--"is a thing I bought for a few dollars last time
I was in Portland. I allowed she would do to keep the pigeons off my
oats. Not much of a gun, but she throws out the shell." Then he took up
a double gun with the brown rubbed off the barrels, leaving bright
patches. "This one's different; there's some tone about her. A sport I
once had boarding with me gave her to me when he went away. Said I'd
given him a great time, and as he was fixed, it might be two or three
years before he could get out into the woods again."

He sat down on the table and looked over with a smile at the boys. "I
don't know any reason why you two shouldn't have those guns until I come
back; they'll keep better if they're used and rubbed out once in a
while, and there's a box of shells in the wagon. You can't call yourself
a sport until you can drop a flying bird with the scatter gun, and
there's considerably more to it than most of the old-timers who can
only plug a deer with a rifle seem to think."

He evidently noticed the interest in Frank's face, for he proceeded to
demonstrate, standing up with the double gun held across him a little
above his waist.

"Now," he added, "you don't want to aim, poking the gun about. You keep
it down and your eyes on the bird, until you're ready, and then pitch it
up right on the spot first time--it's better with both eyes open, if you
can manage it." The gun went in to his shoulder and Frank heard the
striker click, after which the man swung the muzzle half a foot or so.
"Say you missed. You've still got the second barrel--"

They heard no more, for there was an appalling crash, a short cry from
Miss Oliver, and a yelp from the dog who jumped into the air, while a
filmy cloud of smoke drifted about the room. When it cleared Mr.
Webster, who had opened the door, sat down on the table looking very
sheepish and turned toward Miss Oliver.

"I'm sorry--dreadful sorry," he observed contritely. "I hadn't the least
notion there was anything in the thing."

Mr. Oliver glanced at the ragged hole high up in the log wall and then
looked at Mr. Webster with ironical amusement in his eyes.

"Your instructions were good as far as they went, but you have forgotten
one rather important point." He turned to the boys. "It's this. Never
bring a gun of any kind into a house without first opening the magazine
or breach, and if there's a shell in it, immediately take it out. It's a
precaution that's as simple as it's effective, and though there was
perhaps some excuse for an accident in the old days when a man couldn't
readily empty his gun unless he fired off the charge, there's none now."

"Sure," agreed Mr. Webster, who seemed to be getting over his
confusion, for he addressed the boys again. "With winter coming on, the
best sport I know with a scatter gun is shooting flighting duck, and
there's plenty of them along the beach. They've a way of moving around
in flocks between the light and dark, which is the best time, though you
can get them through the night if there's not too bright a moon. A good
place would be those patches of sand and mud behind the islands,
especially when the tide's just leaving the flats. Take the sloop or
canoe along sometime and try it."

The boys thanked him and Frank's eyes glistened as he handled the light
single gun.

"What are you going to do with your team?" asked Mr. Oliver, changing
the subject.

"Anson down by Nare's Hill will take them for their keep, but I might
have made a few dollars out of them if I'd been staying on."

"How's that?"

"Well," in a significant tone, "a man came along three or four nights
ago. I don't know where he came from, and I don't know where he went--he
just walked in with the lamp lit when I was getting supper. He wanted to
know if I was open to hire him a team for a night or two."

"What kind of a man?"

"A stranger. He looked like a sailor and seemed liberal. Said he wanted
the team particularly, and if I'd have them handy when he turned up we
needn't quarrel about the figure. That must have meant I could charge
most what I liked."

"What did you say?"

Mr. Webster smiled. "I just told him the horses were promised and I
couldn't make the deal. Anyway"--and he added this in a different
voice--"I'd no notion of going back on you."

"Thanks," said Mr. Oliver quietly, and they talked about other matters
until Webster, making a few more excuses to Miss Oliver, drove away.
When he had gone she looked at her brother and laughed softly.

"I was startled but not very much astonished when the gun went off," she
said. "The little incident was so characteristic of the man."

The next day the boys commenced practicing at flung-up meat cans with
the cartridges he had given them and in a week they could hit one every
now and then at thirty yards. Soon afterward Mr. Oliver went away. He
only told the boys that he was going to Tacoma, but Harry thought it
possible that he wanted to see Mr. Barclay, since Mr. Webster's story
made it clear that the dope runners were about again. He announced
ingenuously that they had better try the flight-shooting while his
father was away, because if they came back all right with several ducks
he would probably not object to their going another time. Miss Oliver
seemed doubtful when they casually mentioned the project to her, but as
she did not actually forbid it they set out with the sloop late one
afternoon, taking the dog with them.

It was falling dusk and the tide had been running ebb two or three hours
when they beat in under the lee side of one of the islands they had
passed on a previous occasion on their way to the settlement. After
anchoring the sloop where she would lie afloat at low water some
distance off the beach they got into the canoe and paddling ashore
crossed the island, which was small and narrow. It was covered with thin
underbrush and dwarf firs, and on its opposite side a broad stretch of
wet sand and shingle with pools and creeks in it stretched back toward
the channel, which cut it off from the mainland.

To the eastward, the pale silver sickle of a crescent moon hung low in
the sky, but westward a wide band of flaring crimson and saffron still
burned beneath dusky masses of ragged cloud and the uncovered sands
gleamed blood-red in the fading glow. A cold wind stirred the pines to
an eerie sighing, and the splash of a tiny surf came up faintly from the
outer edge of the sands. The whole scene struck Frank as very forbidding
and desolate, and he fancied that there was a threat of wind in the sky.
Something in the loneliness troubled him, and for no particular reason
he felt half sorry that he had come. He realized that it would have been
much more cozy in the sloop's cabin than upon that dreary beach, and he
said something about the weather to Harry.

"We'll be sheltered here if the breeze does come up, and this looks just
the place where we ought to get a duck," his companion answered. "There
aren't many spots like it around this part of the coast, where we've
generally deeper water. Perhaps we'd better move on a little nearer
yonder clump of firs. They'll hide us from any birds that come sailing
down to the flats."

"What's the matter with the dog?" Frank asked. "What's he snuffing at?"

The animal was trotting about with his nose upon the ground and would
not come when they called him.

"I don't know," said Harry carelessly. "Perhaps somebody's been across
the island lately, though I don't think it's often a white man lands
here."

They took up their stations a little apart from each other among some
very rough boulders, with the nearest of the firs on a rocky ridge some
thirty or forty yards away from them. Their ragged branches cut in a
sharp ebony pattern against the sky, which was duskily blue. It was very
cold and the wind seemed fresher, for the trees were rustling and
moaning, and the calling of distant wildfowl came up through the
increasing murmur of the surf.

Frank's boots had suffered from hard wear in the bush, and, as he had
stumbled into a pool, his feet were very wet, but he crouched behind a
boulder, clutching the single-barreled gun with cold fingers, and
watching the sky beyond the fir tops, for what seemed a considerable
time. Nothing moved across it except a long wisp of torn-edged cloud,
and he was commencing to wonder whether it would not be better to go
back to the sloop when Harry called softly, and he heard a new sound in
the darkness somewhere beyond the firs. It suggested the regular
movement of a row of fans, which was the best comparison that occurred
to him, for there was a kind of measured beat in it, and in another few
moments he recognized it as the rhythmic stroke of wings. Then a double
line of dark bodies spreading out from a point in the shape of a wedge
appeared close above him against the sky.

He saw that they had long necks, but that was all, for they were coming
on with an extraordinary swiftness. There was a crash as Harry's gun
flung a streak of red fire into the darkness. Then Frank pitched up the
single barrel, pulling hard upon the trigger as the butt struck his
shoulder. He felt the jar of it and saw a whirling blaze, after which he
swung around when Harry's gun flashed again.

The wedge, which had scattered, was reuniting. He could just see it
dotted upon the sky, but he fancied that one dark object had come
whirling down and struck the flats outshore of him a few seconds
earlier.

"One, sure!" cried Harry. "I've an idea there's a cripple, too, trailing
on the ground. Where's that dog? I wonder if he'd hunt it up?"

They called, but there was no sign of the animal.

"He'd probably sit down and eat it, if he got it," said Frank, laughing.
"As he isn't here, we'd better get after the birds."

They soon picked up the dead one, a mallard, Harry said; but it was some
minutes before they saw the other fluttering across a patch of wet sand.
Breaking into a run they were astonished to find that they did not get
much nearer, and it must be admitted that Frank fired again without
stopping it. After that, it led them through several pools and runlets
of water, until at a flash of Harry's gun it lay still, but they were
almost up to their knees in a little channel before they retrieved it.

"I wonder how long we'll have to wait before some more ducks come," said
Harry as they made their way back to the boulders. Then he suddenly
looked about him. "Where can that dog have gone?"

They called a second time, but there was still no answer, and while they
listened it struck Frank that the sound of the surf was growing more
distinct.

"He seemed to be trailing something when I last saw him," he answered.
"I don't feel keen on going after him. The top of the island's rough.
Perhaps, we'd better wait here until he comes."

They waited for about ten minutes and then a succession of quick barks
reached them, apparently from across the island. There was something
startling in the sound and Frank turned sharply toward his companion.

"He doesn't bark like that for nothing. Hadn't we better go along?" he
suggested.

They started on the moment, stumbling among the boulders and splashing
into pools. The going was no easier when they reached the firs, but they
broke through them somehow, and when at length they approached the
beach, which was steep on that side, the dog came bounding toward them
and then ran back with a growl to the edge of the water. Looking around
with strained attention, Frank made out the sloop, a dim, dark shape
upon the water, for the moon was covered now. After that he ran down
toward the edge of the tide, but there was nothing unusual to be seen,
though the dog again yelped savagely. As he stopped close beside the
animal Harry's voice reached him.

"Where's the canoe?" he cried.

It was a moment or two before Frank saw her, and then he started and
cast a quick glance at the strip of beach left uncovered by the ebbing
tide. The breeze was off the shore, and on arriving they had thrown over
a lump of iron with a rope made fast to it and then paddled the canoe
ashore and shoved her out again to drift off as far as the rope would
allow her, in order to avoid dragging her down over the rough stones
when they went away. Now she seemed farther off than she should have
been, and in another moment he realized that she was moving.

"She's adrift!" he shouted.

"Then we will have to get her," Harry answered.

Frank laid down his gun and threw off his jacket. Harry could swim
better than he could, but Harry was some distance back and the beach was
very rough, while it was clear that every moment would increase the
distance between it and the canoe. He struck his knees against something
which hurt as he floundered into the water stumbling among the stones,
but that did not matter then, and as soon as it was deep enough he flung
himself down. A horrible chill struck through him as he swung his left
arm out, and he was badly hampered by his boots and clothes, and though
he swam savagely the canoe was still some way in front of him when at
length he turned breathlessly upon his breast. What was worse, she was
steadily drifting farther off shore.

Chilled and anxious as he was, he thought quickly. He was far from
certain that he could get back to the beach, and even if he did so, he
would have to spend the night wet through without any means of making a
shelter. The sloop was lying a good way out and he did not think that
Harry could swim so far in that cold water. He was quite sure that he
could not, and it was evident that there was nothing for it but to
overtake the canoe.

For what seemed a very long time he swam desperately, and then just as
he was almost alongside the craft something came up behind him and
seized his arm. Turning his head with a half-choked cry, he saw that it
was the dog, who apparently intended to stick fast to him. The animal,
however, hampered him terribly, and flinging it off he made a last
effort and contrived to clutch the canoe before it seized him again.
Holding on by the low stern he tried to recover his breath, while he
wondered if he could manage to lift himself in. It seemed to him that if
he failed to do it at that moment he could not expect to succeed
afterward, in which case he would in all probability have to let go
before very long. Setting his lips he made the attempt, and falling
headforemost into the canoe he lay still for a few moments gasping,
until he rose and pulled the dog on board. Then he hauled up the iron,
which was still attached to the rope, though it was not upon the bottom,
and found a paddle. Two or three minutes later he was back at the beach,
and Harry got in.

"Make for the sloop as fast as you can," he said.

Frank, now chilled to the bone, was glad to paddle, and they were soon
alongside. Harry handed him up the birds and guns when he got on board,
and then made the painter fast.

"I'll start the stove first thing while you tie two reefs in the
mainsail," he said. "I guess we'll want them, and the work will warm
you."

He disappeared below, and before he came out again Frank had managed to
get the tack and leach down, which was not so difficult now that the
sail lay along the boom.

Harry gave him a quick look.

"Go in and strip yourself," he said. "There's a blanket forward and some
coffee in the can. I'll be down by the time you have wrung out your
things."

CHAPTER XVIII

RUNNING A CARGO

On crawling into the cabin Frank found the stove burning fiercely with
the register open full blast. He was sitting near it wrapped in a thick
blanket from which his bare legs and arms protruded when Harry joined
him.

"This should thaw you out," the latter said. "The place would do for
drying fruit in. Got any coffee left?"

Frank gave him some, and when he had drunk it Harry examined some of the
garments which were hanging about the stove.

"They'll be getting fairly dry in half an hour or so and then we'll pull
out for home," he added. "It's breezing up quite smart now and I'd lie
here until morning only aunt would get badly scared. She wouldn't say
anything, but if Jake got to talking it would probably make trouble when
dad comes home."

"How did the canoe get adrift?" Frank inquired sleepily.

"That," said Harry with an excellent imitation of Mr. Barclay's manner,
"is a point I have been investigating. To begin with, the killick had
been hauled up since we pitched it over, and let go again--only on the
last occasion it was made fast so it wouldn't quite fetch the bottom."
He raised his hand in protest as Frank was about to speak. "It's a sure
thing. One strand was chafed where I took a turn with the rope, and that
frayed bit had got moved a fathom or two along. I felt about until I
struck it."

Frank started, for this confirmed a hazy suspicion which had already
been in his mind, but he stooped to pat the dog, who was licking his
uncovered foot.

"Hold on. Your tongue's rough," he said before he looked up at his
companion. "What do you make of the thing?"

"Well," said Harry, "the man who did it wanted it to look as if the
canoe had gone adrift by accident. He was on the island when we came
along and the dog got after him. It's most likely he went off in a boat
or canoe while we were making for the beach after we'd heard the
barking. Seems to me he'd some reason for wanting to keep us here."

"You think he was one of the dope men?" suggested Frank.

"I wouldn't be greatly astonished if we saw the schooner on our way
home," Harry answered with a chuckle.

There was some excuse for his amusement, because Frank looked somewhat
ludicrous as he sat thinking hard with his brows wrinkled down and the
blanket falling away from him.

"I've an idea," he announced at length. "The question, of course, is why
should the man who set the canoe adrift have landed on a desolate place
like this? I expect it's just its desolateness that brought him here.
Now the smugglers probably find it difficult to get hold of the dope in
Canada, and they may have to save it up in small parcels until it's
worth while to send the schooner through. She couldn't come often with
only a case or two, because it wouldn't pay and it would increase the
chances of somebody's seeing her. On the other hand, they may not be
able to get rid of the stuff immediately when she brings a big lot, and
in that case they'd be likely to make a cache of part of it where nobody
would be likely to strike it and their friends could come for it later.
This island ought to be just the place."

Harry made a sign of assent.

"I guess you've hit it first time, but I'll go up and get the mainsail
on her. I can manage it alone with two reefs in, and you can stay where
you are until your clothes are a little drier, unless I call you."

He went out, and Frank heard a clatter of blocks and flutter of canvas.
After that there was a sharp rattling as Harry hauled in the anchor
chain, and then the boat suddenly slanted over with a jerk which flung
Frank backward against the side of her. As he got up he heard the water
splash about her bows. A few minutes later they began to swing sharply
up and down, and the thuds against them made it evident that the sloop
was plunging close-hauled through a short, head sea. By and by the
plunges grew more violent, and struggling into his clothes, which were
partly dry, Frank put out the lamp and crawled out into the well. For a
minute or two he could see nothing as he held on by the weather coaming,
though he felt the buffeting of the wind and the sting of the spray upon
his face. Then by degrees he made out that the sloop was lying down on
one side, with the small black strip of her double-reefed mainsail
slanting sharply above her, and a filmy white cloud flying at her bows.
Suddenly the frothing water began to glitter, and on looking up he saw
that the moon, which had grown brighter, had just emerged from behind a
bank of flying cloud. Then Harry who sat at the helm called to him.

"Look yonder! Just over the bowsprit end," he cried.

Frank, gazing where his companion told him, saw a bright red twinkle low
down above the sea and apparently two or three miles away.

"A fire!" he exclaimed. "On the island by the point, isn't it?"

"A signal," Harry assented. "Guess it's to show the schooner men the
bush gang are ready." He broke into a laugh which reached Frank faintly.
"They're figuring we're safe on the island out of the way. You couldn't
see that fire from the beach we were left upon."

"What are you going to do?"

"Stand right on to where the fire is. We have to make a long leg on this
tack, anyway. When we're close up with the point we'll consider. Get a
little more head sheet in if you can."

It cost Frank an effort, though the sloop was carrying her smallest jib,
and when he had made the rope fast he crouched beside his comrade in the
partial shelter of the coaming with the dog at his feet. It was blowing
moderately fresh, and the sloop was very wet, for the tide was running
with her and she thrashed on at a great pace pitching the water all
over, while the red twinkle ahead grew steadily higher and brighter. It
was the only thing that Frank could see, because the moon had
disappeared again.

In the meanwhile he wondered what his companion meant to do, for he
fancied that Harry had something in his mind. The latter was like his
father in some respects, since he did not, as a rule, explain what his
intentions were until he was reasonably sure that he could carry them
out. One result of this was that while each seldom did less than he said
he would he not infrequently did a good deal more. Folks of this kind,
Frank reflected, inspired one with confidence.

At last, when the fire was large and bright, a head loomed up above it
with the wavering glow falling upon its rocky face. On one side of the
crag there was a strip of darkness, which Frank supposed was water, and
a little nearer him a long shadowy patch, which he knew to be an island.
He turned to Harry, who was just then glancing up at the sky.

"We'll run right into the light if you stand on much longer," he pointed
out.

He had hardly spoken when the red blaze sank down amidst an upward rush
of sparks, and as it died away Harry laughed.

"That means one of two things," he said. "Either they've given the
schooner up, or she has her anchor down inside and they've no more use
for a light that might set folks wondering, though I don't know that
anybody would be likely to see it."

"Anyway, you'll go ashore if you stand on," persisted Frank.

"It's not my intention that we should stand on," said Harry, glancing up
again at the cloud-barred sky. "We can just weather the island as she's
lying, and when that's done I could put up my helm and run through the
sound behind it. I'll do it if the moon keeps in. If the schooner's
inside yonder we ought to see her."

Frank was rather staggered by the boldness of the idea. The strait
seemed narrow and he fancied that it would be further contracted by
shallows now that the tide was getting low, while it appeared very
probable that if they saw the schooner her crew would see them. If she
were landing cargo there would be boats about, and he did not think it
would be pleasant to fall in with them, after the pains somebody had
taken in setting the canoe adrift. Still, though he was very dubious
about its wisdom, the prospect of the adventure appealed to him and
Harry seemed to take his consent for granted.

"We'll carry a fair wind through," the latter announced. "If it's
necessary we could lower the peak down and that would leave very little
canvas to be seen. You had better shorten the canoe up while I luff.
She's half full and towing heavily."

The mainsail thrashed and the speed slackened when he put down his helm,
and Frank, hauling with all his might, dragged the canoe up a little
closer astern and made her fast with a shorter rope, after which Harry
got way on the boat again. It seemed to Frank to be blowing harder, and
she swayed down farther, plunging furiously through the short seas with
a white belt of surf which had shadowy rocks behind it to lee of her.
The moon was still hidden, but it was evident that they were very close
to the end of the island. By and by the white line to lee suddenly
vanished and they stretched out into the dark water, with a high, black
mass not far ahead.

"We've got to jibe her," said Harry. "Get the peak down."

The deck was horribly slanted and slippery, but Frank made his way
forward along it while the seas which seemed steeper there drenched him
with showers of cold brine. He found the halliard and let it go, and
scrambling aft as the head of the sail swung down, helped his companion,
who was struggling with a rope, while he jammed the tiller over with his
shoulder.

"Handy!" cried Harry. "You must check the boom as it comes over."

The craft was coming round with her stern to the wind, and as she did so
the canoe came up on the top of a sea and struck her with a crash. Frank
had, however, no thought to spare for her. He was dragging at the
mainsheet as the big boom tilted up into the darkness above his head,
while the sloop rolled heavily. Then the upper part of the bagging sail
swung over with a bang and he whipped the rope around something as the
heavy spar followed it. The sloop rolled at the same time until half her
deck was in the sea, the sheet was torn furiously through his hands, and
the canoe hit her with another heavy thud as she swayed up again. Then
it drove astern, and Frank had space to gather his breath and look about
him as they swept on into smoother water.

Harry was edging in toward the low black ridge of the island, and there
was a higher mass on the opposite side crested with what appeared to be
rows of pines, with a dark gap between them. They could now hear the
surf on the weather side of the island, which told them that they were
already behind it. Four or five minutes later the channel twisted, and
as they swept around a black rock two or three lights blinked out ahead,
with a low red blaze behind them, apparently on the opposite beach.

"There she is; ready to clear at the shortest notice," said Harry,
stretching out a pointing hand. "They've kept the boom-foresail and most
of the mainsail on her, though I guess the anchor's down. We'll get the
centerboard up."

They were drawing nearer the lights rapidly, but it was two or three
minutes before Frank, who heaved the board up into its case, could make
out a black mass of fluttering canvas against the sky. Then Harry spoke
again:

"There's a shingle bank runs out not far ahead and there can't be much
water over it now the tide's nearly run out. I'm afraid I'll have to
pass on the other hand of the schooner."

Frank could understand why he did not want to do this, since the channel
was narrow and they must pass between the lights of the vessel and the
fire upon the beach. It seemed to him that it would be singularly
awkward if they met a boat coming from or going to the latter, which,
however, was precisely what befell them.

Harry ran the sloop off as far as he dared, and Frank was watching the
schooner's black hull rise higher when he made out a dim shape that
moved between her and the beach.

"A boat, sure!" cried Harry. "Get the mainsheet in. We'll have to take
our chances of the shoal."

He helped Frank with one hand, but the task was almost beyond their
strength, and while they dragged at the rope the half-seen boat and the
schooner seemed to be flying toward them. Then as they made the rope
fast and the sloop headed in toward the island a pale gleam from a light
on the vessel fell upon her. It seemed impossible to Frank that they
should not be seen, but nobody hailed them, and while he listened,
expecting every moment to hear a shout, a clatter of blocks broke
through the splash of approaching oars. Even behind the island, the
water was rather broken and the men seemed to be pulling hard.

A moment later the light faded off the sloop, though Frank could see the
schooner comparatively plainly. Her tall, shadowy canvas was fluttering
athwart the light, and beneath it a cluster of indistinct figures rose
and fell as they heaved up something with a tackle. He could hear their
voices clearly, and he was glad to remember that the dusky ridge of the
island rose behind the sloop, though he wished his companion would run
closer in with it. He had seen all he wanted and only desired to get
away as soon as possible.

It became evident by and by that Harry had run in closer than was
advisable, for there was a crash and the sloop suddenly stopped. Almost
immediately afterward she lay over with her boom and most of her deck on
one side in the water, while the tide, twisting her bows around,
threatened to pour into her over the depressed coaming. As she had come
up nearly head to wind, her mainsail thrashed furiously, jerking the
boom up out of the sea every now and then and letting it splash in
again, while the flapping jib seemed likely to snap off the head of her
rattling mast. Loose ropes appeared to be flying everywhere and Frank
clung stupidly to the coaming, uncertain what to do. They were aground
unfortunately close to the schooner, and, he feared, within sight of the
men on board her. Harry's voice, however, roused him to make an effort.

"Jump forward with the big oar! We must get her off," he said. "The
tide's still falling."

Frank trod upon and fell over the dog, who fortunately was unable to see
anything over the coaming. He scarcely heard it yelping as he scrambled
along the steeply slanted deck dragging the heavy oar. They got it over
and thrust upon it in desperate haste in an attempt to cant her bow off,
but as the tide swung her farther around her side came up against the
oar, threatening to break it or pitch the boys over the rail, and for a
while they strained every muscle in vain. Then she suddenly swung back
in the midst of a furious swirl, and Frank fell down on something that
seemed unpleasantly hard. Harry, flinging the oar upon the deck, dropped
close by, feeling for a rope.

"Get up and get hold!" he cried breathlessly. "We must box her round
with the jib. You can lie down afterward."

Frank scrambled up and pulled in a frenzy, and the boat swung farther
around. Then the mainsail ceased fluttering, and jumping aft they fell
into the well, where Frank fancied that he trod upon the dog again.
Harry immediately seized the tiller, thrusting it to weather, and the
sloop commenced to move slowly through the water, though there was a
harsh grinding beneath her. By and by she suddenly shot forward again.

"She's off!" exclaimed Harry. "Give her sheet!"

Frank let the mainsheet run and afterward leaned breathlessly upon the
coaming with a thrill of relief as they drove out into the deeper water;
but it appeared that his companion was not satisfied yet.

"She should run over to the opposite side without bringing the boom
across," he said. "There seems to be a big rock yonder and we could
heave her to in the gloom of it. If I remember, it's good water."

"What for?" asked Frank, who was anxious to get out of the channel.

"Well," said Harry, "we've seen the schooner, a boat, and a fire upon
the beach, but, after all, that's not a great deal to go upon. We want
to make sure what she's putting ashore."

The boom lifted ominously as he ran her off and Frank fancied that
somebody would certainly hear the crash if he jibed it over. She
stretched across, however, and, rounding her up close beneath a dark
rock, they hauled the jib to windward and waited. Though they were in
deep shadow, a stream of flickering radiance fell upon the water not far
away and lighted up a narrow strip of beach. A few minutes passed and
then Harry touched his companion, who saw several men cross the shingle
with loads upon their shoulders. Their figures showed black against the
light, and Frank fancied that they were carrying square wooden cases.
After them came several more figures, but these carried nothing and were
dressed differently. They looked like Chinamen and they had evidently
just got out of an unseen boat.

"Now," said Harry, "I guess that will do. If you'll trim the jib over
I'll get way on her."

Frank was glad to do it. He felt that he had seen quite enough and it
would be wiser to get away before any misadventure befell them. They ran
out of the channel and were thrashing close-hauled into a rather steep
head sea when Harry spoke again.

"There were four cases in the last lot, and another boat went ashore,"
he observed. "It looks as if they would swamp the market. Dope's dear,
and a little of it goes a mighty long way."

"Perhaps there was something else in some of the cases," suggested
Frank.

"It's possible, though from the little I know of the tariff I haven't an
idea of what it could be. Anyway, that's a proposition we can leave to
Barclay. They were certainly Chinamen and passengers who landed."

"How do you know they were passengers?" Frank inquired.

Harry laughed. "If they'd been anything else they'd have had to carry
those boxes. As a general thing, an American doesn't work while a
Chinaman watches him."

Nothing more was said, and half an hour later when pale moonlight once
more streamed down upon the water the schooner swept out of the gloom
astern of them. After that they went about and clung to the shadow along
the land until they lost sight of her shortly before they ran into the
cove.

It was very late when they reached the ranch, but they merely informed
Miss Oliver that they had had some trouble through the canoe going
adrift and had been compelled to beat back against a strong head wind.

CHAPTER XIX

THE CACHE

Mr. Oliver came home soon after the boys' visit to the island, and when
he had heard Harry's narration of their adventures he made him tell it
over again in the presence of Mr. Barclay, whom he had brought back with
him. They were sitting in the log-walled kitchen in the evening with
their chairs drawn up about the stove, and Mr. Barclay, holding his pipe
in his hand, listened gravely.

"Well," he said, when Harry had finished, "you seem to be considerably
more fortunate in these matters than I am. You have seen the schooner
several times, and other interesting things, while I haven't even had a
glimpse of the man with the high shoulder yet. I suppose I'll have to
admit at last that I've been upon his trail for some time and have made
some progress."

"You might as well have admitted it in the beginning," retorted Harry.
"Some folks progress slow."

Mr. Barclay's eyes twinkled. "As a rule, it's difficult to hustle the
Government of the United States, and I'm inclined to think the same
thing applies to that of other countries. However, as I said, we have
got ahead a little at the other end. For example, we have a tolerably
accurate notion where the dope goes."

"Then why don't you corral everybody who has anything to do with it?"

Mr. Barclay's gesture seemed to beg the boy's forbearance.

"It's a sensible question. For one thing, strictly speaking, it's not my
particular business which is really to sit in an office and dictate
instructions most of the time. To some extent, these jaunts I've had
with your father have been undertaken by way of innocent relaxation,
although they may prove useful in case certain gentlemen send me along a
list of peremptory questions on which they want reports. They do things
of that kind now and then."

"I didn't think it was your business to take a smuggler by the neck and
haul him along to the sheriff," said Harry with a reproachful air.
"Still, you could call out your subordinates and send them off to round
up the dope crowd, couldn't you? There must be some official machinery
for doing that kind of thing."

"There is," assented Mr. Barclay, refilling his pipe. "The trouble is
that it makes a certain amount of commotion, and when silence is
important you have to be careful how you set it to work. As a rule, it's
wiser to have everything ready first. The most careful plans fail
sometimes if your assistants are more keen than judicious. That"--and he
smiled at the boys--"is why I was dubious about taking you into my
confidence before."

"Thank you, sir," said Harry with ironical courtesy. "Do you mind making
what you mean to do a little plainer?"

"I'll try. In the first place, smuggling doesn't seem to be considered a
crime unless you're caught at it. In fact, a Government of any kind is
generally looked upon as fair game, and few people think much the worse
of a man who succeeds in doing it out of part of its revenue. How far
that idea's right or wrong doesn't concern me. What I must do is to
prevent it from being acted on too often, and, taking the notion for
granted; we don't want to put the laugh upon ourselves if it can be
avoided."

Harry made a sign of comprehension. "Still, if you sent your people down
here they should be able to corral part of the gang."

"I agree with you," Barclay answered dryly. "It's possible, anyway--but
what would the result be? Three or four persons of no importance might
be seized, the rest would get away with a warning, and our plans would
all be sprung." Then the stout, good-humored man seemed to change, for
his expression suddenly hardened and a look which the boys had never
noticed there before crept into his eyes. "No, sir. We want them all,
and when we move we expect to gather in the whole rascally combination."

"How can we butt in?"

"With your father's permission, you might, in the first place, invite me
to an evening's flight shooting."

"Wouldn't it be better to go across the island in the daytime with the
dog and Jake and a couple of spades?"

"No," replied Mr. Barclay. "If my opinion's of any value, I don't think
it would be wise. Besides, I understand that the best time for getting a
shot at flighting ducks is in the twilight."

Miss Oliver laughed softly. "Enterprise is a good thing, and so is
self-confidence," she broke in. "On the other hand, I fancy that one can
have too much of them, and a headstrong impatience is one of the faults
of the young West."

Mr. Oliver looked at Harry, who grew a trifle red.

"There's truth in that," he remarked. "On the whole it might be better
to leave all arrangements to the man in charge and just do what he
suggests."

"Sure," assented Harry, and as he offered no more suggestions the matter
was decided with a few more words.

Late in the next afternoon the boys set out with Mr. Barclay in the
sloop, and as what wind there was blew off the land they crept along
close in with the beach, which was high and rocky and shrouded with
thick timber. When they drew abreast of the island the tide was higher
than it had been on the last occasion, but Mr. Barclay said that they
had better leave the sloop in the little bay in front of them and cross
the channel in the canoe. He was a heavy man, and when he cautiously
dropped into the craft her stern sank ominously near the water.

"You'll have to get farther forward and sit quite still," said Harry in
a tone of authority, but with an amused look.

He took his place astern with Frank, who picked up the other paddle, in
the bow, and a stroke or two drove them out into the rippling tide. It
was growing dark, though the sky overhead was softly blue and there was
a glimmer of pale saffron around part of the horizon. To the eastward
the moon was just appearing above a bank of cloud. The wind, which had
freshened, blew very cold, and Frank shivered until the paddling warmed
him and he found that he could spare no thought for anything else. The
tide was running over the shallows with a ripple that splashed
perilously high about the side of the deeply loaded canoe, and now and
then whirling eddies drove them off their course. Once, too, they ran
aground, and Harry had to get in knee-deep to shove the craft off, while
when they approached the end of the island they had to struggle hard for
several minutes against the stream which broke into little frothing
waves, during which the canoe got very wet. They came through, however,
and reaching smoother water ran the canoe in and pulled her out, after
which Frank was about to walk off up the beach when Harry stopped him.

"One learns by experience, and I don't feel like swimming," he observed.
"We'll carry her right up and hide her in the bushes."

They did so with some difficulty and Harry afterward waited until Mr.
Barclay spoke.

"We came out shooting," said the latter. "I don't see any reason why we
shouldn't get a duck."

He turned to Harry, as if to ascertain whether he objected to this, but
the boy laughed.

"If you don't know of any, I needn't bother about the thing," he
answered. "There's a moderate breeze right off the beach and the guns
couldn't be heard far to windward."

"I'm not sure I'd mind them being heard if anybody chanced to be about.
It might save the inquisitive stranger from wondering what we were doing
here, and the excuse strikes me as a nicer one than going swimming late
at night in front of a Siwash rancherie."

Harry chuckled. "Wait until you fall over your boot tops into a pool, or
follow a crippled duck through the water."

"I shall endeavor to avoid the first thing," said Mr. Barclay. "There's
a remedy for the other, so long as I've two assistants."

They went back to the beach and waited there some time until Frank heard
a regular beat of wings, and a drawn-out wedge of dusky bodies appeared
above the trees dotted upon the sky. He was farthest from them and he
watched Mr. Barclay, who had brought a gun with him, standing, an
indistinct, half-seen figure thirty or forty yards away. At last the man
threw up his arms, there was a quick yellow flash, a crash, and then a
second streak of flame leaping from the smoke. After that there followed
two distinct and unmistakable thuds, and Frank pitched up his gun as
Harry fired. He heard two jarring reports and running forward saw Mr.
Barclay pick up a bird that had fallen almost at his feet.

"There's another over yonder," the latter remarked.

Harry found it in a minute or two and handed it to him.

"One with each barrel!" he said, and added with a rueful laugh, "I don't
see any more about."

"Then I think we'll take a look around the island," Mr. Barclay
answered.

He left the beach with the boys, but they dropped behind him and let him
take the lead when they reached the scrubby firs which were scattered
more or less thickly about the rocky ground. Frank fancied that Harry
had some reason for doing this and the supposition was confirmed when
Mr. Barclay stopped a moment beside a brake of withered fern and then,
after stooping down, carefully skirted it as he went on again. The sky
was clear, and though the moon was in its first quarter it shed a faint
elusive light.

"That man can shoot, and it looks as if he was quite as smart at picking
up a trail," said Harry in a low tone. "Anyway, if I'd been looking for
a stranger's tracks I'd have tried yonder fern and I'd have been as
particular not to smash any of it down as he was. I've an idea he must
have chuckled sometimes when I got guying him." He paused and added
thoughtfully, "It's the kind of fool thing you're apt to do unless
you're careful."

After this they spent a considerable time wandering up and down a
portion of the island, though Frank fancied that Mr. Barclay, who asked
Harry a question now and then, had some purpose that guided him. The
moonlight was too dim and the shadows among the trees too dense for him
to follow a trail steadily, but he seemed to be prospecting for likely
places where footprints or broken-down undergrowth might be found. At
length they reached a little stony hollow, with a rock that rose some
six or seven feet on one side and dark firs clustering close about it.
Here Mr. Barclay stopped and looked about him before he turned to Harry.

"Now," he said, "this is a spot that could be easily described and
located by anybody who happened to be told about it. That rock would
make a first-class mark. If you had anything to bury for somebody else
to dig up, where would you put it?"

Harry walked about the place, stepping carefully upon the stones and
avoiding the scattered underbrush, until he reached a clump of withered
fern.

"Right here," he replied, and kneeling down pulled some of the yellow
fronds about. Then he looked up sharply. "This stuff's very dead and
it's lying flat," he exclaimed. "Farther on the stems aren't broken and
some of them don't seem quite dried up yet."

Frank acknowledged that these were things he would not have noticed, but
Mr. Barclay nodded.

"Somebody else may have fixed on the same spot as you have done," he
said. "It's possible, though I don't think it's more than that. There
might be half a dozen similar places on the island, but if you'll handle
the fern carefully it wouldn't do any harm to make a hole."

They had brought a light spade with them, and after Harry had cleared
the ground Frank set to work with it. He had taken out only a few
shovelfuls of soil and shingle when he gave a cry of surprise as he
struck something that seemed more solid.

Harry and Mr. Barclay stooped down beside him. The latter struck a match
and lighted a piece of paper he took from his pocket, and before it went
out Frank had cleared the soil away from the top of a small wooden case.

"It's rather more than I could have reasonably expected," said Mr.
Barclay, "but when you haven't much to act upon it's wise to make the
most of what you've got and leave the rest to chance. Now you may as
well shovel that dirt back."

"Aren't you going to take the thing out?" Frank asked in astonishment.

"No," replied Mr. Barclay, "I don't think it's necessary. It wouldn't be
the first time I'd seen opium and we don't want to leave too plain a
trail behind us. As we have spent some time on the island already,
hadn't you better get to work?"

Frank flung back the soil and when he had finished Harry replaced the
loose fern which he had carefully laid aside. He did not, however, seem
satisfied with the way he had arranged it and when he looked up at Mr.
Barclay his manner was diffident.

"I'm afraid I can't do any better in the dark," he said.

"It will probably be dark when the next man comes along," Mr. Barclay
answered. "Anyway, the first breeze of wind or heavy rain will
straighten things up. In the meanwhile we'll get back to the sloop."

They turned away, but they had scarcely gone a hundred yards when Mr.
Barclay put his hand into his pocket and stopped.

"I've dropped my pipe," he said. "It was rather a good one."

"Then I know where it is," Frank broke in. "You must have pulled it out
with the paper. I heard something fall, but I was too interested to
bother about it. If you'll wait, I'll go back and get it."

The others sat down when he left them, but he spent some minutes
scrambling about near the fern before the faint gleam of a silver band
upon the pipe caught his eye. Picking it up he turned back to rejoin his
companions, and a few moments later he reached an opening between the
firs by which they had left the hollow. The trees rose in black and
shadowy masses on either side, but their ragged tops cut sharply against
the sky, and a faint, uncertain light shone down into the gap between
them. Soon after he strode into it Frank stopped abruptly, for there was
a crackle of dry twigs and a soft rustle somewhere in front of him, and
he could think of no reason why Harry or Mr. Barclay should come back.
If they had wanted him to do anything they could have called him.

He felt his nerves tingle as he stood and listened. The sound had ceased
and he could only hear the wind among the firs whose tops rustled
eerily. But presently the unmistakable fall of a heavy foot came out of
the shadows. Then he shrank back instinctively a pace or two into deeper
gloom, for there was no doubt that somebody was approaching, and while
he waited a black figure appeared in the opening not far in front of
him. The faint light was behind the man and he showed up against it dim
and indistinct, but Frank realized that he was not Mr. Barclay. He
looked taller and less heavily built. Then the boy dropped noiselessly
and held his breath, for a brittle branch had cracked under him. The
stranger stopped and seemed to be gazing about him.

He moved on again, however, and Frank turned his face toward the ground,
fearing that it might show white in the gloom, but it was only by a
determined effort that he held himself still and mastered the desire to
crawl back farther into the shadow. He knew that if he yielded to it he
would be on his feet in another moment and might break away into the
bush or do something else which he would afterward regret. He realized
that Mr. Barclay and Harry must have seen the stranger and had for some
reason kept out of sight and let him go by.

In the meanwhile the man was drawing nearer and Frank made out that he
was carrying something. It seemed almost impossible that he could pass
without seeing the boy, and the effort it cost the latter to lie still
became more arduous. It would have been an unspeakable relief even to
spring up and face the stranger with empty hands. Then he drew level,
and once more Frank set his lips as he listened to the footsteps. At
every moment he expected them suddenly to stop. They continued, however,
and although, since he dared not turn, he could not see the man now, it
was clear that he had passed.

Frank waited a minute or two longer and then rose softly with a gasp of
fervent relief. He was annoyed to feel that he was still quivering with
the tension and he stood still a few moments to regain his composure
before he went quietly back toward his companions. As he neared the spot
where he had left them Mr. Barclay stepped out from behind a tree.

"You met that man?" he asked.

"Yes," said Frank, "that is, I saw him coming and kept out of the way.
He walked close by me and I think he was carrying a spade."

"He was," Mr. Barclay assented. "I was afraid he might surprise you, but
we couldn't shout and warn you without alarming him, which I didn't want
to do for one or two reasons. We'll wait here until he's through with
the business that brought him."

He drew Frank farther back among the trees and soon after they sat down
a faint rustling followed by a clatter of stones reached them from the
hollow. There was no doubt that the man was digging up the case. Harry,
who was lying near Frank's feet, moved restlessly and at length he rose.

"That fellow's certainly one of the gang," he said. "I don't see why we
shouldn't get him. Frank and I could work around behind the hollow and
head him off while you walk in."

"Well," said Mr. Barclay dryly, "what would follow?"

"You could have him sent up."

"I daresay I could. What would be the use of it?"

"You'd have got one of them, anyway."

"Sure," said Mr. Barclay, "and I'd have scared off all the rest. I
suppose I must be greedy, but I wouldn't be content with one bush
chopper who probably only takes a hand in now and then. As I believe I
told you, I'm after the whole gang."

Harry said nothing further for a while, and then he stopped and
listened.

"He's coming back," he whispered.

The sound of footsteps came out of the shadow, and presently Frank saw
a dusky figure pass among the trees carrying something upon its shoulder
besides the spade. They waited until there was silence again and then
moved quietly back to the beach, from which they saw a canoe cross the
channel. Half an hour later they paddled across and duly reached the
sloop.

"If that man had known she was here he would probably not have gone,"
Mr. Barclay observed. "As he didn't see her when there was a little
light left, it's reasonable to suppose he couldn't have noticed her
coming back in the dark, and on the whole I'm satisfied with the result
of the trip. But it might be better if you went somewhere else for your
flight shooting after this."

Then they set the mainsail and started back for the cove, keeping close
in along the beach.

CHAPTER XX

MR. WEBSTER'S SLASHING

A month passed, which the boys spent quietly in grubbing up stumps and
chopping. Then Mr. Oliver suggested that they go over to Mr. Webster's
ranch and burn off his slashing, as he had promised its absent owner to
send them. He added that they could camp there for the night and get a
little hunting when they had done the work. There was a nipping air when
they started early in the morning, each with a packet of provisions and
a blanket upon his shoulder, and the newly turned clods in the clearing
were iron-hard. The Pacific Slope is warmer in winter than the Atlantic
coast, but there are times when the cold snaps are sharp enough in its
northern part, and the boys were glad to plunge into the shelter of the
woods where the frost was less stinging.

They reached the ranch without much trouble, and when they stopped at
the slip rails Frank, who had not been there before, looked about him.
The bush clearings are much alike, but this one was smaller than Mr.
Oliver's. A little, very rudely built log house stood at one end with
thick timber creeping close up behind it. There was also an unusual
quantity of underbrush among the stumps near the door, which Frank had
occasion to notice more particularly later. In the meanwhile it struck
him that the place had an uncared-for look and Harry seemed to share his
opinion.

"Webster's a very ordinary rancher," he remarked. "He can't stay with a
thing and finish it. When he's about halfway through he lets up and
starts something else. Any other man would have grubbed out all that
withered stuff about the house and chopped back the bush behind it. It's
not safe to have big trees growing so close."

"Why?" asked Frank.

"Because of the fires. They come along every now and then. It's lucky
there's no wind to speak of, because I wouldn't put a light to this
slashing if there was."

Frank glanced at the belt of fallen timber behind the fence on one side
of the clearing. It had been badly cut and some of the trees lay across
each other, while only a few of the branches had been sawed off and the
undergrowth had not been mowed. If the fall had not been a dry one it
would have been difficult to burn the slashing. Then he glanced up at
the leaden-gray sky above the pine tops and fancied that it looked
threatening. The dense wall of somber sprays seemed unusually harsh of
aspect, and there was something curious about the light. Everything was
gray and raw-edged, and he shivered, for the faint wind had blown across
a wilderness of snowy mountains.

"It's not the kind of day for hanging round," he said. "Let's get to
work."

Entering the house they found a can of coal oil and plenty of rags, for
a heap of worn-out clothing lay in a corner.

"They'll hold oil and that's about all they're good for," Harry
remarked. "I expect it's months since Webster pitched them there with
the idea that he might mend them sometime."

Frank carried out one or two of the duck garments, and when they had
torn them up and soaked them in coal oil he and Harry set about lighting
fires here and there in the slashing, after which they stood near the
door of the house and watched the conflagration. The fires spread
rapidly, and one side of the clearing was soon wrapped in crackling
flame that worked backward from the neighborhood of the fence, licking
up branches and undergrowth as it neared the bush. That did not stop it,
for the fire had flung out advance guards which leaped forward swiftly
through the withered fern and hurled themselves in crimson waves upon
the standing trunks. They seemed to splash upon them, flinging up
fountains of blazing brands and sparks that seized upon the lower sprays
and sprang aloft until each assaulted tree was wrapped in fire from base
to summit. The conflagration made the draught it needed, and by and by
it roared in what seemed to Frank malicious triumph as it pressed onward
into the forest under a cloud of rolling smoke. Where it would stop he
did not know, but he was almost uncomfortably impressed by the
spectacle.

"It's a full-power burn," said Harry approvingly. "Guess it's going to
clean up this slashing. And now we'll look around and see if Webster's
left anything we can make our dinner in."

There was a stove in the house, but they soon discovered that it did not
burn well, and Harry glanced disgustedly at the spider Frank discovered.

"A hole in the bottom of it!" he said contemptuously. "That's the kind
of thing Webster uses. I'll be astonished if you don't find another hole
in the kettle. You had better go along to the well and fill it."

In a few minutes Frank came back with the kettle, which fortunately did
not leak, and Harry set it on the stove and laid a piece of pork in the
spider, which he tilted on one side.

"It's going to be about an hour before that kettle boils, and, though I
feel like doing it, there's no use in straightening up this shack in the
meanwhile because the man would muss it up again as soon as he comes
back. There's a slough beyond the rise yonder, and as it lies to
windward we might get a shot at something. We could be back before
dinner's ready."

Frank would have preferred to stay where he was, as he had already done
a good morning's work. He assented, however, and accompanied Harry up a
steep and very rough slope and down the opposite side of it. When they
reached the bottom they plunged into a waste of tall grass and
half-decayed vegetation among the roots of which the frost had not
penetrated. As the result of this they sank to the knees here and there,
and Frank more than once fell down. He soon had enough of it, but he was
beginning to realize that there was very little worth doing in the bush
which could be accomplished, so to speak, with one's gloves on. The
small rancher and hunter must expect to get wet and ragged, as well as
weary and dirty, and must face the unpleasantness cheerfully and mend
his clothes afterward. The only other course was to stay in the cities.

Presently Harry discovered the tracks of a deer leading out of the
valley and pointed them out to his companion.

"You won't mind waiting for your dinner?" he asked.

"No--not very much," Frank answered dubiously.

This satisfied Harry, who led the way up the hillside, and it seemed to
Frank that they scrambled over fallen logs and branches and through
thick undergrowth for the greater part of an hour before they crept
carefully down again to another hollow. Though they floundered all
around it there was no sign of the deer, and Frank was relieved when his
companion intimated that they might as well go back to the ranch. Dinner
was the first thought in both their minds when they reached it, but it
struck Frank that the fire had become a tremendous conflagration and he
noticed that a dense cloud of smoke was blowing across the clearing.

"It's a real fierce burn and there's more wind than there was, but
we'll get a meal before we look around," Harry remarked.

There were, however, one or two difficulties in the way of their doing
this. The kettle had boiled nearly dry, and the pork had disappeared
through the burned-out bottom of the spider. Harry said that he could
manage to fry another piece on the rim of it if Frank would refill the
kettle, and eventually they sat down to dinner and spent a long while
over it. Then Harry got up reluctantly.

"I guess we had better see what the fire's doing," he observed.

Frank was almost appalled when he reached the doorway. The whole
clearing was thick with smoke, out of which there shot up a furious wall
of fire that rose and fell with a crackle resembling volleys of riflery
and a roaring even more disconcerting. What was worse, it seemed to be
creeping into the thick bush behind the house, and Harry, running a few
paces toward the corner of the building, stopped aghast with the red
light flickering on his dismayed face.

"Dad promised he'd get Webster's slashing burned, but it wasn't in the
contract that we'd burn off his house," he said. "We'll have to hustle.
See if there's an ax and grubhoe in that woodshed."

Frank found the tools, and while he attacked the larger bushes near the
back of the house, Harry began to cut down the undergrowth in front of
it. By and by Frank came back and they dragged the brush away toward the
clearing where it could burn harmlessly, but the smoke grew more
blinding and every now and then a shower of sparks fell about the boys.
Fires sprang up among the underbrush, and falling upon them with the ax
and spade they savagely thrashed them out. Frank burned his hands in
doing so, but there was no time to trouble about that and he toiled on,
coughing and choking, until at last they were forced to stop for
breath.

They stood close in front of the house, with a mass of withered fern and
half-burned brush smoldering in front of them, while a sheet of fire
rose and fell amidst dense clouds of smoke behind the building. The
daylight appeared to be dying out, but Frank could not be sure of that,
because it was almost dark one moment as the smoke rolled about them and
the next they stood dazzled by a flood of radiance.

"We have done 'most all we can," said Harry wearily. "It was the wind
getting up that made the trouble--I should have noticed it--but if it
stands for the next half hour we ought to save the house. The fire's
eating back into the bush all the while."

"Should we get any of the things out?" Frank asked.

"I'm not smart at handling hot stoves, and there's mighty little else in
the place," Harry answered with a laugh. "I wouldn't bid a dollar for
Webster's pans and crockery, and he made the table and the two chairs.
Still, I don't know any reason why we shouldn't sling them out."

Just then the smoke rolled down about the boys in a blinding cloud;
there was a great snapping and crackling, and a shower of blazing
fragments drove them back thirty or forty yards across the clearing.
Presently the smoke thinned, and a row of stripped trunks behind the
house was outlined against a tremendous sheet of flame. Frank took off
his hat and shook a few red embers from the crown of it.

"When we were getting those rags I noticed a keg behind them," he said.

"A keg?" said Harry sharply.

"A little keg. It looked thick and strongly made."

The red light struck full upon Harry's face, and Frank saw that
consternation was stamped upon it.

"Then," he said, "it's full of coarse, tree-splitting powder. Some of
the ranchers use it for blowing out stumps. Did you notice whether it
had been opened?"

"The head seemed loose and one of the hoops had been started."

"Sure!" said Harry with dismay in his voice. Then he broke out in quick
anger: "It's just the kind of thing Webster would leave lying around
near his stove, without taking the trouble to head it up again. He'll
have some detonators lying loose, too--I've heard he uses giant powder.
We've got to bring them out."

They looked at each other with set faces while the sparks whirled about
the house, and both were conscious of an almost uncontrollable impulse
to vacate the clearing with the greatest possible speed. It was to their
credit that they mastered it, and in a moment or two Harry spoke again:

"The sparks shouldn't get at the keg if we put a jacket over it, and one
of us could carry all the detonators Webster's likely to have in his
pocket."

Frank had heard that the big copper caps which are used to fire giant
powder will contain a tremendously powerful fulminate, and he was
conscious of a very natural reluctance to carry a number of them about
his person through the showers of fiery particles that fell about the
building. Indeed, he afterward confessed that if Harry had not been with
him nothing would have induced him to approach it. How he screwed up his
courage he did not know, but as the flame leaped up again the sight of a
strip of blazing fence had its effect. The rest of it had been
destroyed, and he felt they must make an effort to save the house.

"It wouldn't take us long to get the powder out," he said with a note of
uncertainty in his voice.

Harry sprang forward and Frank was glad that he did so. He realized that
this was not a matter for calm discussion, and vigorous action was a
relief. Another cloud of smoke met them as they drew near the house,
and the sparks that came flying out of it fell thick about them. The
heat scorched their faces and they gasped in the acrid vapor, while
Frank's eyes were smarting intolerably when he staggered into the
building. There was, however, less smoke inside it, and a fierce light
beat in through one window. Flinging the old clothes about they came
upon the keg and found that the head was lying loose. Working in
desperate haste they forced the top hoop upward and Harry wrapped a
woolen garment over the top of the keg. After that he flung everything
in a lidless wooden case out upon the floor and pounced upon a little
box that fell among the rest.

"Detonators!" he shouted. "What's in the packet near you?"

Frank tore the paper savagely. "It looks like thick black cord."

"Fuse," said Harry. "It's harmless. I don't see any giant powder. Hold
on. I'll look around his sleeping room."

He vanished through an inner door and Frank soon heard him throwing
things about. The suspense of the next few moments was almost
unbearable. A pulsating radiance alternately lighted up the room and
grew dim again, and the roar and crackle of the fire set his nerves
tingling. Then Harry ran back toward him.

"I can't find any giant powder," he reported, and added, "get hold of
the keg. We'll carry it between us."

Frank set his lips as they sprang out of the door with it. The keg was
not remarkably heavy, but it was an awkward shape and too big for either
of them to carry on his shoulder or beneath his arm. Indeed, Frank felt
his hands slipping from its rounded end and he was horribly afraid of
dropping it among the patches of smoldering undergrowth and glowing
fragments which lay all about him. A few moments later thick smoke
whirled about him, and he hardly breathed as he struggled through it
until it blew away again. Then, to his relief, he saw that the house was
some distance behind them and they were clear of the worst of the
sparks. They went on, however, to the opposite side of the clearing,
where they deposited the powder, and then dropped the detonators a
little farther on, after which Harry sat down on the frozen ground
panting heavily.

"It's done and I want to get my breath," he said. "The next time I burn
a slashing I'll see there's no powder about the place before I begin."

Frank made no answer. He was glad to sit still and recover, for the
strain had told on him. Indeed, he was almost sorry when his companion
stood up again.

"Perhaps we had better get back and pitch some water on the roof," he
suggested. "I was too busy to think of that before."

The wind seemed to be dropping and the sparks were not quite so bad when
they reached the house. They found a bucket, and after smashing more of
the ice upon the shallow well Frank climbed up on the woodshed which
reached to the low roof. The latter was covered with cedar shingles and
he wondered why it had not ignited, because the sparks were still
dropping upon it and there were several charred spots. This, however,
was not a question of much consequence, and Harry kept him busy during
the next half hour sluicing the roof with water which he passed up in
the bucket. Some of it went over Frank's hands and clothing and it was
icy cold, but they worked on steadily while the fire worked back farther
from them into the bush. It had burned most fiercely when it had the dry
branches in the slashing to supply it, but these were all licked up, and
though the small stuff blazed the great standing trunks would not burn.
There were already rows of them rising, charred and blackened columns,
behind the slashing.

At last Harry called Frank down from the roof.

"You can let up," he said. "It's hardly likely we'll have any more
trouble. There's a lamp and some canned stuff in the shack, and as we'll
have to camp here I'll make some coffee. It's quite dark now."

Frank concluded that it had been dark some time, though he had not
noticed when dusk crept down. He was glad to find the stove still
burning when he entered the house, very wet, and aching in every limb.
The kettle was soon boiling, and, as there was no bottom in the spider,
Harry, who had found a bag of flour and a can of syrup, contrived to
make some flapjacks and what he called biscuit on the top of the stove.
He said that this would be no drawback because Mr. Webster never blacked
the thing, and Frank found no fault with the cakes when they ate them
hot with syrup.

Then they filled up the stove with the full draught on and lounged
contentedly beside it while their clothing dried on them. They had had a
heavy day, but now that the danger was over they were no more than
comfortably weary and the thrill of the last stirring hours remained
with them. Frank felt that they had done something worth while that
afternoon.

When he diffidently pointed it out Harry laughed.

"Sure!" he agreed. "Still, it's quite likely that Webster will get
jumping mad when he sees his fence, though it won't take him many days
to split enough rails for a new one."

A little later Frank walked across the room and opened the door. The
undergrowth on one side of the clearing gleamed white with frost. On the
other side a few big branches still snapped and glowed, and there was a
red glare behind the black rows of trunks, but it was now broken by
patches of darkness and he could see that the fire was rapidly dying
out. He came back with a shiver and sat down in his warm seat beside the
stove.

CHAPTER XXI

A NIGHT ON THE SANDS

There was a sprinkle of snow upon the ground, and the boys were working
in Mr. Oliver's slashing one afternoon a week after their visit to Mr.
Webster's ranch when Harry, who had just hauled up a log, stopped his
oxen and addressed his father.

"It looks as if it would be a fine night," he remarked.

"Yes," said Mr. Oliver. "I've no fault to find with the weather. We'll
get most of the logs piled for burning if it lasts."

Harry smiled at Frank. "Dad's slow to take a hint. I wasn't thinking of
the logs."

"I can believe it," Mr. Oliver retorted. "Anyway, they have to be hauled
out, and it's easier to do it now than when the soil's soft and boggy."

Frank, who had been heaving the sawed trunks on top of one another with
Jake, agreed with the rancher. The big masses of timber slid easily over
the snow and they were clean to handle, which was something to be
thankful for after the difficulty they had had in moving them when they
were foul with clotted mire. The frost, as he had discovered, seldom
lasted long in that country, but it was very cold and the firs towered
flecked with snow against a clear blue sky.

"I was wondering if there was any reason why we shouldn't try to get a
duck to-night," said Harry. "We won't go near the island where the cache
is. There's a flat behind the other one to the southward."

"I can think of one reason," his father answered. "You won't feel like
working to-morrow, and there's a good deal of log-hauling to be done."

"We'll be ready to start as usual," persisted Harry.

"Then you can go on that condition, but you'll have to stick to it. I
don't mind your getting a few hours' shooting now and then, but I expect
you to be ranchers first of all when there's work on hand."

Harry repeated his assurance and Mr. Oliver made no more objections.
When they had heaved up the next log Jake turned to the boys.

"There'll be a moon and I guess you're not going to do much on the
flats," he said. "You want to cut two very short paddles and put some
spruce brush that you can lie on in the canoe. Then if you keep quite
flat you might creep up on a flock of ducks in one of the channels. You
can't do it if you use the ordinary paddle kneeling."

He split them two flat slabs off the butt of a cedar, but Mr. Oliver,
who was chopping nearby, looked around when Harry began to hack them
into shape.

"What are those for?" he asked.

"Paddles," Harry answered with some hesitation.

"You're logging just now," said his father dryly. "I want another tier
put up before it's dark."

Harry laid down the half-finished paddles and grinned at Frank.

"I guess dad's quite right, but his way of staying with it gets riling
now and then."

Frank laughed. One day when Harry had hurt his knee and there was no
work of any consequence on hand, Mr. Oliver had taken him out into the
bush, and the boy had a painful recollection of the journey they had
made together. No thicket was too dense or thorny for the rancher to
scramble through, and he prowled about the steepest slopes and amongst
the thickest tangles of fallen logs with the same unflagging persistency
until at the first shot he killed a deer. Mr. Oliver was, as his son
and Jake sometimes said, a stayer, one who invariably put through what
he took in hand. He was the kind of person Frank aspired to become,
though he was discovering that he was not likely to accomplish it by
taking things easily. Success, it seemed, could only be attained by
ceaseless effort and constant carefulness.

He went on with the logging, though the work was remarkably heavy, and
it was an occupation he had no liking for, but he helped Harry to finish
the paddles after supper. Then they carried a bundle of spruce twigs
down to the canoe, and, though there was not much wind, tied a reef in
the sloop's mainsail, which Mr. Oliver had insisted on before they
loosed the moorings.

An hour later and shortly before low water they let go the anchor in a
lane of water which wound into a stretch of sloppy sand. It was just
deep enough for the sloop to creep into with her centerboard up, and the
flats ran back from it into a thin mist on either side. It was very cold
and the deck glittered in the pale moonlight white with frost. Frank
stood up looking about him while Harry arranged the twigs in the canoe,
but there was very little to see. The sky was hazy, the moon was
encircled by a halo, and wet sand and winding water glimmered faintly.
At one point he could dimly make out the dark loom of an island, but
there was no sign of the beach in front of him. Though he could feel a
light wind on his face, it was very still, except for the ripple of
water and the occasional splash of undermined sand falling into the
channel, which seemed startlingly distinct. Once he heard a distant
calling of wildfowl, but it died away again.

Dropping into the canoe when his companion was ready he took up one of
the longer paddles. The water was quite smooth and they made good
progress, but Harry did not seem satisfied.

"If I'd had any sense I'd have brought a pole to shove her with," he
complained. "It's handier in shallow water and the ducks seem to be a
long way up. A creek that runs out on the beach makes this channel."

Frank paddled on, watching the sloppy banks slide by and the palely
gleaming strip of water run back into the haze in front of him until at
last it forked off into two branches.

"We'll try this one," said Harry. "I believe it works right around
behind the island. The flood should come up that end first, and it ought
to drive the feeding birds back over the sands to us."

The water got deeper as they proceeded, for Frank could feel no bottom
when he sank his blade, but there was no sign of any duck until at last
they heard a faint quacking in the mist. Soon afterward there was a
shrill scream as a flock of some of the smaller waders wheeled above
their heads.

"Now," said Harry, "we'll try Jake's idea. If the ducks aren't on the
water they'll be along the edge of it where the bank's soft. You don't
often find them feeding where the sand's dry and hard."

They placed the guns handy, and lying down upon the spruce brush dipped
the short blades. Frank found the position a very uncomfortable one to
paddle in, and he could not keep his hands from getting wet, though the
water was icy cold. They were fast becoming swollen and tingled
painfully in the stinging frost. Still, the boys made some progress, and
at last looking up at a whisper from Harry, Frank saw a dark patch upon
the water some distance in front of him. Harry edged the canoe closer in
with the bank, which had a slope of two or three feet on that side.

After that they crept on slowly, because they dared not use much force
for fear of splashing, and Frank's wet fingers were rapidly growing
useless. The ducks became a little more distinct and he could see other
birds moving about in the faint gleam on the opposite bank. Some of
them, standing out against the wet surface, looked extraordinarily
large, though he could not tell what they were.

At last a sudden eerie screaming broke out close ahead and Frank started
and almost dropped his paddle as a second flock of waders rose from the
gloom of the bank. They flashed white in the moonlight as they turned
and wheeled on simultaneously slanted wings. Then they vanished for a
moment as their dusky upper plumage was turned toward the boys, gleamed
again more dimly, and the haze swallowed them. They had, however, given
the alarm, and the air was filled with the harsh clamor of startled
wildfowl.

"Now!" cried Harry. "Before the ducks get up!"

Frank flung in his paddle and pitched his gun to his shoulder, with the
barrel resting on the side of the canoe. It sparkled in the moonlight,
distracting his sight, and stung his wet hand, but he could see dark
bodies rising from the water ahead. As he pressed the trigger Harry's
gun blazed across the bows, and following the double crash there was an
outbreak of confused sound, the sharp splash of webbed feet that trailed
through water, a discordant screaming, and the beat of many wings.
Indistinct objects whirled across the moonlight and as Frank with
stiffened fingers snapped open the breach Harry's gun once more flung
out a train of yellow sparks. Then the smoke hung about them smelling
curiously acrid in the frosty air and they seized the paddles to drive
the canoe clear of it. When they had left it behind them the lane of
water was empty except for one small dark patch upon it, and the clamor
of the wildfowl was dying away. They had paddled a few yards when Frank
made out that something was stumbling away from them along the shadowy
bank, but they were almost abreast of it before he could get another
shell into the chamber. The bird lay still when he fired, and Harry
picked up the duck on the water, after which he ran the canoe ashore.

"So far as I could see, the rest of them headed across the flat toward
the other channel," he said. "It looks soft here, but, as you'll have to
get out to pick up the duck yonder, it might be a good idea if you
followed them over the sand. I'll work along the creek and it's likely
that any birds I put up will fly over you."

This seemed possible to Frank, who realized that the walk would warm
him, and he stepped out of the canoe into several inches of slushy sand.
Floundering through it, he picked up the duck and threw it to Harry, who
shoved the canoe out.

"I won't go far and you had better head back toward the forks in half an
hour or so," he said. "I'll probably be waiting."

The canoe slid away, and Frank felt sorry that he had left her when he
reached the harder top of the bank. The level flat which stretched away
before him into the mist looked very desolate, and the deep stillness
had a depressing effect on him. He also remembered that in another hour
or less the flood tide would come creeping back across the dreary waste.
He could, however, think of no reasonable excuse for rejoining his
companion, and turning his back on the channel he set out across the
sand. Nothing moved upon it as he plodded on, the silence seemed to be
growing deeper, and he had an idea that the haze was denser than it had
been. Still, he determined to make the round Harry had suggested and
quickened his pace.

It was some time later when he heard a double report that sounded a long
way off and he stopped to listen, when the clamor of the wildfowl broke
out again. It died away, but he fancied that a faint, rhythmic sound
stole out of the silence that followed it. A minute later he was sure
that a flight of ducks was crossing the flat and, what was more, that
the birds were heading toward him. As yet he could see nothing of them,
for there was now no doubt that the mist was thicker. He crouched down
as the sound increased, as it occurred to him that he would be too
plainly visible standing up in the moonlight on the level flat.

The sound drew nearer, growing in a steady crescendo until he wondered
that a duck's wing could make so much noise, and at last a number of
shadowy objects broke out of the mist, flying low and swiftly in regular
formation. The gun flashed, and the ducks swept on and vanished, all but
one which came slowly fluttering down out of the mist.

Frank spent nearly a minute fumbling with stiffened fingers while he
crammed in another shell, and then saw that the duck was running across
the sand some way off. Closing the breach he set off after it, and had
got a little nearer when it rose, fluttered awkwardly, and fell again,
though it was able to make good progress on its feet. Twice he got
within sixty yards of it, but on one occasion it flew a little way, and
on the second it swam across a long pool which he had to run around.
Indeed, it led him a considerable distance before he brought it down.

Picking it up he stopped and looked about him. It was pleasant to feel a
little warmer, but there was nothing to guide him toward the other fork
of the channel except the drift of the mist and the chill of the wind
upon one side of his face, and he could not be sure that the wounded
bird had led him straight. The flat was level and bare except for little
pools of water on which were glistening filaments of ice. It was,
however, too cold to stand still with wet feet and consider, and
deciding that the sooner he got down to the forks the sooner he would be
back on board the sloop, he set off briskly. He had had enough of
wandering about that desolate waste.

At last, to his relief, he saw a faint silvery glimmer ahead in the
mist, and turning off he struck the channel a little lower down. There
was no sign of a duck or anything else, but he was by no means sorry
for this, for his one idea was to get back to the forks as soon as
possible, and the surest way of doing it was to follow the creek. It
appeared to be a considerable distance, though he walked as fast as he
could, splashing straight through shallow pools and slipping in
half-frozen mud, and when at last he reached the spot where the channels
branched off he could see nothing of Harry or the canoe. What troubled
him almost as much was the fact that the stream was now flowing inland,
and after a quick glance at it he shouted with all his might. His voice
rang along the water and level sand, but though he called again no
answer came out of the drifting mist. Then he slipped his hand into his
pocket to get a cartridge and drew it out again with an exclamation of
disgust, recollecting that he had only picked up three or four loose
shells in the canoe.

For a moment he stood still considering, and it occurred to him that the
situation was not a pleasant one. The flood tide was making and he did
not know how far off the beach was, while he had no desire to spend the
night in the woods. He could not see the island, and in order to reach
it he would have to cross the main channel, which, as he remembered, was
moderately deep. On the whole it seemed wiser to wade through the
smaller fork and, if Harry did not overtake him in the meanwhile, try to
get on board the sloop. She would float in very shallow water with her
centerboard up, and he had touched bottom with the canoe paddle a few
yards away from her.

When he had arrived at this decision he plunged into the water, which
immediately rose above the top of his long boots. It was horribly cold,
but this caused him less concern than the fact that it rippled strongly
against his legs, which made it clear that he must get down to the sloop
as fast as possible. He was over his knees before he got across, and
then he ran his hardest along the edge of the channel, which seemed to
be growing wider at every moment. The palely gleaming water was
perfectly smooth, but it was moving with an ominous speed.

He grew breathless, but he did not slacken the pace. He went straight,
splashing through trickling water and into pools, while he strained his
eyes for the first glimpse of the sloop, but he could only see the mist
which hid the sand thirty or forty yards in front of him. At last he
made out a strip of something solid low down ahead and then what seemed
to be a mast, and a few moments later he stopped at the water's edge.
There was nothing but water in front of him and it was no longer quite
smooth. Little ripples ran along the sand, and one broke about his feet
while he gazed at them. It did not recede but splashed on, and when he
looked around there was at least a yard of water behind him. Then he
struggled with a paralyzing sense of dismay, and strove to keep his
head. It was necessary to think and think very hard.

He could not wait where he was with the water deepening about him;
while, if he went back and did not find Harry before he reached it, the
creek, which he would no longer be able to cross, would head him off. If
he followed it up on the near side it would take him away from the
canoe, and he did not know how far off the beach was. There was
evidently only one thing to be done and that was to get on board the
sloop even if he had to swim.

She seemed a horribly long way out, but he splashed in hurriedly, afraid
to wait a moment lest his resolution should melt away, and he was soon
waist-deep with a strong stream swirling around him. It was almost
impossible to keep his feet, the gun hampered him, and the coldness of
the water seemed to check his breathing and take the power out of his
limbs. He could not go back, however, and face a journey through the
mist across the waste of sand, and setting his lips he struggled on.
Twice he was almost swept away, but at last making a savage effort he
clutched the stern of the craft and scrambled up on to her deck.

The first thing he did was to light the stove, and when a pleasant
warmth began to fill the cabin he was conscious of a strong desire to
sit still and dry his clothes. That, unfortunately, was out of the
question, and he reluctantly crawled out and stood up on deck. There was
nothing but water around him now. It stretched back on every side into
the mist, and the only sounds were the soft lap of the tide and the
ripple it made flowing over thinly covered sand. Then having already
decided that Harry would have some difficulty in paddling against the
stream, he set about getting sail upon the craft to go in search of the
canoe.

The mainsail looked remarkably big and heavy, and he was thankful that
there was a reef in it, which made the task a little easier before he
got it up. Then he spent several minutes in very hard work heaving the
boat up to her anchor, and bruised his swollen hands in the determined
effort it cost him to break it out. After that he set the jib and the