Chapter VIII: Part 8

Stickine smiled dryly. "That's quite right," he said. "The sea, and just the sea--that sets Donegal talking like one of those patent medicine books--and if we had a thousand dollars which of us wouldn't be glad to leave it? Still, I've no use for a man who goes back on his own country, and if it's solid meanness and wickedness you're wanting, you'll find them and Motter quite close together."

"He must work if he catches seals," said Niven.

Charley grinned ironically. "I guess you've found that out, but when Motter has any pelts to sell it's tolerably plain figuring he stole them. Tricked the Indians out of them--though they're not Indians on this side either--and they didn't belong to them, anyway."

"Then why don't the Russians run him out?" asked Appleby.

Stickine laughed softly. "I guess the ones who would do don't know," he said. "This is a kind of curious country."

Just then Jordan flung back the scuttle. "Get your boat over, Stickine. I'm going ashore," he said.

Stickine rose, and Montreal, who had been sitting gloomily silent, looked up. "If you've any use for me I'd like to come along," he said.

Jordan shook his head. "It 'pears to me you're better where you are," he said.

Montreal sighed, but said nothing, and in a few minutes Niven and Appleby were pulling the skipper ashore. It was raining when they stepped out on the beach, and saw for the first time a ramshackle wooden house that seemed falling to pieces beneath a dripping crag. Two great dogs growled at them as they picked their way towards it amidst a litter of fish-bones and offal that had been apparently flung out of the windows. Then somebody beat off the dogs, and when they went in a man who lay in a skin chair by the stove nodded to them. A smoky lamp hung above him, and the lads felt a curious disgust as they glanced at him. His eyes were red and bleary, though there was a blink of evil cunning in them, and his puffy cheeks overhung his chin. He seemed horribly flabby, and wore greasy canvas garments which looked as though nobody had ever washed them. Appleby realized as he watched him that loneliness is not good for a white man unless he has work to do.

"How are you, Motter?" said Jordan. "This place hasn't made you tired yet? It's kind of forlorn for a Britisher."

Appleby fancied there was a little half-scornful inflection in the skipper's voice, which was not altogether astonishing, for the building had a horrible smell, and here and there the rain dripped in, but Motter laughed.

"Well," he said, "I was an American too, and I guess I'm a Russian now. Up here it pays one better--but it's business you came after?"

Jordan nodded, and the contrast between his lean, bronzed face and steady eyes and that of the other man did not escape the lads' attention. "Got anything to sell?" he asked.

"I might have," said Motter. "Still, I'm in no way anxious, because by and by there's a steamer coming along, and I've no great use for dry talking."

He thrust a bottle towards the skipper, but Jordan shook his head. "That's a stuff I'm not used to, and I don't like the smell," he said. "Well, now, let me hear what you've got and I'll make you a bid. This place is a little too open to leave the schooner long."

Appleby fancied Motter was not pleased at this, but he helped himself freely to the liquor, and for half-an-hour he and the skipper were busy bargaining. Neither of the lads quite understood all they said, and they sat vacantly listening to the rumble of the surf, until at last Motter raised his hand.

"Well," he said with a curious little laugh that jarred upon the lads unpleasantly, "you're too keen for me, and it will save worry if I let you have the skins. I want one hundred dollars down for the bundle I've got here, and you can take them with you or leave them until you come back again. The rest are lying at Peter's Bay, but I'll be there to hand them over or send one of my people along the beach, and across by the skin boat. It's going to take you some time to get there with the wind ahead."

"It's a deal," said Jordan, counting out the dollar bills. "We should fetch the beach by to-morrow evening. You haven't seen any gunboat round here lately?"

"No, sir," said Motter. "There's none nearer than Peter Paul, and I'm going to be a richer man if they'll keep away. By the way, I heard they had a Canadian at the sealing post."

"Are you sure of that?" asked Jordan. "What would he be doing there?"

Motter fumbled at his glass. "Well, I don't quite know," he said. "Still, I scarcely figure he was there because he liked it. Anyway, the folks could tell you more about him at Peter's Bay."

Somebody was waving a lantern on the schooner and the roar of the surf had grown louder when they returned to the beach, while it was with difficulty the lads got the boat afloat. Jordan did not seem pleased at something, and bade them pull their hardest, for the wind had gone round and the sea was working in.

"It's kind of unfortunate Motter didn't remember he'd lost his store key before he got my dollars," he said reflectively. "Still, it's no great risk, because he knows we could pull the place down for him when we come back."

The schooner was plunging viciously when they reached her, and while they swung the boat in Jordan said, "Get the trysail and foresail on her, and we'll let her lie to when we're round the head." Then he signed to Appleby. "You'll not tell them anything about that Canadian."

They beat out of the bay they had only a few hours earlier beaten into, and, for the sun was going back to the south now, it was quite dark when on the next night they crept into an inlet hemmed in by smoking reefs. The wind was fresh and astern of them, but when they brought the schooner to off the first of the reefs Jordan stopped Stickine who was about to lower her forward sails.

"It's not going to take us long to bring off a boatload of skins, and you'll keep the canvas on her," he said. "I've no use for taking chances with a man like Motter."

Appleby, of course, understood that as there was evidently a seal rookery not far away it would be perilous for Jordan to be discovered within Russian limits, but he could not see how he would run any risk since there was no gun-boat in the vicinity. He had seen that Jordan could be daring, but he fancied he was almost needlessly cautious when, although only one was wanted for the skins, he had two boats swung out. He also sent back Montreal, who would have gone in one of them, and bade the men bring their sealing-clubs with them, which seemed curious, since if they fell in with any Russians, it would be a proof that they were prepared to kill seals ashore.

It was dark save for the light of a half-moon when they started, and when they landed with difficulty through the smoking surf the beach was wrapped in shadow. Here and there a boat of some kind was drawn up, but nobody could see them clearly, and the only light was the blink from the windows of a tottering wooden house.

"You lads will come with me," said Jordan. "Donegal and Charley too. The rest of you will stand by the boats and keep your eyes open."

Then they turned towards the house, and when Appleby afterwards recalled that night he could remember the pungent smell of the weed, and the curious shrinking he felt when he set his foot on a fish head or some of the slimy offal that lay everywhere around. He could just see the schooner, flitting a dim shape across the long heave that rolled into the bay and frothed upon the roaring beaches. It was some minutes before they reached the house, which seemed horribly damp and foul, and found Motter sitting at a table. His eyes had, Appleby fancied, a little cunning gleam, and his hand seemed to tremble slightly.

"Excuse me coming down to meet you. This place is rough on one's legs," he said. "Well, you have come to put the deal through and brought the dollars?"

"Yes," said Jordan. "As I'm anxious to be off I want it done right now."

"That will suit me," said Motter. "If you don't want to be sociable you can come along and count the skins."

He limped before them into an adjoining room, which was littered with bundled furs, and Appleby noticed that while these were no doubt of value, and there was a shutter to the window, it was not closed. Motter also turned the lamp up a little, though it was apparently burning well, when he set it on a table. Then Jordan opened several bundles of the furs, and when the two other men took up a load Motter laughed a little as he said, "Haven't you forgot the dollars?"

Jordan looked at him steadily. "You'll get them all right when we're through. This lot 'bout squares up the others I didn't get from you."

Motter smiled again. "Well," he said dryly, "a man would have to get up tolerably early if he wanted to come in ahead of you."

Then Donegal and Charley went back to the boat with their bundles, and Motter sat down watching Jordan sort out and count the furs.

"Quite sure you've got them all?" he said ironically when the skipper stopped at last. "Then we'll go back to the stove. It's kind of shivery here."

"Shall I bring the lamp along?" asked Jordan.

"Leave it there. We've another in the room," said Motter, and fumbled about some time striking a good many matches before he lighted it, while Appleby became sensible of a curious uneasiness as he watched him. There was no apparent reason for this, but he fancied the man could have been quicker had he wanted. At last the lamp was lighted, and Motter sat down at the table with his face towards the door.

"You've seen the furs are there?" he said.

Jordan took out his wallet, and laid a roll of dollar bills on the table. He had another in his hand when Donegal stood in the doorway signing to him.

"You're wanted out here," he said.

Jordan asked no questions but rose at once, and Appleby, fancying there had been a change of wind, followed him. When they stood outside Donegal laid his hand on the skipper's arm, and Appleby saw that he and Charley both carried their clubs.

"'Tis a trap the beast has laid for us. Will I tell them to shove off?" he said.

"Go on," said Jordan quietly.

"'Tis like this," said Donegal. "When he went in with the light he opened the shutter, and what was he after doing that for? Then he would leave it so any wan could see there was two lights where there was wan before."

Jordan nodded. "The rest--out with it."

"Well," said Charley dryly, "there was somebody running a boat down way back along the beach. They did it kind of quietly, but we could hear them. 'Pears to me it's 'bout time we were getting out of this."

"Somebody coming down the gully," shouted a man below, and there was a faint patter of running feet in a dusky hollow that wound amidst the rocks behind the house.

Jordan swung round. "Motter has sold us to the Russians, boys," he said. "Still, if there's time yet we'll take him along."

They were back in the room the next moment, but Motter had gone, and when another shout came from outside Jordan swung round again with his face showing very grim.

"He'd have had all my dollars in another minute," he said. "Well, we'll be going."

Charley, however, stopped a moment, and taking down the big lamp swung it round his head, while a great blaze sprang up when he hurled it on the floor.

"I guess it will take them all they know to put that out," he said.

Then they blundered down the stairway, and in another moment were floundering across the beach. It was rough and strewn with boulders, while the boats lay some little distance away, and as they tripped and stumbled a hoarse shout rose out of the darkness. Nobody stopped to answer, and a rifle flashed, while a patter of feet became audible behind them.

"They're tolerably close," said Jordan. "We've got to run, boys."

There was for some reason no more firing, but the men behind were evidently used to the boulders and gaining on them. Once Appleby fell heavily, but he lost no time in picking himself up again, and went on with a horrible pain in his side, gasping as he watched the white wash of the surf that seemed to grow nearer so slowly. Just before they reached it Niven went down, and groaned when Appleby seized his shoulder and jerked him to his feet.

"Don't give in, Chriss. You must hold out," he said, and floundered on again, dragging his comrade after him.

"I'm hurt. Only one foot to run with," gasped Niven.

Stumbling and blundering they reached the boats, but the men behind were almost upon them when Appleby, taking his hand from Niven's arm, grasped the nearest. Then there was a breathless shout, and they were floundering down the beach waist-deep in froth as a sea rolled in, while dusky objects came clattering over the shingle a few paces behind them. Two men sprang in over the gunwale, and Jordan's voice rose up.

"Don't fool it by too much hurry, boys. Wade right in until she's clear afloat."

The next sea took them up to the shoulders, and Appleby, gasping with the icy cold, and half-blinded by the spray, saw that Niven was no longer with them.

"Chriss. Hallo! Where are you?" he shouted breathlessly.

He fancied a half-stifled cry answered him, and loosed his grasp on the boat. He did not remember whether he shouted again, or not, for he was only sensible that his comrade had been left behind, but next moment another shout rang out, and he felt his heart throb, as struggling shorewards he recognized the voice.

"Boys, will ye be leaving Mainsail Haul?" it said.

There was a growl in answer, and the boat came surging in almost on top of Appleby. Then men were apparently splashing through the water all about him, and one ran several yards in front of them howling gleefully and swinging a great club. After that Appleby was not quite sure what happened, but there were shouts and blows and a pistol shot, and they were floundering back again, Donegal dragging Niven through the water after him, and most of the men swinging their clubs. The boat lay half-swamped on her side when they reached her, and Appleby wondered afterwards how they got her through the surf, but he knew Niven lay on the floorings, and straining every muscle and sinew he tugged at his oar. Donegal was apparently yelling gleefully still. Then, as they drew out from the shore there was another red flash, and Jordan's voice rose up from the next boat.

"If he can't be quiet, boys, you'd better heave him over. I've no use for letting them know just where to shoot."

"That's sense," said Charley. "Reach out and put some weight on, Appleby. Your partner's all right."

Appleby did as he was bidden, though the spray that whirled about them rendered the boat almost invisible as she lurched over the swell, while his contentment increased when Niven assured him that it was only his foot, that was hurting him. Presently the _Champlain_ ran past the boat with canvas banging, and while they hove her in Stickine drew the skipper towards the rail.

"There's a boat on our bow. Came off 'bout a mile back down the beach," he said. "They pull like white men, so far as I make out."

"Heading straight to windward, too!" said Jordan, quietly. "Well, we'll have the main topsail on her."

The topsail was aloft in another minute, and the _Champlain's_ rail almost awash as she thrashed out to sea, but it was only in short tacks she could work out of the bay, and their pursuers seemed to know it, for they had rowed to windward and could accordingly chose their time for approaching her.

"'Pears to me they mean to come on board," said Jordan dryly. "Well, you'll pass up the clubs and lay them handy on the house, but there'll be trouble for any one who takes one up before he's told to. Is it you, Montreal, at the wheel?"

There was a growl in answer, and Jordan seemed to smile.

"Then," he said, "you'll keep her going and not too high, until I tell you."

They swept on hurling the spray aloft, for though the bay was slightly sheltered the swell worked in, and it was blowing tolerably hard, while, so far as Appleby could see, the boat meant to intercept them when they went about close off a smoking reef. He could just make her out every now and then as she rose with a sea.

"That," said Jordan, "'pears to me uncommonly like a gun-boat's cutter, and by the way they're pulling they've a good many men in her."

They drove on, the boat growing nearer and larger, until she came reeling towards them with oars thrashing up the froth, and Jordan sprang up on the rail. Appleby could see that if they went round now, the boat pulling straight to windward would still close with them when they came about to clear another reef not far away, but Jordan, it seemed, had no intention of coming round.

"It's not my fault I can't run away," he said quietly. "Keep her going, Montreal."

The reef was close to leeward now, the boat nearer still to weather, and already somebody was shouting on board her. She was pulling straight towards the schooner's bows, and would be alongside in another few moments. Appleby felt his heart throbbing painfully. Then the skipper raised his hand.

"Down helm--a spoke or two," he said.

There was another shout from the boat, for it seemed that the schooner had yielded, but if that was its meaning it was premature, for while her headsails rattled she still drove ahead, and Montreal's harsh laugh jarred through the crash and sound of smashing oars below.

"Up again. Fill on her!" roared Jordan, and Appleby, running aft with the rest, saw the boat drive away helpless astern. Nobody was apparently pulling, and he surmised that the rending oars had hurled the men who held them one upon the other.

Then the _Champlain_ came round, and a rifle flashed harmlessly as she once more swept past the disabled craft. Ten minutes later there was no sign of the boat, and they were thrashing out to sea alone.

"I don't quite know what they were, or that I want to, but if they'd been sealers they'd have had us sure," said Jordan, with a little laugh. "Well, we'll fix up how we're going to square this thing off with Motter to-morrow."

*CHAPTER XIX*

*THE SEALERS' RECKONING*

The wind fell light next morning, and the haze closed in, but it became evident there were reefs not far away when the _Champlain_ fell in with a herd of holluschackie. The men were in an unpleasant temper, and worked in eager haste when Jordan bade them get the boats over, for to have gone back and swept every seal off the island would have been a relief to them then. Jordan, however, seldom let his feelings overcome his prudence, and he smiled dryly as he watched the men.

"I don't quite know where the beach is, but there are the seals," he said. "If we run the flag up you'll pull back just as quick as you can."

The boats had started in another minute, and with rifles flashing every now and then they swung over the long swell, until the men's arms and backs were aching.

Darkness was creeping in when they came back one by one, and then by the flicker of blinking lanterns the work went on. The deck grew foul with grease and blood, the knives slipped in the tired hands that held them, and the lads would stop gasping a moment or two each time a stripped carcase went over the side, and wonder whether anything would ever free them from the horrible smell. At last it was over, and while the _Champlain_ crept on her way again they sat greasy and slimy in the hold. They were very tired, but there was content in the sealers' bronzed faces, save for that of Montreal, who sat gloomily silent away from the rest.

"You've not been talking much to-day. Feeling sick?" said somebody.

Montreal's brown fingers slowly clenched themselves. "Not in the way you mean. You know what I came up here for, boys, and I've had 'bout enough of this," he said. "How'm I going to find out anything when Jordan yanks me out of every boat that goes ashore?"

Donegal, whose forehead was wrapped in a crusted bandage, shook his head.

"And Ned Jordan knows as well. Can ye not be trusting him?" he said.

Montreal appeared to find some difficulty in checking a groan. "I've waited a long while, boys, and I'm kind of tired," he said.

There was silence for a minute, for the men knew it was a brother their comrade had come to find, and Niven, who lay upon the floorings with one foot tied up, remembering what he had heard in Motter's house, was about to speak when Appleby kicked him on the leg.

"Still," said somebody, "there's nothing you can do."

Montreal glanced round the shadowy hold as though to make sure that Stickine was not there. "Well," he said slowly, "I guess the _Champlain_ will be short of a boat and a man short one morning--and there'll be trouble for some folks yonder if it's dead that man's brother is. It's the not knowing--the knowing nothing, that's killing me."

"One man couldn't do much alone," said Charley dryly.

Montreal laughed mirthlessly, and there was a curious glint in his eyes. "I guess he could," he said. "That is, if he had a rifle, and didn't worry 'bout anything so long as he used up the magazine before they got him down."

Donegal's face lit up under the crusted bandage, and his voice had a little gleeful ring. "And two av them would do just twice as much--and it's two, or more, there'll be, but we'll give Ned Jordan a fair show first," said he.

A little growl of grim approval rose from the men, but none of them said anything further, and they did not seem quite at ease when Jordan and Stickine came down the ladder. The skipper sat down, and looked at them gravely, but if he noticed anything unusual he did not mention it.

"We've got to have a little talk, boys," he said. "You know the kind of trick Motter would have worked off on me. He'd have taken my dollars and then before I got the furs turned the Russians loose on us. He and one of their officers fixed up the thing, and before I got out of their grip I'd have left skins and schooner behind me. Now, I don't like being kicked that way by anybody."

The skipper may have been mistaken, but the men believed him.

"We'll go back and pull his place down," said somebody.

Jordan smiled and shook his head. "And find a squad of bluejackets waiting for you? That's just what Motter would figure on, and there's a gunboat crawling round," he said.

"Are we going to sit down and do nothing?" asked Montreal.

"No," said Jordan with a little twinkle in his eyes. "Now, it's kind of difficult for a gunboat to be in two places at once, and while she's hanging round Motter's watching for us there's nothing to stop us walking right into the sealing post."

He stopped a moment, and looked straight at Montreal. "Well, now, that isn't in the deal you made to go sealing with me, but I heard they had a white man there."

There was a murmur of astonishment, and Montreal stood up quivering a little. "And," he said hoarsely, "you're going for him?"

Jordan nodded. "Oh, yes," he said. "If the boys are willing."

The answer was not effusive, but Jordan, who saw the little darker flush that crept into the bronzed faces and the slow clenching of a brown hand here and there, appeared contented. He knew that he had but to lead and the men would follow.

"Well," he said grimly, "if we've any kind of fortune we'll be there to-morrow."

He nodded to them, and when he went up the ladder Donegal gleefully thumped Montreal on the shoulder.

"It's you and me that's spoiling--just spoiling for to-morrow," he said, and made a run at Appleby who was grinning at him. "And you knew it and never told. Sure I saw ye kicking Mainsail Haul. It's me that would be caressing ye wid a rope end, me darling."

Appleby swung himself up the ladder. "Sure, 'tis no sensible man would go looking for a row when he could run away," he said.

Donegal shook his fist at him. "Ye will stop up there where it's nice and fresh," he said. "No man can be sensible always. 'Twould not be good for him."

Next day they raised a gray blur above the horizon, and Jordan, when he saw it, headed out to sea again. Then he laid the _Champlain_ to, and it was not until dusk was creeping across the waters that they edged in towards the land again. The time passed very slowly, and the men were for the most part unusually silent, though there was a curious anticipation in their faces, and Montreal sat very grim and quiet rubbing out a rifle. It occurred to the lads who watched him now and then that it would not be nice to be the Russians who had ill-used his brother if he came across them.

There was no moon, and the sky was dimmed by driving haze when they pulled ashore, three boatloads of them with rifles, clubs and knives, and no man spoke when they sprang out waist-deep in the long white wash that went seething up the beach. Two stayed behind to watch the boats, and with the stones rattling beneath them the rest went on. Appleby and Niven, who limped painfully, followed too, because Jordan had apparently been too much occupied to notice them. It seemed to the lads that anybody who might be listening must hear the noise they made a mile away, but the sea frothed and roared upon the beaches close behind, and when they wound beneath the face of a crag another sound grew louder. It was the voice of the big bull seals, and while they blundered over the slippery ledges the lads could dimly see that every shelf of rock was packed with curious shadowy objects. Some of them were shambling forward, some lying still with heads held up, but all were roaring, piping, bleating at once, and the din they made was indescribable.

Suddenly two of them flopped over a ledge and came shambling towards the men, one of whom stepped aside, while Appleby, starting a little at the sight of the half-seen shapeless thing heading for him, swung up his club. It looked very big as it came on through the semi-darkness. Somebody, however, laughed and grabbed his arm.

"He's not going to hurt you, sonny, if you get out of his way," a voice said. "Just a bull seal they've shoved out of the rookery. He'll go back and pull one of the rest of them out presently."

The seal flopped away into the shadow or into the sea, and the men finding better footing went on more rapidly, until when Jordan signed to them they stopped breathless on the crest of a rise. Beneath them in the dimness the sea frothed whitely, and a swarm of shadowy objects were apparently shuffling down the slope between.

"Holluschackie!" said Jordan dryly. "It's quite likely we'll take a few of them along. Get the lie of the place into you, boys. You might want to find the boats handy when you come back again."

The lads looked round with the others, but there was very little to see. A low black rise ran up into the haze in front of them, and here and there they caught the glimmer of a patch of snow. All round the darkness seemed closing in, and out of it came the boom of the sea on the beaches and a doleful wail of wind, for the seals were almost quiet again. Appleby could feel his heart beating and his temples throbbing as he wondered what that dimness hid.

"It reminds me of the night we stole Jimmy's duck," said Niven, but his voice was not quite the same as usual. "It will be something to look back upon."

"Oh, yes," said Appleby dryly. "So long as we do it on board the schooner. It wouldn't be quite so nice to remember it in Siberia."

"If I couldn't talk of anything more cheerful I'd shut my mouth tight!" said Niven, who felt the chilly darkness growing curiously unpleasant.

He fancied he could have made a dash at an armed loghouse as well as the rest, but this slow crawling in on an unknown enemy was a very different and much more disconcerting affair.

Just then Jordan raised his hand, and they went on again, blundering over a boulder here and there, and now and then splashing through a little slushy snow, but still there was only sliding haze about them and in front grey obscurity, until the lads commenced to wonder whether they would go tramping on the whole night through. At last, however, they stopped again on the summit of another rise, and Appleby grasped Niven's arm when he made out the dim blink of a light in the fog. The men murmured together, and Jordan seemed to be speaking, but Appleby did not hear what he said. He could only watch the light, while Niven afterwards admitted that he could recollect very little but a feverish desire to get what they had to do over.

Once more the men wont on, a little quicker now, while the soft patter of their feet and the rattle of a rifle as one of them stumbled seemed horribly distinct in the stillness. Nobody, however, appeared to hear them, and at last when the dim outline of a house rose blackly against the night the pace grew faster, until it became a run, and the lads saw the line of shadowy figures split up left and right. Then they heard Jordan's voice.

"In with you. You know what you have to do!"

Appleby's fears seemed to fall from him, and it was with a wild desire to shout that he followed the rest at a breathless run, while Niven floundered along a few paces behind him. The house rose higher and blacker, and still nobody seemed to hear them until a dog commenced growling as they swept round to the rear of it, and stood apart on either side when Montreal with his rifle-butt beat upon the door.

There was a cry of surprise inside, a sound of voices, and footsteps that stopped again, while a deep growl made answer when Montreal once more beat upon the door. Then he stepped back and swung up his rifle.

"No time for fooling, boys," he said. "In she goes."

Appleby saw the weapon whirl high, and another shadowy man standing with the muzzle of his rifle pointed at the door. Then it came down crashing, there was a rush of feet, and he went in with the rest over the shattered door.

A glare of light shone into his eyes, there was a savage growl and a flash as something sprang straight at the foremost of them. A smear of acrid smoke filled the passage, but Appleby fancied he saw a big sealing-club whirl up, and the dog went down, for next moment he stumbled over something that felt soft beneath him. Then with somebody running before them they burst into a room, and the lads long remembered the picture that met them.

Two men who had apparently fled along the passage stood sullenly at the further end of it, and two more who had evidently dragged a table into a corner behind it. They were less than half-dressed, but one who was tall with blue eyes and straw-coloured hair had on a partly buttoned naval uniform. A pistol glinted in his hand, and an inch or two of blue-grey steel shone at his belt. The other man's face was sallow, but he was unarmed, and there was a curious glint in his little dark eyes as he watched the sealers.

For a moment they stood looking at each other, and then another door on the opposite side of the room was driven open and Jordan, rifle in hand, came in. Behind him came Stickine and Donegal. More sealers in shaggy furs and greasy canvas trooped in, but still the blue-eyed officer stood apparently unconcerned. Then Jordan dropped his rifle-butt and held up his hand.

"When I want a man to do anything I'll tell him," he said, and turned gravely to the officer. "You can put that thing down. Nobody's going to hurt you. Can you talk any English?"

The officer who, Appleby surmised, was from the Baltic coast, made a sign of comprehension. "A little--but more easy the French," he said.

"Then," said Jordan dryly, "we'll get ahead. Fetch Brulee in, Stickine."

While Stickine went out the officer laid down his pistol, and with a little deprecatory gesture straightened his uniform and drew tight his belt. Then, to Appleby's astonishment, he took out a little silver box and shook a few cigarettes out from it on to the table. He did not seem in any way disturbed, though the faces of the big bronzed sealers who carried clubs and rifles were very grim as they watched him. This was almost a shock to Appleby, who had hitherto half-instinctively believed that quiet fearlessness and resolute composure in times of stress and peril were only to be expected from Englishmen. Yet here was a Russian helpless in the hands of men whom he knew had a bitter grievance against him and his comrades, and if he felt the slightest fear of them it was at least imperceptible. Appleby was, however, to discover later on that while some lands are considerably more pleasant to live in than others the fact that he was born in England or Russia, or elsewhere, after all makes no great difference in the qualities that become any man.

Then he saw that Stickine had returned, and the officer was speaking. "What you make here, Captain?" he said, getting out the words with evident difficulty.

"He's too slow," said Jordan. "Ask him if he has more men anywhere around, Brulee."

"Two of them at the huts, and 'bout a dozen natives," was the answer.

Jordan nodded, and Montreal stepped forward, his face grey and set, and his fingers trembling on his rifle. "I guess it's 'bout time I did some talking too," he said "Ask if he has seen my brother."

"Get right back until you're wanted. It's me that's running this show," said Jordan. "Ask him if they've got an Englishman there, Brulee."

The officer made a little gesture of assent. "They have one who works," he said.

"Send for him right now," said Jordan sternly. "Four of my men will go along in case there's any blundering."

The dark-skinned man slipped out from behind the table, and when he went out with four of the sealers behind him the blue-eyed officer held out the little box.

"You will do me the pleasure, Captain," he said in French.

Jordan smiled dryly. "No, thanks," he said. "I've no great use for these things, and I don't know that I'm open to take anything of that kind from you just now."

The Russian, who seemed to understand him, laughed a little. "With permission," he said, and lighted a cigarette. "Now you can tell me what you come for, Captain."

"You can tell him 'bout Motter, Brulee. Two of you will keep a look-out outside there," said Jordan, and crossing over sat down on the table.

Then there followed a very anxious interval, and Appleby fancied by the way the men glanced towards the door that they were as expectant as he was himself. Now and then one of them moved restlessly, and the lads could hear the crackle of the stove and the moan of the wind about the building. They caught very little of Brulee's narrative, but long afterwards the scene returned to them, and they could see Jordan sitting very still, with an impassive bronzed face beneath his fur cap, on the table, and the blue-eyed officer languidly watching him while the smoke of the cigarette drifted between them. It also seemed to both the lads that if either of the men let his fear or anger master him a much more deadly vapour would whirl in thicker wreaths about the lonely building. Brulee seemed disposed to make the most of his opportunity, but he stopped at last, and the officer nodded to Jordan comprehendingly.

"_Lache_. _Infame_! It was not my affair," he said in French.

After that there was silence, until a tramp of feet grew nearer, and a murmur rose from the anxious men when a voice came out of the darkness hoarse and exultant, "We've got him."

Then, with Montreal and another man in front of them, the sealers came in, and there was once more a murmur when the first two stopped close by Jordan, who held out his hand.

"And you're Tom Allardyce?" he said.

The man's hand seemed to shake as he grasped the skipper's, and his eyes grew a trifle hazy when the rest grinned at him encouragingly and Montreal patted his shoulder.

"Yes," he said. "I was cast away up here 'most two years ago."

"Sit down," said Jordan quietly, with a glance at the Russian officer. "Tell us all about it. Don't worry, and go slow. I've a reason for wanting to know."

The man sat down, and there was another little murmur when the sealers saw his lined and haggard face, for there was on it the stamp of hunger and suffering. His hands were clawlike, and there was a great scar upon his forehead.

"It's good to see you, boys," he said, and his voice died away hoarsely. Then he turned to Jordan. "You're going to take me back with you?"

Jordan laughed a little. "Oh, yes," he said. "Look at the boys. I guess they're not going to let me leave you, if I wanted to."

The lurking fear died out of Allardyce's eyes. "Well," he said, "I was cast away--me and an Indian and Stetson, sealing from the old St. Michael. 'Twas back there on the eastern reefs we came ashore, and when I got him out Stetson's head was crushed in. That left me and the Indian, and the Russians sent us west when the gun-boat came. I don't know how long they kept us yonder, but one night when they sent us down the coast on a schooner me and the Indian got away from her. The boat was a good one, and, for it was blowing fresh, we ran back north before the wind I don't know where, and lived with the natives ashore until the Indian got drowned in an ice crack while we starved through that winter. There's lots of things I don't seem to remember, but I got blown off in a skin boat at last, and when I'd lived most of a week on nothing a schooner fetched me here."

It was a very disjointed story, but the sealers could fill in the cold and hunger of those terrible wanderings which Allardyce, whose face spoke more plainly for him, left out. Brulee rendered it into French, and Jordan turned to the officer.

"Your people take away a white man's liberty and leave him to rot without a hearing?" he said.

The Russian made a little deprecatory gesture. "The Department is slow--or perhaps it is occupied, and he ran away too soon. One waits the instructions, and if the papers do not come--what would you? Sometimes a man is forgotten."

"Did you ever see this man before, Allardyce?" asked Jordan.

"No," said the sealer. "Not until he came here with the gun-boat a week ago."

Jordan nodded, and pointed to the dark-skinned man. "Have the folks here ill-treated you?"

"No," said Allardyce. "I had to work for them, and I was glad I had, but they never did no harm to me."

Jordan turned once more to the Russians. "I guess," he said grimly, "that was quite fortunate for all of you. Now, how long have you been working for them, Allardyce?"

"Since soon after the ice broke up. When that was I don't quite know."

"Well," said Jordan dryly, "we'll fix up the thing. I've had to come here with my schooner for this man, and I'll charge my time to you at forty dollars the day besides what Motter stole from me. We'll figure he has been working here two months, anyway, and he'd have got 'bout two dollars and a half for every day of it in our country. Then there's the months you kept him on the other coast without giving him a show to make out his innocence, and his damaged feelings. That will run to five hundred dollars, anyway, and it's very moderate. You can't do things of that kind to a Canadian without it costing something. Still, the trading folks aren't going to lose anything, because the Government's bound to pay them. Now, have you got any roubles with you?"

"Very few," said the dark-skinned man in French. "We pay the natives in provisions."

Jordan nodded. "Then I'll work it out in seals," he said. "Now I'm wanting that pistol and your sword from you."

The blue-eyed officer laid his hand upon the blade. "You can have my word--a six hour's truce--but this only in one way."

"Well," said Jordan with a little laugh, "I guess I can trust you, because we've got your men's rifles, and I'll leave enough of the boys to take care of you. Montreal, you'll stop with four of them, and the rest will come along with me. It's going to take a good many holluschackie to square this deal."

The Russian nodded, and lighted another cigarette, and the lads went out with the rest into the misty night.

*CHAPTER XX*

*THE NEXT MEETING*

The men stopped at last at the head of the slope to the sea, and the lads discovered that the task before them was a good deal less simple than they had fancied. There were the seals--they could see them dimly lying in groups on the shingle or shambling about--but it became evident that their destruction could not be undertaken in a haphazard fashion, for Jordan sent two of the men to work round between them and the sea.

"We'll give them 'bout ten minutes, boys, and then start in. I'm entitled to so many skins, but I've no use for spoiling the whole herd," he said.

Here and there a man beat his hands while they waited, for the night was cold, others lighted their pipes, and Niven, who was glad to rest his wrenched foot, sat down.

"Why don't we go straight in and club them?" he asked Stickine.

"It wouldn't be the square thing," said the Canadian. "A seal knows a good deal, and if we killed 'bout half of them among the rest, those that got away would tell the others, and it would be a long while before they came back to this beach again."

"But seals only do things instinctively," said Niven.

Donegal, who was standing close by, laughed as he asked, "And what is instinct, anyway?"

Niven appeared to have some difficulty in finding an answer, and Appleby grinned at him. "Better tell him you don't know," he said.

Donegal nodded. "Nor any one else, but the holluschackie have brains in their heads, as ye will see before this conthract's through. And what were they given brains for if 'twas not to make use av them? 'Tis the vanity of ignorance would have ye believe there's no sense in the wondherful things in the sea. Sure, Donovitch and his Indians could tell ye better."

This was a new point of view to Appleby, but being aware that his sealer comrades had seen more of the denizens of the waters than all the city men who lectured and wrote about them put together he made no answer.

"Then when are we going to club them?" asked Niven.

"When we've drawn out those we want and driven them nice and slow to a handy place," said Stickine.

Before they had time for further questions Jordan spoke to Stickine, and spreading out they floundered down the slope and then closed in on the seals. The latter made no very great effort to avoid them, and when they had driven them together Jordan separated those he wanted from the rest.

"We'll take these along," he said.

Then while most of the herd went flopping down the slope in a hurry to the sea the men urged the rest slowly towards the higher ground, pushing one here and there with their feet, or prodding them with their rifles. It was dark, but the lads could see the seals more or less plainly, though it would have puzzled either of them to describe their progression. They did not walk, they did not crawl, but every move set their blubber-coated bodies quivering, and nothing more appropriate than flopping occurred to Niven. They also went faster than he fancied they could have done, though the men seemed desirous not to hurry them, and when he asked, Stickine told him the reason.

"If you make them hot before you club them, they'll spoil their pelts," he said. "You could strip the fur right off a seal that had been run too hard with your fingers."

They went on, and when now and then one of the seals made a futile endeavour to get away, or stopped, and, raising itself in a curious fashion, gazed at its persecutors, the lads commenced to be sorry for them. They also felt a squeamishness that was almost too much for them when at last, after they and the seals had rested a little, the men set about the slaughter. After the first few minutes both lads slipped away, for the sight of the limp, quivering bodies and whirling clubs almost sickened them, but they dare not go too far, and the thud of the crushing blows followed them. Niven had seen Donovitch stand over his victims and beat their heads in, and the recollection of it remained with him.

"Of course you can't have seal-skins without killing seals, but they seemed so harmless--and I wish I hadn't come," he said.

His regret was even stronger when Jordan called him, and very much against his wishes he helped to roll round the horribly smelling, greasy bodies while the others flayed them. At every clutch his fingers sank in the warm, shaking blubber, and when at last the work was over his face was white and he shivered from revulsion. It was daylight now, and the men stood about him dabbled here and there with blood, and foul with grease all over, while he fancied that one could have smelt them from the schooner.

"It's beastly," he said to Appleby. "I feel as if I'd eaten no end of things that didn't agree with me."

Then Jordan sent two men back for the Russian officer, and nodded to him when he came.

"I want you to see what we've got. We're 'bout square now," he said.

The officer glanced down at the slaughtered holluschackie with a little gesture of disgust. Then he laughed as he said in French, "It is not my affair. I see you again one day, Captain, and it is perhaps different then."

Brulee made this plain, and Jordan smiled. "If you do it's quite likely I can show as good a fist as you. Anyway, we're going off now, and I'll bid you good-morning. You'll find your men's rifles down there on the beach when you want them."

In another half-hour they were pulling off to the schooner, and when they sat at breakfast in the hold Stickine grinned at the lads.

"Feeling any better now?" he said. "You don't like clubbing holluschackie?"

"No," said Appleby with a little shiver of disgust. "I've been wondering whether it's not going to make trouble for Jordan, too, because somebody will, in all probability, send on the demand to Canada if those folks ask their Government to pay the damage."

Stickine smiled dryly. "It's not quite likely that they will," he said. "The fellows who're responsible do some kind of curious things, and neither they nor the sealers have much use for talking. 'Pears to me that more than one Government is getting tired of us, and the Russian department bosses want a man who knows how to keep out of trouble. If he gets worrying them they're quite likely to find another use for him. Of course, there'll be some writing, but Ned Jordan only took what he was entitled to when he might have swept the island, and it isn't going to suit anybody to drag Tom Allardyce in."

Appleby could not decide then or afterwards whether Stickine was right, but it seemed to him that there was a good deal of reason in his opinion. In any case he had little leisure to consider the affair just then, for Jordan called them up on deck to hoist the topsails, and they spent most of that day watching for a wind. It was as usual dim and hazy, and the lads fancied that Jordan was a trifle anxious, for he swept the sea with his glasses as they rolled slowly east. Appleby was also within hearing when he drew Stickine away from the rest.

"We're in a kind of fix," he said. "There's nothing the Russians wouldn't do to square up the deal with us, and that fellow we left behind will be pulling all he's worth for Motter's to turn the gun-boat loose. If I'd figured we were going to have this weather I'd have set his boat adrift. Send an Indian to the cross-trees to keep a look-out for her."

The wind came, almost too much of it, in the afternoon, and at dusk the _Champlain_ was lying as close as she could to it with her lighter canvas stowed, and a nest of reefs to leeward. The lads could see the white foam flying and the whirling clouds of spray, and were wondering whether the schooner could weather them on that tack when the Indian aloft stretched out his hand, and somebody shouted--

"Boat close in with the surf."

Appleby went up the masthoops, and could just make out something that swung into sight now and then against the whiteness of the surf behind it. It was, he surmised, a boat, and he saw that Jordan was watching her under the main-boom.

"The Russian!" he said. "It don't seem sense to let her get that close in with the rocks to lee."

"Somebody waving!" said Stickine, who had taken up the glasses. "They're used up, and can't pull her out against the sea."

There was silence for at least another minute, while the men stared at the whirling spray and the dusky object that was hove up every now and then, and Niven shivered a little, for he could guess what would happen to worn-out men, hurled upon those fangs of rock by the frothing sea. The reefs would mangle them out of human semblance, in all probability. Then Jordan glanced to weather at the big froth-tipped slopes of water that rolled up towards them, and shook his head solemnly.

"We can't let them drown," he said. "Get your maintopsail up, but let it lie below the gaff, and shake loose the outer jib. We'll want them when we come to beat her out again."

"Square away?" asked Montreal at the helm.

Jordan nodded. "Out main-boom, boys. Slack up everything."