Chapter XXII: Dreams

“Johnny,” Rusty’s voice was low, husky with strangely mingled emotions, “when we are back at the cottage, I’ll make a big pan of ice-box cookies. We’ll take them with a big bottle of hot cocoa. We’ll go out on a sunny rock and have a feast.” They were still on the deck of the rolling ship and it was still night.

Rusty’s voice rose. “And such sunshine! Nowhere in the world is it so glorious.”

“All right,” Johnny agreed. “Ice-box cookies, hot chocolate and sunshine. That will be keen.”

“Dreams,” he was thinking. “How often when things are hard, very hard, we dream.” As he closed his eyes now he could see dead salmon in endless rows. He could hear the monotonous drone of brown men and the endless wash-wash of the sea. “How grand at times to dream of other things far away!” he said. “And what a joy to know of other places where we have been gloriously happy.”

“Yes,” she agreed, “that is wonderful. And Johnny,” she went on, “we have a home in Seattle, father and I. It is small, but, oh, so beautiful! Climbing roses and pine trees. There’s a lake before it. There is a dancing pavilion not far away where the boys and girls I know best come. There they swing and sway to bewitching waltz time. _Over the Waves_, _Blue Danube_ and all the rest. Johnny, will you come sometime and join us there?” Her voice seemed dreamy and far away.

“Yes,” said Johnny. “Some day I’ll come.”

“But first,” he thought savagely, “I’ll see this infernal boat at the bottom of the sea.”

For a time after that they were silent. Once again they heard the beating of ropes against spars, the wail of the wind and the dash of spray on the deck. How was all this to end?

“Rusty,” Johnny said, “I would like to leave you for a while.”

“Why?”

“There’s something I want to do. You know,” he leaned close, speaking in a hoarse whisper, “there’s a hole in the gas tank of your boat.”

“Yes, but—”

“We may get a break. Your boat was put on deck after two others. That means they’ll have to put her in the water before taking the others off. If there was gas in her tank we might slip down to her and get away.”

“But the gas, Johnny?”

“There are two large cans in another boat. I saw them. I—I’m going to plug up that hole in your tank, then try to fill it from the cans.”

“They—they may catch you.” Her voice trembled.

“I’ll take a chance.” He rose without a sound. “I’m off. If I don’t come back, tell good old MacGregor.”

“I—I’ll tell him.” Her whisper was lost in the wind. He was gone.

Creeping along the swaying deck, dodging behind a lifeboat when the watch appeared, scooting forward, then pausing to listen, he at last reached the side of the _Krazy Kat_.

After securing the cans of gasoline, he lifted them to the deck of Rusty’s small boat. Then, with a deft swing, he threw himself after the cans. The deck was wet with fog. Slipping, he went down in a heap, but made no sound.

Feeling about in the dark, he found the tank and the leak. A sharpened splinter of wood stopped the hole.

“Now the gas,” he whispered. This he knew would be most dangerous of all. Cans have a way of gurgling and popping in an alarming manner. The gurgle, he concluded, would not matter. It would not be heard above the roar of the wind and the wash of the sea. But the tinny bangs? Ah, well, he’d have to risk it.

When one can was emptied into the _Krazy Kat’s_ tank, he heaved a sigh of relief. The second was half-emptied when he caught the sound of footsteps.

“The watch!” Consternation seized him. Flattening himself on the deck, he clung to the still gurgling can.

The sound of footsteps ceased. His heart pounded. Was he caught? Seconds seemed minutes. If the can popped he was lost. Ten seconds, twenty, thirty—again the footsteps. Then they grew indistinct in the distance.

“Ah,” the boy breathed.

Just then the all but empty can gave forth a loud bang!

Johnny jumped, then lay flat, listening with all his ears. For at least two full minutes he remained there motionless. The watch did not return.

With great care he lifted the empty cans from the deck of the _Krazy Kat_ to toss them into the foaming sea. Then, stealthily as before, he made his way back to Rusty’s side.

“I—I did it,” he shrilled. “Now for a good break and we’re away.”

“Here—here’s hoping.” She drew her hand from beneath the blankets to grip his own.

“MacGregor, what do you think they’ll do to me?” Johnny asked an hour later. The storm had partially subsided. Rusty was feeling better. They were back in their staterooms. Johnny had told the old man of the night’s adventure.

“It’s my opinion,” said MacGregor, “that you’ll be shot at sunrise.”

“That won’t be so bad,” said Johnny, joining in the joke.

“Not half-bad,” MacGregor agreed. “I mind an Eskimo we shot up there in the far north. He’d killed a white man. The revenue cutter came along an’ the judge tried him.

“When the judge’s decision had been arrived at, they told this Eskimo to stand up.

“Well, sir, he stood there stiff an’ straight as any soldier. He was sure he had been condemned to die and that he was to be shot. They’re a sturdy lot, those Eskimos.

“Well,” MacGregor paused to laugh. “They set a thing up an’ aimed it at the Eskimo. Something clicked. The Eskimo blinked. But nothin’ else happened.

“The white men folded things up and left. But the Eskimo still stood there, not knowin’, I suppose, whether he was dead or alive.

“Know what happened?” he concluded. “He’d been found innocent and they had taken his picture.

“For all I know,” he added, “he’s livin’ still an’ so’ll you be, me boy, forty years from today.

“What can they do?” he demanded. “They don’t dare harm us.”

“I wouldn’t trust them too far,” said Johnny.

“Nor I,” Rusty agreed.