Next morning Montreal, who had been a carpenter, went aloft, and remained a while sitting on a little board the others hoisted up the mast. When he came down he followed Jordan and Stickine into the cabin, and all hands were curious when one of the Indians was sent for, too. Still, nothing transpired beyond that Brulée, who made an excuse for visiting the cabin, informed the rest that they were doing a deal of talking, until when breakfast was brought in Stickine and Montreal joined their comrades. Donegal quietly placed the can of coffee between his feet and signed to Niven to remove the eatables.

"Ye will have something to tell us, and breakfast will come on just as soon as ye have done it," he said.

Stickine laughed. "I don't talk when I'm hungry, and I want that can," he said. "When I've got a holt of it Montreal will start in."

"Well," said the carpenter, "my lot's just this. She's wrung her masthead, and I could splice a new one in with the lump of redwood forward and the irons Jordan found me, but it's a contract one could only put through in smooth water."

"What does he mean by wrung?" asked Niven.

"'Tis a complete 'cyclopedia with pictorial illusthrations ye will be when ye go home," said Donegal. "Just wrung, same as ye would twist a towel, by the strain on the halliard bolts! Ye will feed him on mustard, Brulée, if he talks again. Well now, Stickine?"

"We're making for a snug berth under one of the Aleutians," said Stickine. "Montreal figures he'll want three days there, but the Indian has a kind of notion we might find a sea otter."

"We wouldn't be very much better off if we did," said Niven. "Will anybody give me twenty-five cents for my share in one sea otter?"

Charley fumbled in his pockets, and apparently finding nothing there gravely laid a beautifully-made knife upon his knees. "If you'll take that for it we'll make the deal," he said.

Niven looked at the speaker in astonishment, and was about to take the knife when Donegal laid his hand upon it.

"'Twould serve ye right if I let ye. Is it shaming me with the ignorance av ye will be doing always?" he said. "What's a sea otter? Sure, 'tis the same thing as pearls and rubies, and what Mandarins and Emperors wear. Sorrow on the beast that would get himself exthinct."

Niven chuckled. "That's his usual rot, and I'll take the knife," he said. "What's the use of hunting any beast when it's extinct?"

"Give it him," said Donegal. "Thim as can't take telling ye must teach wid a stick."

Charley's eyes twinkled as he held out the knife, but Appleby broke in, "I fancy you had better wait a little," he said. "There are sea otters, Stickine?"

Stickine laughed a little. "They're getting scarce, and it takes a rich man to buy one now. If I had a few of them and silver foxes I would not go to sea. No, sir, I'd sit still ashore telling yarns in luxury. You're still open to make the deal?"

Niven saw that the eyes of all of them were upon him. "Of course!" he said. "I've made the offer, and I've been an ass again. Give me the knife, Charley."

Then somewhat to his astonishment the sealer slipped the knife back into its sheath, and Donegal thumped him on the back. "'Tis the makings av a man ye have in ye," he said. "A little sense is all ye need, but 'tis very hard to teach it ye."

Niven was not sorry that one of the others asked a question about the mast, and he was allowed to finish his breakfast in silence. Before it was over he heard a rattle of blocks, and when he went up on deck the Champlain was heading towards the east. Some time had passed, however, before she reached an anchorage under a rocky island hemmed in by smoking reefs. It was not an inspiriting place, and when they crept slowly in under shortened sail with the long swell heaving after them and the Indian standing impassive as a bronze statue at the wheel, the lads felt its desolation. There was no sign of life on the low shore that showed up dimly through the mist and rain. The grey rocks ran water, and the whiteness of the surf that seethed upon the beaches of rattling pebbles was the only brightness in all the sombre colouring. Here and there to seaward a stony barrier hove its black fangs out of the spouting foam and the growl of the sea rose from every side.

Still, they had little time to contemplate the dreary picture, for the cable had scarcely rattled out when the work commenced. The swell worked into the anchorage, and the schooner rolled with it lazily, but one of the big masts that swayed above her must be lifted out, and that was an operation usually accomplished in smooth water by the help of two great poles raised on end and lashed so that with the mast they formed a tripod. Jordan, however, had only his mainboom, and a few other very small spars to make them with, and while the others helped him Montreal spent the rest of the day lashing them together and wedging the fastenings before he fancied he could trust them to lift the heavy mast. It rained all the time.

Even then he appeared to have misgivings, and the light was growing dim before they had jammed one end of them fast and hove the other up with the end of the mainboom lashed to it. Then he and Jordan talked for some time together, and the men went below to rest and wait for morning. They were all of them tired, for the rolling of the vessel had rendered the task of getting the big spars on end and fastening them a very arduous one, and the two lads, who had done what they could among the rest, were aching in every limb. When they had stripped off their wet clothes they were glad to crawl into their bunks and lie there almost too tired and drowsy to ask any questions of the men who sat smoking below. Still, it took a good deal to overcome Niven's curiosity, and presently he reached out and tapped Montreal on the shoulder.

"Once or twice I fancied the whole affair was coming down on us," he said. "Can you lift the mast with it to-morrow?"

Montreal grinned. "Well," he said dryly, "I don't quite know, but I guess I can. Isn't that the kind of thing you could leave to me and Jordan?"

"Oh, yes, but I am a little curious. You see, I might be under it," said Niven. "What's going to happen if you make a mess of it?"

"A funeral if you don't get out from under handy," said the sealer. "What's more important to the rest of us, it might tear out half the decks. When she gets loose and swinging you can't fool with that size of mast."

"Then why can't you let it stay where it is?" asked Niven. "It would set the trysail, and that's about all the sail we seem to carry on the mainmast."

"And how fast will she go under trysail?" asked Charley.

"That depends upon how much wind there is," said Niven.

Donegal looked at him a moment and solemnly shook his head. "'Tis no credit ye are to me, and I've tried to do my duty by ye," he said. "The question is how fast ye would want to go when there were two cutters stuffed wid men and cutlasses pulling after ye. Then 'twould be sailing nice and quiet under trysail would content ye?"

"We haven't seen any of those cutters yet," said Niven.

Donegal laughed softly, and a little grim smile crept into the faces of the rest. "There's a good many things ye have not seen, but ye may have the opportunity of observing one or two av them yet, and I don't know that it would please ye then," he said.

Niven was about to answer when Stickine, who crawled into his bunk, flung a wet fur cap at him. "It's about time you were sleeping, sonny, and you'll want all the breath you've got to-morrow," he said.

When morning came Niven found this was correct enough, for as soon as it was light the work commenced, and when Brulée called them for breakfast the mainmast was ready for lifting, while the men were unusually quiet as they went back on deck. The mast looked very big and heavy, and the Champlain was rolling more than she had done as yet. It was also raining hard, and a cold wind blew the drizzle into their eyes, while the tackles were stiff and swollen, but when Jordan raised his hand they bent their backs, and for five minutes the mast rose inch by inch. Then it stuck, and Appleby fancied he could feel the deck quiver beneath him under the strain as one of the beams it was fastened to took part of the weight.

The men, finding they could not move it, stood still a moment, their faces showing set and drawn with the fierceness of their effort, some with hands clenched above their heads upon the rigid ropes and one or two with bent backs, while their eyes were fixed on Jordan who stood impassive and motionless on the house.

"Hold on to it," he said quietly. "Montreal, see what's jamming her."

Montreal was, however, below already, and presently his voice rose muffled from the hatch. "Heave," he said, and then more hoarsely, "Heave!"

Appleby was gasping, while the veins swelled on his forehead as he clutched a rope, and he wondered whether the men who had borne that intense strain could make another effort, for already the faces of some were purple.

"Now. Up she comes!" said somebody.

Then the sinewy bodies rose and sank again, the blocks rattled, and the mast rose slowly, stopped a moment, and rose again.

"You've got to do it this time, boys," said Jordan very quietly.

Their foreheads were drawn together, their breath was spent in an intensity of effort, but they succeeded, and there was a half-articulate yell when the foot of the mast rose out of the hole. Then a man sprang wildly across the deck, and in another moment mast and shears were tottering as the former swung towards the rail when the schooner rolled.

"Check her. Give him a hand, Charley," said Jordan, and Appleby wondered that his voice was even. Then there was a bang as something yielded under the strain, and the mast swayed out-board while the frayed ends of a rope whistled past the lad who for several seconds held the little breath that was left in him. The great spar swung up and down above the vessel, and the shears it hung from were rocking with it, while it was not difficult to see that unless something were done at once they would come down together, smashing the men beneath. Still, it also appeared that Jordan had provided for similar accidents and not trusted to any single rope.

"Catch her with the preventer, Charley, when she comes in," he said.

Charley nodded, for he was bent double hauling at a rope, and for a horrible moment or two, while everything that held it groaned, the mast swayed above their heads. Appleby could feel his heart thumping and a curious coldness under his belt as he watched it. Then the strain slackened a moment when the Champlain'sforemast swung upright, and Jordan's voice broke harshly through the silence – "Down with her!"

Blocks rattled, men panted, the end of the mast hung lower over them, there was a great clatter and a thud, and Appleby stood up gasping and drenched with perspiration. The mast was down on the deck, the men apparently blinking at it, and there was a horrible tingling in one of his hands. Still, it was a little while before he glanced at it and saw that the rope had chafed the skin away and left his fingers raw and bleeding. That, however, scarcely troubled him just then, for he felt the keen and wholesome joy which comes to those who by the strenuous toil of their bodies have done an arduous and perilous thing.

Rude as it might have seemed to those who knew no better it was a man's work he had done, and the pride of accomplishment stirred him. It was a significant victory they had won, not by brute strength alone, for that would have been useless unless guided by the nerve and intelligence which gives man dominion over all the beasts as well as inanimate matter. The sealers also seemed to feel it, for there was something in their eyes which had not been there a few minutes earlier, and Jordan laughed softly as he turned to them.

"You fixed it quite handy, boys, though she was very near getting away from you," he said.

They laid the mast where Montreal wanted it, and that finished their task, but in the afternoon two boats went out to look for a sea otter. It was, however, blowing fresh, and when they met the long seas outside the reefs they were driven back again, and the water was ankle-deep in them when they returned to the Champlain. Jordan laughed when he looked down at the dripping men from the rail of the rolling schooner.

"I figured you'd find it too much for you," he said. "We'll try again to-morrow, and you can lazy round any way that pleases you till then."

Nobody seemed to want to go ashore, and even the lads did not find the appearance of the foam-fringed beaches and desolate grey rocks that showed through the haze and rain inviting. So while the chunk, chunk of Montreal's axe rose muffled through the doleful wail of wind they sat snug about the stove listening to stories of the sea and bush. Some of them were astonishing, for the sealer sees more than the merchant seaman does, and at one time or other most of the crew of the Champlain had marched with survey expeditions through, or wandered alone prospecting far up in, the great shadowy forests of British Columbia. Now and then the lads' eyes grew wide with wonder, but the faces of the men showed gravely intent through the drifting tobacco smoke, and it was evident they believed the tales they listened to. They were simple men, but they had seen many things beyond the knowledge of those who dwell in the cities, and even Niven sat silent, lost in the glamour of the real romance as he wandered with them in fancy over misty seas and amidst the awful desolation of ice-ribbed ranges.

At last when one of them lighted the lamp Montreal came down, and flinging off his dripping jacket stretched himself wearily.

"Can't see any more, but I'll have the contract through before I let up next time," he said. "If you want that sea otter, boys, you've got to get him to-morrow."

It may have been because of what he had helped to do that morning, but Appleby, glancing at the wet face of the tired man, realized there was a greatness in all craftsmanship which had never occurred to him before. There was, of course, very much that Montreal did not know, but if one gave him the top of a redwood tree it would under his sinewy hands become a spar that would transmit the stress and strain of the Champlain'scanvas into useful effort that would drive her safely through screaming gale and over icy seas. He could also build a boat or bridge, and Appleby had realized already that among all the things man has ever made nothing more nearly approaches the simplicity of perfection than the former, a frail shell evolved very slowly before the knowledge of them came in wonderful compliance with the great laws that uphold the universe. It was, of course, but dimly the lad grasped this, but he understood in part that now, as it was when the world was young, it was after all the toil of the craftsmen that human progress was built upon. The world, it seemed, could dispense with the artist and orator and a good many more, but it could not well get on without the smith and carpenter.

Still, reflections of this kind did not usually occupy Appleby very long, and he might have brushed them aside but that he presently heard something which gave him an insight into the responsibility that is attached to all skilled labour.

"'Tis you that's the fine carpenter, Montreal," said Donegal. "But I've been wondering what was after bringing a man who could earn his three dollars every day ashore to sea."

Montreal sat down steaming by the stove, and laughed as he took out his pipe. Then he seemed to remember something and his face grew grave again.

"That's quite simple," he said. "I was working on a big railroad trestle back there in the ranges when one morning the contractor's foreman comes along. The bridge wasn't quite ready for the metals, and I was sitting on the girder with the river a hundred feet under me, anyway. They'd lost a man or two on that trestle already, and I was getting my five dollars a day.

"'You can drop those stringer ends into the notches without the tenon, and you'll do 'bout twice as many in the time,' says he.

"'I'm not doing them that way. It's not a good joint under a big load,' says I.

"'And what has that got to do with you?' says he.

"It wasn't quite easy explaining, but I knew just a little about what bridge ties can do, and the river was a hundred feet under the trestle.

"'Well, so long as I'm notching these things in I'll do them so they'll stand,' says I.

"The foreman he didn't say any more, but I knew what he would do, and when we were through with the trestle he comes to me. 'Here's your pay ticket and you can light out of this right now,' says he.

"I went, and trade was bad everywhere in the province that year. Nobody was taking on carpenters, and when I'd 'bout half-a-dollar left I went up on a steamboat that wanted patching up to Alaska. It was there I fell in with the sealers."

Montreal slowly lighted his pipe and looked at the stove, while Donegal smiled. "Ye do not tell a story well, and 'tis after leaving the point av it out ye are," he said. "There would be no big freight locomotive going through that trestle into the river, which is a disthressful accident that is not quite uncommon in the country ye and Stickine come from. But bad thrade mends again, and ye have not told us what is keeping ye at sea."

Montreal sighed a little and did not turn his head. "My brother was raised a sealer, and he's up here or in Siberia still," he said. "I don't know that he's living, but I seem to feel it in me that if I can wait long enough I shall find him."

Donegal slowly closed one big hand, and Appleby saw the glint which showed in his eyes creep into those of the other men.

"Dead or living he's not alone," he said with a hoarseness that expressed more than sympathy. "May them that watch above send him back to ye!"

Then he turned to the others and his laugh had a little ominous ring as he pointed towards the west. "He's finding the time long, but wan day you and me or better men than us will call on them folks down there with clubs and rifles, and ask them what they've done with the men who sailed with us."

Nobody spoke, but Niven, glancing round at the stern brown faces, felt that whether they were right or wrong he would not care to be the man of whom the sealers asked that grim question.

CHAPTER XV
IN PERIL

Early next morning the lads took their places in Stickine's boat, and the chunk of Montreal's axe followed them as they pulled towards the opening in the reef. He had not spoken to any one since he finished his story the previous night, and when they last saw him he was chipping grimly at the mast. The lads, however, forgot him as they watched the long, grey seas crumble on the reef, and once they reeled out and met the swell the rowing occupied all their attention, for it was needful to watch every stroke and check the boat now and then when the top of the heave frothed a little.

There was no wind, but the sea still rolled rumbling on the reefs, and the grey shadow which apparently never lifted there lay heavily upon the waters. Appleby did not remember how long they had rowed, but the schooner had faded into the haze, when the Indian pointed to a blurred line of rocks that showed here and there amidst a white upheaval. The lads fancied there was land behind them, but the smoky vapours were rolled in thicker belts in that direction, and they could see nothing but dim seas and foam as they pulled slowly under the lee of the reef. Now and then they crept close in with a rock, where long streamers of weed swayed about them as the sea that poured in frothy cataracts down the stone rolled in and out. It did not, however, only float off from the rock, but swung up with the heave from what appeared to be deep water, and Appleby had never seen any seaweed that would compare with this. The stems of it were apparently as thick as a man's arm, and the leaves a good deal longer than the boat. It gave him a curious, unpleasant sensation while he watched it writhe and twist as if alive, as far as he could see down into the icy brine.

"Is it growing loose on the top?" he asked.

"No," said Stickine. "It comes right up from the bottom forty or fifty feet, and if there's a sea otter anywhere around you're likely to find him crawling in and out among it. Seen anything yet, Charley?"

A man in a boat astern of them shook his head. "I guess the Aleuts have them all corralled now, though there's no sign of any Indians here," he said. "Anyway, if there is one left this is the kind of place we should find him in."

Besting now and then upon their oars while the boat swung up and clown on the heave that lapped frothing about the reef, they pulled on, until at last the Indian in the bows raised his hand, and for five long minutes after that crouched motionless. No man moved or asked a question, and there was nothing visible but swaying weed and foam, or to be heard but the growling of the sea. Then the Indian signed again, and with oars dipping softly they crept nearer in, the man with the brown face crouching still and impassive with his hands clenched on the rifle barrel, though Appleby, glancing over his shoulder, could see nothing on the face of the froth-swept stone. He, however, knew that no one born in the cities could hope to equal the Indian's powers of vision, for it is the artificial life of an incomplete civilization that dulls the white man's physical faculties, and there were few things in which Donovitch, who lived in close touch with nature, was not a match for the beasts.

Suddenly the rifle went up, moved as the boat swung, and grew still again, while the crouching object in the bows stiffened rigidly. Nobody was rowing now, and the lads, glancing over their shoulders, could see the side of the Indian's face pressed down on the butt, and it and the brown fingers on the barrel were still and lifeless as copper. Then there was a flash, the muzzle jerked upwards, and the smoke was in their eyes, but so intent were they that the report scarcely reached them, and what they heard most plainly was a soft splash in the sea. As Appleby looked down something that left a train of bubbles behind it seemed to flash beneath the boat, and passed beyond his vision into the waving weed.

"Did you get him?" a voice rose from the other boat.

"No. Pull in between him and the second rock," said Stickine, and there was a splash of oars as Charley's boat slid away.

Then the Indian stood upright in the bows staring at the sea, and for a time the boats swung with the lift of swell, while the water trickled from the oars. Every eye was fixed on the long heave, but no more bubbles rose up, and there was nothing to be seen save when a great streamer of weed whirled and swayed beneath them as though it were an animate thing. How long this lasted the lads did not know, but the intent bronzed faces, smears of froth, grey sea, and drifting haze had all grown hazy before their straining eyes, when a rifle flashed in Charley's boat, and there was a shout, "Heading your way, played out!"

"Pull," said Stickine. "In towards the rock a stroke or two."

The boat slid forward and stopped. Once more the Indian's rifle flashed, and a hazy shape showed for a moment beneath them in the water. Then there was a shout from Charley, "Stop right where you are. One of us will get out on the rock."

His boat slid in towards the froth-swept stone, and when she swung up with the swell two men sprang out of her and floundered along a perilous ledge over the slimy weed. Then the boats pulled out, and for what seemed a very long time moved one way and another, while every now and then a rifle flashed. The lads, however, could see nothing but the weed streaming in the water, and surmised by Stickine's face that he saw little more, for it was the Indians who took command now.

At last a grey patch showed for a moment amidst the froth that swirled about the rock, and sank from sight as suddenly when a man floundered towards it swinging up a club. Then as they dipped the oars the Indian stood up and with a hoarse shout launched himself from the boat. Appleby saw his tense figure for a second, and then held his breath as he plunged down, a dim shadow, into the waving weed. He felt a little shivery, for it seemed scarcely possible that the swimmer could evade the horrible embrace of those whirling sterns. Then a head rose from the surface, there was a muffled shout, and when the man went down again Stickine stood up on a thwart.

"A white man's as good as an Indian, anyway," he said. "We'll head him in to you on the rock, boys."

The boat rocked as he plunged down with hollowed back and stiffened arms, and Appleby shivered again. He could swim, but he felt that only the direst necessity would have sent him down amidst that clinging weed. Now they pulled in to the rock, and now back again, while between times the men beat the water with their oars and for a moment or two an arm or face rose up. Twice the boats drove together, and there was a shouting while a man thrust down a long-shafted weapon which resembled both a hook and a spear. Still, the lads could see no sign of the otter, until at last, when they were quivering with excitement, there was a shout from the rock, and a man clinging to it swung up his club, and then dropped it into the water. Next moment both boats had driven against the stone, and Appleby grabbed Stickine, who clung panting to the stern, while when somebody had helped him to drag him in, the Indian flung a limp object into the boat. Its head was flattened in apparently by a club, and the lads found it somewhat difficult to believe that it would reward them for their exertions in capturing it. There was, however, no mistaking the content in the faces of the men, and presently Stickine, who spoke to the Indian, pulled off his jacket.

"I guess we'll head for the schooner, boys. It's quite likely it would take us a week to find another otter, if we did it then, and that water's kind of cold," he said.

They turned back towards the Champlain while Charley's boat went on, and when Stickine had shaken off the chill by pulling and they had rested a few moments on their oars, Appleby said to him, "I fancied these Indians could shoot well, but it took them a long while to hit the otter."

Stickine laughed. "They didn't want to unless they could get him in the head. Nobody wants to drill big holes in a skin that's worth a bagful of dollars," he said.

Niven nodded, and turning round grinned at his comrade. "Of course, if you hadn't been so thick you'd have seen that, Tom," he said.

"Well," said Appleby dryly. "No doubt this is different, but I once went shooting with a friend at Sandycombe who gave a farmer's lad half-a-crown to meet him with a gun, and he would creep up so close to the first thing he fired at that all he could find afterwards was a few pieces."

Stickine's eyes twinkled. "Now, I knew a man down in British Columbia who found a fur seal on a reef, and got out his axe to catch him with," he said. "He'd never been sealing, and he wanted to make quite sure of him. I guess he did it, for when we went into that place for water the skipper laughed when he asked him to buy the skin.

"'One dollar for a seal?' says the man.

"'Yes,' says the skipper, solemn. 'You've chopped the rest of them right out of him. Nobody has much use for a pelt that's made of holes instead of skin.'"

It was noon when they reached the Champlain, and they spent the rest of the day helping Montreal to drive the iron bands Brulée whipped out of the galley fire on to the patched mast, so that they would shrink and bind the joint together, and refitting the rigging, while it was dusk when Charley came back without having seen another otter. Jordan, however, did not appear surprised at this.

"I've heard of the Indians prowling round for three months and getting nothing," he said.

The next day was spent in arduous and anxious toil replacing the mast, but worn out as everybody was, Jordan slipped out to sea when they hove the last shroud taut in the dusk, and they were busy afterwards reeving halliards and bending on the mainsail half the night.

"Every hour means dollars, boys," he said.

It was, however, fortunate they finished the work, for on the next evening the Champlain had need of all her speed. They had crept along slowly through the drizzle all day, but towards sundown the breeze suddenly freshened, and a dull red glare flickered for a few minutes on the horizon. It smote a coppery track across the heaving waters as they sailed westwards into it, but the smoky vapours came rolling up astern, and a low island along which the surf beat white showed up blurred and grey to the south of them. The sea rolled out of the north foam-flecked here and there, and the Champlain swung with the heave of it, hurling the spray from her bows as she drove along with a fresh beam wind.

The ominous red glare was, however, fading rapidly, and the lads, who sought shelter from the cold wind under the lee of the galley, knew that in half-an-hour or so the dimness that was creeping up from the east and south would close about them. There is no night in the north at that season, but for a few hours the light almost dies away, and times, when the skies are veiled by haze and rain, there is very little day.

It was very cold and clammy, and the lads' faces smarted from the stinging of the spray, while as the coppery streaks grew dimmer, the seas turned grey, and the wet rocks to the south of them became dim and shadowy. The surf was to leeward so they could not hear it, and the splashing at the bows and shrill moan of wind seemed to intensify the silence that descended on the sea. Then just before the last paling rays flickered out in the north, something showed up black and sharp against it. In another moment the Champlainhad slid down a sea and the thing had gone, but Niven stared at Appleby because the form of it had been curiously familiar.