, and a little breeze had just sprung up with the sun when Appleby, who was scrubbing down decks just then, turned upon Niven who stood close by with a dripping bucket in his hand.

"I want the water here, and not all over me," he said, pointing with his bare toes to the sand he had sprinkled on the planking.

Niven grinned, and stooping, rolled his trousers to the knee, after which he commenced a little step-dance up and down the forehatch, and his laugh rang lightly when a drowsy growl rose from beneath.

"You want good thick clogs to do it well, but I fancy this will bring him up," he said. "Did yez sleep all day in the old country, Donegal?"

Now few men would have ventured to do what Niven was doing on board a merchant ship, where the time for sleep is scanty, but as the

Champlain

carried twice as many men as were apparently needed, they had ample space for rest. Still, as he swung round grimacing with his back to the scuttle in the hatch, a coppery head rose up from it, and a long arm reached out. Then there was a chuckle from Stickine at the wheel, and Niven turned again just in time to receive the contents of the bucket full in his face. After that there was a scurry across the deck, and he swung himself up by the mast-hoops, while a rope-end flicked about the one from which he had just whipped his naked feet, and Donegal sat down on the hatch with a placid grin.

"Ye can stop up there and cool, me son, until Ned Jordan comes up," he said.

Niven sat down on the jaws of the foresail gaff, and wiped his dripping face. "Sure, 'tis an ungrateful beast, an' me just rousing him while the morning's fresh," he said. "Tom, if I had that bucket I could drop it nicely on his head."

Donegal gazed up at the lad reflectively. "'Tis what comes of fattening ye too quick," he said. "There was no thricks of that kind about ye on board the

Aldebaran

, and ye had a distressful hungry look when we got ye."

Niven could not find a neat rejoinder, and sat still with his arm round the throat halliards high up on the gaff, while the sun that rose with a smoky glare out of the eastern haze shone into his face. It was bronzed to the colour of copper, and it is possible that his friends would at first sight have found it difficult to recognize the lad they had last seen strutting in new uniform. He now wore jean trousers and a thick canvas jacket which Jordan had given him, and while both were considerably too large there were big smears of tar on them. His hands were as hard as a navvy's, and though he had not lost the love of frolic he had found no scope for on board the

Aldebaran

there was a difference in his face.

The sea had set its stamp upon Niven, and the set of his lips had grown more resolute, while though they could still twinkle his eyes were steadier. Hardship and the need for quick decision and self-reliance had stiffened him, for Niven had been taught a good deal since he left Sandycombe School, and the knowledge that even a rich merchant's son was entitled to nothing he could not obtain by his native wit or the strength of his hand was perhaps the most useful of it all. Money, he had discovered, was not much use at sea, where nobody cared in the least who he was, and it was by the things he did he must stand or fall.

There was less change in Appleby, who had been early cast upon his own resources, but he, who had never been boisterous, was a trifle quieter, and had already added an inch or two to the breadth of his chest. His skin also resembled half-tanned leather, and he was picturesquely arrayed in garments of patched canvas somewhat too large for him.

In the meanwhile Niven glancing aft, and wondering by what means he could avoid Donegal, who appeared disposed to sit where he was all morning, saw the crimson glare of the sunrise beat athwart the sea. It streaked the long smooth undulations that rolled up after the

Champlain

a coppery red, and the schooner swung over them lazily with half-filled mainsail banging. Under the sun there rolled a bank of smoky vapour, and just as Jordan came up from the little deckhouse, Niven saw something slide out of it. He was not altogether sorry, for although there was no abuse of the men on board the

Champlain

, he fancied the skipper's toleration had its limits, and when he looked down Donegal flicked a rope-end suggestively.

Next moment Jordan saw him. "Now, I figured you were washing decks. Anybody tell you to go up there?" he said.

Niven looked distinctly sheepish, and Donegal grinned. "Is ut telling that's any use to him, an' me inviting him to come down the last half-hour," he said. Just then the object that crept out of the haze grew clearer, and swinging himself up by the peak halliard, Niven stretched out an arm. "There's a schooner coming up astern, sir," he said. "Another just showing abeam!"

Donegal sprang into the shrouds, Jordan whipped up his glasses, and Niven, who saw they had forgotten him, slipped down. He had scarcely reached the deck when the skipper called out, and two or three men came scrambling out of the scuttle.

"Hand those topsails down, and get up the biggest yard-headers," he said.

There was no scurrying, but the men were very swift, and in a few minutes the little three-cornered topsails they had carried at night were down, and two big ones set. The

Champlain

quickened her pace a trifle, but it was evident the other schooners were coming up with her. Jordan laid down his glasses.

"The

Belle

and the

Argo

. They're bringing the breeze along with them," he said.

The sea was still only faintly rippled about them, and the smoke from the galley eddied in the hollow of the foresail, but the other vessels had grown plainer and were slanting over, while Niven, who resumed his deck scrubbing, fancied that Jordan strode up and down impatiently. Then Brulée, the French-Canadian cook, put his head out of the galley. "The breakfast is quite ready,

camarades

," he said.

The lads took their places with the rest, and when they sat down Niven glanced at the big lean-faced Stickine.

"What are we running away from those fellows for?" he said.

"Hear him!" said Donegal. "'Tis marvellous, his observation."

"Give the lad a show now and then," said the Canadian. "Well, now, when you see Ned Jordan run away you can figure there's dollars somewhere at the bottom of it, because if he didn't want to it would take quite a fleet of gunboats to put a move on him."

Brulée laughed. "You others are all lak that," he said. "

V'la la belle chose – courant en courant – la chasse de dollar

. It is so with you also in my country, the Quebec."

"Well, now," said a little man who hailed from Montreal, "there was a time when some of you made tolerably good running down there under Montcalm too. I've seen the place where that chase came off, and it's right behind the ramparts at Quebec."

"They run!" said Niven, who had read of the famous scene on the heights of Abraham, but Donegal stretched out a big hand, and he wriggled backwards with his plate.

"What come well from General Wolfe is a thrifle too big for the size av ye," he said. "They were good men, both Montcalm and him, and 'tis but the makings of one I'm after licking out of ye. Stickine, ye may purceed."

"Well," said the Canadian, "where the fur seals go to when they haul off from the Behring Sea nobody quite knows, but they're coming north, thousands of them, now, and some men can figure better than others where they'll first show up again."

"Is the skipper fortunate at finding them?" asked Appleby.

"Well, I wouldn't put it like that, just because it's tolerably plain figuring that it wants a good big head to make a lucky man," said Stickine. "It's the one who can do the most thinking comes out on top, and the things Jordan knows are the ones that work out the reckoning."

"You've hit it plump," said another man. "Ned Jordan's chased the seals that long he can tell you just what they're thinking."

Stickine nodded. "And think they can; they, and the sea otter, and the salmon they live upon. Well, now, when Ned Jordan has worried it all out for days, he has no use for a crowd of men who're too lazy to do their own thinking, hanging right on to him. No, sir. When the

Champlain

drops right down on top of the seal herd she'll be there alone."

They went up as soon as breakfast was over, and Niven saw that one of the schooners had drawn close up on the

Champlain's

quarter. The breeze had freshened, and both vessels were hurling the froth about their bows, and slanting over until the foam was near the rail. Foot by foot the stranger drew up, and Niven saw the reason as he noticed the length of her slanted masts. She sank to her bowsprit at every dip, and the spray whirled half the height of her tall foresail, when she swung her streaming bows up again. A man stood aft with both hands gripping her wheel, and another with a broad grin on his face leaned on her rail. His voice reached them faintly.

"We've been feeling lonely for the sight of you these two weeks," he said. "Now it 'pears to me that as the

Belle

has got the speed, we're going to have your company."

Jordan smiled grimly as he glanced to weather. "Well, I don't know. There's more wind coming along," he said.

Appleby was sensible of a little thrill of pleasurable excitement, for it was evident that if Jordan desired to fall in with the seal herds alone he must sail for it, and glancing aft at the skipper's lean figure and quiet bronzed face he felt that he was not the man to be lightly beaten.

At noon there was no great distance between the vessels, though the

Belle

with her tall masts had crept forward a little upon the

Champlain's

weather-quarter, and the third one lay a quarter of a mile astern. The spray was whirling in sheets, and now and then a frothing green deluge came in, for all three were listed well down to their rails. The sea was also flecked and seamed with white, and it was evident to the lads that no skipper would have driven his vessel so hard had he not men enough to swiftly shorten sail. Then just as Brulée put his head out of the galley, the

Champlain

heeled further by a screaming blast, buried her lee bow, and when she hove her head clear again all that side of her ran water.

Jordan glanced up at his main topmast, and there was a little twinkle in his eyes as he said, "I figure nobody would blame us for not hanging on to our sail. Boys, we'll have the topsail down."

The big sail swung down below the mainsail gaff, but when Appleby would have laid his hand upon the tack to haul it lower still Stickine laughed as he stopped him. "There's two ways of winning a race," he said. "Let her lie. 'Pears to me Ned Jordan will want her up again."

Appleby did not quite understand, but he saw Jordan's pose stiffen and his face grow intent as the

Belle

, still carrying everything, forged ahead. Then her topsail also fluttered, and he swung up his hand.

"Sheets in, and stand by your peak halliard to let go with a run," he said.

Then there was a scurry along the deck, blocks groaned and rattled, and the long booms were dragged in as the skipper put down his helm. The schooner came round, and because no vessel will carry the sail on a wind that she will going free, her lee-rail was in the sea and the deck sloped like a roof. Foam and green water seethed over her weather bow, and Appleby thrilled all through as he hung on by a pin with one hand on the peak halliard ready to let the mainsail gaff swing down to ease the pressure. He understood the manoeuvre now, for the

Champlain

was shooting up across the other schooner's stern for the berth that would give her a free hand upon her weather. It was almost too late when the skipper of the

Belle

realized this, but he put his helm down pluckily, and then the weight of his tall masts came into play. The

Belle

seemed buried in a white confusion when she came up, too, and a huddle of dripping figures appeared to wash aft together when she dipped her nose in a sea. Then there was a crash as she swung her jibs out of the foam again, and her foresail blew over to leeward banging, while the

Champlain

swept up dripping on her weather. A man sprang up in the shrouds shouting ironically, but Jordan shook his head and called him down.

"We've no use for that kind of thing here," he said.

Appleby was dripping with the spray, but his blood tingled, and his face was flushed, while Stickine, who stood close by, nodded to him approvingly.

"Neat, oh, yes. Quite neat!" he said. "Her foresail gaff's gone, and we're well up on her weather where we can do what we like with her. Still, I figure we're not going to hold on to our own sticks very long."

"Square away!" Jordan's voice rang out, and the long mainboom swung out again, while there was by contrast a curious ease of motion when the

Champlain

, rising more upright, turned her stern to the sea. It no longer thrashed in over her weather bow, but ran forward white-topped on either side of her, but the breeze was even stronger, and Appleby wondered, when the voice rose again.

"Run the gaff topsail back to the masthead, boys!"

It took several of them to do it, and more were needed before they hauled the sheet home. Then the

Belle

dropped away behind, though the other vessel stayed where she was, half-a-mile under their lee quarter, a pyramid of swaying sail.

Jordan laughed softly as he glanced towards her over his shoulder. "Old man Carter's most as stubborn as a mule," he said. "Well, we'll have more wind by and by, and I'm figuring we'll see things then. I don't know any reason you shouldn't get your dinner in the meanwhile, boys."

They trooped below, and there was no great change when they came up, except that the

Belle

was farther astern and the sea seemed to be getting steeper. They swept on before it all afternoon, and the men were a little more silent when, with a great rolling in of smoky vapours, nightfall came. It was now blowing tolerably hard, but while the seas frothed white as they surged past high above the rail, the

Champlain

still drove on under all her lower sails. She was swept by bitter spray, and the man who held her straight was panting at the wheel, but the vapours rolled down thicker and the

Belle

and the

Argo

were indistinguishable. Niven was lying in his bunk when Stickine came down, and his face was a trifle grave, while, as he flung off his dripping oilskins, there was a great thud and gurgle forward, and something seethed across the hatch.

"Put her nose in that time," he said. "Well, we've got to shake them off, but we're taking steep chances already, and we can't press her as we're doing very long."

"Could you make the others out?" asked a man, and Stickine laughed silently.

"No," he said. "Still, we will do if the moon comes through. I know old man Carter, and he'd run her under before he'd let us beat him. It wouldn't take them long to get the spare gaff on the

Belle

He flung himself into his bunk as he was, and Appleby, who had heard him, asked no questions. He began to realize that these big, good-humoured sealers could on occasion be very grim, though this was not a cause of much astonishment to him, for he had seen already that it is not, as a rule, the domineering and ostentatious who take the foremost place when the real stress comes. He slept, but it was lightly, for the roar of the sea about the bows and groaning of the hard-pressed hull roused him now and then. At times he seemed to feel the great beams and knees straining above him and the tremulous quiver of the vessel's skin, while when for the fourth time he wakened suddenly a shower of brine came down with a hoarse voice through the scuttle. The light of the swinging lamp showed that Niven was sitting up wide awake, and in a few more minutes they crawled out on deck with several of the men.

A shower of stinging spray beat into their eyes, and when he could see again, Niven had a disconcerting glimpse of a big frothing comber apparently curling above the schooner's stern. The decks ran water, but when he glanced aloft every sail but the topsail was drawing still, and he clutched the rail when as they swung upwards a blink of moonlight pierced the flying vapours. To leeward of them lay a schooner, her hull just showing faintly black through the white smother that seethed about her, until she hove a breadth of it up streaming in a leeward roll. It appeared insignificant in comparison with the mass of dusky sail that swayed low again towards the rushing froth as she lurched back to weather, and then Appleby glanced aft with a little thrill to the grim set face of the man who stood panting at the

Champlain's

wheel.

The hiss of the seas that followed, the roar at the bows, the wild humming of the blast and the whirling spray stirred his blood. They were all of them tokens of what man could dare, and the strain, that human nerve could bear, for he knew that already hemp and wire and timber were being taxed to the uttermost, and that if the helmsman gave her a spoke too much or too little the next sea would curl on board or the great black mainsail jibe over and strew the

Champlain's

decks with ruin. Niven stood beside him, and Appleby saw that although his face was almost colourless in the moonlight, his eyes were shining.

"Oh, it's great!" he said. "Worth all we stood on board the

Aldebaran

to have a hand in this."

"And how many hands were ye born with when I see two av them holding ye where ye are?" said Donegal, who apparently heard him. "Is ut dollars or diversion a man goes to sea after?"

Niven laughed. "Dollars. Oh, get out! You know you feel it yourself," he said. "You've got everything just throbbing inside you as I have now."

Donegal grinned broadly. "And what if you're right?" he said. "'Tis born in the blood av the likes av me, but if I was the son av a ducal earl it's sorrow on the day would find me on the sea."

He got no further, but grabbed the lad's shoulder and held him fast as the

Champlain

swerved a little and a sea came in. It swirled about them icy cold as she rolled down to lee, and the scuppers were spouting when with a wild lurch she swung back to weather. Then Donegal thrust the pair of them aft together.

"Get a good hold an' keep it, until we have some need av ye," he said.

Then the blink of moonlight went out and the

Champlain

was alone, while the two lads shivered and dodged the spray as she swept onwards through the night, until a faint light crept out of the east across the whitened sea. The wet canvas showed black against it, there was a doleful wail of wind, and then when man's strength sinks to its lowest something happened. The

Champlain

put her bows in, and Jordan sprang suddenly up on the deckhouse gazing astern. What he said was scarcely audible, but the sealers apparently understood it, for the deck was filled with scrambling men. Down came the mainsail's peak, forward a slashing sail slid down, and the outer jib thrashed furiously above the bowsprit. Niven was clawing his way towards it when Stickine grasped his shoulder and flung him back.

"I guess this is going to be work for a man," he said.

Niven, who watched him crawl out along the bowsprit, held