It was early in the evening when after a toilsome march Mr. Barclay and the boys reached a Siwash rancherie built just above high-water mark on the pebbly beach of a sheltered inlet. Frank had already discovered that the northern part of the Pacific Slope is a land of majestic beauty, but he had so far seen nothing quite so wild and rugged as the surroundings of the Indian dwelling. Behind it, a great rock fell almost sheer, leaving only room for a breadth of shingle between its feet and the strip of clear green water. On the opposite side mighty firs climbed the face of a towering hill so steep that Frank wondered how they clung to it, and at the head of the tremendous chasm a crystal stream came splashing out of eternal shadow. Seaward a wet reef guarded the inlet's mouth, with its outer edge hidden by spouts of snowy foam, upon which the big Pacific rollers broke continually, ranging up in tall green walls and crumbling upon the stony barrier with a deep vibratory roar which rang in long pulsations across the stately pines.

The rancherie was a long and rather ramshackle, single-storied, wooden building not unlike a frame barn, only lower, and Frank discovered that although it was inhabited by the whole Siwash colony there were no divisions in it, but each inmate or family claimed its allotted space upon the floor. A tall pole rudely carved with grotesque figures stood in front of it, and it occurred to Frank as he inspected them that he was face to face with the rudiments of heraldry. The nobles of ancient Europe, he remembered, blazoned devices of this kind upon their shields, and their descendants still painted their lions and griffins and eagles upon their carriages and stamped them upon their note paper. He was probably right in his surmises, though there are different views upon the subject of totem poles, and the Siwash, who ought to know most about them, seem singularly unwilling to supply inquirers with any reliable information.

A group of brown-faced, black-haired men and women dressed much as white folks stood about the rancherie, and near them were ranged rows of shallow trays of bark containing drying berries. Frank noticed that the woods were full of the latter—hat berries, salmon berries, and splendid black and yellow raspberries. Several big sea canoes were drawn up at the edge of the water, and Mr. Oliver sat near one of them with another cluster of Siwash gathered about him. They had spread a number of peltries out upon the stones, which Mr. Oliver explained were seal skins. Frank examined one, and found it difficult to believe that this coarse, greasy, and nastily smelling hair was the material out of which the beautiful glossy furs were made. He confided his views to Harry.

"Yes," said the latter, "they're not much to look at now. They have to go through quite a lot of dressing, and I've heard that in the first place all the long outside hair is plucked out. There's an inner coat." He looked at the men. "It's done in England, isn't it?"

Mr. Barclay smiled. "A good deal of it is, anyway." Then he addressed Mr. Oliver. "You're buying some of these peltries?"

"One or two," was the answer. "We want an excuse for this visit."

Mr. Barclay made a sign of assent, and after chaffering with the Indians for a few moments Mr. Oliver broke in again: "They're cheap, that's sure. I suppose these fellows would rather sell them on the spot for dollars down than pack them along down to Alberni or some other place where they'd probably have to take grocery stores in payment. If you're open to make a deal we'll take two or three between us. We ought to get our money back with something over in Victoria."

Mr. Oliver kept up the bargaining for a while, and then explained that he and his companion did not care for the rest of the skins, which were inferior to those they had chosen. One of the Siwash thereupon informed him that more canoes were expected in a day or two, adding that he would probably be able to show them further peltries if they could wait their arrival.

"Tell him we'll stay," said Mr. Barclay. "At the same time you had better ask him if there's any likelihood of our getting down to Victoria by water. You can say we've had about enough crawling through the bush—it's a fact that I have—and lead up to the question naturally."

Frank, observing a twinkle in Harry's eyes, watched the Indians' faces when Mr. Oliver addressed them, but they remained perfectly expressionless.

"I can't get anything out of them about the schooner," Mr. Oliver reported at length. "This fellow says the easiest way would be to send our Indians back for the canoe, which I'll do. It's possible that we may chance upon a little more information later on."

"Where do they get the skins?" Frank asked presently, when the Indians had left them.

"That's a point they don't seem much inclined to talk about," Mr. Barclay answered. "They probably follow them in their canoes as they work up north, though it's only odd seals they pick up in that way. The principal supply comes from the Pribyloff Islands up in the Bering Sea. It's supposed that with the exception of a few which frequent some reefs lying nearer Russian Asia practically all the seals in the North Pacific haul out there for two or three months every year. The American lessees club them on the land, but the crews of the Canadian schooners kill a number in open water outside our limit. They claim that although the seals are born on American beaches we don't own them when they're in the sea, but, as it's suggested that they're not always very particular about their exact distance from the islands, their proceedings make trouble every now and then. I'm talking about the fur seals; there are several other kinds which are more or less common everywhere."

He broke off and sat smoking silently for a while, looking at the skins.

"They seem to have taken your fancy," Mr. Oliver observed presently.

"It's a fact," Mr. Barclay assented. "I was just thinking I'd like to take that big one and the other yonder home with me. My daughter Minnie visits East in the winter now and then, and she's fond of furs, though so far I haven't been able to buy her any particularly smart ones. There's a man I know in Portland who can fix up a skin as well as any one in London. He was a good many years in Alaska trading furs for the A.C.C., and some of the Russians who stayed behind there taught him to dress them."

Mr. Oliver laughed. "I suppose the thing is quite out of the question?"

"It is," said Mr. Barclay dryly. "You ought to know that the United States charges a big duty on foreign furs."

"On foreign ones!" broke in Harry, nudging Frank. "A seal born on an American beach could certainly be considered an American seal."

"When you import goods into the United States you require a certificate of origin, young man."

"That fixes the thing," said Harry. "On your own showing, those seals originated on the Pribyloffs. They're American."

"Ingenious!" exclaimed Mr. Barclay, with a longing glance at the skins. "There's some reason in that contention, but won't you go on? You don't seem to have got through yet."

"In case you felt justified in taking a skin or two," continued Harry thoughtfully, "I'd like to point out that, as a rule, the Customs fellows don't trouble about a sloop the size of ours. We just run up to our moorings when we come back from a yachting trip, and there's a nice little nook forward which would just hold a bundle of those peltries. It's hidden beneath the second cable."

Mr. Barclay picked up a piece of shingle and flung it at him.

"You can stop right now before you get yourself into difficulties. What do you mean by proposing a smuggling deal to a man connected with the United States revenue?"

"I'm sorry," Harry answered with a chuckle. "I should have waited until the rest had gone."

Mr. Barclay regarded him severely, though his eyes twinkled.

"Your smartness is going to make trouble for you by and by," he said. "Go and see what that Siwash is doing about our supper."

Harry moved away, but presently came back to announce that the meal was ready. When it was over the boys strolled off toward the reef, leaving the men sitting smoking on the beach.

"That boy of yours told me what seemed a rather curious thing last night," said Mr. Barclay, and he briefly ran over what Harry had related about the man with the peculiar shoulder.

Mr. Oliver listened in evident astonishment."It's the first time I've heard of the matter," he exclaimed. "What do you make of it?"

"In the meanwhile I don't quite know what to think. If that man is boss of the gang it explains a good deal that has been puzzling me, but I must own it's considerably more than I expected. The general idea was that he'd cleared out of the country, which would have been a very natural course in view of the fact that he'd probably have been sandbagged if he'd show himself after dark on any wharf of two of the coast states. Anyway, your son's description was quite straight. He seemed sure of him."

"Harry's eyes are as good as yours or mine," said Mr. Oliver with a smile. Mr. Barclay wrinkled his brow.

"There's a point that struck me—though I can't say if it explains the thing. The boy's only young yet, he has imagination and, it's possible, a fondness for detective literature, like the rest of them. Now we'll assume that he had heard of a certain sensational case—a particularly grewsome crime on board an American ship—and the arrest of the rascal accused of it. I needn't point out that the fellow only escaped on a technical point of law and that his picture figured in some of the papers. Isn't that the kind of thing that's likely to make a marked impression on the youthful mind?"

"I can see two objections," responded Mr. Oliver. "In the first place, Harry was away in Idaho while the case was going on. The second one's more important. Harry might try to put the laugh on you, as he did not long ago, but when he makes a concise statement it's to be relied upon. In such a case I've never known him to let his imagination run away with him."

Mr. Barclay spread his hands out in a deprecatory manner.

"Then we'll take the thing for granted, and it certainly simplifies the affair. I'd no trouble in finding the Chinese colony, and though I've no idea how they get the dope, that doesn't matter. The point is that it's very seldom anybody is likely to disturb them in this part of the bush, and there are two inlets handy. A schooner could slip in here a dozen times without being noticed by anybody except the Siwash. Then we have the fact that a notorious rascal who has evidently a hand in the thing was seen heading for the Chinese colony. It seems to me decisive."

"What are you going to do about it?" Mr. Oliver asked.

"Wait and keep my eyes open. If it appears advisable I may communicate with the Canadian authorities later on, though, of course, we must contrive to get our hands on the fellows in American waters. I've an idea it can be done."

Mr. Oliver said nothing further, and by and by, when a thin haze rolled down from the hillside and night closed in, they strolled toward the rancherie, where they were given a strip of floor space not far from the entrance. The boys came in a little later and lay down apart from them and nearer the door, but Frank did not go to sleep. The rancherie was hot and the dull roar of the combers on the reef came throbbing in and made him restless. He lay still for what seemed a considerable time, and at last there was a low sound which might have been made by somebody rising stealthily, after which a dim black object flitted out of the door. Then Harry, who lay close to him, touched his arm.

"Are you asleep?" he asked very softly.

"No," answered Frank. "Where's that fellow going?"

"Get out as quietly as you can," was Harry's reply.

Frank had kept his shirt and trousers on, and after feeling for his boots he arose cautiously, holding them in his hand. In another moment or two he had slipped out into the cool night air and was crossing the shingle in his stockinged feet. Once or twice a stone rattled, but he supposed the sound was lost in the clamor of the reef, for nobody seemed to hear it. When they had left the rancherie some distance behind they sat down.

"Now," said Harry, "I'll tell you my idea. They're expecting the schooner and don't want her to run in while we're about. They've probably had a man on the lookout down by the entrance, and I expect the fellow who went out has been sent by the boss or Tyee to learn if the other one has seen her."

"It's curious some of them didn't hear us," Frank observed thoughtfully.

"I'm not sure that they didn't," Harry admitted. "Anyway, they couldn't stop us without some excuse, and, if I'm right, they certainly wouldn't want to tell us why they wished us to stay in. Of course," he added, "it might make them suspicious, but I don't know any reason why we should point that out to Barclay. The great thing is to keep out of sight in case they follow us."

They put on their boots and crept along in the gloom beneath the rock, heading toward the reefs. A little breeze blew down the hollow, setting the dark firs to sighing, and part of the inlet lay black in their shadow. The rest sparkled in the light of a half-moon which had just risen above the crest of the hill. They could hear the soft splash and tinkle of water rippling among the stones, but now and then this sound was drowned as the roar of the reef grew louder and deeper. Presently a dim, filmy whiteness in front of them resolved itself into a glimmering spray cloud and fountains of spouting foam, and when at length they stopped among a cluster of wet boulders they could see a black ridge of rock thrusting itself out, half buried, into a mad turmoil of frothing water. It lay in the shadow of the rock, and there was no moonlight on the ghostly combers which came seething down upon it. A little outshore, however, the sea sparkled with a silvery radiance except where the shadow of a black head fell upon it. There was not more than a moderate breeze, but the Pacific surge breaks upon and roars about those reefs continually.

A little thrill ran through Frank as he leaned upon one of the wet boulders. It was the first time he had trodden a Pacific beach, and he realized that he had now reached the outermost verge of the West. He could go no farther. The ocean barred his progress, and beyond it lay different lands, whose dark-skinned peoples spoke in other tongues. The white man's civilization stopped short where he stood. Then as he watched the ceaseless shoreward rush of the big combers and looked up at black rock and climbing pines, a strange delight in the new life he led crept into his heart. Dusky shadow and silvery moonlight seemed filled with glamour, and he was learning to love the wilderness as he could never have loved the cities. Besides, he was there to watch for the mysterious schooner, and that alone was sufficient to stir him and put a tension on his nerves. It was more than possible that there were other watchers hidden somewhere in the gloom.

He did not know how long they waited, with the salt spray stinging their faces and the diapason of the surf in their ears, but at last she came, breaking upon his sight suddenly and strangely, as he felt it was most fitting that she should do. Her black headsails swept out of the shadow of the neighboring head, the tall boom-foresail followed, and a second later he saw the greater spread of her after canvas. She drove on, growing larger, into a strip of moonlight, when, for the wind was off the shore, he saw her hull hove up on the side toward him, with the water flashing beneath it and frothing white at her bows.

"She's close-hauled," said Harry. "They'll stretch across to the other side and then put the helm down and let her reach in. It's a mighty awkward place to make when the wind's blowing out."

She plunged once more into the shadow, but Frank could still see her more or less plainly—a tall, slanted mass of canvas flitting swiftly through the dusky blueness of the night. She edged close in with the reef, still carrying everything except her main gaff-topsail, and then as her headsails swept across the entrance the splash of a paddle reached the boys faintly through the clamor of the surf and they heard a hoarse shout.

"There's a canoe yonder," announced Harry. "The Siwash in her is hailing them. They've heard him. Her peak's coming down."

A clatter of blocks broke out and the upper half of the tall mainsail suddenly collapsed. Then the schooner's bows swung around a little until they pointed to the seething froth upon the opposite beach.

"What are they doing?" Frank asked. "She's going straight ashore."

Harry laughed excitedly. "No," he said, "that Siwash has told them to clear out again, and it will want smart work to get her round in this narrow water. They've dropped the mainsail peak because she wouldn't fall off fast enough."

Frank watched her eagerly for the next moment or two. Her bows were swinging around, but they were swinging slowly, and the beach with the white surf upon it seemed ominously close ahead. He saw two black figures go scrambling forward and haul the staysail to windward, but she was still forging across the inlet. Then her bows fell off a little farther, the trailing gaff swung out with a bang, and Frank saw the masts fall into line with him and a bent figure behind the deckhouse struggling with the wheel. In another moment her mainsail came over with a crash and she was flitting out to sea again."Now," cried Harry, "back up the beach for your life! We're going in swimming!"

"You can do what you like," grunted Frank. "I'm heading straight for the rancherie."

"After the swim," urged Harry. "Get a move on and loose your things as you run. I'll explain later."

He ran on, flinging off his clothes, and plunged into the water when they drew near the rancherie. In another moment or two Frank waded in after him and was glad he had done so when he heard the soft splash of a canoe paddle somewhere in the gloom. He fancied that the Siwash would see them, which, as he realized, was what Harry had desired. They were some distance from the mouth of the inlet and he did not think the schooner would have been visible from the spot, which led him to believe that if the Indians had noticed their absence their present occupation might serve as an excuse for it.

He did not see the canoe reach the beach, but in two or three minutes Harry suggested that they might as well go out, and putting on some of their clothes they made for the rancherie. Creeping into it softly, they lay down and soon afterward went to sleep.