“

Now I’ve got a notion,” said Rob, one morning not long after they had finished their new barabbara, “that if we were asked about this big island where we are living we couldn’t tell very much regarding it. We’ve only been over a little strip of country around here. I don’t suppose we’ve ever been more than five or six miles from camp yet, even when we climbed highest in the mountains beyond the creek. Yet we can see over thirty miles of country from here. I’d sort of like to have a trip up one of those other valleys.” He pointed a hand to the farther shore of the bay which lay before their gaze, level and calm as a mirror.

“That’s what I’ve thought more than once, too,” said Jesse. “Why not make an exploring expedition over there?”

“We couldn’t do it and get back in time for supper,” demurred John.

“No,” smiled Rob, “but we could have several suppers over there. Why not go across and camp out a night or two, and just rough it a little bit? You can see that there are pine woods on the mountains over there, and wherever there is pine it is always comfortable camping. We could take some grub along, of course, and our rifles.”

“How’d we sleep?” asked Jesse. “It has a way of raining in this country every once in awhile.”

“Well,” said Rob, “we could sit under a tree if we had to. I don’t suppose we could make a bark shelter, and we have nothing that would do for a tent; but we have our kamelinkas, and the blanket we made out of the sea-parrot breasts. We’d get along somehow. What do you say, Skookie?”

Skookie grinned, understanding what was on foot. “All light—all light!” he said.

“Agreed then, fellows,” said Rob. “And we’ll start this very morning, because the bay is perfectly calm and there seems no danger of rough weather. It’ll be cold up in the mountains, so we’ll take one blanket for each two of us, and those that don’t carry blankets will carry grub. We two will take our rifles, John, and Skookie the axe. We’ll get on famously, I am sure.”

The boys began to put out the different articles on the ground for packing. “Now we don’t want to make our packs too heavy,” said Rob. “The best way to pack is with a pair of overalls.”

“How do you mean?” asked John.

“Well, you put all your things down on a piece of canvas or something, and you lash it tight with a rope, making a bundle about twice as long as it is wide, so that it will lie lengthwise on your back. You put your cord around each end, and then around it all lengthwise. Now you take your pair of overalls and straddle the legs across the lengthwise rope until it comes to the cross rope around the lower end. Then you take the ends of the legs and spread them apart at the other cross rope, wide enough for your shoulders to go in, leaving enough of the legs for shoulder-straps. Then you tie the ends of the legs fast to the cross ropes with small cords. There you are with the best kind of pack straps, which don’t weigh anything and don’t cut your shoulders. The legs of the overalls are soft, you see. Big Mike showed me how to do this, back home. He used to pack two sacks of flour up the Chilkoot Pass on the snow.”

“Yes,” said Jesse, “I’ve heard about that way, and seen men pack that way, too. There’s only one thing that makes me against it now.”

“What’s that?” asked Rob, thoughtlessly.

“We haven’t got the overalls!”

Rob’s face fell as he rubbed his chin. “That’s so,” he admitted, “we haven’t! And our trousers are getting pretty badly worn and wouldn’t do for pack straps. I suppose we’ll have to cut strips of seal leather or take a piece off our bear hides. Well, we won’t make the packs heavy, anyhow, and we’ll take it slow and easy.”

Within an hour they had stowed their equipment in the dory and pushed off, all of them rowing and paddling. They thought they would soon be across the bay, whose opposite shore looked quite close; but they were somewhat startled to see how long it took them actually to make the distance, which must have been some six or eight miles. The bay, however, remained quiet and their progress was steady, although they were all very tired by the time they landed on the opposite beach, at the mouth of the valley which they purposed to explore.

“It seems wilder over here,” said John. “Look how rough the mountains seem and how thick the timber is on above there. And I don’t see any barabbara over here.”

“There’s something that looks like one, back from the beach a little way,” said Jesse, pointing out what seemed like a low heap of earth. They went over and found it to be, indeed, the ruins of an old barabbara, which looked as though it had not been occupied for a lifetime. The roof had fallen in and the walls were full of holes, so that it was quite unfit for occupancy. They left it and passed up the beach, where they saw the ruins of several other houses, no doubt occupied by natives very long ago. Beyond this a short distance, not far from a deep path which was worn in the tundra by the wild game, they saw a number of rude posts standing at different angles, loosely embedded in the soil, and in some instances fallen and rotting in the grass. Some of these had rude cross-arms at their tops, others two cross-arms, the lower one nailed up at a slant. The boys regarded these curiously, but Skookie seemed anxious to move on.

“Why, what’s up, Skookie? What’s the matter?” asked Rob. “What do these posts mean, that look like crosses?”

“Dead mans here—plenty, plenty dead mans, long time,” said Skookie. “No mans live here now. I’m not like dis place.”

“Why,” said Rob, “they’re graves, and these are crosses—I think that one with the double arms must be one of the old Russian crosses. Was there ever a village here, Skookie?”

The Aleut lad nodded his head. “Long times, my peoples live here some day. Russian mans come here, plenty big boats; plenty shoot my peoples. Dose Russian mans make church here, show my peoples about church. Bime-by Russian mans go way. Bime-by my peoples get sick, plenty sick; all die, all dead mans here. My peoples go way, never come back no more. I’m not like dis place.” He shuddered as he looked at the grave posts, and was eager to go on.

“That must have been seventy-five years ago,” commented Rob. “Perhaps small-pox killed off the villagers who built this little town. See, the wind and the weather have polished these posts until they are white as silver. Well, I don’t know but I’m ready to go on myself.”

Shouldering the packs which they had put down when they paused for their investigation, they took their way on up the ancient trail made by the bears and possibly once beaten by human feet. Once they came upon the fresh trail of a giant bear which had passed the night before, according to Skookie, but as the animal had swung off to the left and out of their course, they made no attempt to follow it; and if truth be told, they seemed now so far from home in this new part of the country, and were so depressed by the thought of the abandoned village, that something of their hunting ardor was cooled for the time. The walking across the mile of meadow-like tundra was hard enough, and they were glad when they reached the rockier bank of the stream which came down, broad and shallow in some places, narrow and tumbling in others. Here sometimes they waded in the water to escape the tangled thickets of alder interspersed with the prickly “devil’s club,” peculiar to all Alaska—a fiendish sort of plant covered with small spines, which grows in all fantastic shapes, but which manages to slap one somewhere, no matter where one steps upon it, and whose little prickly points detach themselves and remain in the flesh. Our young explorers, however, were used to Alaska wilderness travel, and they took all of this much as matter of course, pushing steadily on up the valley until they reached a fork, where to the right lay rather better going and larger trees.

They concluded to bear up the right-hand caÑon, and, pausing only for a bit to eat, about the middle of the afternoon, they had perhaps gone six or eight miles from the sea-shore when they concluded to camp for the night.

They were now at the foot of a dense mountain forest, where the shadows lay thick and cold, and there seemed something sinister in the silence all about them. None the less, they soon had a good camp-fire going, and with the axe they proceeded to make a sort of lean-to shelter out of pine boughs. Rob picked out a place near a big fallen log, drove in two crotches a little higher than his head, and placed across them a long pole; then from the log to this ridge-pole they laid others, and thatched it all with pine boughs until they had quite a respectable house. On the floor they spread out a deep bed of pine boughs, and so sat back under their shelter, with their fire roaring and crackling in front of them; and all agreed that they had a very comfortable camp. Pretty well worn out by the hard work of the day, for their packs and rifles had grown unspeakably heavy, they ate their supper of dried meat and smoked salmon, and so curled up in their blankets, too tired to stay awake.

The next morning they were up, feeling much more courageous after their good rest.

“I think it might be a good plan,” said Rob, “to leave one of the grub packs here; and if we camp farther on to-night, and decide to go yet deeper into the island, to leave a little grub at each camp, of course swung up so that nothing can get at it to eat it.”

“How far do you want to go?” asked John, whose legs were rather short, and who was feeling a little stiff after his first day’s travel.

“Well, I don’t know,” answered Rob, “but if you fellows agree, I’d be for going at least a day’s march farther up this valley. It’ll be colder, and it’ll be harder climbing, but the footing will be better and we can take our time. I’d like to see if there isn’t some sort of a pass up here, the other side of which leads down into the interior. I’ve always heard that the arms of the sea came pretty near cutting this island in two, along about the middle somewhere. We might have to take a look over on the other side of the island sometime, if we stayed here five or ten years, you know!”

The other boys looked sober at this sort of a jest, but pluckily agreed to go on for at least one more day. This they did not regret, for they found themselves now in a country savoring more of the mountains than of the sea. Snow lay just above them, but the tops of the mountains seemed fairly open. Their little valley had a steady ascent, although by this time its watercourse had dwindled to a stream over which they could step as they pleased. Along the stream there showed the inevitable trail of the giant Kadiak bears which for hundreds of years had made these paths over all the passes down to the streams. Fresh bear signs the boys saw in abundance, but did not stop to hunt.

Once, as they crossed their stream, they passed the mouth of a short, steep little ravine which opened down into the valley. Here Rob’s eye detected something white. Stepping over in that direction, he called the others. “Look here, fellows, here’s a great big bear skull all by itself!”

They stood about this object, which certainly was enough to puzzle them. There it lay, entirely stripped of all flesh, and very white, although the bone was not badly bleached by the elements as yet. There was not the sign of any struggle anywhere about, nor was there the least particle of any other bones. They searched for the remainder of the skeleton of the animal, but found nothing of the sort anywhere about. There lay the grinning skull, far up here in the mountains, with nothing to tell whence it came or how it happened to be there.

“My, wasn’t it a whale!” exclaimed Jesse. “See, it’s almost as long as my arm. I’ll bet it’s eighteen or twenty inches long, measured as it is. But what could have killed it? Nothing could kill a bear except another bear; but that wouldn’t account for the head being here all alone. Skookie, what do you think about this?”

“My peoples, maybe so,” said Skookie.

“Your peoples? Why, I thought you said no one lived over on this side. And we’ve seen no signs of hunting here anywhere.”

Skookie went on to explain. “S’pose my peoples hunt. Kill big bear. Some mans take hide, some mans take meat, some mans take head. Dis head not good for eat, but very much heavy. Some mans get tired, lay it down here; maybe so birds eat-um all up but bone.”

“But how long ago did all this happen, Skookie?” asked John.

“I dinno.”

“And where did the hunters come from?” asked Rob.

“I dinno. Maybe so Eagle Harbor, maybe so Old Harbor.”

“Which way is Old Harbor, Skookie?” asked Rob, suddenly.

The lad pointed back across the mountains, beyond the bay, and beyond their camp on the farther side. “Plenty far,” he said.

“Then which way is Eagle Harbor—I suppose you mean a native village.”

“Eagle Harbor dis way.” And Skookie pointed across the head of the pass toward which they were travelling up the valley.

“How far?” demanded Rob.

“I dinno,” answered Skookie; “plenty miles, maybe so. My peoples live Old Harbor.”

Rob studied for a moment. “I’ll bet that if we kept on,” said he, “until we came to the top of this divide, we’d find the head of a river running down the other way. Like as not it would go to some bay where Eagle Harbor village is. Well, that makes the island seem not quite so big. Come on, let’s go on up to the top of this pass, anyhow.”

So they plodded on, but did not reach the summit that night, nor did they find any further solution to the riddle of the lost bear skull, which latter Rob left in the trail, intending to pick it up on their return, although Skookie seemed to be averse to this performance; owing, no doubt, to some of his native superstitions. That night they camped high up in an air which was very cold, so that they shivered before morning, although their fire of little logs had not yet burned out.

By noon of the next day, two camps out from the sea, and at a distance of perhaps twenty-five miles or more, they reached what was plainly the divide between this valley and another leading off to the northwestward. Here they paused. Before them stretched a wilderness of upstanding mountain peaks into which there wound the narrow end of a new valley, widening but slightly so far as their eyes could trace it.

“Eagle Harbor that way, Skookie?” asked Rob, leaning on his rifle and looking out over the wild sea which lay before him.

“I dinno,” said Skookie.

“How far do you think it is?”

“I dinno.”

The Aleut lad was truthful, for neither he nor any of his family had ever crossed the island here, and he knew nothing of what lay ahead. Plainly uneasy now, Skookie had had enough of travel away from camp. “Maybe go back now?” he asked Rob, inquiringly.

“I suppose so,” replied the latter, “although I’d jolly well like to go over in here a little farther. I’ve a notion we’d come out somewhere closer to Kadiak town; and maybe we’d run across some native who would take us in. But there doesn’t seem to be any game except once in a while a ptarmigan—those mountain grouse that strut and crow around here on the snow, and aren’t big enough to waste rifle ammunition on. Maybe it’s safer to go back to our camp and wait for a month or so more at least. What do you say, fellows?”

The others, who were very tired and a little uneasy at being so far from what was their nearest approach to a home, voted for the return. So, after a rest at the summit, where cutting winds soon drove them back, they shouldered their lighter packs and began to retrace their way down the valley to the sea.

Now they did not have to build any shelters for the night and could use their old camps. They found that their appetites were increased by their hard work, so that after the last camp they had little left to carry except their blankets and guns, although Rob manfully insisted on carrying out the great bear skull, which he found quite heavy enough before the end of the journey.

When at last they left the mountains and crossed the tundra to the deserted village near which they had left their dory moored, they saw that a change had come over the weather. In the north a black cloud was rising, and the surface of the bay, although little broken by waves so far as they could see, had a steely and ominous look.

“Maybe so rain bime-by,” said Skookie.

Rob studied the bay and the sky for some time. “What do you say, boys?” he asked. “Shall we try to make it across to-night? I don’t like the look of things out there, and you know it’s a long pull.”

“Well,” said John, “I’m for starting across. There’s no place to stop here, and I don’t like this place any more than Skookie does, anyhow.”

Jesse agreed that they might probably better try to make their home camp, as their supplies were low, and since, if stormy weather came, it might be a long time before they could cross the bay.

“All right, then,” said Rob; “but we’ve got to hurry.”

Skookie also was plainly nervous. They rushed the dory from its moorings, and all taking oars and paddles, gave way strongly as they could. At that time there were no waves of consequence, only a long, slow motion like the pulse of the sea which came down from the outer mouth of great Kaludiak Bay. The wind had not yet risen, although steadily the twilight seemed to thicken.

For three-quarters of an hour they made good progress. Then they noticed that their boat began to pitch a little, and small, choppy waves raced by. A strong slant of wind was coming down from another valley farther toward the mouth of the bay, opposite which they passed, when they left at one side the long spit of land which had served as shelter to their part of the inner bay.

Evidently the wind was freshening. A fine spindrift settled on the farther side of the bay, so that at times their own shore was cut out from view for many moments. Night, too, was now coming. Without a word the boys bent to their oars, thoroughly alarmed. Rob and Skookie were perhaps the calmest of the four, and Rob undertook to do what he could to encourage his companions.

“One thing you want to remember, boys,” said he, “and that is that one of these dories will stand almost as much sea as a ship, if you handle her right. We’ll keep her quartering into the waves, and will keep on rowing all night if we have to. Never mind where we strike the shore on the other side—we won’t try to come out just at our camp. I only hope we can make it above the mouth of our creek, because if we go below that point we might drift twenty miles, clear to the far end of the bay. Don’t pull too hard now and get fagged, but keep up a steady lick. Jesse, you’d better get in the stem and let John and Skookie each pull an oar. I’ll take the other pair. Get your tin pail ready, Jesse, and if we take in any water, keep it bailed out the best you can.”

The others were plucky, although every one was anxious. The little crew kept sturdily at the oars, facing what was a situation serious enough to daunt even the strongest men. These Alaskan storms are dangerous even to the most powerful vessels, and no coast in the world has a longer record of shipwreck and lost vessels of which no trace ever is found.

When once fairly out in the middle of the bay, the boys got a notion of the power of the sea such as they never before had known in their lives and thought never again to repeat. Clouds now obscured the sky. The wind increased steadily, coming in directly from the mouth of the great bay, and bringing with it all the power of the mighty Pacific Ocean. As these young adventurers looked over their shoulders it was a truly terrifying spectacle which met their gaze.

In steady succession, a few moments apart, there came down into the bay, apparently reaching from side to side across it, long black hills of water, great, roller-like waves which did not break but came in black and oily. Each one, as it towered above the little boat, seemed about to engulf it, but in some way the splendid little dory found its way up the side and across the crest; and then they would see the great, silent black hill of water swing on into the bay and pass out of sight, only to be followed by another. The wind was not yet strong enough to break the tops of the waves, and fortunately the tide was coming in, so that there were no rips, which would surely have swamped their little craft.

“Keep on pulling, boys!” cried Rob. “We’re doing finely. She rides these big waves like a duck. She’s a splendid boat!”

Skookie did not say anything, but once in a while cast an anxious eye toward the head of the bay.

“Is it all right, Skookie?” asked Rob.

“I dinno,” answered Skookie, and bent again to his oar.

“So long as the sea doesn’t break,” said Rob, “we can ride these rollers all right. It’s when she goes white that you want to look out.”

Perhaps this was precisely what Skookie had feared. Within three minutes after Rob had spoken what he had dreaded actually occurred. They were riding steadily up toward the top of a long, oily wave whose leeward side was quite unbroken, when, just as they reached the top, the wind seemed to tear the crest of the wave into shreds. Without warning, a great, boiling surge of white, hissing water came up all around them. It was as though some angry spirit of the deep had risen up from below and tried to pull them down.

The white water poured in over the gunwale and half filled the dory, which seemed on the point of sinking before the long wave crept away, growling, as though disappointed at being baffled in its purpose.

Jesse, who had left the stern seat and was crouched in the bottom of the dory, uttered a cry of affright.

“Quiet, there!” called out Rob, sharply. “Bail, bail as fast as you can! Hurry up!”

Thoroughly frightened, but rallying to his young commander’s voice, Jesse obeyed, and bailed rapidly as he could, the sloshing water now leaving him for the bow, and now flooding him to the knees as it swept back to the stern when the bow arose. The dory yawed and veered unsteadily. Had they struck another piece of white water the end must have come for them, for their craft would have been beyond the control of their weary arms. Good-fortune was with them, however, and Jesse’s efforts steadily lightened their little ship, while the others kept her headed up, quartering into the long waves.

How long they rowed in this heart-breaking manner none of them ever knew, but it seemed many hours. No doubt it was two or three hours before they began to reach the shelter of the nearest projecting point on the farther side of the bay. By this time they were nearly worn out, their arms trembling, and their faces pale from over-exertion, but they dared not stop, and so pulled on as best they could. All at once Skookie spoke.

“Karosha!” he exclaimed. “Pretty soon all light, all light! I hear-um water over dar.”

He meant that he now could hear the surf breaking along the beach on their side of the bay. The roar of the waves became plainer and plainer as they pulled in, and now the rollers became less gigantic, and their headway increased as the wind was shut off by the promontory at the head of their beach.

The sound of the breaking surf was ominous enough of itself. In these wild seas it is not every one who can take in a boat safely through such waters. Rob was wise enough to ask counsel of Skookie in this matter, when at last they could see the rim of white water breaking madly along the shingle.

The young Aleut did not seem much concerned. He told them to stop rowing when they approached the first long ridge of breaking water, and with his own oars he held the boat for a minute, looking astern and waiting for the right instant. A great wave came in toward them, but just before it broke Skookie gave a shout and they all fell to their oars, going in just with the crest of this wave and keeping just ahead of where it broke. Thus their boat was carried high up the beach.

At the right instant overboard went Skookie waist deep in the surging white water. In an instant Rob was out on the other side. The receding wave almost swept the dory back, but they held her; and another, lifting her clear and carrying the boys off their feet for a moment, flung her yet farther up the beach and at the edge of the high-water mark. As she grounded this time they were all out and helped run her up high and dry. Here they made her fast by the painter to a jagged rock which projected from the wall at the edge of the beach. Then, too tired to do anything further, and trembling now in the reaction which followed the peril from which they had escaped, they flung themselves panting on the beach, with pale faces looking out into the stormy sea which thundered at their feet. They were all sobered thoroughly by their experience. At last Rob spoke, standing up preparatory to the walk down the beach toward their old barabbara.

“I know what I thought out there when she broke under us,” said he; “and I know what I did, too.”

“Yes, and,” said Jesse, as he and the others rose to follow him, “I know what I’m going to do before I go to sleep to-night, too. I’m going to remember my prayers.”